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fanficapologist · 10 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

“Do not think this means I forgive you for lying to me.”

After breaking their fast together following their coupling, Aemond brought Maera to peak again twice more. The minute they had finished eating, the one-eyed Prince removed both of their clothes completely before leading them to their shared bed.

He sat down, reclining back against the headboard before guiding Maera to straddle him, hands on her hips as he slowly lowered her onto his stiff cock. Aemond rocked her back and forth in a rolling motion, hitting her spongey spot just right with every movement, burying his head in her full chest as his breathing became heavier. She gripped onto his shoulders desperately, throwing her head back as she felt her climax slowly build, her arousal coating his cock and thighs with her release.

The second time she peaked was by Aemond once again feasting on her with his tongue, head between her rounded thighs as she lay back on their bed, lapping up their mixed essence with his skilful tongue as he coaxed her orgasm from her, like a starving man who had not known sustenance for an ungodly amount of time. After cumming again, Maera lay on her husband’s chest, a tangle of limbs and warmth in the soft glow of the morning light through the windows.

The Prince’s toned, slim torso pressed against Maera's curvaceous form. His muscular arms enveloped her, one hand gently stroking her hair as they basked in the afterglow of their passion. With his eyepatch removed, the sapphire nestled in the hollow of his eye socket gleamed in the soft daylight, casting a mesmerizing glow across his sharp-featured face. Maera's body was a canvas of curves, her skin bore the faint flush of their shared ecstasy, enhancing the natural beauty that radiated from her every feature. Her brown curls, tousled and wild, framed her face in a cascade of unruly elegance, the silver streak shimmering like a celestial thread woven into the fabric of her being.

Aemond met her gaze, the softening of his violet eye betraying a depth of emotion, though his face retained its stoic exterior. His fingers tenderly weaved their way through her locks as he spoke, "I respect you enough to never presume that forgiveness is easily earned."

Maera shifted her body to lay on her side, aligning herself to face him, prompting Aemond to mirror her movement. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange of understanding. She teased him with a playful sternness, "You are still paying back the debt for being an arse to me all those years ago."

A silent laugh escaped Aemond's lips, his affectionate gaze never leaving hers. "A debt I will no doubt be paying for until the end of my days," he acknowledged, reaching out to delicately move a strand of hair from her face.

Maera responded with a contemplative hum. Despite the intimacy they had shared, the specter of Aemond’s deception loomed large in her mind. Her heart, heavy with the weight of their shared history, yearned for reconciliation, for a restoration of the bond that had once held them fast. Yet, amidst the tender caress of his touch, the echo of Alys's presence lingered. The spells the witch had woven, binding Aemond and Maera together through dark sorcery, whispered like sinister echoes in the recesses of Maera's consciousness, their implications casting a pall of unease over her thoughts.

Anger smoldered within Maera, a seething fire fueled by the knowledge of Aemond's laying with Alys and the tragic consequences that had befallen her extended family. Betrayal gnawed at the edges of her resolve, a bitter taste lingering on her tongue as she grappled with the weight of Aemond's deceit.

Confusion gnawed at her soul, twisting and turning like a tempestuous sea, as she grappled with the conflicting emotions that warred within her, as well as questions she still longed to know the answer to. “If she knew we were fated to be bound, that our union had to happen… why did you treat me with such hostility the moment I returned seven months ago?”

Aemond’s expression softened, his gaze drifting as he searched for the right words. “I was angry, I suppose,” he admitted with a shrug, the admission heavy with the weight of his past actions. “Angry at our fractured friendship, and angry at the sense of inevitability Alys had painted about our future together. It felt like I had no control.”

Maera’s eyebrow arched in skepticism, prompting Aemond to offer further explanation. “I thought that by pushing you away, I could change the course of our lives. But as it turns out, you cannot change fate.”

She focussed on his words. Fate. Helaena also said fate could not be changed. Lady Gael in her dreams said fate was foretold by the Gods. Was everything truly written by the Seven and they were merely acting out their pre-conceived roles? Or could it be altered, even a fraction of an amount? Alys had told Aemond although fate could not be changed, it could be swayed.

Sensing her introspection, Aemond gently cupped her face in his hand, their eyes locked in a shared moment of vulnerability. "I never meant to hurt you, nor dishonor you in the eyes of the court," he confessed, his sincerity evident.

Maera frowned, her fingers tracing the jagged scar beneath his sapphire eye. "What's done is done," she murmured, a mixture of acceptance and resilience in her voice. After a moment of reflection, Maera spoke again, her tone measured. "It will take me some time to trust you again. You will need to accept that."

Aemond nodded, his gaze filled with understanding and a quiet determination to prove himself worthy. With a sigh, Maera's gaze wandered down to her swelling belly, her hand instinctively resting upon the curve of her abdomen. "As tempting as it may be to mount Ēbrion and escape from it all...I want this marriage to succeed."

Aemond's hand found hers on her stomach, a gesture, this time, that brought a sense of solace. Maera continued, her voice tinged with determination. "Not just for the child I carry, but for us as well. We exchanged vows before the Gods in the Sept. With House Targaryen divided and a war raging around us, our child needs parents who are..."

"Who are?" Aemond prodded gently, his curiosity evident.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Maera finished her thought with a stubborn resolve. "United."

Aemond chuckled softly, sinking back against his pillow with a wry smile. "That's not what you were going to say," he teased, his eye dancing with amusement.

Maera propped herself up on her elbow, her gaze fixed on Aemond as she prepared to speak her mind. “What did you expect me to say, husband? Some grand declaration of love or poetic verses about our supposed magical bond?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful sarcasm.

Aemond's smirk only widened. “I would not necessarily oppose that,” he replied, his eye sparkling with amusement.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Maera continued, her expression turning more serious. “My feelings about you at the moment are... complicated, to say the least. I doubt you would care to hear them,” she confessed, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond lifted his arm to rest behind his head, his features softening with a hint of seriousness. “I will gladly accept whatever feelings you have towards me, Maera. The good, the bad, the confusing ones too. Your words may burn, but I am a dragon. I can endure,” he assured her, his gaze unwavering.

Maera sighed, resigning herself to the conversation ahead. “You speak of burning, but you forget the wreckage you have left in your wake. My heart has been shattered by you more times than I can count,” she began. Maera glanced at him from the corner of her eye and could see he was listening intently. She continued, “We were children of nine when we first met, and I believed we shared a bond unlike any other. But that bond was shattered when you claimed Vhagar, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our broken friendship.”

Her words continued to flow with an undercurrent of emotion, her hands gesturing animatedly as she sought to convey the depth of her anguish to her husband. “Then I return for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, hoping for reconciliation, and you treated me with disdain, as if I were beneath you.” Aemond listened in silence, his single violet eye fixed unwaveringly on her face. His expression was a mask of solemnity, his features drawn tight with the weight of her words.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, her green eyes fixed on a point in the distance as she gathered her thoughts, the weight of her memories pressing heavily upon her. “Yet, despite your cruelty, I found myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, only to be burned time and time again.”

Maera then balled up the sheet covering her body within her fist, gripping it intensely as her anger spilled over. “You entertained the notion of witch’s prophecies, foolish enough to give a woman who practices dark magic your blood and seed. And now my aunt Viserra, my last link to my mother, and her kin, are gone. Sacrificed at your hand, all to bind me to you, to ensure that I am yours and yours alone.”

She shook her head in disbelief, realising how absolutely preposterous this sounded, each chaotic event painting a sad and broken picture of her life with Aemond in it. “You chased away suitors, denied me happiness outside of your grasp, refusing to let me have anything that did not involve you. And now, with the revelation of your manipulations, I question whether my feelings for you are genuine or merely a product of your meddling.”

Maera’s eyes began to water at this. She was afraid, afraid that none of this was real. Aemond’s hand wandered to touch her arm lovingly, a silent affirmation of his attentiveness and empathy, a glimmer of understanding flashing across his face. With each hesitant breath, Maera spoke her next words with brutal honesty, staring him down as tears began to flow freely. “You are cruel, Aemond. And arrogant. And selfish.” Throughout her words, Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable as he absorbed her criticisms. There was no trace of hurt in his features, but rather a contemplative expression that hinted at deep introspection.

Maera sighed once more, her frustration momentarily abated. “But you are more than that.” She reached across and traced his contoured jawline with her finger, using a feather light touch. “More than your Targaryen blood. More than a dragon rider. More than the second son.” Her head leant down as she traced his jawline with her lips, the satisfying sound of a groan catching in the Prince’s throat. “More than your duty. More than the expectations of the Realm or your family. More than your past choices.”

Closing her eyes, she ghosted her lips across his, hesitant for the next words to leave her mouth. But they were true, and they were needed in this moment, more for herself than for him. A reminder and vow as to why she was with him of her own volition instead of just a political alliance or the spell cast by a witch.

“Ao issi ñuhon,” You are mine, Maera whispered against him, feeling him shift next to her, and his neck crane upwards, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. “Sepār avy jorrāelan.” And of course I love you.

Aemond’s sighed deeply at her words of devotion to him. Yet as he leaned in for a kiss, she pulled back, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stood from their bed, slipped into her robe and rang for her servants.

“But you still have much to atone for, my Prince,” she warned him with a smirk, chuckling to herself as she took in his wide-eyed expression. In that fleeting moment of hesitation, she asserted her independence and agency, a reminder to Aemond that her love was freely given and not to be taken for granted.

And ‘atone’ he most certainly did. For a month, he toiled in her service in order to win back her affections, unknown to other members of the court. The gestures started off small. Instead of retreating to the Tower of the Hand to work alone, he now made a conscious effort to complete his paperwork at Maera’s side, sending for her to join him or setting up his writing desk in their shared chambers.

He sought to express his love and devotion through lavish gifts, each carefully selected to reflect Maera’s diverse interests and passions. Uncensored scrolls from the Citadel offered her unrestricted access to knowledge and information, while new paints from YiTi promised to enrich her artistic pursuits. And when it came to her weapons, Aemond spared no expense, adorning her old dagger with sapphires and emeralds that sparkled in the candlelight, as well as a fresh polish to the metal of the blade.

Aside from these, the Prince also helped the dragon keepers in the design of Ēbrion’s saddle, fit to be used by Maera as a rider. The saddle, fashioned after the design of Vhagar's legendary equipment, was a formidable sight to behold. Crafted from black leather and adorned with intricate chains and ropes, it exuded an air of strength and resilience. The chest harness provided a sturdy foundation for the saddle, while reins attached to the saddle allowed for precise control over the beast's movements.

As the dragon keepers worked tirelessly to fit Ēbrion with the new creation, Maera stood watchful by his side, a calming presence amidst the chaos. Although she was reassured by the Vovnik that the beast would not feel a thing due his tough hide of scales, Maera still winced at the sound of the saddle being bolted onto her dragon’s chest and back. Yet she remained poised and vigilant, soothing Ēbrion with gentle words and comforting touches.

Aemond stood at a distance, watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and longing. He understood that the beast’s fierce nature required delicate handling, especially in the midst of such significant changes. Maera had explained that since Aemond still evoked some negative feelings, she did not want this to be transferred to her mount, which could possibly result in the death of more Keepers or even her own husband. And as much as he still angered her, she did not wish true harm to befall him.

During his month of atonement, Maera kept the Prince at arm’s length. Although she was grateful for the gifts and his newfound attention, she was still hurt, and had not invited Aemond back to her bed since the day she rode Ēbrion. And the Prince had not presumed to join her, which Maera found oddly admirable, her resolve began to soften as the nights grew colder and lonelier. After a week of restless sleep and silent longing, she finally relented and allowed him back into their shared bed.

That night, and each night after, Maera couldn't deny the comfort of Aemond's warmth beside her. She curled up against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Aemond would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close in a protective embrace. In the darkness of their chamber, they found a sense of peace in each other's arms, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

Most mornings, she was now awoken to Aemond indulging himself between her legs, calloused hands stroking up and down her soft thighs as he feasted on her, his violet eye shut with bliss. When she was awake enough to realise what was happening, Maera hands would immediately fly to his hair, grabbing onto fistfuls of the silver locks for dear life as pleasure coursed through her very soul, now so much more intense as she entered the second part of her pregnancy.

With each gesture, Aemond hoped to demonstrate his unwavering commitment to Maera, to show her that he was willing to go to great lengths to earn back her trust and affection. And as the days turned into weeks, Maera couldn’t help but be moved by his sincerity, gradually allowing herself to soften in his presence, to once again find solace in the embrace of the man she loved. She had not forgiven, nor forgotten, but the sting of his transgression hurt a lot less than before.

On a windy day during the fourth month of the year, Aemond and Maera worked tirelessly in their shared chambers at their own pursuits. As the storm raged outside, the sky was a canvas of gray clouds, swirling with the promise of heavy rain. Leaves, tinged with the fiery hues of autumn, danced on the wind before being swept away by the downpour. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, a reminder of the changing season.

Inside, Maera sat at her easel, her paintbrush moving with fluid strokes across the canvas. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls as she carefully crafted a new painting, another to add to the growing pile in her room. This one was destined for the nursery of their unborn child. Her brushstrokes were deliberate and precise, capturing the essence of a tranquil night sky.

In the painting, a full moon hung low on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the landscape below. Against the backdrop of stars, nine dragon silhouettes soared gracefully, each representing a member of House Targaryen connected to the new babe. Maera meticulously painted each dragon, infusing them with life and vitality despite their stark black outlines. Two larger dragons, one representing Maera and the other Aemond, stood as parents guarding the night sky. Surrounding them were the dragons of Helaena, Aegon, and Daeron, the aunt and uncles. Two smaller silhouettes represented the child's cousins, Jaehaera and Maelor.

A subtle, keen eye could discern two faint, almost imperceptible silhouettes. One symbolized Lady Gael, Maera's late mother, a spectral presence in the family's celestial tableau. The other, a smaller dragon, paid homage to Prince Jaehaerys, a reminder of the family's tragic loss. Lastly, a particularly radiant star stood out among the rest, symbolizing Maela, Helaena's lost babe, whose memory shone brightly in the night sky.

Softening the lines of the faded silhouettes with a damp sponge, a low hum from Aemond distracted Maera from her work. She turned at him and cocked her head to the side, curious as to what was on his mind. The Prince did not even have to look up from his writing to know the green eyes of his wife were on him.

“It seems that twat in the cells finally succumbed to his torture,” Aemond grumbled, causing Maera to frown, not understanding to whom he was referring. From her lack of reply, Aemond looked up, his brows furrowed. “Blood.”

The butcher. One of the men who had slain Jaehaerys. The one who had been caught at the Gate of the Gods two days later. And who had been under torture in the dungeons ever since. Maera clenched her jaw at the thought of such a monster.

“Death was too good for him,” she replied coldly, before turning her attention back to her painting, softening the edges around the dragon that represented Jaehaerys. “Did he reveal anything useful?”

“Yes, actually. It turns out he was working for one of my uncle’s favourite whores. And that he was asked to bring Jaehaerys’ head back to Dragonstone as a prize for Daemon,” Aemond answered, his words causing Maera to tense. He continued on, “Towards his end, he gave up the names of other spies in Kings Landing, probably some feeble attempt to keep himself alive. So now I am tasked with signing their death warrants.”

Maera let out a shaky breath. “Anyone we know?”

“No one important, just a few guards. But they have patrolled our corridors, stood watch outside our doors,” Aemond sneered, noticing that Maera had now frozen at her easel. She heard his chair scrape along the stone floor as he rose from his seat, striding towards her before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder, his single violet eye looking at the masterpiece of a painting his wife was producing for their child.

Maera’s gaze lingered on the painting, her thoughts drifting to the uncertainties of their future amidst the looming threat of war. How many more dragons would be reduced to faded silhouettes if their enemies continued to plot against them? The spies lurking within their midst, their presence only now coming to light, cast a shadow of fear over the once secure halls of their home. The prospect of further losses weighed heavily on Maera’s mind, each potential death a painful reminder of the fragility of their house and the dangers that surrounded them.

“We are not safe here. None of us are,” Maera whispered, as if not wanting to breathe life into the fact she knew well. She turned to Aemond, her eyes filled with concern.

His gaze softened. “Come the morrow, those traitors will lack heads,” the Prince proclaimed with reassurance in his voice.

Before Maera could respond, Aemond lifted his hand and revealed a piece of parchment, addressed to her, bearing the seal of House Baratheon, a sight that sparked intrigue within Maera’s curious nature. Eager to uncover its contents, she reached out to snatch the parchment, only to find Aemond teasingly withholding it from her grasp. With a playful pout, Maera’s annoyance was evident, but Aemond relented, allowing her to claim the letter with a mischievous shove in return.

Breaking the wax seal, Maera’s eyes scanned the contents of the letter with keen interest, a smile gracing her face as she immediately recognised the handwriting.

“It’s from Luthor,” Maera beamed, before quickly scanning the words.

Dearest sister (Or should I refer to you as Princess in our correspondence now? Royalty or not, we still threw food at each other at the dining table not that long ago),

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Father recently shared the joyful news of your pregnancy with me, and I couldn't be happier to hear that I will soon be an uncle again. I do hope for both your sakes that the new babe is just like your husband, even though I do not know what he was like as a small child. Memories of your mischievous nature and the mere size of you when you were born is enough to put anyone off having more than one child.

Maera’s chuckling caught Aemond’s attention, his single violet eye looking in her direction as he settled back onto his writing desk.

“He says he hopes our baby is more like you than me,” she chortled, the thought of their child filling her with joy. “Apparently I was quite large when I was born, and a difficult child as well.”

“You being described as a handful stuns me,” Aemond replied sarcastically with a smirk, picking up his quill and commencing his writing once again.

Maera rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Tis just as well you are not a jester or we would all be bored of your unfunny material,” she teased before turning her attention back to the letter.

In other news, I am pleased to inform you that I am now wed to Lady Cassandra, the eldest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon. Our wedding coincided with that of Prince Daeron and Lady Ellyn Baratheon, and I must say, the poor prince seemed quite terrified. I did my best to offer him comfort amidst the festivities. Thank the Gods for whatever the Maester gave him to perform in the bedding ceremony, lest I do not think this would have been completed otherwise. Unfortunately for his new bride, the Prince returned to his duties and flew back to the Reach after bedding her, with the promise to return in a few weeks time.

“My brother is wed, as is yours. And Daeron was able to fulfil his duty, the poor boy,” Maera announced to her husband, a pang of sympathy for the youngest Targaryen Prince in her voice. Aemond simply hummed in response as he continued writing his documents. She read on.

Of course, I had no qualms fulfilling my duty and bedding my new wife. (I will spare you the details. Hearing snippets of what happened on your own wedding night was enough to make my skin crawl, and I shan’t wish that on you in your current condition.) The Baratheon girl seems pleasant enough and I find myself still getting to know her. Lady Cassandra possesses the typical Baratheon traits of black hair and striking blue eyes, and I must admit, I am surprisingly eager to earn her approval. A simple laugh at one of my jokes during dinner felt more rewarding than winning any sparring match.

Father is adamant about the importance of fathering an heir, as a male child could potentially inherit Storm's End. Yet, I fear his ambitions may overwhelm my new bride. I tread cautiously, not wanting to frighten her away. I will fulfil my duty, yes, but I will not pressure nor force the Lady to bear me a child in such haste.

A sad smile graced Maera’s face. Happiness was such a rare thing in political marriages. But Luthor was trying and, for this, she felt proud of her elder brother. Maera was not surprised of her father’s pressuring agenda yet it did not stop her from feeling irritated. Every Lord that steps foot into the Red Keep is so full of self-interest in an attempt to get close to, or even sit upon, the Iron Throne. She could not understand why Lord Jasper would push his children so hard just to have his blood be apart of the tapestry that made up the great Houses of Westeros.

Maera understood Aemond’s desire for the throne. He had worked so hard throughout his life, only for it to be given to his oaf of brother, simply because Aegon was born first. Yet as stupid and ill-equipped as her brother-in-law was, she was glad it would not be a burden that would be passed onto her own children. That ugly metal chair brought nothing but chaos and destruction to those who sat on it.

The specter of war looms large, and I worry for your safety in King's Landing, especially given your marriage to the King's brother. I'm uncertain if the Crownlands will prove a safe haven for your growing family. Please know that even though I am far away, I am always here for you. If there is anything I can do to assist or support you, do not hesitate to ask.

Your brother,

Luthor

With a sigh, Maera folded the letter over and joined Aemond at the writing desk. Anxiety swarmed around her about the safety of her family, as well as her wards, the youngest whom would be the next King of the Seven Kingdoms after Aegon. All the while, spies for the Blacks loomed about the Keep, their identities just now coming to light. And given how easily Blood and Cheese had entered and murdered Jaehaerys, who is to say it would not happen again?

The Prince stopped writing, looking up at his wife to see concern painted across her face.

“What is wrong?” He questioned, clearly confused by her sudden dip in mood.

“Luthor is right,” Maera confessed defeatedly. “We are sitting ducks here in Kings Landing. The Blacks will come for us.”

Aemond placed his quill back in its pot of ink to reach across for Maera’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she spoke on. “Whilst I can justify the adults being caught in the crossfire, it is not fair on the children. Our child may nestle in the safe confines of my womb, but Jaehaera and Maelor are more exposed.”

The Prince sighed thoughtfully and nodded. “What do you suggest?”

After a moment of hesitation, Maera finally came to a conclusion. “The children need to be in a place of safety. Outside of Kings Landing.”

Notes: Let’s be honest, this chapter was a filler, which is why I was struggling to finish it. What finally got me to post it was the reminder that in these chapters there’s still key information in these chapters that will be important later on.

Tags: @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #aemond smut

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everlastingmooncoven · 1 year ago

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Lesson #1: Introduction to Magic

Witchcraft vs. Wicca vs. Paganism:

Paganism is a religion as well as an umbrella term to describe different religions. In the past, it was seen as anyone who wasn’t a Christian. Currently, a lot of practices and religions fall under the category of Pagan. No witchcraft or certain practices are required to be Pagan. Most Pagans do believe in the circles of life and death, with a strong connection to nature.

Wicca is a religion that usually involves witchcraft but not always. It was founded in 1954 by Gerald Garner and involves documents and beliefs such as the Wiccan Rede and the Harm None laws. The Wiccan religion falls under Paganism.

Witchcraft is a practice, not a religion. It can be used inside and outside of religious practices. There are many branches of The Craft, including Green Witchcraft and Cosmic Witchcraft.

Different Paths:

Not all Alchemists are witches, but Alchemy can be paired with the Craft.

Angelic Witches work closely with Angels in their practice.

A Celtic Witch would be a witch who follows the traditions and rituals of the Celtic religion. They may work with or worship Celtic deities and read Celtic myths, legends, and history. This could also include working with the fae, but it’s not required.

In a Ceremonial Witch's practice, it’s all focused on the sacred ceremonies and rituals of witchcraft. It’s more intricate than everyday magic.

Cosmic/Celestial Witches are the astrologers. Focused on the moon, sun, star, and planet cycles, zodiac signs and birth charts are their specialty. They use the energies from the cycles of the universe to fuel their spell work. Lunar Witches and Solar Witches would fall in this category, as their focus is mostly towards the phases of the moon or the sun.

Coven Witches are a part of a coven, this would include a high priest, or priestess along with members of a coven. They bring their powers together to cast spells and do rituals together.

Crystal Witches are all about the use of crystals and gems. Creating crystal grids, understanding the power of their properties, and using that power to manifest or attract the energies that the witch is trying to bring in their craft.

When it comes to Eclectic Witches they are a hit or miss. They mix and match their own practice from other religions or branches of witchcraft. That can be a good thing and a bad thing. You can make your practice your own and not be tied down to one thing. However, if you are taking from closed practices or taking from spaces where you aren’t welcomed then that is never okay. No matter what branch you practice.

A Death Witch is someone who works with the dead, or practices necromancy. This can also include helping them cross to the other side, honoring the dead in rituals, or helping people through periods of mourning their loved ones. Death deities such as Hel (Norse Goddess of Death) or Hades (Greek King of the Underworld) may be some deities a death witch might be interested in working with.

Demonologists are people who study, work with, or worship Demons and include them into their Craft.

Divination Witches are usually your psychics. They work with tools such as tarot or oracle cards, palm readings, pendulums, runes, etc. They can show the future or receive messages from the other side or from your guides.

Draconian Witches are people who work with Dragons. It is a very intricate path that isn’t made for everyone. You may approach dragons, but when it comes time dragons may or may not choose you.

Elemental Witches use the power of the elements in their practices. Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and sometimes the fifth element known as the Spirit or Either. Through bonding with the elements, she’s able to call on them in her practice. This could also be broken down by Fire Witches, who connect mostly with Fire elements. Water Witches also could fall under Sea Witchcraft. Air Witches could include playing instruments, listening to music, or singing in their practice. And Earth Witches could be classified as a Green or Plant Witch.

Fae Witches are those who work with the Fae in their craft. This is usually paired with the Celtic pantheon, but not always.

A Folk Witch can be hereditary, but not always. They include practices that are either passed down from family members, or their community. They use their ethnicities and the origins of their ancestors in their practices. Sometimes they can be closed practices, sometimes they are just not shared with people outside of those communities.

Gray Witches practice both the left-hand path (black magic) of the right-hand path (white magic). What kind of magic they practice depends on the situation.

Green Witches are all about nature, they use herbology, healing, gardening, and plant magic in witchcraft. They prefer to be outside and in nature, especially when doing their craft. Plant Witches are in a subcategory of Green Witchcraft whose main focus is plants.

Both Hearth Witches and House/Cottage Witches overlap when it comes to how they practice. They are both focused on making their home peaceful and full of magic. This can include candle magic, kitchen witchery, house rituals, etc.

A Hedge Witch is similar to an eclectic witch. But hedge witches are more focused on herbology, elements, astral protection, auras, and nature.

A Hellenic Witch is someone who works with or worships the ancient Greek or Roman deities. They perform rites and give offerings that were presented to the deities long ago.

Hereditary Witches are people whose family practices witchcraft. Power or certain practices are passed through their family line.

Kitchen Witches incorporate magic into their food or drink. They understand the properties that certain foods or herbs have and are able to pair them together to create a delicious, magical-filled dish or drink.

Sea Witches have a strong connection to the ocean. They can incorporate water, seashells, sand, and moon phases in their practices. Any body of water will do, you don’t have to live near any ocean to do sea magic. Lakes, rivers, or any natural body of water will do. They can also work with water spirits, such as mermaids.

Sex Witches use sexual acts and sexual energy to enhance their rituals. This can be done alone or with consenting partners.

A Solitary Witch practices alone or without a coven. They can be any type of Witch.

A Traditional Witch can be a hereditary, a folk, or a ceremonial witch. Any kind of practice that follows a long-standing tradition.

Wiccan Witch follows the Wiccan Rede and the Harm None laws, within their practice. They can include almost any other branch of witchcraft as well. They worship a God and Goddess as the masculine and feminine energies, and love and respect nature.

These are just a handful of witches that are out there, I know I missed many of them. Feel free to mix and match titles or have no title at all. It’s whatever you are most comfortable with and what you have a connection to the most.

Altars:

Altars are prominent in most religions; they are concentrated, personal, and sacred spaces meant for worship, spell castings, honoring ancestors, celebrating holidays and more. They can be simple and hidden, large and extravagant or anything in between. It should be created to please you and no one else.

The arrangement of tools on the altar can vary to each person, there is a basic outline, but you’re not required to follow it. When picking out the tools and decorations make sure you don’t choose random items that might clutter your altar. No matter how big or small your space is, you don’t want a messy place to work in; so make sure everything has a meaning or purpose.

Altars can also come in any aesthetic that you enjoy; some choose a very traditional altar, while others love a modern take on things. They can also be based around an element, deity, crystal, or even your favorite color.

There are so many ways you can present your altar, but as long as you make it your own precious space then the sky's the limit!

Witchcraft Tools:

A Book of Shadows, Grimoire, or another Spell Book can be anything you wish it to be, from a simple notebook, a file on your computer, or a fancy leather-bound book. No matter what it is, always keep it nearby when you are casting; you never know when you might need to jot something down or need a reference.

A Pentagram or Pentacle can be sat in the center of an altar, or worn on a necklace. It represents the five elements and can be used for protection.

Divination Tools would also be kept on your altar or nearby if you are doing spellwork. Whether it be tarot or oracle cards, pendulums, runes, tea leaves, or a crystal ball.

Photos or Statues are great ways to honor your ancestors and loved ones who have passed on (including pets!). You can add photos, notes, and other offerings on your altar as a way to honor them and call upon them. You can also add photos and statues of your guides or deities to dedicate a space to them.

Athames are beautifully crafted knives meant for spell casting or energy channeling only. They are usually not meant for cooking or other purposes.

Wands are created for energy channeling and circle casting, they can be made out of wood, crystal, metal, or glass. You can also craft your own and add crystals, charms, or other decorations to personalize it.

Candles can be used for multiple things. It can represent the element of fire and air, can represent a space for deities or ancestors, or for simple color magic. It’s good to have multiple colors and sizes, but white is usually a good substitute. You could also use birthday candles for spells that have to melt all the way down but you don’t want to wait or leave a burning candle unattended.

For the Earth Element anything that comes from the Earth naturally such as dirt, sand, flowers, leaves, certain herbs, sticks, crystals, rocks, etc can be used to represent the Earth element and be used in many ways.

Cauldrons or other heatproof bowls would be needed for making potions, burning herbs, casting spells, or scrying.

A Chalice could represent the Moon Goddess and the element of water; a chalice can hold water, wine, or other offerings. It can also be used for fertility rituals and spells.

Feathers represent the elements of air, they can be nice offerings for certain spirits, guides, or deities or be used for waving away negative energies.

Bells can represent the air element and are known for cleansing a space of negative energies to leave a peaceful feeling environment.

Each Herb, Plant, or Flower has different properties, each being unique and special. With that being said, some ingredients can be very dangerous and harmful to handle if you are unfamiliar with them; so always proceed with caution when using unknown herbs. And make sure to keep poisonous ones away from your furry or scaly friends and curious children!

Incense not only smells lovely, but they represent the elements of air and fire. They are wonderful for cleansing and each scent has its own special property.

Waters from ocean, lake, rain, storm, tap, or even bottled water can represent the water element; each can be used in a different way in a spell. But also can be used for cleansing yourself or your tools.

Poppets are very powerful tools that can be used for causing harm to enemies, initiating protection around a household, or casting a blessing on those closest to you.

Crystals are helpful for healing, protection, peace, and many other things. They are gorgeous pieces for offerings, or to just keep on your altar or in your car.

Pouches, Boxes, and Jars are a very simple way to hold any spell that you create, usually kept with the person it was made for, buried in the ground, on your altar. It can contain anything from blessings to curses.

Book of Shadows:

1. Create your own spellbooks:

Decide if you are going to have a physical book or binder or if you want a digital book, which could be left online or if you are going to print it out. Figure out the style, do you want traditional, cute, full of stickers, dried herbs or plants included, add artwork. Make it your own. You don’t have to call your spellbook the typical names, you can name your book anything you want. If you work with Spirits, Book of the Dead. If you work with the water element, Storm Book or Way of the Waters. Or sometimes more traditional like The Book of Ways. You can be creative when naming your Grimoire if you want. You can also have more than one spellbook for different tasks or information.

2. Layouts:

The layout of your book is unique to you. Personally, I tend to group similar things together. But here are things you can add to your book.

Some type of index to keep your book organized. You could also include a glossary of common-use terms or phrases.

A book blessing, protection sigils, and/or book dedications.

Your personal correspondences such as astrology charts, what type of path you practice, coven meetings (if you’re involved in one), information about the deities or guides you work with, and favorite divination methods. You could also add your favorite crystals, colors, herbs, flowers, etc.

Basic information about magic. Tools used in your craft, how to make sigils, cleansing, protection, correspondences about crystals, herbs, incense, aromatherapy, etc.

Animal correspondences, what it means when you see certain animals. This could also include familiar work, or any animal guides you work with.

Moon, sun, and planet phases. This can also include constellations, zodiac signs, birth charts, and how to read them.

The Wheel of the Year, any holidays or sabbats that you celebrate and how to celebrate them. This could also include days of the week correspondences and time correspondences.

You can add recipes that you make for offerings or holidays or even have a spellbook be a cookbook instead if you are a kitchen witch or just love cooking.

Any rituals or spells that you perform, what it is, when you cast them, the herbs or crystals you use, what the moon or sun phase was, the phrases you said, what the results were, and if you would change anything.

Divination tools that you use, the meaning behind tarot cards or runes, etc. And you can keep a journal track of when you do any kind of divination, the questions you asked and the answers you received.

History of magic, the path you practice, the deities or guides you work with. Folklore or myths from certain areas that you are interested in.

Lists of deities or guides from the pantheon(s) or groups that you’re involved in.

Different psychic abilities and keeping track of your meditation progress, dreams, affirmations, yoga, and any other energy workings that you do.

Any mythical beings (mermaids, dragons, fae, etc) that you work with and information about them. How you work with them, favorite offerings, spellwork that they’ve helped you with, etc.

Covens:

Covens are usually made up of 13 members that come together to practice Magick or celebrate a Sabbath together. They are normally very private groups that use their energies to reach a common goal or need.

Some Witches prefer Covens rather than solitary because you are able to learn and grow from the other members that you surround yourself with. If you are open with your practices then there can be a lot of backlash from non-pagans who don’t understand or accept your beliefs; so it’s always nice to have like-minded individuals in your life who you can communicate and socialize with.

However, if you are wanting to practice in solitude then that is completely up to you and your personal path. There is nothing wrong with not joining a Coven if your heart says no.

#crystals #witchcraft #spells #introduction to witchcraft #witchcraft lessons #everlasting moon coven #witchcraft tools #types of witches #covens #Wicca #pagans of tumblr #pagan #witches of tumblr

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zeciex · 9 months ago

Text

A Vow of Blood - 73

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 73: A Woman's War

AO3 - Masterlist

After hours of patrolling the sky, Daemon landed, the quiet of the night enveloping him. Above, the sky was a pristine tapestry, scattered with countless stars, untouched by any wisp of clouds. The moon hung full and radiant, casting a gentle silver light over the world, its glow faintly illuminating the surroundings through the thick shroud of darkness. Baela and Jace, astride Moondancer and Vermax respectively, cut majestic figures against the celestial backdrop, their dragon’s forms silhouetted against the vast, star-filled heavens.

Seeking a moment of peace, Daemon found comfort alongside Caraxes, his fingers tracing the dragon’s mighty jawline. He found solace in the close proximity to the beast, pressing his forehead against its warm scales as he released a breath. It was in the vast embrace of the skies that Daemon felt a profound sense of freedom, and it was in the fire and steel of the battlefield that he found a thrill–a profound sense of control over life and death, where his inner dragon could finally be unleashed, free and unrestrained.

Time had taught Daemon the worth of patience, a lesson he had accepted with reluctance–and one he still struggled with. He felt the urge to unleash the fury of dragonfire upon their enemies, to let them taste the bitter sting of his blade, and reclaim what was rightfully theirs by blood. It left a deep-seated restlessness stirring within him, igniting a relentless itch beneath his skin, a yearning that gnawed at his fingertips. Daemon felt the overwhelming urge to channel this turmoil into action, and yet, he was forced to stay his hand.

As the crunch of approaching footsteps broke the stillness of the night, Daemon sensed the presence of another. Pulling away from Caraxes, he grounded himself. Turning, he made his way towards the keep, where he was met at the base of the stairs by the captain of the guard.

“Lord Bartimos Celtigar has been accommodated in the east wing,” Ser Brandon Piper reported, keeping pace with Daemon as they ascended the stairs. “His ship is currently anchored in the bay, accompanied by a retinue of some thirty men.”

“Thirty men is hardly sufficient to meet our defense requirements,” Daemon remarked, acutely aware of the glaring gaps in their fortifications. Seventy men were far from adequate to secure the island against an invading force. Despite the formidable benefits of the nearly impregnable walls, challenging rocky terrain, and limited access points, Daemon knew that these defenses, though significant, were not infallible. He much preferred a more substantial force at his disposal. A sizable enemy host could potentially besiege Dragonstone and cut them off from the outside world–however, their dragons were by far their most formidable strength, one they would levy against any hosts that might dare move against them.

Ser Brandon offered an explanation with a tone of measured defense, “Lord Celtigar brought what forces he could gather on such short notice. His son is rallying additional troops as we speak.”

“Ensure those we have are strategically placed along the defenses,” Daemon commanded, his hand pushing the heavy door open with an air of determined authority.

“As you command, my prince,” came the dutiful reply.

The corridors of Dragonstone absorbed their presence into its haunting silence, with only the echo of their footsteps to contest the quietude. The castle’s interior, shrouded in darkness, seemed to become one with the night, the few flickering torches doing little to fend off the encroaching shadows.

“Has there been any word from King’s Landing?” Daemon inquired, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

“Ser Harron Allister, the Commander of the City Watch, alongside his second, Ser Toric Broom, have been imprisoned. They face execution for their refusal to pledge allegiance to Aegon,” Ser Brandon responded solemnly. “The handful of lords and ladies who refused to bend the knee have also found themselves imprisoned.”

Each word weighed heavily in the air, a grim reminder of the treacherous currents shifting within the realm, and the brutal consequences of defiance.

“Men of honor,” Daemon said under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of respect and rising fury. He remembered Ser Harron Allister and Ser Toric Broom well, having served alongside them during his time as the Commander of the City Watch. Both exemplified the loyalty and justice that Daemon had sought to instill in the Watch. Upon stepping down from his role, Ser Harron Allister had succeeded him.

Daemon’s thoughts darkened as he reflected on the unfortunate turn of events. He had shaped the City Watch into a formidable force, a pack of loyal hounds meant to protect the city from itself.

“As for the City Watch, Ser Luthor Largent now commands it, with Ser Gwayne Hightower as his second in command,” Ser Brandon added, keeping pace with Daemon as they climbed the serpentine stairs.

Daemon responded with a scornful huff, his hand instinctively tightening on the pommel of Dark Sister, secured at his side. It was a move characteristic of Otto Hightower, to appoint his son to a key position to ensure the City Watch’s allegiance through fear of dismissal, or worse, for the same fate that befell their predecessors to befall them as well. Daemon had known Ser Luthor Largent as well, acknowledging him as a competent commander and a loyal man. Yet, in these treacherous times, even the virtuous faced the grim prospect of execution for steadfast loyalty. Constrained by his circumstances, Ser Luthor’s submission to the Hightowers was, perhaps, a strategic retreat. A man of his intellect would navigate this new order with caution, serving his new masters while awaiting an opportune moment to act.

Daemon couldn’t fault him for submission, though he could not help but be wary of it. He couldn’t rely on the commander's loyalty, and so, he could not place his trust in him.

“What news do we have of Daenera?” Daemon inquired, his tone heavy.

Ser Brandon hesitated briefly, caution in his voice, “There’s little news, I’m afraid. She was seen at the coronation, adorned in the Hightower colors, and bending the knee to the new King.”

A sharp tension clenched in Daemon’s jaw at the news. “And her men?”

“It’s believed they’ve either been slain or captured, my prince.”

Daemon’s frustration was palpable; he pressed a thumb against the corner of his eye, fighting back the surge of anger at the thought of Daenera betraying them for the usurpers. The thought burrowed in Daemon, festering like a vile, infected wound–putrid and toxic, slowly seeping its poison throughout his being.

Continuing down the hall, Daemon issued his commands with a clear sense of urgency, “Keep watch over the sea. Lords Gormon Massey and Bar Emmon are expected to arrive by ship. Ensure their forces are positioned on the walls alongside our current men. Inform those already here that I will convene a council at dawn.”

“As you command, my prince,” Ser Brandon affirmed, offering a curt nod. He then stepped back, pivoted sharply, and departed to carry out the orders.

The weight of the situation bore down on Daemon, becoming all the more palpable as he paused at the entrance of his and Rhaenyra’s private chambers. Elinda Massey, daughter of Lord Gormon Massey, approached him, her expression etched with concern. The anxious line of her brows conveyed the urgency of Rhaenyra’s labor without a word being spoken.

“It is common for contractions to sometimes stall, offering a brief respite before escalating in severity,” Elinda began, her voice trembling slightly as her hands twisted together nervously.

“And the child?” Daemon inquired, his voice tight with concern.

“Maester Geradys believes that, despite the babe arriving a moon’s turn early, it is fully developed, and the prospects of its survival are promising…” Elinda detailed, her words trailing off. “But the princesses body hasn’t fully dilated for the child to make its entrance. We hope that once this lull passes, she will have the strength to deliver the child. Should this delay persist…”

Daemon moved past her, signaling the midwives to step out for a moment, wishing to be alone with his wife. He carefully unbuckled the sword belt around his waist, quietly removing it from his side. He positioned the blade at the foot of the bed, allowing it to lean securely against the footboard. Then, he moved around the bed, dragging a chair closer to the bedside, his body marked by the weariness of constant tension–the muscles of his back fraught and aching from carrying her to bed. His knees, too, protested the long hours spent in the saddle, a dull ache pulsating through the joints from remaining in the same position as he navigated the skies.

He settled himself in the chair, looking at his wife. Her face was flushed from exertion, her skin glistening with perspiration that made the strands of her hair cling to her neck and temples.

An oppressive sense of worry and fear filled the room, its presence as tangible as the deepening shadows. Daemon was no stranger to this type of fear; it was akin to the apprehension felt between battles, where soldiers whispered prayers of gratitude and pleas for continued survival as the threat of another looming at the horizon. It mirrored the dread that permeated the air along with the stench of blood and despair, resonating from those barely clinging to life, holding their own innards.

He supposed that the same apprehension of battle also pervaded the spaces where women labored to bring forth life. Childbirth, in its essence, was a battle of its own.

Rhaenyra was no stranger to the trials of childbirth, yet this particular ordeal appeared more fraught with danger than those before. Despite his familiarity with the perils of combat, of war and death, the current battle his wife faced ignited a deep-seated fear within him–a fear not wholly unfounded. The struggle to birth a child was what had taken Laena from him. He did not wish the same for Rhaenyra.

Dampening a cloth and squeezing out the excess water, Daemon placed it on his wife’s forehead, pressing it softly against her skin. Rhaenyra’s eyes fluttered open, her eyelids heavy with fatigue as she looked up at him, her face marked by the toll of her exertion. A weak smile briefly touched her lips as she adjusted her head to see him more clearly.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered, her voice rough and strained from labor.

“I’ve been making preparations.”

“Is that why you smell of dragon?” She asked with a slight note of amusement.

“I’ve been patrolling the skies.” Daemon lifted the cloth from her forehead and soaked it anew. After wringing out the excess moisture, he gently reapplied it to her skin, hoping to offer a small measure of relief. “Jace and Baela are currently patrolling. They insisted upon it.”

Rhaenyra offered a worn smile, which quickly gave way to a grimace of discomfort as she shifted on the bed. Her gaze met with Daemon’s, just as he moved his hand back to his lap, leaving the cooling cloth on her forehead.

“Have you any news?”

“Nothing beyond what Rhaenys brought us,” Daemon replied, his posture slumped, elbows on his knees, a manifestation of his own exhaustion. The weight of his exhaustion pressed heavily upon him, as if his very bones were cast from lead. A persistent tightness had settled behind his eyes, throbbing with each beat of his heart.

“Have any of the lords made their arrival?” She pressed on, causing Daemon to close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many ravens have you dispatched? House Massey and Darklyn will answer our call, and Bartimos Celtigar has been a good friend for years. We should–”

Daemon cut in gently, yet firmly, “You shouldn’t burden yourself with these matters.”

He reached out, his hand resting on the curve of her belly, feeling the warmth of her skin through the silk nightgown and bed covers. When their eyes met again, a hint of frustration was evident on her face, her hand covering his, the touch insistent.

“I should like to be kept informed,” she asserted.

“Rhaenyra…” Daemon started, his voice laden with fatigue. He withdrew his hand, dragging it across his face in a gesture of weariness and frustration. A tide of vexation rose within him, reflecting the strain of the moment.

“I am to be–I am the Queen, am I not?” She insisted, adjusting herself to sit more upright against the pillows and headboard, her hand instinctively cradling the swell of her pregnant stomach as she winched slightly from the pain. She removed the cloth from her forehead, placing it on the side table.

Daemon clenched his jaw tightly, an undercurrent of irritation swirling within him. His reluctance to share the burdens of leadership was not born from a desire to keep her uninformed; rather, it stemmed from a protective instinct. He wished to spare her the added stress, to shield her from the tumultuous affairs that lay beyond her current reach, focusing instead on the immediate challenge of bringing their child into the world.

“I don’t wish to burden you with the matters of war,” Daemon stated, the resolve in his voice underscored by the straightening of his posture, despite the protesting ache in his back. “Having endured the loss of one wife to childbirth, the thought of losing another…”

His mind drifted to Laena. He had loved her–not in the way she deserved, but he had loved her. She had been vibrant and fierce, a true dragonrider with the blood of Old Valyria coursing through her veins. Laena had possessed a boldness that was charming. She had been kind and sweet, and she had loved him more than he deserved. His love for Laena was genuine, yet it paled in comparison to the depth of his feelings for Rhaenyra.

“I cannot do it again,” Daemon confessed, his tone a hushed murmur laden with vulnerability.

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, her head tilting in a gentle gesture of understanding as she regarded him. “Daemon…”

“The losses today have been too great,” Daemon pressed on, his words infused with a bitter resentment that intertwined with his fear and the pervasive anger that had taken root in his heart–a relentless torment that coiled within him, fueling a constant, seething rage.

“You are not the only one who mourns him,” Rhaenyra murmured softly, letting the words linger in the air. A heavy silence fell between them, filled only by Rhaenyra’s intense gaze, her eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of concern and sadness, her lips pressed tightly together.

Outside, the wind raged against the shutters, its howls a grim accompaniment to the turmoil within.

“They killed him, Rhaenyra,” Daemon uttered, restlessly tapping his nails against the wooden arm of the chair. “I know it. They poisoned him, and they took him from us.”

Rhaenyra’s expression turned sympathetic yet skeptical, her brow furrowing deeper as her head tilted the other way. “He had an ailment–”

“One, I’m sure, they exacerbated for their own gain,” Daemon quickly countered, his tone edged with scorn. “The Hightowers have always had close ties with the Maesters of the Citadel, and Otto Hightower would have been sure to exploit that in favor of keeping power in his hands. They kept him dependent on milk-of-the-poppy, ensuring that he was unable to sit in governance.”

“What you are suggesting is kingslaying,” Rhaenyra said in caution. “While I won’t dispute the Hightower’s machinations against us and their exploration of his weakened state, the accusation of kingslaying is grave…”

“The Hightowers intended to rule in favor of Vaemond Velaryon,” Daemon stated. “They intended to remove your son from the line of succession of Driftmark, thereby undermining your status as the rightful heir by challenging the legitimacy of your children.”

“I know well what their intentions were,” Rhaenyra voiced her frustration, shifting restlessly on the bed once more, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position. “You needn't remind me.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as suspicious that his death occurred so shortly after these matters were resolved? Right after our departure?”

“What evidence do we possess?” Rhaenyra inquired, her expression contouring with discomfort as she applied pressure to her abdomen, seeking a fleeting respite from her pain. “Daenera uncovered no evidence to suggest poisoning.”

“Daenera’s attention was elsewhere,” Daemon countered sharply.

Rhaenyra’s gaze turned stern, a silent reproach in her eyes.

“Her knowledge has its limits. She wasn’t involved in his ongoing care and wasn’t present for every treatment he received,” Daemon continued, picking at the wood of the chair. “The possibility of poisoning cannot be dismissed outright.”

“We cannot levy accusations as grave as kingslaying without evidence,” Rhaenyra countered, her fatigue evident in the raspiness of her voice. “I’m not convinced he was poisoned. While the Hightowers certainly exploited his condition, I have my doubts that they would engage in such a vile act as kingslaying.”

“Can you honestly say you believe they wouldn’t commit such deed, or is it that you can’t accept that your childhood companion could orchestrate such cruelty?” Daemon pressed, his challenge clear in his tone.

Rhaenyra’s response was a sharp glare. “I cannot fathom Alicent being behind such heinous act, it's true. If–if– it was an act of kingslaying, it would not have been by her order.”

A palpable tension hung in the air as the ensuing silence stretched. Daemon gritted his teeth, a tumult of restlessness and anger stirring beneath his skin. He harbored a deep conviction that the Hightowers were behind the poisoning of his brother. Regardless of whether their final act was one of deliberate kingslaying, they had undeniably exploited his brother’s condition to their own ends. Reflecting on the past, he lamented that his brother’s gravest error lay not just in reinstating Otto Hightower as his Hand but in a decision made much earlier–when he had chosen to send Daemon away. This, he believed, had only been the start of Hightowers corruption of his brother. Yet, he chose to let the discussion rest.

His gaze settled on her, observing as she adjusted herself on the bed once more. Rhaenyra’s expression was marred by discomfort, her hand moving to her stomach seemingly in an attempt to comfort the unborn child.

“And what of Daenera? Any news?”

“No,” Daemon replied, his voice tinged with fatigue as he pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of a headache. His eyes felt dry and scratchy from exhaustion, and closing them did little to soothe the irritation. “Only that she attended the coronation adorned in Hightower colors and pledged her allegiance to the usurpers.”

He was acutely aware of her penetrating gaze upon him as he exhaled slowly, lifting his eyes to meet hers with a mixture of resolve and weariness.

“You think she betrayed us…” Rhaenyra said in a measured tone, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I think,” he responded tersely, “that it is a possibility.”

Rhaenyra’s frown deepened, her hands continuing their gentle motion over her belly. “I don’t believe that she would betray us. No, if she stood with the Greens it is only because she was forced to do so.”

Daemon’s voice was tinged with exhaustion and frustration as he disclosed, “She’s in love with him, Rhaenyra. She’s in love with that one-eyed cunt, and now she’s set to marry him. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that she might have chosen their side over ours–”

“It is, it is beyond the realm of possibility,” Rhaenyra countered, her voice trembling with emotion, her gaze falling to the curve of her stomach. “Why do you so readily assume the worst of her? Because she disappointed you?”

“Yes, she disappointed me!” Daemon’s voice rose, his feelings spilling forth like a tempest. “I sent her to King’s landing because I trusted her. I believed her capable of ascertaining who our friends and foes were. Her role was clear; to act as your representative in your absence.”

Leaning forward, Daemon’s frustration was palpable. “Rather than do her duty, she compromised herself by sleeping with the enemy. So, yes, she has disappointed me.”

Daemon never knew how to handle disappointment, especially when he held someone in high regard. He had trusted her to understand her position, and she had broken that trust by compromising herself and honor. The revelation of the loss of her maidenhead could have been disastrous, rendering her vulnerable to a scandal and providing the Hightowers with another tool for their machinations. She and any prospect of a future she had would have been ruined.

The marriage he had arranged for her with Boris Baratheon was not just a political maneuver; it was also an effort to protect her honor and reputation. Daemon had thought they had come to an understanding then.

Losing her maidenhead might have been a forgivable error, one Daemon could have overlooked, provided she had taken it as a lesson. However, she chose to have her lover murder her husband in an attempt to hide their affair and the resulting disgrace. While Daemon could understand her desire to be free of her husband’s temper, it did not excuse her from perpetuating her initial error.

His disappointment stemmed not solely from unmet expectations but from a profound sense of betrayal. Trust was a commodity Daemon valued, and once broken, it left a lasting scar.

Rhaenyra’s response was measured, yet her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, “She intended to return to us. She fulfilled her duty in King’s Landing, secured alliances, even married Boris Baratheon–as you wanted. If she indeed holds feelings for him, it only emphasizes her commitment to her duties over personal desires.”

“But she didn’t come back with us,” Daemon said, each word laden with a heaviness.

“If you mean to suggest that she had prior knowledge of the usurpation and willingly stayed behind to support the Greens, I cannot agree to that belief,” Rhaenyra declared firmly. “If she appeared at the coronation in support of Aegon, then it is only because the Hightowers wanted it so. My daughter is not a traitor, she is a hostage.”

“And what of her impending marriage? Is she being coerced into that as well?” Daemon felt a surge of agitation, compelling him to stand. The restlessness prickled too persistently, too agitated to ignore. “No, I don’t believe she had any prior knowledge of the Green’s plan beyond our suspicions. But her affections for that one-eyed cunt should raise concern. Her actions have already demonstrated her willingness to deceive us.”

Approaching the end of the bed, he clasped the footboard tightly, his grip betraying the escalating tension in the room, crackling between them like thunder. His gaze, full of reproach, met his wife’s, dismayed by her inability or unwillingness to grasp the gravity of the situation. “She conspired with her lover to see her husband killed. It would be foolish of us not to question where her loyalties lie.”

“I know where her loyalties lie,” Rhaenyra retorted, her expression a mixture of scorn and incredulity, the subtle downturn of her mouth signaling her disapproval–and the gleam of tears in her eyes betraying her inner turmoil, the pain of being faced with the possibility of her daughters betrayal. “You are all too ready to assume the worst of her. I won’t do the same. She is my daughter! My flesh and blood!”

“You might not wish to see her as a betrayer,” Daemon retorted with a hint of acrimony, struggling to keep his burgeoning rage subdued. “I have no desire to cast her in that light either, but reality forces me to consider all possibilities. And it is a possibility, Rhaenyra. History is rife with lovers willing to commit terrible acts in its name. She wouldn’t be the first to betray her kin for it.”

With that, Daemon collected his sword and belt, clutching the leather with a firm resolve as he made for his exit.

“Wait!” Rhaenyra’s voice chased after him, tinged with desperation. “Don’t leave–where are you going?”

“To make ready for the morning,” he replied curtly, stepping out of the chamber.

“Daemon, don’t leave–come back!” Her plea echoed behind him, but he continued on, driven by a duty to anticipate the unforeseen.

“Daemon, don’t leave–come back!” Rhaenyra’s voice echoed, her plea for him to stay desperate. Yet, he vanished beyond the door, leaving her alone with the heavy silence of the room. Her gaze lingered on the void left by his departure, as if his absence had materialized into something tangible, a profound sense of loneliness echoing through her. This palpable loneliness brought with it a sense of desolation, her heart sinking. Her eyes drifted towards the slivers of moonlight peeking through the shutters, the only barrier between the balcony and her solitude.

Tears threatened to spill as she caressed her belly, seeking comfort both for her and the child. She couldn’t understand why Daemon insisted on making her daughter out to be a traitor.

Despite the errors made, Rhaenyra’s faith in her daughter remained unshaken. She had never questioned her daughter’s loyalty or her love–nor her commitment to prioritizing duty above her personal desires. Daenera had always been aware of the position she was in, she had always known who she was and what it meant to be that.

The thought of Daenera, ensnared in King’s Landing and at the Greens’ mercy, filled Rhaenyra with an unbearable sense of worry and despair. A lump formed in her throat, hard and relentless as she fought back her tears. What fate awaited her daughter in their hands? The anguish of not having Daenera by her side, when she needed her the most, was overwhelming–Daenera should be here, offering her comfort and support, just as she had always been at the birth of her younger siblings. She was supposed–

“Rhaenyra?” Came a gentle, cautious voice.

Rhaenyra turned her gaze towards the doorway, where Rhaena stood, a candle’s flicker casting a soft light on her face, etching her concern into the shadows. Her hair cascaded in loose locks over her shoulders, reaching down her back, creating an image of vulnerability. Her dark eyes were filled with concern, soft and big.

Blinking her tears away and swallowing thickly in an effort to present a composed front, Rhaenyra offered a shaky smile. “What is it, Rhaena? It’s quite late, you ought to be asleep.”

“May I enter?” She inquired softly.

With a more assured smile, Rhaenyra welcomed her, “Of course, come in.”

As Rhaena moved into the room, she acknowledged the midwives and servants with a nod. The attendants had quietly filled the space after Daemon’s departure, their presence barely registered by Rhaenyra amidst her own tumult of emotions. They seemed to hover uncertainly, mirroring the tension of the impending birth. Lady Elinda Massey had settled on the settee, seeming to struggle with threading a needle by the furrow of her brow and the tongue poking out through her lips.

Taking the seat her father had vacated, Rhaena placed the candle on the side table, allowing the light to flicker and dance across the walls. She settled, a book in her lap, a silent offering of solace in her company.

“I found myself unable to sleep,” she confessed, her voice soft but filled with an intent to comfort. “I thought perhaps you’d appreciate some company.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra responded, her voice laced with gratitude for the company of her stepdaughter. As she repositioned herself on the bed, a low hum escaped her throat, betraying the discomfort of her movements. Her hand glided down her abdomen, gently pressing into the swell in an attempt to soothe the taut muscles that pained her.

“Baela and Jace are keeping watch over the skies,” Rhaena shared, her fingers absently playing with the corner of the book. “Father insisted they not do it by themselves at night, so he made them accompany each other.”

“It is wiser to have two riders in the sky than one,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, her gaze lingering thoroughly on Rhaena. Whenever the conversation veered towards dragons and their riders, a subtle melancholy would weave itself into the girl's features, a silent testament to her yearning. It was clear to Rhaenyra that, just like Daenera, she harbored a longing to soar through the skies atop a dragon of her own–a desire as vast as the heavens yet grounded by circumstance.

“Have any of the lords made their arrival?”

“Lord Bartimos Celtigar has arrived, I believe. We expect more to come by morning,” Rhaena informed her, providing the latest developments on the situation outside the childbed.

The room enveloped in a quietude, punctured only by Rhaenyra’s soft movements as she massaged her belly, seeking a sliver of comfort in the relentless discomfort. The tautness and stiffness in her lower back escalade to a dull, throbbing ache, radiating down her legs. A profound sense of pressure weighed on her lower abdomen and pelvis, signaling the baby’s gradual descent, while her inner muscles twitched and contracted with mild, foreboding cramps. This child seemed more reluctant to greet the world than its siblings had been.

Rhaena broke the silence with an unexpected admonition, drawing Rhaenyra’s gaze with the seriousness in her tone.

“You must forgive him,” she urged, her voice filled with both compassion and understanding–if not a bit of fear. “It’s not easy for him, I think. It is not easy to see you in such distress, facing the hardships of childbirth…”

As Rhaena nervously fidgeted with the book, her focus remained fixed on her own hands, avoiding Rhaenyra’s prodding eyes. There was a pull at the corners of the girl's lips, a sadness etched into her from the loss of her mother.

“Watching someone you deeply care for in pain, enduring such an ordeal… it’s an unbearable sight,” she paused, her voice softening, and finally, her gaze met Rhaenyra’s. “My mother fought valiantly to bring my sibling into this world. I know it tormented him to witness her suffering, especially when confronted with such… such an impossible choice…”

Her words hung in the air, revealing not just an understanding of her fathers turmoil but also a glimpse into the profound impact of witnessing a loved one’s struggle–echoes of past pains mingling with the present.

“Rhaena…” Rhaenyra began, her voice a soft echo in the quiet of the room.

“My mother was strong,” Rhaena declared, her voice carrying a tremble that betrayed her emotions. Her dark eyes shone with a combination of sorrow, compassion, and an underlying resilience. “She faced her fate with the knowledge that both her and the unborn child were doomed. She refused to let father make the choice for her–she wanted to die a dragon rider's death… I believe he fears you might share her fate, haunted by the prospect of having that harrowing decision once more…”

Rhaenyra’s heart constricted with empathy for Rhaena. She too understood the pain of losing a mother to the rigors of childbirth–the anguish of those left behind to grapple with the choices no one should have to make. Yet, along with empathy, a sharp sting of fear pierced her heart. The dread of succumbing to the same fate as her mother had always loomed large in Rhaenyra’s mind–the terrifying prospect of being subjected to a brutal delivery in the childbed, restrained and incised, her child forcibly extricated, leaving her empty and bleeding out.

This profound fear had led her to mistrust the maesters at the Red Keep for her care in childbirth, relying instead on the familiar and trusted presence of her handmaidens and midwives that were with her now. Maester Geradys was the sole exception, having successfully overseen the birth of her youngest children.

This fear of dying in childbirth was inherent, a thing passed from mother to daughter, from woman to woman–it was a thing shared throughout the ages and one that was carried with the head held high, its terror forgotten the moment the child was pressed into its mother’s arms.

Fighting back against this inherited fear, Rhaenyra leaned in as much as her pregnant belly would permit, placing her hand over Rhaena’s. “This child is simply proving to be as obstinate as its father. I won’t meet my end this way, I promise you.”

Rhaena returned the gesture with a smile, laying her hand atop Rhaenyra’s in a moment of shared understanding. “Good, because I don’t know what will become of us if you did not survive–what would become of him…”

Rhaenyra exhaled softly, her hand rising to gently caress Rhaena’s cheek in a tender, motherly touch. “He would have you and the children.”

“I’m not sure that is enough,” Rhaena responded, a note of fear in her voice that carried until it settled on Rhaenyra’s heart. The girl worried for a future that was not set–but worried she remained.

“It must be,” Rhaenyra affirmed warmly. “Your father cherishes you. He loves you immensely, despite his struggles with expressing it. You and your sister are his first children, and what remains to him of Laena.”

“It’s been only six years,” she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow, “yet, her voice seems to have faded from my memory. Her image, however, remains vivid in my mind.”

Losing a mother was a profound grief that left a void that never fully heals. Rhaenyra knew this all too well, the absence of her own mother acutely felt in moments such as these. Determined, she had vowed to spare her children from enduring the agony of such a loss–if she were to die, it would not be in childbed.

“Her memory remains with us, in our hearts,” Rhaenyra spoke gently, offering Rhaena’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “The sound of her voice may fade, and the image may grow dim with the passage of time, but her spirit persists within you. She flows in your veins, and her likeness is mirrored in your own. When you seek her, simply gaze upon your reflection.”

Rhaena mentioned, somewhat wistfully, “They often say Baela most resembles our mother…”

“Baela embodies both her mother’s and father’s ferocity and determination,” Rhaenyra acknowledged with a smile on her lips, “displaying her strengths unabashedly. She is much like Daemon in many ways… Yet, your strength lies in its quiet resilience. You inherit your mother’s compassion and generousness. You have her eyes, sweet, kind, and clever. Baela resembles her father, but you, you are your mother’s daughter.”

Rhaena’s face brightened with a smile, a flush of warmth coloring her cheeks as she seemed to hold Rhaenyra’s words close to her heart.

Rhaenyra held Laena in dear memory, considering her not just a sister-in-law but a true sister of the heart. Their bond had deepened during the year Laena spent in King’s Landing following Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor.

“Will you tell me about her?” Rhaena implored, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“Of course,” Rhaenyra answered, adjusting her position on the bed as she contented with the growing discomfort and the restlessness brought on by the constant ache.

Rhaena rose to her feet, moving gracefully towards the flagon of water, pausing to ask, “Water?”

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra answered, rubbing her stomach. “You’ve been told of how she became the rider of Vhagar, haven’t you?”

“I have. Many times,” Rhaena confirmed, pouring water into a cup with careful attention.

“Did you know she flew while carrying you?” Rhaenyra revealed, pausing as a sharp pang of pain momentarily overwhelmed her. She clenched her jaw tightly and drew in a deep, steadying breath as she worked through the wave of pain. Once it ebbed, she noticed the midwives casting concerned glances her way, their brows knitted in worry. With a brief, reassuring shake of the head, she signaled to them that she was managing, then shifted her attention back to Rhaena. “The maesters were beside themselves, worrying about the risks of flying in her condition. Your mother was bold and adventurous, she would not be constrained to stay on the ground.”

With a gentle smile, Rhaena placed the flagon back on the table and brought the cup to Rhaenyra, then resumed her seat. The story of her mother’s indomitable spirit, her passion for flying that defied all cautions, seemed to fill Rhaena with a sense of pride and wonder, a connection to the mother she missed.

“Once she became the rider of Vhagar, your mother was inseparable from the skies,” Rhaenyra reminisced, the water offering a brief respite as its coolness cascaded down her throat. “Corlys was half-convinced she might forsake the earth altogether, especially since she showed scant interest in the company of suitors.”

Rhaena took the cup from Rhaenyra, setting it aside, then refreshed the cloth previously used by Daemon, dabbing gently at Rhaenyra’s sweat-dampen skin to offer some relief.

“Your mother was betrothed to the son of a Braavosi Sealord before she married your father,” Rhaenyra said, sparking immediate curiosity in Rhaena. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly shook her head in response. Setting this, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile in amusement. “The thought of him barely interested your mother. She hadn’t even met him and chose to distance herself during his visit to Driftmark. Lord Corlys was not pleased when she chose to fly away to King’s Landing to ‘visit her brother and sister-in-law,’ she said.’”

Rhaena set the cloth on the rim of the basin after using it, then discreetly dried her hands on the fabric of her robe. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra, unfettered by the brief pause, resumed her story, “Your mother was never one to mince words, boldly voicing her opinions. And yet, she had a subtlety about it. I remember her making quite the impression on Jason Lannister by speaking her mind when he put forth his brother’s hand in marriage, despite being twice her age. It was rather amusing, actually.”

Rhaena, absorbed in the story, drew her foot up to the chair, wrapping her arms around her knee and resting her chin on it.

“Laena was charming, intelligent, and spirited, and she had a way about her that was subtle and alluring,” Rhaenyra continued. “And, of course, she was beautiful, but I think it was her charm that captured Daemon’s attention.”

Rhaenyra found a slightly more comfortable position, her hands gently caressing the curve of her belly, lost in thought for a moment. It all seemed like another lifetime ago, and she remembered the initial pang of jealousy that had clouded her heart. It hadn’t been easy being married to a man who would never desire her, who could offer nothing more than a friendship–they had tried for a long time to have a child of their own, to make things work for the both of them, but they never were able to do it. Both of their hearts belonged to another.

Laena had been nothing but understanding and compassionate–a true friend and sister in spirit. It had been Laena who approached her, seeking her blessing to pursue a relationship with Daemon. And despite the heartache it brought, Rhaenyra had consented, wishing them the joy and companionship her own marriage lacked.

“And when he visited Driftmark to see her it certainly didn’t sit well with the Sealord’s son.”

“I can’t imagine that it ended well for him,” Rhaena interjected, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Indeed, it didn’t,” Rhaenyra concurred with a nod. “The Sealord’s son challenged Daemon to a duel, betting Laena’s hand on the outcome. And Daemon, ever the warrior, didn’t just accept; he turned it into a spectacle. The Sealord’s son was utterly outmatched. And with Dark Sister in hand, Daemon was decisive. The duel was short-lived.”

Rhaena, chuckling, said, “It almost sounds like a tale you’d tell children at bedtime.”

“Am I not telling it to you, now, at bedtime?” Rhaenyra responded with a soft laugh. “After the death of the Sealord’s son, they married and flew to Braavos. Laena made sure to keep me informed on your adventures there. I believe I’ve kept all of her letters, if you’d be interested in reading them?”

Rhaena’s smile widened in anticipation, “Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you.”

As the conversation drew to a close, one of the attending midwives stood, her movements gentle yet deliberate. She placed a hand on Rhaena’s shoulder, her voice low and soothing, “It might be best for the princess to rest now, and for you to do the same.”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze towards Rhaenyra, hesitantly getting up. In responde, Rhaenyra extended her hand, clasping Rhaena’s with a reassuring grip, her eyes soft yet imbued with strength, acknowledging the unspoken concern flitting across the girl's expression. With a grateful smile and a nod of understanding, Rhaena made her way to the door, clutching the book she had brought and never had the chance to read.

“Try to rest, Princess,” the midwife advised warmly, watching over Rhaenyra with a protective eye.

“I can’t,” Rhaenyra protested, her hand instinctively moving to soothe the mounting discomfort in her stomach. With each surge of pain, her breath hitched, the sensation of mounting pressure within becoming almost unbearable. “I–I need to stand.”

Sheran pulled back the blankets, assisting Rhaenyra as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and bent down to assess her condition. “The dilation isn’t complete yet. You mustn't push.”

“Help me up, I need to move,” Rhaenyra reiterated, unable to remain still any longer. The pain, emanating from her spine and radiating down her legs, left her muscles screaming with each new wave of contractions. With Sheran and Lady Elinda’s assistance, she found herself on her feet, her movements laborious and weighted, as if walking through deep water. Lady Elinda steadied Rhaenyra, the cool stone floor a slight relief against her bare feet. A comforting hand traced circles on her back, pausing with each contraction to allow her a moment to focus on her breathing before they continued their pacing.

As the hours slipped by, the darkness outside gave way to the first hints of dawn, painting the sky a deep shade of indigo. The frequency and intensity of contractions grew, bringing waves of nausea and an intense heat that seemed to emulate from within her very skin.

Sometime before sunrise, the panels to the balcony were removed, allowing the first light of day to fill the room alongside a refreshing breeze carrying the scent of the sea.

As the sun rose above the horizon, Rhaenyra’s gaze locked onto the merging light even as waves of unbearable pain engulfed her. Her voice had grown raw from screaming, each breath a battle against the agony that seemed unending. With each passing hour, a heavy cloak of dread and despair settled around her as the child refused to come, her heart racing in a futile attempt to escape its clutches. The sensation was akin to bearing an unyielding stone, its jagged edges mercilessly cutting within her as her body strained to expel it. Sweat coated her skin, mingling indistinguishably with her tears.

She watched, almost detached, as the sky turned a deep red, mirroring her own ordeal, as if the heavens themselves bled in empathy with her suffering–or, forebodingly warned her of what was to come.

Amidst the excruciating pain, a gnawing fear took hold–a fear that something was profoundly wrong.

The world was not as she knew it. It felt strange and wrong, it was not the world she had inhabited just a day before. It was a world where her father no longer lived, where her rightful crown had been usurped, and where her daughter had been made a hostage by someone she had once considered a friend–someone who had promised of a new start.

Now, she stood alone in this unfamiliar and desolate world, enveloped by sorrow and engulfed by fear.

“Please, please, please,” Rhaenyra whispered, beseeching the child, her hand caressing her swollen stomach. “Please come out.”

“Keep your head about you, Princess. Come now,” Sheran encouraged softly, extending her hand to guide Rhaenyra back to the bed. A hand lightly touched the small of Rhaenyra’s back, but even this gentle gesture was unbearable. Instinctively, she recoiled, distancing herself from the source of the discomfort. Every gesture of support, from wiping her brow drenched in sweat to the quiet words meant to soothe, to the gentle kneading of her tense muscles, invaded her space, each one more suffocating than the last. Their well-meaning actions converged into an overwhelming tumult, exacerbating her feeling of being trapped in the pain of her own body.

“We’ve done this six times before,” Lady Elinda tried to reassure her, placing a supportive hand on Rhaenyra’s back in an attempt to anchor her. “Keep your spirit, and the seventh shall be no different.”

Yet, the comfort Elinda sought to offer couldn’t cut through the thick haze of torment enveloping Rhaenyra. This pain was strange, a harbinger that something was wrong, far removed from any childbirth experience she’d had before, and each crippling contraction, her environment blurred into obscurity, panic sinking its claw deeper.

“Get off, get off, get off, get off!” She cried out, a desperate plea for relief from the touches that now felt like restraints.

In a state of desperation, Rhaenrya broke free from the attempts to steady her, stumbling toward the stone column near the balcony for support. With each overwhelming wave of pain, her grasp tightened on the cold stone, her nails scraping and straining against the hard surface. It seemed to her as if the child within was staging a revolt, refusing to make its way into the world.

When another spasm of excruciating pain overtook her, she bent forward, pressing her fevered forehead to the cool surface of the stone, “Ow, ow, ow…”

The slow passing of time became a torment in itself. More than a day had elapsed in this state of agony, and still, there was no end in sight. Her fear grew, turning into a suffocating force with the progression of the sun as it emerged fully from the horizon. As tears clouded her vision, Rhaenyra’s hand tenderly swept up and down the side of her stomach, feeling each contraction tighten around her heart as fiercely as it did her body.

“Please,” she uttered through clenched teeth, her voice a fractured plea. “Please, little one… get out…”

The brief lapse between contractions offered scant relief. Grasping for some control amidst the turmoil, Rhaenyra addressed those attending her, desperation coloring her tone. “Where is Daemon?”

Lady Elinda paused, her fingers nervously entrining as she replied, “He’s holding council, Princess.”

Rhaenyra shook her head in dismay, the added sting of isolation exacerbating her ordeal. She yearned for Daemon’s presence, for the reassurance of his hand in hers, for his support. She needed him here, by her side, not holding council without her. She needed him.

As another contraction tore through her with the ferocity of storm-driven waves battering the cliffs beneath the balcony, Rhaenyra couldn’t hold back her cry of agony. “Daemon!”

Struggling to find a semblance of control amid the chaos of pain, Rhaenyra brushed her damp hair away from her sweaty foreheads, the silver strands clinging to her skin. The burdens of her new world pressed heavily upon her, each fear intensifying the physical torment she endured.

Restlessly, pacing the cool stone floor, unable to find a moment's peace, her body and spirit were both nearing their limits. The thoughts of her father, the usurpation, and the captivity of her daughter weighed her down, a burden almost too great to carry as she paced the floor.

Between labored breaths, she issued a plea,” Fetch me my sons,” just as another contraction mercilessly constricted around her. The child within seemed to writhe, its movements sharp and demanding, as if in defiance of the calm she so desperately sought. The room spun as she made her way to the chamberpot, succumbing to the urge to vomit, though now only bile escaped her, leaving a sour residue that clung to her taste.

The absence of Daenera weighed heavily on Rhaenyra, her soul aching for the solace that her daughter’s presence had always provided. Throughout the births of her children, from Lucerys to Viserys, Daenera had been a constant, comforting shadow at her side. Even when she was but a babe, nestled securely in Joyce’s arms during Lucerys’ birth, Daenera exhibited an innate curiosity. As a mere infant, she reacted to her brother’s arrival not with confusion or distress, but with excited clapping, her eyes alight with wonder. Her mere presence had been a comfort.

And now, in the midst of this pain and fear, Rhaenyra believed that her daughter’s presence would have dulled the keen edge of her suffering, rendering the relentless agony a touch more tolerable.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra cried out, her voice laden with pain and desperation. Yet, despite her plea, he did not appear.

Deep down, she understood his absence. The fear that lingered in his eyes when she had crumpled to the floor, her hands wrapped around her stomach and groans of pain escaping her lips, vividly conveyed his deep-seated dread. It was a fear of witnessing her death, the paralyzing thought of once again being placed in a position to make the harrowing choice no one should ever have to face… and yet, she cursed him for his absence.

A scream tore from Rhaenyra’s throat, a sound so raw and powerful it seemed to fill the chamber, a testament to the excruciating agony that tore through her. The pain was visceral, as though the child within was clawing at her womb trying to tear its way out.

“Mother?” Jace’s voice, laden with worry, cut through the thick fog of pain that wrapped around Rhaenyra.

As another unbearable contraction seized her, she couldn’t suppress a curse, her teeth clenched against the agony. Struggling for air, she endeavored to regain some semblance of control, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Slowly, she turned her attention towards her sons.

The fear in Luke’s eyes struck her immediately–wide, shimmering with a tumult of feelings that tugged sharply at her heart. He fidgeted, his unease evident, until Maester Geradys took him under his arm, offering some semblance of solace to the young boy. Jace, on the other hand, stood as a pillar of strength, yet the battle against his own apprehension was clear. His jaw clenched firmly as he made a brave effort to stay composed in the face of his mother’s suffering.

Summoning her dwindling reserves of strength, Rhaenyra fought to regain her composure. Her hands, though quivering, traced soothing patterns up and down her stomach, a meager attempt to comfort the unborn child within. She forced her voice into a semblance of calm. “Your grandfather, Viserys, is no longer with us, and as you’ve likely heard, the Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne.”

As Rhaenyra attempted to move towards her sons, a surge of pain halted her in her tracks, her hand finding quick support on the back of a nearby settee. Jace instinctively stepped forward, ready to offer his support, but she stopped him with a gesture, choosing to face the pain in solitude.

Feeling isolated and uninformed, Rhaenyra admitted with difficulty, “I’m left in the dark. I’m oblivious to the actions being taken beyond these walls.”

“Daemon has dispatched several ravens seeking aid from our closest allies,” Jace informed her, attempting to bridge the gap in her knowledge. “Lord Bartimos Celtigar has already arrived with his retinue. Lords Staunton and Emmon are expected to arrive by noon, and by evening, we anticipate Lords Massey and Darklyn.”

Catching her son’s gaze, Rhaenyra said, “I’ve been informed Daemon is holding council.”

“He is.”

Rhaenyra then voiced her deeper concern, the pain momentarily spiking as she did so. “Daemon is plotting his war, I’m sure… The grief of losing his brother coupled with the theft of the throne might have… mmm… driven him to the brink of madness. I am left here to wonder, and I fear what decisions are being made in my absence.”

Jace’s features set into an expression of unwavering resolve, his entire demeanor radiating determination. “Leave Daemon with me.”

With a swift pivot, Jace quickened his stride, tackling the staircase towards the door in brisk, determined leaps, taking the steps two at a time.

“Jace.” Rhaenyra raised her voice, calling out for her son. When he did not stop, she called again, her tone imbued with a greater urgency and authority. “Jacaerys!”

He stopped, turning to lock eyes with her, the urgency and concern in her gaze seeming enough to draw him back towards her. Approaching, he allowed her to draw close once more, her hand rising to caress his face, her fingertips lightly tracing his cheek.

“Whatever claim now remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command,” Rhaenyra said, assuring that he understood.

Jace acknowledged her words with a solemn nod, sealing his vow with a gentle kiss to her forehead. Then, as swiftly as he had come to her side, he departed, leaving behind a silence that seemed even more laden with tension and unease.

“Mother,” Luke began, his voice wavering with a mix of hesitance and uncertainty. He fidgeted uneasily, clutching something soft within his hands. “I thought maybe this could offer you some solace.”

He closed the distance between them, gently offering the blanket to her. His thumb brushed over the fabric, drawing attention to the elaborate embroidery that adorned it, each threat a testament to the love woven into its creation.

Rhaenyra bit back a cry of pain as she accepted the blanket, her fingertips grazing over the delicate, slightly irregular stitches of the pincushion flower pattern. Every thread seemed to whisper of the presence she so longed for, stirring a complex whirl of comfort and grief within her. Tears clouded her vision as she drew her son close, her hand trembling as she touched his face, the blanket clutched against her chest.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Rhaenyra managed to utter, her voice thick with stirred emotions. “Thank you.”

“This way, she’s with you now,” Luke said softly, allowing Rhaenyra to press her forehead against his.

After planting a tender kiss on his cheek, Rhaenyra bid her son leave, holding her breath to stifle the groans of pain until he had departed, the onslaught of labor tearing at her resolve.

The sun arched across the sky, marking the passage of time with its ascent and subsequent decline, turning hours into seemingly endless years. Rhaenyra began to question if the agony would ever cease.

As exhaustion took its toll, despair started to weave its way into Rhaenyra’s heart. Her perception of the world shrank to the encompassing pain that seized her and the labored breathing that accompanied her efforts to deliver the child, and slowly, she began to grow resentful of the child – resentful for the way it was making its way into the world and the agony it was causing her.

“Get out!” Rhaenyra’s plea erupted from deep within, a primal and guttural demand torn from her amidst the waves of unbearable pain, her voice raw as she gritted her teeth against the torment.

And in her anguish, she came to view the child not as a blessing but as a tormentor, more beastly in its resistance to enter the world than human. It felt as though it was actively fighting its birth, its unseen claws tearing at her from within, adding an almost personal malice to her pain. What kind of child would cause such agony?

Weariness enveloped her in the short span between contractions, her limbs shaky and uncertain, barely supporting her weight as she made her way back to the bed. Lady Elinda was quick to offer support, wrapping Rhaenyra’s arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards the bed.

“No, no, no,” Rhaenyra protested, resisting Elinda’s attempt to guide her onto the bed. “Just get off, get off, get off! O-ow… Get off!”

An intense fear seized Rhaenyra, propelling her away from the bed – a belief that if she were to give birth while lying in the bed, she would not survive the ordeal. This conviction drove her to distance herself from it, as though the very act of avoiding the bed could somehow spare her life. Clutching the bedpost for support, Rhaenyra pushed Elinda away from her, standing on her own, despite the overwhelming pain that gripped her. She curled over, groaning deeply, as she fought to maintain her balance and withstand the unbearable pain wracking her body.

The chamber, heavy with the scent of herbs and oils, carried an undercurrent of something sharper, the metallic taste of fear. The midwives murmured among themselves, casting worried glances towards Rhaenyra, their hands gentle and tentative, offering a damp cloth to her forehead in an attempt to provide some relief.

Rhaenyra staggered towards the settee, her legs betraying her, folding under the weight of her pain, and she collapsed to the floor. Grasping the edge of the settee, her fingers turned white with the force of her grip as her nails dug into the fabric of her dress, into the wood of the settee, into her own flesh, whatever she could get a hold of. Her cries, raw and desperate, reverberated through the room. Her silver hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, as her vision blurred.

“Princess!” Elinda’s voice attempted to cut through the dense fog of agony enveloping Rhaenyra. She reached out, seemingly hoping to provide a steady comfort, but Rhaenyra recoiled.

With every ounce of strength she could muster, Rhaenyra bore down, her groan resonating through the chamber, a primal sound of effort and desperation. Get out, get out, get out, get out, reverberated incessantly in her mind, a silent plea to the child that seemed to resist every effort to be born. The internal pressure mounted to an unbreakable intensity, compelling her to exert herself further, pushing beyond the limits of her endurance. All she wanted was for this to be over.

Each attempt to expel the child tore at her very being, a physical and emotional ordeal that left her raw. Tears mingled with the sweat on her face, her body shaking with effort. Then, with a gasping breath that punctuated her exertion, a sudden drip of fluid fell on the stone, a prelude to the rush of fluid that had yet to come.

“GET OUT!” Her scream tore through her, her voice wavering as she drew in a breath.

“Princess, please!” Sheran’s plea was laden with a desperate urgency, her hands suspended in mid-air, betraying her desire to comfort her. “You should not do this alone.”

“Please, Princess,” Elinda joined in, her voice thick with emotions, tears welling up in her eyes as she witnessed the relentless struggle of the woman before her. “Let us help you!”

Another scream tore through the air, a primal sound born of pain and despair as she summed what strength she could to expel the child from her womb. The agony was indescribable, a sensation akin to being torn in half. Suddenly, there was a sensation of something giving way inside of her, and an onslaught of fluid erupted, spilling to the floor to form a pool around her knees.

In a moment of instinctual desperation, she reached down, her fingers grazing the emerging crown of the child’s head, slick and startingly real against her touch.

Her surroundings seemed to blur into an indistinct haze as she endured the torturous labor, reality distorting under the weight of her suffering. It felt as though her own body was resisting, or perhaps it was the child within that was still resisting its passage into the world. Every effort to push, to bring the ordeal to an end, seemed to only amplify her agony, as if each contraction frayed and tore at her insides, leaving her with a sense of irrevocable damage.

In the silence that enveloped her strained efforts, her mind whispered fervent prayers, casting her hopes and fears into the void in search of divine intervention, a plea for strength, for safety, for the cry of new life to break the suffocating grip of pain.

Please, she begged internally, let me survive this. Let me be there for my boys. Let me hold my daughter once more, feel her warmth, hear her laughter. Please, don’t let this be my end.

Rhaenyra persisted in her efforts, the intensity of her screams an echo of the agony she was suffering. As she concentrated on the overwhelming sensation of pressure, she clenched her eyes tightly shut, releasing a deep, guttural groan from somewhere within. Summoning every reserve of strength she had left, she pushed with a final, desperate force, and in that moment, she felt the child slip out of her, leaving behind an abrupt emptiness, a void where sharp pangs of pain had once dominated.

The torment gave way to an aching weariness as the pressure that had built up within her finally lifted. She welcomed this relief, her eyelids drooping in exhaustion as she reveled in the respite from the relentless pain.

The silence that seemed to stretch was deafening, forcing Rhaenyra’s eyes to flutter open, her gaze instinctively seeking out the source of her torment and hope. And as her eyes settled on the child, a profound sadness washed over her, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.

The newborn was motionless, cradled in a pool of blood and amniotic fluid, its stillness punctuated by the profound silence that hung tenuously in the air. The infant’s appearance was marred by harrowing deformities–limbs twisted in impossible angles, its skin a patchwork of translucence and reptilian scales. From the crown of its head sprouted what seemed chillingly akin to horns, lending a grotesque dragon-like quality to its otherwise human features. The spine, strikingly prominent along its back, tapered into what appeared to be a tail that seemed oddly delicate in the way it curled in on itself.

Amidst the eerie silence, Rhaenyra’s breath shook, her heart thundering in her chest as she lowered herself to the cold, blood-streaked floor. The stains of birth did not deter her as she reached for the child, her movements cautious as she gently unwrapped the umbilical cord from around its neck. With a tenderness born of a mother’s love, she wrapped the baby in the blanket crafted by Daenera for Luke, as if to protect the child from the cruel judgment of the world. Her fingers, trembling with a mix of anguish and love, tenderly explored the child’s deformed cranium, tracing each unnatural ridge and curve with a heartbreaking gentleness.

A wave of weariness washed over her, every breath drawn feeling like an anchor dragging her further into the depths of despair. Holding the silent infant tightly against her chest, she instinctively began to rock back and forth, a low, sorrowful hum emerging from her throat.

#a vow of blood #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 1 year ago

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Queer Books November 2023

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ The Pirate and the Porcelain Girl by Emily Riesbeck 🧡 Heading North by Holly M. Wendt 💛 The Wisdom of Bug by Alyson Root 💚 Trick Shot by Kayla Grosse 💙 A Holly Jolly Christmas by Emily Wright 💜 Outdrawn by Deanna Grey ❤️ Yours Celestially by Al Hess 🧡 The Christmas Memory by Barbara Winkes 💛 Violet Moon by Mel E. Lemon 💙 The Santa Pageant by Lillian Barry 💜 Only for the Holidays by Shannon O’Connor 🌈 Homestead for the Holidays by Wren Taylor

❤️ You Can Count on Me by Fae Quin 🧡 No One Left But You by Tash McAdam 💛 The Worst Thing of All is the Light by José Luis Serrano, Lawrence Schimel 💚 Today Tonight Forever by Madeline Kay Sneed 💙 Wren Martin Ruins It All by Amanda DeWitt 💜 Emmett by L. C. Rosen ❤️ Finding My Elf by David Valdes 🧡 Tonight, I Burn by Katharine J. Adams 💛 Gorgeous Gruesome Faces by Linda Cheng 💙 Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree 💜 A Power Unbound by Freya Marske 🌈 We Are the Crisis by Cadwell Turnbull

❤️ The Manor House Governess by C.A. Castle 🧡 You Owe Me One, Universe by Chad Lucas 💛 Last Night at the Hollywood Canteen by Sarah James 💚 Skip!: A Graphic Novel by Rebecca Burgess 💙 Something About Her by Clementine Taylor 💜 Touching the Art by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore ❤️ A Nearby Country Called Love by Salar Abdoh 🧡 Normporn: Queer Viewers and the TV That Soothes Us by Karen Tongson 💛 Sir Callie and the Dragon’s Roost by Esme Symes-Smith 💙 The Order of the Banshee by Robyn Singer 💜 Once Upon My Dads’ Divorce by Seamus Kirst, Noémie Gionet Landry 🌈 Forsooth by Jimmy Matejek-Morris

❤️ A Common Bond by T.M. Kuta 🧡 Risk the Fall by Riley Hart 💛 Just a Little Snack by Yah-Yah Scholfield 💚 Home for the Holidays by Erin Zak 💙 NeurodiVeRse by MJ James 💜 Dark Heir (Dark Rise #2) by C.S. Pacat ❤️ sub/Dom by Rab Green 🧡 Bitten by the Bond by Elaine White 💛 Heir to Frost and Storm by Ben Alderson 💙 The Sea of Stars by Gwenhyver 💜 Bad Beat by L.M. Bennett 🌈 Idol Moves by K.T. Salvo

❤️ Plot Twist by Erin La Rosa 🧡 In the Pines by Mariah Stillbrook 💛 The Crimson Fortress (The Ivory Key #2) by Akshaya Raman 💚 Only She Came Back by Margot Harrison 💙 Megumi & Tsugumi, Vol. 4 by Mitsuru Si 💜 Pritty by Keith F. Miller Jr. ❤️ Just Lizzie by Karen Wilfrid 🧡 An Atlas to Forever by Krystina Rivers 💛 Come Find Me in the Midnight Sun by Bailey Bridgewater 💙 Bait and Witch by Clifford Mae Henderson 💜 Shadow Baron by Davinia Evans 🌈 Day by Michael Cunningham

❤️ Livingston Girls by Briana Morgan 🧡 Delay of the Game by Ari Baran 💛 The Nanny with the Nice List by K. Sterling 💚 A Talent Ignited by Suzanne Lenoir 💙 A Kiss of the Siren’s Song by E.A.M. Trofimenkoff 💜 Rivals for Love by Ali Vali ❤️ Whiskey & Wine by Kelly Fireside, Tana Fireside 🧡 Buried Secrets by Sheri Lewis Wohl 💛 Ride with Me by Jenna Jarvis 💙 Living for You by Jenny Frame 💜 Death on the Water by CJ Birch 🌈 Merciless Waters by Rae Knowles

❤️ Vicarious by Chloe Spencer 🧡 Sapling’s Depths by Spencer Rose 💛 That French Summer by Sienna Waters 💚 System Overload by Saxon James 💙 King of Death by Lily Mayne 💜 Warts and All by Ashley Bennett ❤️ Principle Decisions by Thea Belmont 🧡 The Best Mistake by Emily O’Beirne 💛 Sugar and Ice by Eule Grey 💙 Until The Blood Runs Dry by MC Johnson 💜 Splinter : A Diverse Sleepy Hollow Retelling by Jasper Hyde 🌈 The Mischievous Letters of the Marquise de Q by Felicia Davin

❤️ The Queer Girl is Going to be Okay by Dale Walls 🧡 Til Death Do Us Bard by Rose Black 💛 Leverage by E.J. Noyes 💚 Alice Sadie Celine by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright 💙 Godly Heathens by H.E. Edgmon 💜 Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher ❤️ To Kill a Shadow by Katherine Quinn 🧡 Warrior of the Wind by Suyi Davies Okungbowa 💛 For Never & Always by Helena Greer 💙 A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch by Sally Hawley 💜 Heaven Official’s Blessing: Tian Guan Ci Fu Vol. 8 by Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù 🌈 A Carol for Karol by Ann Roberts

#book release #queer fiction #queer romance #queer books #queer #books #books to read #queer book recs #book recs #batty about books #battyaboutbooks

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aster-tiger · 1 year ago

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The Raging Witch

Zoro x OFC, Luffy x OFC, Law x OFC, Zoro x Luffy, Law x Zoro

Warnings: swearing, pr0n with plot, shameless smut, bisexuality, consensual k!nk, 3some, b0ndage, emotional slow burn, developing relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, bonding, mating (not abo), post Punk Hazard, post Dressrosa, changing pov (no head hopping), mm relationship, mmf relationship, english is not my first language, no beta we die like men

Chapter 26: Kidnapping

You can find the whole story on AO3

A silver board appeared in the sky, heading straight for the Sunny. Zoro held his breath until the board landed on the main deck. Luffy stepped off with unconscious Rage in his arms, and Zoro's heart leapt at the sight.

Rage's face was smeared with blood, which slowly dripped from her split brow. But she was here, on their ship!

"Chopper, take care of her," Luffy ordered with a grin.

The reindeer hurried over, swiftly changing forms to carry Rage to the infirmary.

"Luffy, what did you do?" Robin asked, her gaze switching between the captain and Reid.

"I kidnapped Rage, shishishishi" Luffy announced, placing his hands on his hips.

"Why is she here?" Usopp pointed at Reid.

"He challenged Rage for the captain's title, and she lost. We're under his command now," the silver-haired woman answered with a frown. She slipped a backpack off her shoulder, tossing it onto the deck right by Zoro's feet. "Here are some of her things. Take care of her."

"What? Did you know Luffy was going to do this?" Usopp pointed an accusing finger first at Reid, then at Zoro.

"No," Reid answered. "But Mira was hoping that one of the mates would take Rage away, so she packed her stuff."

It stung like a slap. Luffy wasn't even a mate, yet he did more to keep Rage by his side than Zoro.

"So you took over a crew of sociopathic bounty hunters, and you're just leaving them in Wano?" Nami got into Luffy's face, stabbing her fingers into his chest.

"I put the lady with the cool spear in charge!" Luffy explained with a proud smile.

"I'm going back," Reid stated, pointing her thumb towards the island. "Good luck. She's going to be pissed when she wakes up."

"Wait," Robin stopped her. "What were your crew's plans after we left?"

Reid's head snapped towards Robin and the women stared at each other, a tense silence hanging in the air.

Finally, Reid sighed in frustration. "We were going to use Pluton to destroy Mariejoa."

Everyone erupted in outrage, shocked by the revelation.

"But to get to Pluton you'd have to take down Wano's borders," Robin pointed out.

"We've already set up explosives. Kaido had enough bombs to level the island," Reid shrugged.

"How would you even navigate Pluton? It's an ancient ship!" Franky was furious. He was the one who destroyed Pluton's blueprints, ensuring the replica of the ship was never built.

Reid frowned, clearly unhappy with the questions. "We have many talents."

"Momonosuke does not want to open Wano's borders yet!" Nami protested.

Reid stared at her with a flat look. As if the Witches would ever be concerned with the wishes of some overgrown kid.

"There are thousands of slaves in Mariejoa," Robin's voice was calm, but Zoro knew she was shaken by the plan as much as everyone else. "They all will be killed if you use Pluton's full firepower."

"I'm sure they're already wishing for death," Reid stated, her voice hard as steel. "The world would be rid of the Celestial Dragons, the scourge that lasted for centuries. Sacrificing a few thousand lives is a small price to pay."

"Hey!" Luffy exclaimed, his gaze fixed on Reid. "I'm your captain now, and I won't allow you to go through with that plan!"

"Tch," Reid made an annoyed sound and crossed her arms. "Without Rage, we wouldn't be able to do it anyway."

"Why?" Robin inquired.

A door slammed somewhere on the upper deck, then another and another until all the doors were banging as if they had a mind of their own.

"What's going on?" Someone shouted as the ship began to sway, leaning precariously closer to the water with each wobble.

"She's doing this!" Usopp screamed, pointing at Reid.

She was effortlessly balancing on the wobbling deck, one of her fingers ticking from side to side in sync with the ship.

Zoro reached for his swords, unsure what the woman might do next. She obediently brought Rage to the ship, but it didn't mean the Witches didn't have any ulterior motives.

Reid stopped when all the crew's attention was on her. The banging ceased and the ship sailed smoothly again. The woman outstretched her hand, hovering her palm above her surfboard. The board floated in mid-air, gradually shrinking until it fit into her outstretched palm.

"I can control any mode of transportation," she revealed, dropping the board to the deck. It landed with a soft tap returning to its original size. "The plan was to retrieve Pluton, shrink it until we reach Mariejoa. Then bomb the rotten place until there's nothing left but a gaping hole in the Red Line."

"It would require an immense amount of stamina to use a devil fruit for such a long time," Robin commented, her posture visibly tense.

Reid nodded in agreement, maintaining a neutral expression. "Yes, that's why Rage's devil fruit is crucial for the plan. She could have replenished my strength until we reached the Red Line.”

"Rage can't use her powers that much," Zoro protested, tightening his grip on Wado. "It would shorten her life span or even worse."

"That's why you should be grateful to your captain for kidnapping her," Reid replied, her piercing gaze locking onto Zoro. "This mission would've been a one way ticket for all of us."

"You're all insane!" Nami seethed, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"That may be true," Reid replied. "But I think you don't understand us because you haven't suffered enough."

Nami recoiled as if she had been slapped.

"Stop that," Usopp protested, standing in front of Nami.

"You can return to your crew," Luffy's calm voice cut through the commotion as he stared at Reid with an unreadable expression.

"As you wish," Reid replied, stepping onto her surfboard. "Do you want me to pass any orders to the crew?"

"Stay put in Wano and don't cause any trouble."

A crooked smile crawled on Reid's lips. "Aye aye."

In a blink she was in the air, racing towards the island without glancing back.

Zoro released Wado and turned towards the crew. Everyone was silent and unmoving, until Nami threw Luffy a hurt look and walked off towards the girl's quarters.

"I'll make her favourite dessert to cheer her up," the cook took a last drag from his cigarette before putting it out and heading towards the kitchen. He paused beside Luffy. "I hope you have a plan on how to handle this situation. I'd hate to see Nami-san hurt."

Zoro was sure that Luffy had no plan beyond bringing Rage on board. Anger boiled inside him as he stomped towards his captain. He grabbed Luffy's arm and pulled him towards the men's quarters.

How could he not have realized that Rage was planing a suicide mission? He had let her go so easily, simply because he respected her wishes to achieve her goal. But she lied! Fuck her wishes, from now on, she was clearly not to be trusted. How could she have left him and Law behind, all the while claiming to love them?

He slammed the door so forcefully that it nearly came off its hinges.

Fuck her wishes! He was determined never to let her out of his sight again!

"Zoro," Luffy's confused voice cut through the furious haze clouding his mind. He spun towards his captain, pressed him against the wall, and smashed their lips together in a furious kiss.

Luffy let out a surprised gasp, but opened his mouth for Zoro and reciprocated the kiss with as much fervour. Their tongues tangled together as their teeth clashed and their panting breaths mingled.

Zoro jerked back, ending the kiss as abruptly as he started it. He locked eyes with Luffy, his breath coming in heavy pants. "You saved her," he whispered, then dropped to his knees.

He grabbed Luffy's shorts and yanked them down, leaning forward to suck Luffy's cock into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck," Luffy groaned in a strained voice as Zoro swallowed his cock to the base.

A pair of hands grabbed his hair, while Zoro sucked his captain's cock with everything he had, channelling all his anger and gratefulness into the act.

It took only a few minutes for Luffy to come with a strangled cry. Hot cum splashed on Zoro's tongue and he swallowed every last drop, lapping on Luffy's cock until his captain's grip loosened. He slid to the floor, facing Zoro. He panted heavily while watching the swordsman through hooded eyes.

"I almost lost her," Zoro uttered, something inside him crumbling. "You saved her."

Luffy's eyes widened, and he reached out, enveloping Zoro in a tight hug.

"It's ok," Luffy's voice sounded ragged. "Nobody's dying on my watch. Not anymore."

An explosion shook the ship.

They were both on their feet and out the door in a heartbeat.

"LUFFY!!!" Rage bellowed, fragments of the shattered door to the infirmary scattered by her feet. Her yellow eyes burned with fury as she scanned her surroundings. "Turn the ship back to Wano!" She barked at the crew.

"You're not going to Wano!" Luffy yelled at her. "I won! You and your crew are under my command."

She wasn't listening, fury burned in the bond, consuming any reason.

"Turn this ship around or I will sink it!" She threatened pumping haki into her fists

"Like hell you will," Zoro barked out, reaching for his bandana and stepping in front of Luffy. "Let me handle this," he said to his captain, tightening the bandana on his head and reaching for his swords.

"Do what you have to," Luffy replied as Zoro stepped towards Rage.

"Don't fuck with me Zoro," she growled through clenched teeth, falling into a fighting stance. "I'll do whatever it takes to get off this ship."

"You're not going anywhere," he replied, slipping Wado between his teeth.

The air cracked around him as a wave of raw power hit him through the bond. His body curled on itself under the pressure, he bit hard into Wado's handle, holding his ground.

STAND DOWN

The command came through the bond like a thunder, overwhelming all his senses. Conqueror's haki pushed into his mind, obliterating every thought in his head.

He felt his grip loosening on his swords, his body obeying the order.

He recoiled from the trance, his consciousness snapping back in place. He gripped his swords, focusing all his willpower into one strike. Enma sang in his grip, responding to the new kind of power that burst from Zoro.

He focused the energy on the bond and thrust it towards Rage.

How dare she use the bond to control him! He's nobody's slave!

She let out a stunned cry, and her hands fell to her sides, the armament dissipating.

"Zoro," she uttered in disbelief, her eyes going wide. "You have Conqueror's haki."

All the fight seemed to evaporate out of her at his display of power.

"You bitch!" Zoro shouted, pumping his anger into the bond. "You wanted to throw your life away!"

She recoiled at his words, shock written all over her face. "What?"

He yanked Wado from his mouth to shout at her. "Your fucking crew let you go! Reid brought you on board and told us everything," she took a step back, flinching from the force of his harsh words. "How could you, Rage?! We are bonded, and you choose to throw your life away!"

"I was-"

"Shut up!" he barked, fury swirling inside him, painting his vision red. "For how long have you planned this? How long have you lied to us?'

She gritted her teeth, keeping her mouth firmly shut.

"Answer me, Rage!"

"Since Usopp told me about Pluton, when we sailed for Wano!" She yelled back, balling her fists by her sides.

Zoro pinned Usopp with a glare and pointed the tip of Wado at the sniper. "You talk too much."

Usopp raised his hands in a placating manner and took a few steps back, his entire body shaking. "How would I know that she would take the ship to commit genocide!"

"Shut up," Zoro growled. Usopp yelped and jumped behind Jinbe.

Zoro pointed his swords at Rage. "You renounced your entire family, even killed your mother's mate to keep her away. You made enemies with the Red Hair pirates, convinced both me and Law to let you go, all with the sole purpose of throwing your life away. Too bad your crew abandoned you. You won't go back to Wano, and you won't be taking Pluton. Whether you like it or not, you're staying with us. I'll even put you in chains if that's what it takes to keep you here."

Rage squeezed her eyes tightly shut and her entire demeanour deflating under the weight of his words. Her will to fight crumbled.

"Robin, Franky," Luffy's calm voice carried over the deck. "Take her to my quarters and lock her up."

Zoro watched as his crewmates approached Rage. Robin placed a hand on his mate's back, gently guiding her towards the back of the ship. Rage obeyed, listlessly following Robin's guidance with head bowed in defeat.

Luffy stepped beside him, his hand resting on Zoro's shoulder with a firm squeeze.

"Good job," Luffy praised, catching Zoro's gaze. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," Zoro replied, sheeting his swords and removing his bandana. "Since when do you have your own room?”

A wide toothy smile spread across Luffy's face as he clapped Zoro on the shoulder. "Remember when we sailed with Romeo, and he gave me my own room? It was pretty nice to have a space when we didn't have to worry about anyone walking in on us. So, I asked Franky to make a separate room for me, you, and Rage."

"Well, fuck me," Zoro's brows shot up in disbelief. You actually had a plan to make her stay with us."

"Shishishishi," Luffy laughed contentedly. But then he leaned in, grabbing Zoro's shoulder, and their chests pressed together. Zoro's eye widened as he found himself pinned under Luffy's heated gaze.

"That was really hot what you did there," his captain's voice turned low and teasing. "I want you to fuck me with the same attitude you gave her."

Well, fuck. Zoro's lips stretched in a predatory smirk, while his cock shot up in reaction to his captain's words.

He pulled Luffy by the front of the shirt to the nearest empty room.

—-----------------

Rage paced the room. She had been imprisoned in many places in the past, some of them quite nasty, but as far as holding cells went, this was the nicest she had ever seen.

The room was spacious and bright, featuring a large window adorned with actual curtains and drapes. Curtains! Heavy fucking, dark green suede curtains! In Luffy's room! She growled in annoyance at the sight as she continued pacing

A large portion of the room was occupied by a bed. The thick mattress, big enough for five people, rested on a reinforced ornamental metal frame. The crisp white sheets were incredibly soft, and Rage was certain they must have cost a small fortune.

She turned away from the bed with a huff of annoyance and approached a heavy desk made of dark polished wood. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, with its shiny top completely smooth and devoid of even a single scratch. No wonder it looked unused, did Luffy even know how to write? The idiot surely had no need for a desk.

Pushing away from the desk, she resumed her pacing around the room. Her steps grew silent as she walked over a thick rug. She recognized the pattern immediately as her eyes fell upon it. She wasn't sure how the Straw Hats had come into possession of a Kashan rug, but she was certainly impressed.

She continued to pace, passing by a large upholstered armchair crafted from wood and fabulously soft velvet. Opposite the armchair stood a beautiful chaise lounge adorned with gilded decorative carvings.

Next to each piece of upholstered furniture were small, round side tables. The arrangement seemed perfect for spending relaxing time with a book or lounging with friends, carrying lazy conversations for hours.

She had to admit, the room came close to perfection. However, the fact that it belonged to Luffy was a significant flaw in her eyes.

Her pacing brought her around the armchair once more, and her gaze landed on the backpack resting on the plush velvet cushion.

Fucking Mira, it had to be her idea to compromise the plan. After all Mira went through, Rage thought she would be more than eager to obliterate the Celestial Dragons. But apparently the woman cared more about Rage than vengeance.

It never occurred to her that any of her girls would deem any personal sentiment more important than revenge. Hell, even she, with two bonded mates, had set everything aside to end slavery. And she never went through the things that Mira had endured before joining Team One.

She reached for the backpack and yanked it open. A piece of paper was wedged between tightly rolled clothes. She pulled it out and unfolded.

"If you have to choose between happiness and revenge, always choose happiness," the words were scribbled with Mira's slanted handwriting. Memories flooded her mind. Little child being slowly eaten alive by maggots crawling from their mother's decomposing body. Faeces being served on a silver platter. A woman's body being carved with a knife while she trashed against her bindings in agony.

A furious growl erupted from her throat as she crumbled the note in her hand.

What about their happiness? What about the people held captive, who can't save themselves?!

She flung the paper angrily, but it was too light and landed a short distance away with an unsatisfying rustle.

She crushed it underneath her foot and continued pacing.

No matter, Pluton remained in Wano with her crew. Even if the girls had let her go, they surely wouldn't allow anyone near the ship. Pluton was guarded, awaiting her return.

Luffy and Zoro sure as hell wouldn't let her go now that they knew of her plan. And she wasn't strong enough to fight them both. She touched the tips of her fingers to the bandage Chopper wrapped around her forehead.

She had yet to fully recover from the battle with the Beast Pirates. She wasn’t sure if she would ever regain her previous level of stamina after using the awakened technique of her Devil Fruit. Nevertheless, she was determined to utilise every ounce of her remaining strength to fuel the plan.

The fucking plan that was currently in shambles because of Luffy. No matter, all she needed was a backup plan, and a backup of the backup.

She figured Luffy had taken her on his ship because he wanted to bond with her eventually. The disillusioned fool. The bond between them had shattered once, only to return as they battled Kaido arm in arm. Luffy likely still believed it was possible for them to form a full bond, akin to what she had with Zoro. What he didn't know was that her hatred for him was infinitely stronger than the feeble connection they had.

She stood by the window, peering at the horizon. Mount Fuji's peak had already disappeared from sight as the strong wind carried the ship away from Wano.

All she needed to do was make Luffy and his crew's lives a living hell, so they'd be eager to leave her behind when they reached the next island.

A knock on the door echoed in the room. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. The smell of food wafted in as Sanji entered, carrying an overflowing tray.

"That's a first," she raised a brow, turning to the cook. "Out of all the cells I’ve been held in, this is the first time someone knocked on the door before entering."

Sanji crossed the room, and placed the tray on the desk.

"You are not a prisoner," Sanji explained, straightening up and shoving his hands in the pockets of his pristinely looking slacks. "Luffy said you have to stay in the room until we sail a bit further away from Wano. If the wind keeps up, you’ll be free to roam the ship in the morning."

Oh for crying out loud, this crew was so gullible. She strode towards the desk, stopping just a few steps away from the cook.

"I thought I'd get a ball and chain instead."

"We don't treat ladies in such a crude way," Sanji frowned, his words eliciting a low chuckle from her, which caused his frown to deepen. "I have a favour to ask of you."

"Oh?" She raised her brow in curiosity.

"Nami-san is still upset about the things you said to her in that club," Sanji's expression grew serious. She raked her brain to remember what she said to the navigator. "Nami had a hard life since she lost her mother. She said you remind her of all the bad stuff just by who you are and what you do."

Ah yes, she remembered the stuff she said about stealing from paedophiles. Frankly, Nami just chose a bad time to get on her nerves. Rage lashed out at her, but it wasn't anything personal. But since Sanji brought it up, the information could be useful.

"So Nami associates me with her trauma," she plucked a grape from the tray, and locked eyes with Sanji, giving him a small smile. "Don't worry. It won't take much to change that. I can make her associate me with something entirely more pleasant."

Holding Sanji's gaze, she slowly put the grape in her mouth. He stared at her in confusion until her lips curled into a seductive smile. His eyes grew wide, and a deep blush coloured his cheeks. No doubt, his perverted mind created an image of Rage and Nami together.

He was so easy to tease, this would be fun.

After Sanji left, she expected Zoro to show up and scold her. His side of the bond was simmering with anger, and she assumed he'd take it out on her. Besides the fact that she had lied to him, she had tried to control him through the bond. That was a major breach of trust. But frankly, she couldn't bring herself to care. Her own anger burned as hot as Zoro's.

When she woke up in the infirmary with a bruised face and a cracked sternum, she believed that Zoro knew about Luffy's plan to take her away. If he was going to meddle with her choices, she felt it was only fitting to give him a taste of his own medicine, but harder.

Apparently, Zoro hadn't been aware of his captain's intentions. But it didn't matter since he had sided with Luffy anyway, deciding to keep her on the ship. She hated when people interfered with her plans. She hated Luffy. She was going to end him, slowly, meticulously, taking everything from him, piece by piece.

Later in the evening, Robin came to take her to the bathroom. The older woman didn't try to talk to her, aside from a few pleasantries. She offered to take a hot bath together, and Rage agreed.

Sitting in the steaming bathtub, she watched Robin through hooded eyes. She had gathered enough information about the older woman. Robin was the last of Ohara, the World Government had killed her mother, she was hunted throughout her childhood, drifting between various crews and shady organisations until she joined Straw Hats. Luffy had declared war on the World Government to rescue her at Enies Lobby. The entire crew had fought tooth and nail to free her from the clutches of CP9. Robin possessed the unique ability to decipher the Poneglyphs, making her the key to guiding Luffy to Laugh Tale. Without her it would be infinitely harder for Luffy to find One Piece and become the Pirate King.

"How are you?" Robin's gentle tone disturbed her thoughts.

"Pissed," Rage replied without thinking.

Rabin gave a small nod and hummed in acknowledgement.

"Were you the one who designed Luffy's room?" she asked the woman as she sat up in the tub.

"I might have given a few suggestions," Robin replied with a small smile. "Franky did most of the work. Do you like the room?"

It sounded like a loaded question. Rage just shrugged. "It looks good. I'm not sure it fits Luffy though."

"He'll be happy to know you like it," Robin stated with a smile.

"Seems like everybody on this ship wants him to be happy," Rage remarked, keeping her expression neutral.

"Of course," Robin nodded again, smiling a bit wider. "We all love him."

Was that a warning, a peace offering or an invitation? She found it hard to see through Robin's facade. The woman had mastered hiding her true intentions to perfection.

That's why Rage liked her. She had a sharp mind and was able to see the world for what it was, unlike her crewmates.

She felt a kind of kinship with Robin, despite the fact that she was one of the Straw Hats.

She didn't expect to spend the night alone, but nobody came to her room. She managed to drift into a fitful sleep, comforted by the faint calmness from Law's side of the bond.

A knock startled her awake, and she bolted from the bed with a racing heart. Wide eyed, she scanned the room, searching for any sign of danger. Another knock on the door drew her attention. She sucked in a deep breath through the mouth, trying to catch the scent of the person on the other side. It brought up an image of a tall woman with dark hair and piercing eyes.

A deep sigh rose in her chest and she placed her palm over her racing heart. Memories of the previous day resurfaced and the panic subsided.

"Rage," a muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Breakfast is ready. Will you join us?"

She glanced at the window. It was bright outside, with the sun already halfway towards its peak. She rarely slept through sunrise!

"Ye-yeah," she stammered, taking another deep breath and holding it in for a moment. "I just need to get dressed."

"Okay," came a short reply.

She sagged into the armchair, burying her face into her palms.

Her pulse slowed, but the grip on her stomach didn't ease. She wasn't supposed to be here. The entire plan had gone to shit. She needed to fix it, get it back on track, and return to Wano.

An overwhelming sense of exhaustion washed over her, the panic attack draining her energy despite having just woken up.

Forcing herself to move, she reached into the backpack, pulling out a sleeveless, deep cut t-shirt, underwear and black pants. After dressing, she tightly laced her combat boots, finger combed her hair, and left the room.

On her way to the galley, she stopped at the restroom. After washing her face, she glanced into the mirror and frowned. Her usually warm brown skin now looked ashy. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were pale.

The fight with Luffy and the process of healing her cracked head and sternum drained too much energy. She knew she wouldn't be able to fight again until she fully recovered. She always felt better after Daria's treatments, and if she had received them consistently over the past few days, she would have been in significantly better shape. Due to the huge amount of pain she felt while using the devil fruit, Daria decided against draining people for faster recovery. Her body was too exhausted and the pain not only slowed down her healing but also led to other complications. They had decided that she would only drain people while they were sailing towards Mariejoa.

Now, thanks to Luffy, her health was fucked. Daria was in Wano, and there probably wouldn't be anyone for her to drain for a long while.

She let out a heavy sigh while applying moisturiser she found on a shelf by the mirror. Ugly, anaemic pallor covered not only her face but her entire skin. She noticed more grey hairs than the last time she looked, her clothes hung loosely on her, and she had lost weight again. Overall, she looked like shit.

Physically and emotionally, she also felt like shit. She braced herself before entering the galley. Zoro's side of the bond appeared calm and focused, but she was sure he was pissed at her for many reasons. She expected he'd give her the cold shoulder for a while; the swordsman could hold a grudge like nobody else. And this time, Law wasn't around to manipulate them into make-up sex.

As she entered the galley, a heavy silence descended, and all eyes turned in her direction.

For the first time in a long while she didn't know how to react. She wasn't exactly a prisoner, but her actions had caused friction. Nami hated her, she used Usopp to get intel, she knocked Chopper into a wall, she tried to control Zoro through their bond, she threatened to destroy the ship, and Luffy's presence only fueled her helpless anger.

The silence stretched, while she stood by the door. She dropped her gaze. She couldn't do it after all, she didn't want to be among these people.

"Sit down," Zoro's irritated voice cut through the silence, before she turned to leave.

"Do you want coffee, Rage-chan?" Sanji jumped to his feet with a wide smile,

"Yeah, she wants one," Zoro replied. "Black and disgustingly sweet. She likes it that way." He nodded at an empty spot beside him, then tugged on the bond. "Come here and sit."

He was sitting next to Luffy and opposite Usopp, wonderfull.

Reluctantly, she sank into the seat, too drained to resist. A cup of coffee appeared in front of her, accompanied by a bowl of sugar.

"Thanks," she uttered. Inhaling the divine aroma, she quickly added three lumps of sugar to the cup. The taste was sublime; Sanji's coffee was among the best she had ever had. As soon as her cup was empty, the cook was at her side with a refill.

"Help yourself to the food," the cook encouraged, nodding towards the spread of dishes.

"Thanks," she replied courtly, taking another sip. Luckily he didn't hover over her, instead, he danced away to refill Robin's cup. She didn't have much of an appetite; the sight of food made her feel nauseous.

"Eat something," Zoro gruffly ordered.

"I don't want to," she replied without looking at him. Why was he even bothering to talk to her?

"Rage," Chopper called in his high-pitched voice. "Can I check your injuries after breakfast?"

She shook her head. "They're already healed."

"Then let me do some tests," the small doctor insisted. "Just some basic blood work."

Again, she shook her head. "No need."

"But you don't look so good," Chopper persisted. "I just want to check what's wrong so I can help you."

She set her cup down. "There's no need for testing because I already know what's wrong."

"Then tell him," Zoro cut in, his tone firm.

"I don't feel comfortable discussing my medical history over breakfast," she retorted.

"You're not eating, so talk," he pushed a surge of power through the bond, urging her to obey him.

That made her look at him. "What was that?"

A slow, wolfish smile spread across his face. "What? Isn't forcing each other into obedience our thing now?"

She snorted. "We both have conqueror's haki, it cancels each other out."

"Whatever," he waved her off. "Tell Chopper what he needs to know."

She sighed. She didn't have the energy to stand her ground, so she looked into Chopper's hopeful eyes and listed the results of Daria's tests.

"Daria considered a bone marrow transplant for a while, but ten units of blood with boosters seemed to jumpstart healing. We stuck to daily IVs and four units of blood every second day."

Chopper stared at her without blinking. "I see now why Torao was so hostile towards your doctor." He turned to the cook. "Sanji, would you be willing to donate blood? You're the only one on the ship who has the exact same blood type as Rage. You're both universal donors."

"Of course," the cook replied without a moment of hesitation.

"Can you make her a protein shake with electrolytes and fifty grams of glucose?"

"Yeah," Sanji turned to the kitchen, taking out several containers from the cabinets and measuring ingredients into a shaker.

She felt dejected as she watched his every move. She really didn't want to drink a stinky protein shake; the artificial taste didn't agree with her at all.

"You look queasy," Chopper said as he rounded the table and grabbed her wrist. "Do you feel faint? Will you throw up? Please tell me you're not pregnant on top of everything else."

Zoro let out a choked sound and started coughing.

She considered asking Chopper for a pregnancy test just to fuck with the swordsman.

She turned to Zoro and held his gaze with a serious expression, watching his horrified face until beads of sweat formed on his forehead. They could've made an army of babies with the amount of cum he and Law pumped into her during the past week.

Movement next to Zoro made her glance towards Luffy. He dropped the meat he had in his hand and stared at her with a horrified expression. The thought that he assaulted a pregnant woman and beat her unconscious probably didn't sit very well with him.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of provoking a period and accusing him of causing her to miscarry. That would surely fuck with his head and cause a rift between him and Zoro.

"No," she turned to Chopper with an eye roll. "I got rid of all my eggs on Onigashima. It's not possible for me to get pregnant."

"Oh," Chopper's ears twitched, his expression turning worried. "Did something happen-"

She removed her hand from his grip. "Nothing you need to be concerned with."

"Here you go, Rage-chan," Sanji presented her with a tall glass of milky pink liquid. "Please drink it; you'll feel a lot better with nutrients in your stomach."

"Thanks," she accepted the glass. When the cook didn't move and continued staring at her, she took a small sip. He smiled widely, grabbed Chopper, and walked away. She turned to Zoro with a smirk. "You had a pregnancy scare for a hot moment, didn't you?"

He scowled with disapproval.

"It could've been Law's or even Kyoshiro's," she teased. "No need to stress when there's a chance it's not yours."

"It wouldn't make any difference," he replied, still scowling. "You're mine, and so would be anything that crawls out of you."

"Gah, enough," she felt disgusted at the mere thought of something growing inside her. "That'll never happen, so let's never talk about me growing a parasite."

"Parasite?!" Chopper exclaimed. "You have parasites on top of everything else? No wonder you look so anaemic!"

She dropped her face into her palm.

"She doesn't have parasites! That's not what she was talking about!" Usopp yelled.

"She said she's growing a parasite! Oh no! Is it a tapeworm? Sometimes they get so big they have to be removed surgically!"

She took a sip of the crappy, overly sweet shake, trying to block the stupid bickering.

She finished the drink as quickly as she was able to stomach the taste, but in the end, it didn't sit well with her. She bolted from her seat, running to the restroom. She barely reached the toilet before the shake violently left her stomach.

She slid to the floor and leaned against the wall. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. The few days without any treatment and the fight with Luffy had caused her to revert to the state she was in shortly after Onigashima.

A pair of big furry arms gently pulled her up to her feet. Chopper walked her to the sink, and urged her to rinse her mouth with mouthwash. The intensive smell sobered her up a bit, but black spots danced on the edge of her vision.

The cup with the mouthwash clattered into the sink; her fingers felt numb. Then she was hauled against a broad, furry chest, and the air rushed against her skin. The septic scent of infirmary hit her nose before she was deposited on a cot. The last thing she registered was a sharp sting of a needle being inserted into the crook of her elbow.

She drifted into consciousness to a sight of a wooden ceiling, the steady beep of a heart monitor, and a pleasant scent of cologne.

"Chopper, she's awake," a smooth male voice informed.

Turning her head towards the source of the voice, she saw Sanji lying on a cot next to hers, with only a small gap between them. Medical tubes connected their arms.

"How do you feel, Rage?" Chopper's voice came from her other side, and she turned her head. The movement caused her vision to spin, but luckily she was already laying down. Nonetheless, the sensation was unpleasant, and her heart raced painfully in her chest.

"It's ok," Chopper assured. "Don't make any sudden movements. You'll feel better in a while."

He removed an empty IV bag and replaced it with another. After securing the new bag, he injected something into it and adjusted the drip.

"Do you want me to get Zoro?" he asked.

"He knows I'm awake," she mumbled hoarsely, her throat dry and scratchy. "Can I have a sip of water?"

A straw was placed against her lips, and she took a small sip. The cool liquid flowed down her throat, clearing away some of the grogginess she felt. After another sip, she released the straw, not wanting to risk another bout of nausea.

"Daria didn't give me food for several days, only pumped nutrients straight into my veins," she mumbled out the first random thought that came to her mind.

Chopper scowled at the words but didn't say anything, just shook his head.

"You're so stinkin’ cute," she giggled under her breath.

"I'll be right back," Chopper scrunched his nose and disappeared from her line of sight.

"How are you feeling, Rage-chan?" Sanji asked.

She slowly turned her head toward him. "Why do you call me that? I'm older than you, and I look more like a milf than a girl."

"You still look beautiful, my dear," he replied with a toothy smile.

"Damn boy, if you weren't such a perv, I would totally do you, despite the fact you're blond," she replied, mirroring his smile.

The grin dropped from his face, replaced by a look of shock. Apparently her brain-to-mouth filter was gone.

"I could never," he flushed, the pink of his cheeks matching nicely with his blond hair. "You're Luffy's and Marimo's partner."

"And yet you still found a way to pump inside me," she giggled when his eyes grew wide. His face burned red.

"You look good when you're flustered," she mumbled with amusement as her eyes drifted shut.

Sleepiness enveloped her like a cosy blanket, and she drifted off to the sound of flustered protests.

A sense of urgency woke her up. Her bladder was painfully full, and she scrambled out of the bed towards the door, faintly registering a muffled groan of pain. She almost sprinted to the restroom, squeezing her pelvic floor muscles tightly, so she wouldn't piss herself on the way.

She moaned with relief the moment she reached the toilet. IVs were a blessing, but only when accompanied by a catheter.

She splashed water on her face, examining her reflection in the mirror. Her skin looked better; the ashy pallor was gone, but she still didn't feel quite right. The dark circles under her eyes were still visible and she felt tired.

As she stumbled onto the deck, an arm snagged around her waist, pulling her close against a naked chest. Zoro's scent hit her nose, stopping her from throwing a punch.

His hair was tousled, and he looked like he had just woken up.

"Let me help you back to bed," he mused, nuzzling into her hair.

His scent and warmth were comforting. She wound her arms around his neck, and when he grabbed her ass, she wrapped her legs around his hips. The way he effortlessly carried her to bed made her want to do all kinds of things with him. But that trail of thoughts passed the moment he laid her down. Her head sank into the pillow that smelled of Zoro, and exhaustion overcame her.

Zoro climbed onto the bed behind her.

"We're switching places," the swordsman grumbled while lying down next to her. "So you won't knee me in the gut when you need to go again."

"I didn't even know you were in bed with me," she mumbled, turning her head towards him. "Why are you in bed with me?"

"You had your one night alone to cool off," he replied, catching her gaze in the moonlit room. "You're stuck with me now."

"No complaints here," the words left her mouth without her thinking, and a heartbeat later the guilt slammed into her.

"What's going on?" Zoro sounded alarmed.

"I could've changed the lives of millions of slaves," she whispered, her gut constricting. "But I'm here with you. How can I feel this happy, when I know I'm failing so many people?"

"I don't want you to die," Zoro replied, his voice hard as steel. "You told me you were going to get revenge for your crew. That's not what would happen if you carried out the plan."

"Yes it would. It would be the ultimate revenge against slavers," she whispered listlessly, the dissociation slowly pushing out all feelings from her body. "I want them all dead."

"You are way over your head," the harsh words echoed in her head as she drifted into sleep, full of dreams of basements filled with screams and rot.

When she woke up, Zoro was gone, and the sun was high up in the sky. The Straw Hats were scattered all over the ship, busy with whatever work they were supposed to be doing. The moment Chopper spotted her, he hurried over, bombarding her with questions about her well-being.

"Coffee first," she silenced the furry doctor with a raised palm. "I'll meet you at the infirmary after my caffeine fix. And I don't want to hear a word about coffee being bad for me. Coffee is life; you'll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers."

Someone laughed. She didn't care. It was too bright, she was tired, the wind was loud, her limbs felt heavy, her joints ached, life sucked.

She made her way to the galley, where Sanji was busy preparing lunch. She wished she could turn off her sense of smell; there were too many scents attacking her nose.

"Have a seat," Sanji greeted her with a blinding smile. He placed his palm on her lower back and guided her towards the table. "I'll have coffee ready in just a moment."

She watched him with a frown. He moved gracefully, handling several tasks at once, brimming with energy. It made her acutely aware how bad her shape was. She barely had the strength to walk. Fuck her life and the fucking devil fruit that had ruined everything.

A tiny porcelain cup was placed in front of her. No spoon, no sugar, no glass of water.

She blinked at Sanji. Why was he doing this to her? Hadn't his captain done enough to ruin her life?

"What's this?" she asked as he continued to beam at her. "Have I offended you in any way? Did Chopper tell you to limit my coffee?"

She didn’t know if she wanted to scream, cry, or throw a punch.

“Try it, my dear,” Sanji encouraged with a confident smile. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

His beaming smile was too much. She focused on the tiny cup, tears pricking at her eyes. She reached for the cup, deciding that a tiny coffee was still better than no coffee.

The moment the liquid hit her tongue, her eyes grew wide. It was the most concentrated coffee she had ever tasted, and it wasn't bitter at all. Instead, the heavy sweetness of sugar cane flooded her mouth.

She turned to Sanji in shock.

“It’s a cafecito,” he explained, wearing a satisfied smile. "I'm glad you like it."

“It's so good I could kiss you!” she exclaimed, while coffee worked its magic, making the world a better place with just one glorious sip.

Sanji’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, but his smile didn’t falter. “Your joy makes me happy,” he replied, taking a step back towards the stove where several pots were boiling over. He quickly stirred the pots and adjusted the flame, setting it to a simmer. He grabbed the wok, tossing its contents several times before dumping it all into one of the pots. “How do you feel today?”

“Better than yesterday,” she replied, taking another sip of the cafecito. She closed her eyes and let out a satisfied sigh as the taste bloomed in her mouth. “All thanks to you. I hope you didn’t lose too much blood because of me.”

“Giving you blood was never a loss,” he assured. “I’ll be glad to donate as much as you need if it means you’ll feel better.”

She squinted her eyes suspiciously at him. He was acting so nice towards her, and he only blushed when she offered to kiss him. Was he really taming his perverted side because his captain was interested in her and she was Zoro’s mate? Was this some kind of bro code, because Luffy staked his claim? But Luffy slept with Nami, and Sanji never changed his attitude towards her.

“Do you find me repulsive because I’ve slept with Zoro?” she asked, watching Sanji’s smile drop in an instant.

“Of course not!” He replied seriously. “That stupid Marimo is lucky you’re willing to have him.”

“Then why do you act weird towards me?”

“You’re sick, Rage-chan,” Sanji replied, turning to the stove. “You need to be cared for, so you can heal.”

His words were kind, but his posture was tense.

She drained the last of the coffee and slipped out of her seat. She walked towards Sanji and stood behind him, leaving just a fraction of free space between them. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He jumped in place, as if he didn’t hear her walking. He tried to turn around, but his back bumped against her chest and he froze, his face just a small distance away from hers. He was the same height as her, so their eyes connected at an even level.

She slightly pursed her lips and watched as the cook's gaze drifted down. She parted her lips just a fraction while tilting her chin up.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead while he held his breath.

“Chopper was mad at Zoro,” the words gushed from Sanji’s mouth. “He prevented you from getting treated while we were still at Wano. Your health degraded, and when Luffy attacked you, you used up the last of your strength. Chopper scolded both Zoro and Luffy, and it was agreed that nobody would touch or fight you until you’re recovered.”

“Oh,” her lips stretched into a deep scowl, her mood dropping instantly. “So on top of kidnapping me, you are deciding for me what I can and cannot do.”

She stepped back, turned on her heel and strode towards the door, ignoring Sanji’s distressed excuses.

For a moment she considered locking herself in her room, but ultimately decided against it. She decided to take advantage of the crew’s resources, especially what she needed most: medical treatment. She headed to the infirmary, where Chopper was waiting for her. She didn’t look at him, replied curtly to his questions, and lay on the cot without a word until two IV bags were empty.

The quiet time in the infirmary calmed her anger, leaving her tired. She was tired of fighting, of planning, of all the responsibility. She couldn't achieve her goal, even though she worked on it for over ten years. Following the Straw Hats to Wano and fighting Kaido ruined her health and took away ten years of her lifespan. She knew she would never be as strong as she once was before the Battle of Onigashima. What would happen to her next while she sailed with this cursed crew? Could she survive the journey and go back to Wano to carry out her plan? Or would the next battle be the end of her? She might die. If she had to die, she'd rather make a change in the world. Dying for some insufferable boy’s dream would be the greatest failure of her life.

She left the infirmary, ignoring Chopper's sad expression and drooping ears. She wanted to be alone, so she climbed to the small deck above the observation room. Dropping down by the railing, she gazed at the horizon. Vast sea stretched around the ship without any land in sight. Her body ached, she was drained, both physically and emotionally. Thoughts of the future filled her with despair. When she was captured by Doflamingo’s minions, beaten and whipped, she thought she was going to die in a mouldy basement, reeking of sweat and piss. She survived, only to fall into Cesar’s hands. On Punk Hazard her life almost ended several times, but she pulled through. Dressrosa almost killed her when she restored Luffy’s energy. She survived, but Wano crippled her. She went through all that struggle only to fail, she’d rather be dead.

A stream of music woke her from her dark thoughts. The tune was vaguely familiar. She got to her feet and looked down. Brook sat by the main mast, a guitar in his lap, his fingers dancing over the strings, bringing out a simple melody.

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Lookin' in your eyes

I see a paradise

This world that I've found is too good to be true

Standin' here beside you

Want so much to give you

This love in my heart that I'm feeling for you

Let 'em say we're crazy

I don't care about that

Put your hand in my hand

Baby, don't ever look back

Let the world around us

Just fall apart

Baby, we can make it

If we're heart to heart

And we can build this dream together

Standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now

And if this world runs out of lovers

We'll still have each other

Nothing's gonna stop us

Nothing's gonna stop us now

Oh, whoa

I'm so glad I found you

I'm not gonna lose you

Whatever it takes

I will stay here with you

Take you to the good times

See you through the bad times

Whatever it takes

Is what I'm gonna do

Let 'em say we're crazy

What do they know?

Put your arms around me

Baby, don't ever let go

Let the world around us

Just fall apart

Baby, we can make it

If we're heart to heart

And we can build this dream together

Standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now

And if this world runs out of lovers

We'll still have each other

Nothing's gonna stop us

Ooh, all that I need is you

All that I ever need

All that I want to do

Is hold you forever

Forever and ever…

That fucking old song was so nostalgic. Some of her grandfathers used to sing it to her grandma. Old deluded saps thought that the old bag was the most miraculous woman in the world. They had an entire repertoire of old love songs, which they gladly played on every possible occasion. Grandma was always amused by their antics, and sometimes she got that look in her eyes that made Rage feel jealous. She had so many mates who doted on her, cherished her, and truly loved her. Sometimes, Rage wished she had her own mates, people who would love her no matter what.

She swiped her gaze over the ship, searching for Zoro, but her eyes landed on Luffy. He sat on the lion’s head, it seemed to be his favourite spot to sit and stare at the horizon.

However, at that moment, he wasn't looking at the horizon. Even though they were on opposite sides of the ship, their eyes found each other. He smiled at her, that happy rueful smile, that made all the cares disappear.

The song changed to a more upbeat tone.

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Now I've had the time of my life

No, I never felt like this before

Yes I swear, it's the truth

And I owe it all to you

'Cause I've had the time of my life

And I owe it all to you

I've been waiting for so long

Now I've finally found someone to stand by me

We saw the writing on the wall

As we felt this magical fantasy

Now with passion in our eyes

There's no way we could disguise it secretly

So we take each other's hand

'Cause we seem to understand the urgency

Just remember

You're the one thing

I can't get enough of

So I'll tell you something

This could be love, because

I've had the time of my life

No, I never felt this way before

Yes, I swear, it's the truth

And I owe it all to you

Hey, baby

With my body and soul

I want you more than you'll ever know

So we'll just let it go

Don't be afraid to lose control, no

Yes, I know what's on your mind

When you say, "Stay with me tonight" (stay with me)

Just remember

You're the one thing

I can't get enough of

So I'll tell you something

This could be love, because

I've had the time of my life

No, I never felt this way before

Yes, I swear (yes, I swear), it's the truth

And I owe it all to you

'Cause I've had the time of my life

And I've searched through every open door

'Til I found the truth

And I owe it all to you

The skeleton was seriously pushing it. But for a moment, she wondered how it would feel if she followed the yearning and let the bond form with Luffy. How would her life look with him by her side? The boy who never wavered, who never let go of hope or his dreams and goals. What if she shared that same conviction? What would happen if she let herself be as happy as he was?

She forced her gaze away from Luffy and jumped down from the observation room, scrambling in a hurry. The moment her feet connected with the deck, her legs gave out, and she fell forward. A bony hand encircled her shoulders, preventing her from face-planting into the deck.

“Thanks,” she mumbled to Brook, pushing away from him, her gaze averted. Her ears burned with embarrassment and impotent anger. She cursed the devil fruit, that had ruined her life, making her as weak as a fucking child.

Zoro walked up the stairs, his expression filled with concern. One glance at her and Brook, helping her stand, made the swordsman frown. He fell to one knee in front of her, presenting his back.

"Get on," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“I’m not a kid to be carried around,” she protested with a scowl.

“Either you get on my back or I’ll throw you over my shoulder, you choose,” he stated firmly.

“So much for free will,” she commented, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” he shot back, rising to his feet.

She sighed at the jab. “Don’t hold your breath for an apology,” she whispered, brushing his ear with her lips, eliciting a grunt from the swordsman.

“Then I just have to make it even,” Zoro replied.

She huffed. “I’ve heard of the no sex rule. I can’t say I approve.”

“Nobody’s asking for your approval. There won't be any sex for you until you get better.”

The galley doors swung wide open, and the bell rang calling everyone for lunch.

“We’ll see about that,” she smiled widely, when her gaze landed on the cook. “Sanji,” she called, and the cook swirled around, greeting her with an equally wide smile.

"Hello, my dear. I've made something special for you that should be easy on your stomach," he said, reaching for a bowl and presenting it like a trophy.

"Thank you, Sanji," she replied with a beaming smile, “but I think some vitamin D would make me feel even better.” She winked at the cook.

Zoro’s head snapped towards her, while Sanji’s jaw dropped and the bowl almost slipped from his grip. “Was that a pickup line?”

She burst out laughing when Zoro unceremoniously dropped her to the chair at the table. “Behave yourself,” the swordsman scolded.

She just snorted. “Have you met me?”

“You’re not getting any, and that’s final,” Zoro looked pissed.

“That’s your resolve to keep, not mine,” she replied, winking again at Sanji. “Oh my, did I upset you, Sanji? I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I wish it was you.”

Zoro’s expression turned incredulous. “Where did you get that one from?”

‘Oh, I’ve heard enough pickup lines in Sin City to fill a whole book,” she grinned at the swordsman. “And on that note, you remind me of my job. I’m not doing it, but I definitely should be.”

“Are we disturbing something?” Robin asked, standing by the door with Usopp and Franky crowded behind her.

“Come in, Robin-chan,” Sanji put down the bowl jerkily and danced towards the door, guiding Robin towards the table, his voice louder than usual.

The meal was as loud as always, with Luffy stealing food from everyone, and Sanji slapping his hands away when he tried to steal anything from Nami’s or Robin’s plate. He didn’t touch Rage’s plate, maybe because all she got was a soup with meat and vegetables chopped into small pieces.

Usopp was animatedly describing his new project, which she didn’t pay any attention to since it was something about his plants. Nami asked Usopp to upgrade her weapon for storing the talking cloud.

The navigator had her hair pulled into a fluffy ponytail and was wearing a very nice, low-cut sundress that revealed the straps of a bikini top tied around her neck.

"Aren't you creeped out by that cloud?" Rage pointed at the Clima-tact.

"Zeus is not creepy," Nami protested, sending Rage a furious look.

"He's a part of Big Mom's soul; it's like she's still alive through him," Rage frowned at the thought. "Maybe he can enter someone's body, so the person will become possessed by Big Mom's spirit. Imagine waking up one day and starting to mindlessly eat people."

Big Mom eating a person was one of the most hideous things that happened during her time on Onigashima. She could still hear the garbled screams as the Yonko's teeth crunched the bones.

"The only one who gets possessed by mindless hunger is you," Nami retorted.

"You wanna fight, little girl? I'm weak enough for you to land a hit, but I'm still able to whoop your wimpy ass," Rage pointed a finger at the navigator with a challenge.

"How civilised of you, solving everything with brute force. Who needs to worry about Big Mom, when we have you?" Nami's eyes burned with anger, and she wasn't backing down. Rage thought she would storm away after just one comment, but she clearly wasn't that weak. Rage liked that. She let go of her grip on her Conqueror's haki, allowing it to flow freely around her.

"The difference is, I only eat people consensually," she replied with a smirk.

"Yes, that seems to be all you do - fuck and fight," Nami bit back with a disgusted look.

"I prefer to fight first, then fuck," she replied with a wolfish grin.

"How unfortunate for you that you're stuck with us, then," Nami sneered.

Rage snorted and waved her hand dismissively. "Please, you're severely underestimating me."

"Clearly you're not that sick, if your mind's in the gutter," Nami retorted, holding her hand up to stop Sanji's attempt to intervene.

"I mean, that might be Sanji's blood working in my system," she tapped her chest above her heart. "Who knows what could happen if I get more of his perv juice, Nami-swan."

Nami flinched, disgust and disbelief mingled on her face.

"You realise that blood transfusions do not work that way," Chopper interjected, as he poured syrup on his toast. "Blood does not influence your behaviour."

"He's an artificially enhanced human being; anything could happen. Maybe his blood could work miracles and speed up my recovery," she winked at Sanji, whose expression grew cloudy.

"The only instance in which his DNA might affect you is if he got you pregnant, and the foetus's stem cells entered your bloodstream through the placenta," Chopper explained while slicing his toast into small pieces and gesturing with a fork. "There are documented cases where foetal cells have aided the mother's healing from significant injuries, but that's the best-case scenario. In most cases, these stem cells can cause severe immune reactions in the mother's body, leading to autoimmune diseases."

"And here I thought that falling out vaginas and bad teeth were the worst outcome of pregnancy, aside from actually having a child," Rage pondered with a scowl.

"Pregnancy and childbirth can be very risky for women. There are numerous complications that can occur, such as eclampsia, blood clots, strokes, and haemorrhages. Losing teeth after giving birth might seem like a minor issue in comparison."

"I remember a time when I infiltrated an estate known for breeding and selling slaves. On my second day there, I had to assist a midwife with a birth. It was the girl's fifth child. The labour was going smoothly until she started pushing, and her uterus raptured during a contraction. She bled out in a matter of minutes. The baby died too, so I and the midwife received twenty lashes each for causing the master to lose profit. That girl who died was Mira's older sister. Mira was supposed to take her place in spawning the next generation of slaves."

"You've always been tight-lipped about your crewmates' pasts,” Zoro chimed in with a frown. "Why are you telling this now?"

"Luffy seems to think he's the captain of The Witches,” she stated nonchalantly as she sipped her coffee. "Shouldn't he know what he’s gotten himself into?"

"I don't think I'm their captain, I followed your rules and became their captain," Luffy's firm voice carried through the galley.

A nasty smile crawled on her lips as she caught his gaze. He was staring at her with those wide brown eyes, stubbornness painted all over his face.

"They would never accept a man to rule over them," she replied, her voice firm. "They allowed you to take me, that's all. But thanks to you, I am five crewmates short by now."

Luffy raised an eyebrow. "I told them to stay put in Wano. It's not my fault some of them chose to run away."

"They're dead," Rage snapped.

"You don't know that!" Nami barked, her words full of fury. "Don't try to play your stupid mind games!"

"I'm not playing," Rage replied, maintaining eye contact with Luffy. "Makonde is now in charge, and for the first time, she can act as she sees fit. Before, the rules were clear - no killing teammates. But those rules were established by my mother and then by me. Now, she can act as she wants, under the pretence that leadership has changed, and you haven't established any rules."

"Not killing teammates shouldn't even need to be a rule," Luffy replied with a deep frown. "It's common sense."

Rage shook her head in disappointment. "My team consists of several psychopaths and sociopaths. Most of the team is severely traumatised, and some of them are not mentally stable. Common sense doesn't apply, and rules have to be spelled out clearly. Makonde is probably the most stable person among the team. In her homeland she would've been a queen, but she left with her personal guard to protect her people. She came to Sin City with my grandma and joined the fight with the slave trade."

She remembered when she first laid eyes on Makonde when she set foot in Siny City. The woman had looked glorious, holding her head high with an air of calm composure surrounding her, as if nothing could faze her. Her orange hair was put into a multitude of thin braids and slicked back to cascade down her back. The jewellery around her neck was made of multicoloured beads woven into intricate patterns, and her leather armour was a thing of absolute beauty. The spear she carried glinted in the sunlight, polished and sharpened to perfection.

“Makonde deeply believes that psychopaths should be removed from society, otherwise they would lead us all to our detriment. But she recognized that they are useful during war, because war doesn't affect them as it does other people. Psychopaths have no empathy, therefore they can commit and witness atrocities without being emotionally affected, while others would return traumatised for life. They make great soldiers and spies. However, Makonde thinks that Karla and a few other girls are no longer useful because we allowed them too much freedom, and they are too far gone in their ways. So, by this time, I believe they are dead, either at Makonde's hand or due to Daria's poison."

“Don’t pin this on Luffy!” Nami protested. “You don’t have any proof if they ar actu-”

Luffy slammed his mug on the table, cutting off Nami’s outburst. The galley fell silent, and everyone’s attention focused on the captain. He stared at Rage until a crooked grin spread across his face.

“They would all be dead if you were in charge. It seems I’ve saved your crew’s lives. Five dead is a small loss in comparison. You’re too reckless to be a captain.”

Rage stared, speechless, while Luffy continued to smirk. She blinked, her brain working in slow motion.

“Did you just call me reckless?” she managed to recover her ability to speak.

“Do you have trouble hearing?” he cocked his head to the side.

“You called me reckless? You?” Her brows shot up in disbelief.

“I said what I said,” he laughed.

The adrenaline rushed through her body, making her forget her fatigue. She bolted from her seat, leaped on the table, and aimed a kick at his head.

He pushed back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching across the floor. He avoided her kick while still sitting, and he was grinning like a lunatic.

She jumped, aiming another kick, this time from directly above, but her foot landed on the chair, crushing it into pieces. She spun around, pumping haki into her arm to throw her elbow at Luffy’s face, but he deflected again, jumping onto the table.

“Get the fuck out of my galley!” Sanji roared at the top of his lungs.

“Ah sorry, sorry,” Luffy backflipped towards the door, managing to avoid knocking over any plates on the table.

He seemed to be enjoying himself more than he should have. She was going to make him regret everything he had said. She jumped after him, the plates crunching under her feet.

She slammed into Luffy, and they both fell through the open door.

“Don’t hurt her, Luffy!” Chopper distressed shouts followed them as they tumbled over the railing and fell towards the main deck.

Luffy’s legs coiled around her immobilising her arms, and she was hoisted into the air. He had stretched his arms to grip the main mast, boosting them upward. She struggled to break free from his hold but found herself lacking the strength. She kicked her legs out, trying to generate enough momentum to swing high and catch hold of any part of the rigging. However, Luffy’s legs stretched to wrap all around her, rendering her unable to do anything.

“Come on,” Luffy called to her. “You’re supposed to take it easy.”

She shot him a furious glare. As a last resort, she channelled all her anger into a burst of Conqueror’s haki, hoping to stun him for even a brief moment, allowing her to escape his grip.

The world spun around her, and she lost all sense of direction. Her vision blurred, and pressure built inside her head until something wet trickled from her nose. She closed her eyes, attempting to block the unpleasant sensation, but the vertigo persisted. Suddenly, her body went limp, drained of all energy. Her head slumped to the side, and more wetness streamed from her nose, dripping down her chin. She could smell blood.

“Hey, Chopper, I think she fainted!” That was Luffy’s voice.

“Why can’t you just get along!” the doctor sounded distressed.

The scent of grass mingled with the smell of blood, and she felt her body being gently placed on a flat surface.

"She won't get better if you keep fighting every day!" A blurry image of Chopper appeared above her. "She's awake. Rage, you have a massive nosebleed; we'll need to give you another blood transfusion. Can you hear me, Rage?"

She could hear him, but the words didn’t mean much, and she lacked the energy to reply. Things happened around her while she floated on the edge of reality.

Strong arms lifted her from the ground, and she was carried away, enveloped in the familiar scent of Luffy. It was a nice scent, she wanted that scent all over her. The desire to claim him surged to the surface from the deep place inside her where she shoved all her yearning for her third mate. She craved to see that bright smile every day for the rest of her life.

“Put her on the cot,” Chopper's voice interrupted her swirling thoughts, and annoyance flickered within her. All she wanted was to drift away into her dreams, where all her mates were with her. She wanted to see Law, she missed him so much.

“Sanji, could you lie down beside her? I’m sorry to ask for your blood again, but this is an emergency.”

The scent of cologne and cigarettes displaced the scent of her mate, and she wasn't happy about it.

“This wouldn’t have happened if not for you, shitty rubber boy,” Sanji sounded angry. “You trashed my galley, dipshit. You'd better go help Marimo clean up, or you won't get any more food today."

“That wasn’t my fault,” Luffy sulked. “She blows up at me no matter what-”

A loud slap echoed through the room.

“Cut this fucking crap,” it was Nami, beautiful and brilliant Nami, who looked so hot when she was angry. “You’re acting like an idiot around her, provoking her every chance you get. Don’t even try to play dumb, I know you do it on purpose.”

“That hurt, Nami. Why are you so mean?”

Another slap, followed by a yelp of pain.

“Look at her! She’s already one leg in her grave! Did you bring her on the ship just to watch her die?”

“Of course not, I made a promise!”

“Well you’re fucking it all up. Picking fights with her won’t make her fall for you, you’re only making things worse!”

“She’ll come around.”

“Luffy,” Sanji’s grave voice interrupted the bickering. “Listen to Nami. You can’t win Rage over with a fight. You don’t have to fight for every single thing in your life.”

The infirmary was enveloped in a heavy silence, interrupted only by the slow beeping of the heart monitor. Its rhythmic sound was strangely soothing, luring her toward the peaceful dreams of her mates.

“You said it wasn’t fair for me to hate her for what was done to me in the past,” Nami’s voice chased away the visions of her perfect life.

A prick of pain in the crook of her elbow was followed by a surge of foreign hormones entering her bloodstream. Her body swiftly assimilated these unfamiliar hormones, fueling the healing process.

“Maybe you should take your own advice and stop projecting your own trauma onto Rage."

"I don't do that!" Luffy sounded defensive.

"You never talk about your family or your childhood. All we know about you is what your brothers told us, and we’ve only met your grandpa once. You never met your dad, while Rage had many fathers, including the man who you idolise. Shanks never took you aboard, while Rage was born on his ship. She had a mom, grandma and a great grandma to take care of her. We don't even know if you know your mom. Rage grew up rich in a bustling city, while you had to fend for yourself in a forest and a garbage dump. She has a home she can return to, a family, and friends who would welcome her back with open arms. She rejected it all, while your dream is to create a family of your own. You have us, Luffy, we are your family. But all she seems to have for us is disdain. I'm sure it rubs you the wrong way, that the woman who had everything you didn't rejects the one good thing you managed to create for yourself."

A weak chuckle bubbled up inside her. She managed to crack open her eyes and fix her gaze on Luffy. He was staring at her with a displeased frown. Silly boy, they could've been bonded long ago if he wasn't such an idiot.

She decided she would tease him to his wits end before she claimed him. Her lips stretched in a content smile as her eyelids dropped. Finally, sleepiness came to claim her, and she welcomed it with relief. The last thing that she registered was the door slamming shut.

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deadite-central · 3 months ago

Text

I don’t want to do any further ado on this one as the upcoming battle has been something I’ve been excited to talk about FOR SO LONG so let’s just get right into it

I’ve said in the past how I used to despise Bellamy in Jaya and seeing him get one shotted by Luffy and then Doflamingo was a joy. After spending time with him in Dressrosa though, everything is flipped on its head. What Doflamingo is doing is needlessly cruel and Bellamy himself genuinely doesn’t believe he deserves better. His fight with Luffy now is in a completely different light than the Jaya one, and that’s just masterful storytelling

Luffy seeing a friend of his be put through this completely disregards following Law’s plan, and immediately jumps at the occasion to beat the shit out of Doflamingo. And OH MY GOD FINALLY Doflamingo gets the first actual real punch landed on him. I said the same thing about most main saga villains, the first punch Luffy lands on them is always so so satisfying

And now I can finally talk about Doflamingo himself, and I’ve been waiting for this for so long you have no idea. Doflamingo is a villain shaped almost completely by his past, the more of his backstory we uncover, the clearer it becomes what made him the vicious monster he is today. Being born a Celestial Dragon, he was able to experience being treated like a god, in an environment where the more egotistical you are, the more you are rewarded. And then suddenly all of that was ripped away from him. Even worse, after Homing made the stupid mistake of bringing his angry ex-noble kid into town, the witch hunt for the Donquixote family started, resulting in Doflamingo meeting Trebol and the others, and killing his father. It’s no wonder he believes people are vicious by nature, where everything in his life at that point has pretty much proved it. Almost everything, but to that in a moment

Doflamingo and his family have been hurt beyond anything humane by the common folk, who you can’t even blame for jumping at the first occasion to hurt Celestial Dragons due to their experiences, none of that changing the fact that no child should ever go through any of this, and it doesn’t matter if Doflamingo was screaming about murdering people when he was a kid, because in no way does his behaviour justify being tortured, having his mother die of sickness due to their situation and having to become the provider for himself and his little brother. And when that angry kid finds an outlet for his emotions thanks to Trebol, finds an environment that treats him like a god, it’s no wonder he grows up to be who he is

Which brings us to Law and his backstory. Incredibly terrifying and tragic, gruesome in a way that the anime censored it, he lived through a massacre witnessing the death of not only his family but his entire nation. Law takes a similar outlook on the world as Doffy when he was a child: people are vicious, the world is cruel, and I want to hurt as many as possible. The difference here is that Law has Cora. The younger of the brothers, who was much more shy and kind as a child as opposed to Doflamingo, pretty much abandons his government assigned duty to try and help this child. In just a few months Law is shown unconditional love, even if he doesn’t quite know that yet, and shown that there are kind people, even those who don’t know you that well, which completely disregards Doflamingo’s outlook on everyone being vicious. That’s why it makes sense when Cora doesn’t shoot the gun, but Doflamingo does. The Donquixote brothers (and Law by extension) are incredibly tragic to me and deserving of their own post, but oh god does this entire situation make me cry everytime

This post has already been going on for long enough so let’s skip through most of the fight, as a lot of it has been talked about, and get to one of my favorite moments in it: when Law’s plan fails and he lays on the floor accepting his fate, Luffy steps in, stops Doflamingo and has one of the coolest stare offs with him. This moment right here is the absolute culmination of all the excitement I have leading up to my favorite fight in all of One Piece, because good god is Luffy vs Doflamingo is going to be phenomenonal

#one piece #op reading corner #dressrosa #bellamy one piece #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #trafalgar law #monkey d luffy #Doffy and Rosi are one of my FAVVV instances of doomed siblings #and nature vs nurture if u couldn’t tell #and by fav I mean they make me curl into a ball and start crying

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eldritchamy · 10 months ago

Note

What the shit. Fighting a god in hand to hand combat as a gold dragon using immovable rods goes so fucking hard and it’s the backstory for a character that’s just in the main backstory???????? AMY???

You know how a lot of people, when making DND characters, make the mistake of having their level 1 PC have an elaborate backstory where they're super badass and already recognized as a hero?

When I made Ash I did the opposite. Her backstory is elaborate, yes, but in very mundane ways that inform her personality and how she perceives the world around her, and build up the logic of how she makes decisions.

I made everyone AROUND my PC a super powerful character who had done incredible things, and I gave Ash anxiety about it.

She feels, constantly, that she is inadequate by comparison. Her entire frame of reference is shaped by a bunch of women in her life that are outstandingly powerful, and she's just a quiet girl who makes leather goods and sells them for a living. She thinks of herself as the NPC in other people's more impressive lives.

Her mother, Lailah, is a nearly seven foot tall divine warrior created in Elysium to destroy Pit Fiends. She's an angel of lightning built like an MMA fighter, and she wields a weapon like piece of a lightning bolt (not stylized, I mean a real, glowing crackling arc of electricity that she holds like a staff and can be used like anything from a polearm to a spear to a whip, and when thrown it acts like a Lightning Bolt spell). She is built, both narratively and in game stats, to be an unkillable holy destroyer, capable of fighting MULTIPLE PIT FIENDS simultaneously, and winning. She's a CR 10+ magical creature (she's a homebrewed mix of Deva and Erinyes stat blocks with some unique flavor) with eighteen class levels, 16 in Zealot Barbarian and 2 in Fighter. She has a strength of 27 and a constitution of 25. She's designed to deal HUGE amounts of damage, tank unfathomable amounts in turn, NOT DROP WHEN SHE HITS ZERO HITPOINTS, and keep swinging until every devil in her way is a pile of dust, then use bonus action Second Wind to bring herself back above 0 so she doesn't incur the auto-death caveat on Zealot Barbarian's Rage Beyond Death ability. One of her attuned items is also the very simple uncommon item "Periapt of Wound Closure" which automatically stabilizes you at the start of your turn, thereby resetting the death saving throws she would theoretically have to make each time she gets hit below 0. Also, as an angel, she's innately immune to auto-death effects like Power Word Kill, which closes almost all loopholes that get around her build. She is UNSPEAKABLY badass. I ran a simulated round of combat with her once, and she could potentially one-shot a CR 15 Skittering Horror (228 HP) in a single turn. Her theoretical maximum damage output is like, 456 damage in a turn (granted this assumes all crits and rolling max damage).

So that's Ash's mom.

Aria is interesting. She was always strongly attuned to the forces of nature, and her magic grew quickly. Where Ash grew up with someone she knew would always be there to protect her from anything, Aria did NOT have that safety net, and spent her formative years learning to be more self-sufficient in terms of relying on her own power. So eventually she got sucked into an adventuring party consisting of herself (a tiefling Witch subclass with very strong druid flavor), a tiefling zealot barbarian, and a couple of elf twins who were an Arcana cleric and a Celestial Warlock. Sometime after they had made a name for themselves, they were tasked with stopping a suspected fledgling vampire who had been kidnapping girls and killing a bunch of people. When they arrived, they met Cass, who was very much NOT a new vampire. She was almost 150 years old and had been protecting women from abusers and overzealous debt collectors, and things had gotten a little messy with one or two of them, leading to a lot more attention than she normally got. They start off fighting Cass (Aria polymorphs herself into a dire wolf and lunges directly for the throat, which Cass found amusing and impressive) but realize in the banter that Cass wasn't the real problem, and she ends up being a sort of a lesson for the group in terms of whose word they trust and who they take jobs from (YES THE BACKSTORY'S BACKSTORY HAS NARRATIVE ARCS AND MORAL LESSONS THAT LEAD TO LONG TERM CHARACTER GROWTH OKAY I CAN'T HELP MYSELF). Cass, having a particular rapport with Aria, ends up joining their party as a dhampir Soulknife Rogue/Shadow Monk.

Yes, that's all backstory that I made up for an imaginary campaign that exists entirely as a set piece for Aria as one of Ash's story NPCs. This doesn't even touch on the fact that I liked Cass so much as a character that I gave HER an entire backstory of her own. I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM.

Anyway the team only makes a bigger name for themselves for handling things that other groups can't. Eventually, they just happen to be in the Tenth District when the War of the Spark happens (major established event in the MTG canon), and I basically added some extra "scenes" to it that didn't violate existing canon so I could have that be the climax of their imaginary campaign. One of Aria's partners was a new planeswalker at the time and her spark got harvested by the Dreadhorde, specifically by the god eternal Bontu.

Gods in Magic The Gathering aren't honestly that special? They don't seem to have THAT much power, all things considered. Ravnica's gods are mostly powerful magical animals, and in the most recent Magic Story one of their gods (Anzrag the Quake Mole) was captured in an "evidence capsule" (basically Magic's version of a Pokeball). The most powerful god in MTG is probably the Ur Dragon honestly, unless you count the Eldrazi, but that's a whole other conversation since neither of those actually have the "God" creature type.

Anyway, Bontu was one of the gods of Amonket (basically a plane based on ancient Egypt), which had been conquered by an Elder Dragon planeswalker named Nichol Bolas. HE was the one who actually killed all but one of Amonket's gods, and then another planeswalker named Liliana Vess (extremely powerful necromancer) raised them as zombies for his army, because Bolas had a ton of complicated leverage over her (magical contract that he could invoke to kill her if she betrayed him). So Bontu was a god zombie.

Here's a reference:

Well, Aria was a level 18 Witch at this point since this was the climax of their campaign, so she had access to the Shapechange spell, a 9th level transmutation that lets you become any creature with a challenge rating equal or lower than your character level. And the best candidate for that was an Adult Gold Dragon (CR 17). So Aria goes full berserk and stands up on her dragon hind legs and picks a fight with a dead god that she's determined to make deader, and has a Godzilla vs King Ghidorah standoff with her.

So how do you fight a god that can suck your soul out and instantly kill you with a single touch? You don't let it touch you.

What Aria did was basically inspired by this gif of a Wildebeest trying to charge at a lion:

Or this:

And to be clear, yes, I'm saying Aria was the lion in that situation. She basically did a big dragon threat display to get Bontu's attention, and used the Gold Dragon's weakening breath to give Bontu disadvantage on Strength checks and saves. Bontu charged at her, and at the last second Aria dropped to the ground and then shot back up, clamped her teeth around the god's throat, and used her weight to throw Bontu around and knock her off balance, and her superior strength to grab her by the wrists and wrestled her to the ground so she couldn't get a grip on Aria. She had every part of the god that could have killed her pinned, and used the claws of her wings to pull Bontu's armor apart and tear at everything she could reach while thrashing her around. It was Fen, the Arcana cleric, who thought to use Immovable rods to pin Bontu down so that even if Aria lost her grip, Bontu wouldn't be able to immediately one-shot any of them. So Athena (barbarian) and Cass (rogue/monk) as the two martial classes were the ones who got close enough to handle that while Fen and her sister (Gwen) used whatever holy magic they could to help from a distance.

Now CASS had a problem, because she's a DEX based martial class, not a strength based one. She needed a boost to be able to get this job done. So she drank some of Bontu's blood from one of the wounds Aria had left on her arm to give herself a burst of strength. Except. She had to get real close to do that. And Bontu managed to get a loose grip on her, and tried to suck out her soul.

The magic that makes Cass what she is is very old and very powerful. It binds her soul to her body in a much stronger way than any living creature, fusing the two together to prevent her from dying (i.e. by having her soul separated from her body; Cass can recover from almost any conceivable physical injury as long as there's life energy, in the form of blood, for the magic that keeps her alive to feed on and maintain the seal between her body and her soul). BECAUSE SHE WAS FEEDING ON THE BLOOD OF A GOD AT THE TIME, the magic holding her together basically fought against the magic that was trying to rip her soul out, and it had enough fuel to hold on until Aria's thrashing forced Bontu to let go. So Cass survived the Elderspell thanks to a very weird and unrepeatable set of circumstances (which allows something narratively impressive and legendary to happen without being gamebreakingly overpowered and violating the established rules of the world).

Because of how her magic draws energy from other things, though, there was a side effect: she also accidentally took in one of the planeswalker sparks that Bontu had harvested. So when Cass had healed enough for her soul to no longer be dislocated, her spark activated and she became a Planeswalker. (I imagine a soul is connected to a body mostly through the nervous system, because that's how a brain holds consciousness in it, so a "dislocated" soul is like something glued to every nerve ending in your body being pulled on with an enormous amount of force, trying to sever that connection; imagine trying to pull yourself off the ground when every nerve ending in your body is superglued to the floor by something akin to the Strong Nuclear Force. It SUCKED.)

The team ended up being forced to retreat because of Cass' injuries, so Aria didn't actually manage to kill Bontu personally (or die trying, which in her grief-rage she was fully open to). Right about this time, my bottle scene ends and Magic canon comes back into play: Liliana betrays Bolas and turns the Dreadhorde against him, and Bontu ends up being the one who bites him and rips out HIS spark. Due to the enormous rush of energy of consuming all of Bolas' stolen Planeswalker sparks (tl;dr he was trying to become a god), and with the added bit of lore that it was Aria's team that heavily injured Bontu just prior to this, Bontu exploded in the process.

This resulted in Ravnica playing a game of telephone in the chaotic aftermath of the War. Aria fought a god. She's still alive and that god is dead. Rumors spread and now Aria is misremembered as the one who killed Bontu. Half the plane thinks of her as the "god killer." All she wanted was to avenge her lover or die trying.

Neither outcome happened, and now she's credited with the very thing she sees as her greatest failure. And that trauma has haunted her ever since.

#so my backstory has a backstory with its own backstory #this is a normal and healthy way to approach storytelling I think.#so anyway Ash is surrounded by badass women and doesn't recognize her own potential #because her entire frame of reference is the most outrageous statistical outliers #Ash #Aria #Lailah #Cass #eldritch OCs #Uneiverse #I have one character whose backstory goes back over 6000 years have I ever mentioned that #y'all don't even KNOW the shit that lives in my brain #also I invented god from scratch so TECHNICALLY I made backstory for the universe itself and it goes back billions of years #when I say that I don't mean I made up A GOD from scratch. I mean I reinvented the CONCEPT of what 'god' even means.#and built a universe around that concept #I also have some cool thoughts about the nature of time and fate that I haven't talked about yet #the inside of my brain is a very interesting place. try not to get lost. the exits are not clearly marked.#what if I gave my characters *T R A U M A*#anyway I'm glad you thought this sounded cool enough to ask about. I hope you feel the same about the rest of the story someday.

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eliasmendoza · 2 years ago

Text

HPHL Character Sheet - Elias Mendoza

Oh hey hello! I would like to introduce my boy, Elias, to the world. I must point out that everything is still a work in progress, especially the plot but here we go.

Information under the cut!

I. THE BASICS

Name: Rafael Elias Anastacio Mendoza y Mangubat Nickname: Elias Gender: Male Birth Date: 31 May Myer Briggs Personality Type: ISTJ Species: Human Blood Status: Half-blood Sexuality: Gay Alignment: Neutral Good Ethnicity: Asian Nationality: Filipino Residence: Laguna, Philippines / Brighton, England

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II. MAGIC

Wand: Elder, Phoenix Feather, 14 1/2 inches, Hard

The truth is that only a highly unusual person will find their perfect match in elder, and on the rare occasion when such a pairing occurs, [Ollivanders] take it as certain that the witch or wizard in question is marked out for a special destiny.

Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn hair or dragon heartstring cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.

A wand of [hard] flexibility is very difficult to work with and its loyalty is not won easily. Hard wands are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, so beginning wizards and witches may find extra difficulty with this wand when it doesn’t perform well for simple magic. As such, this type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. Owners of this wand also have a tendency to view things in absolutes; black or white. Some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach.

Animagus/Patronus: Philippine Eagle

Patronus Memory: Christmas in the village with his mother

Bogart: The deaths of his friends and family in the hands of the Spanish friars and militia

Ridikulus: Lavish and hearty parties with his friends and family

Miscellaneous Magical Abilities:

Legilimency and Occlumency Legilimency and occlumency have long been hereditary powers passed down each generation of the Mendoza family. Elias was able to harness his abilities to its full potential by the time he turned 12 years old.

Animagus (Philippine eagle) It becomes tradition in the family and the village that every successor to the title of Supremo becomes well-versed in every type of magic detailed by the predecessors of the title. One part of this tradition is to become an Animagus by the age of 10.|

Wandless magic Elias, like the rest of his family, learned to harness their magic without wands at an early age. However, at Hogwarts, he was required to use a wand, which he had initial difficulty with but managed to use.

Celestial divination Every Supremo aspirant has to be a master of the art of divination. Elias’ best application of the craft is in the field of celestial divination. Living in a mountain village grants him wider access to the nightsky compared to living in the city.

Amortentia (What Elias smells like vs. what Elias smells):

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III. APPEARANCE

Faceclaim/Voiceclaim: Atom Araullo

youtube

Singing Voiceclaim: Josh Groban Singing Vocal Type: Tenor Height: 6'0 Weight: 175 lbs. Physique: Mesomorphic Eye Colour: Brown Hair Colour: Black Skin Tone: Tan Body Modifications: None Scarring: Scar on his right eye area from his escape with his mother from their village during the Revolution

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IV. PERSONALITY

Intelligent - Elias is intellectually gifted with a natural need to satisfy his thirst for knowledge, which comes especially handy when it comes to wanting to explore various aspects of magic.

Charismatic - Elias's gentlemanly charm and aura somehow draws people to him (even the people he doesn't care for very much *ehem Leander Prewett ehem*) but

Gentle - Around people he’s closest with, Elias comfortably shows the kind and gentle person he is. He does the same thing with his patients whenever he volunteers at the Hospital Wing alongside his mother. The head matron of the Hospital Wing once told Ma. Aurora that Elias’ bedside manner was admirable for someone his age and that could be a great Healer one day if he chose to become one because of it.

Self-Reliant - In order to help his mother worry less about him at Hogwarts, Elias self-enforces a self-reliant attitude to make sure she worries less about him. He does, on rare occasions, show light frustration about his seeming inability to indulge. On the other hand, during troubling times, he tends to close off his problems from others so that he doesn't bother others with his problems. Elias tends to repress his emotions in order to put something else that he believes is more important first like his duties to learn and to help his mother when he can. It comes to a point that he forgets that being able to be in touch with how he feels is part of taking care of himself. At worst, his emotions bottle up until they blow up and he lashes out at others.

Hardworking - In relation to his self-reliance, Elias works hard whenever he has a goal he wants to achieve. He maintains his dilligence constantly and does all that he can to make sure his goals are met ethically.

Grateful - Because he was given refuge at Hogwarts with his mother, he makes it a point to excel in his education at school as a sort of debt of gratitude for the Board of Governors allowing him and his mother to reside at the school. This “debt of gratitude” ideology and can at times push Elias beyond his limits to a point that he forgets to take care of himself.

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V. ALLEGIANCES Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw Affiliations/Organizations: Ang Konseho ng Mahika ng Nayon ni Maria (Tagalog, lit. “The Council of Magic of Maria’s Village”), previously

Professions:

Volunteer at the Hospital Wing (during Hogwarts years)

Curse-breaker for Gringotts

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VI. HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiency: Astronomy: ★★★★★★★★★★ Charms: ★★★★★★★★★★ DADA: ★★★★★★★★★★ Divination: ★★★★★★★★★★ Flying: ★★★★★★★★☆☆ Herbology: ★★★★★★★★★★ History of Magic: ★★★★★★★★★☆ Magical Theory: ★★★★★★★★★★ Potions: ★★★★★★★★★★ Transfiguration: ★★★★★★★★★★

Electives: Alchemy: ★★★★★★★★★★ Ancient Studies: ★★★★★★★★★★ Arithmancy: ★★★★★★★★☆☆ Care of Magical Creatures: ★★★★★★★★★★ Music: ★★★★★★★★★★

Best Subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts His adeptness at martial magic can be credited to his skill and learning from back home. He uses his knowledge from then to build on what he learns now to come out with more powerful offences and defences.

Favourite Subjects: DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, and Magical Theory

Favourite Teacher: Professor Eleazar Fig. Fig has been with Elias since the start of Elias' journey in Hogwarts. In a way, Fig became a sort of paternal figure to Elias, which the latter deeply appreciated.

Worst Subjects: Flying Elias isn't bad at flying on a broomstick, but it's not his best class either. He's just meh.

Least Favourite Subject: History of Magic As much as Elias understands the importance of history in any field, the way this class is taught throws this course right to the very bottom of his list.

Least Favourite Teacher: Professor Cuthbert Binns. Enough said.

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VII. RELATIONSHIPS

Mother: Ma. Aurora Leonor Mendoza y Mangubat Ma. Aurora is the current Supremo and shaman (also known as babaylan in Tagalog) of the village coven who taught Elias everything he knew about magic. Ma. Aurora is extremely proficient in charms, transfiguration, divination, herbology, potions, alchemy, martial magic, and most especially, healing. Medical magic has been her greatest strength as a wielder of magic.

Ma. Aurora is a single mother. Her husband Victor Saturnino Mendoza y del Rosario, died in action when he succumbed to his wounds mere minutes after being severely injured by Spanish guards in a battle to free one of the nearby non-magical towns when Elias was only a toddler. (NOTE: ”Ma.” is short for “Maria”)

Love Interest: Sebastian Sallow

Best/Closest Canon Friends:

Sebastian Sallow

Anne Sallow

Ominis Gaunt

Amit Thakkar

Natsai Onai

Poppy Sweeting

Garreth Weasley

Imelda Reyes

Samantha Dale

Best/Closest OC Friend: Cassius Shade (made by my closest friend uwu)

OC Friends:

Daniel Gibson (@catohphm)

Maya Catapang (@sallowslytherin)

William Sherrot (@thisconfusedginger)

If you guys want to be friends with Elias, hit me up! I'd love that. Elias is a sweetheart who deserves friends. 🥹

Other Acquaintances:

Leander Prewett NOTE: Elias doesn't particularly care for Leander, to put it lightly; Leander has an unrequited crush on Elias.

Andrew Larson

Everett Clopton

Enemy:

Ranrok

Victor Rookwood

Theophilus Harlow

Dormmates:

Cassius Shade

Amit Thakkar

Everett Clopton

Andrew Larson

Pets: Cesar, a stray kneazle he found on rainy day at Hogsmeade in Year 3.

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VIII. PERSONAL TRIVIA

Elias developed a liking for hot chocolate in Britain as it reminded him of tsokolate tablea from back home in the Philippines. (More on it in the miscellaneous section).

Elias is a talented musician. He's especially gifted on the piano, guitar, and the bandurria (as in Marcin Patrzalek levels of gifted). Elias also has an incredible tenor singing voice. He trained in music as a child but still plays music once in a while to release stress. He'd never admit to it, but he uses these talents to make potential lovers swoon. *ehem Sebastian ehem*

Speaking of Sebastian and music, Elias once played music for Sebastian on his guitar. He played Frederick Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2 on the guitar because Elias thinks this song describes the joy and love he feels for Sebastian. 🥹

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IX. BACKGROUND/HISTORY (WORK IN PROGRESS!!!!)

WARNING: Canon revisionism and mentions of the Spanish colonial period in the Philippines are in effect. If you feel strongly against it, well, kindly submit a complaint to 1-800-I-DONT-CARE.

Pre-Hogwarts:

Childhood

Elias Mendoza was born and raised in the village of Ang Nayon ni Maria (Tagalog, lit. “Maria’s Village”) located in Mount Makiling in Laguna, Philippines. His mother, Ma. Aurora Leonor Mendoza y Mangubat, the current Supremo (Tagalog, lit. “Supreme”) of the coven of the village, was among the last magical users of their village and the keeper and teacher of the knowledge of the ancient magical arts of their ancestors. Ma. Aurora, his mother, acted as his teacher in the various disciplines of magic.

At an early age, Elias was capable of using magic and was able to develop his powers. Manifesting those powers and being the only child of the family meant he would one day take over for his mother and bear the responsibility in his village and his bloodline of being the next Supremo. At this time, he was taught various fields of magic that would be essential to his ascension to Supremo, such as transfiguration, potions and alchemy, divination, healing magic, caring for magical beasts, charms, and even the dark arts and how to defend against it.

Pre-Philippine Revolution

When Elias was 10 years old, the foundations of the Philippine Revolution were being put into place. This was putting everybody in danger, even the village his coven was part of. Because any sort of “witchcraft" and "magic” was persecuted by the Catholic clergy, Elias and Ma. Aurora became targets. (The erasure of these parts of the country's precolonial culture and beliefs were kindling to the motivations for the eventual Revolution in 1896.)

The village council heard that soldiers from opposing and oppressive Spanish forces against the Filipinos were planning to kill Elias and Ma. Aurora,. they decided it was best to have mother and son flee the country and seek refuge with allies abroad.

Before they left, Elias and Ma. Aurora packed some of their most valuable items and memorabilia from their house, including multiple volumes of manuscripts on Philippine magic, family trinkets and tokens, and many more. Elias also chose to save his father's glasses and use them as his own.

While they were escaping, Elias sustained an injury on the area of his right eye after he was shot at by a Spanish soldier. The soldier missed and shot a window by accident, but the glass from the window scratched Elias' face and left him with a permanent scar. His eye did not sustain any injuries.

Life in England

Elias and Ma. Aurora were taken in by their coven ally Marcelo Roman de la Iglesias y Alonzo. Marcelo is a newspaper illustrator, and Herbology author specializing in the magical properties of Philippine flora. Marcelo was also an Ilustrado, a member of the Filipino educated class during the Spanish colonial era, who was living in Brighton, England.

It took 3 years for Elias and his mom to adjust to life in England but they learned the British ways of life enough to get by from being able to use British currency to speaking basic English. To pass the time in refuge, he spent his time in Marcelo’s library, reading all the books he could find on herbology, ancient history, and everything about magic. He also helped out his mother with taking care of Marcelo’s greenhouse while Marcelo took good care of them.

Another Filipino and coven ally residing in Madrid, Fernando Realonda de Guzman, visited Elias, Ma. Aurora, and Marcelo to deliver the grave news that the village has been destroyed by the Spanish militia and that there were no survivors.

When Marcelo realized that he can no longer keep Elias and Ma. Aurora safe in his residence because rumors were afloat of the Mendozas’ survival and whereabouts in Brighton, he reached out to friends in the British Ministry of Magic and in the Hogwarts Board of Governors to help secure refuge for the mother-and-son duo at Hogwarts, believing that they will be safe at the castle while Marcelo began to pack up and move to Madrid with Fernando for the time being.

Hogwarts Years:

Year 3

When Elias turned 13, the Hogwarts Board of Governors granted refuge to Elias and Ma. Aurora, thanks to Marcelo’s connections to the school. In exchange for refuge, Elias must enroll at Hogwarts and complete his education all the way to Year 7 without failing his classes, while Ma. Aurora must use her abilities in healing as an assistant matron in the Hospital Wing.

Hogwarts sent Magical Theory Professor Eleazar Fig to help Elias adjust to western magic and even with the use of a wand. Elias only had a few weeks to learn before he, his mother, and Professor Fig departed for Hogwarts.

Elias was the last to be sorted in the Sorting Ceremony as he was the oldest and was sorted into Ravenclaw.

In the first few months of Hogwarts, he had a hard time adjusting to life at Hogwarts. Sure, he managed to even defeat a classmate (*ehem Sebastian Sallow ehem*) on his first day of class at Defense Against the Dark Arts but it was still difficult to manage using a wand. He also had a difficult time making friends as well since he entered his Hogwarts education very late. He even felt like none of the three years he spent adjusting to British life prepared him for what life at Hogwarts would be like. On the plus side of things, he was on amicable terms at first with his dormmates, which grew into a brotherhood he needed to keep going at Hogwarts.

Anne Sallow was actually one of Elias' first friends. She made the first move and pretty much integrated Elias into all of her friend activities with her twin brother Sebastian (whose ass Elias whipped in a duel quite earlier) and her other best friend, Ominis Gaunt. Initially, Ominis was rather guarded around Elias but warmed up to him when Elias was playing some rather beautiful Ave Maria in the music room one day. Elias and Ominis bonded over classical music and eventually became friends.

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Year 4

The news of Anne Sallow's cursing broke Elias' heart. Anne was such a dear friend and a kind soul that he couldn't understand what sort of monster would want to harm Anne. Anne's absence from school left a hole in Elias' friend group that was noticed by everyone.

Elias realized that he was falling in love with the charming, intelligent, and charismatic Slytherin by the name of Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian was his best friend ever since Elias bested him within 10 seconds during their first duel at DADA on Elias' first day. Sebastian was one of the few people kind enough to reach out to Elias and be friends with him right off the bat. It was also Sebastian who made the most effort to get to know Elias and spend time with him as much as he could.

One fall afternoon from a trip to Hogsmeade, as they sat near the waterside and enjoyed some sweets, Sebastian and Elias had a conversation that led to an accidental revelation of love (from Sebastian). Elias was scared, knowing that he felt the same for Sebastian but didn't know if reciprocating was the best idea. For once, Elias chose to act with his heart and kissed Sebastian. Sebastian kissed the boy back as they held on to each other, not wanting to let each other go. After a while, they decided to give the idea of them a shot and become boyfriends.

Because Anne was still ill from her curse, Elias felt a bit of guilt for, as he would put it, indulging in a relationship with his friend's brother who was worrying over Anne on another level. Anne, however, had a feeling Elias and Sebastian would somehow end up together. Her being right was perhaps what made her crack a smile the day that her brother and her best friend visited her in Feldcroft.

Ma. Aurora knew of Elias’ relationship with Sebastian through her mother's intuition and the fact that Sebastian suspiciously started volunteering at the Hospital Wing after the two boys got together. He expected his mother to berate him for such a taboo, but was surprised that his mother did not care that Elias fell in love with a man. She knew that her relationship with her son mattered more over what society had to say about Elias and Sebastian, especially during a time when she knew she could lose her son at any time. She chose to be there for her son no matter what.

Year 5

At age 15, the world around him began to change as he started developing (quite rapidly) a different form of magic that had been rather latent: the use of an ancient magic that has never been seen for centuries. He learned that he had this ability on his journey back to Hogwarts after visiting London with Professor Fig to help secure his school supplies for his fifth year.

When Anne Sallow, Sebastian's twin sister, was teetering into a critical medical condition and was losing her life slowly but surely, Sebastian was at a tipping point and was close to using an ancient dark relic that may or may not have the ability to save Anne at the expense of Sebastian's humanity.

Ma. Aurora, Ominis, Amit Thakkar, and Natsai Onai, through the ancient manuscripts that the matron was able to save, found an ancient Filipino ritual that would allow a curse to be transferred back to its caster as long as the caster is living. Elias chose to participate in the ritual with his mother in order to save Anne Sallow, while Sebastian and Ominis waited outside the Hospital Wing anxiously. The ritual produced a specter of an dark and mangy street dog, ridden with ticks that carried the curse that haunted Anne. Ma. Aurora commanded the dog to find Victor Rookwood and infect him. The curse was successful, given how Victor Rookwood was constantly in pain upon his final confrontation with Elias outside Olivanders.

Solomon Sallow was obliviated, removing any memory he had of the battle at the catacombs, to protect Elias' and Sebastian's enrollment status at the school. Matilda Weasley was made aware of the situation but chose to shelf the incident, happy that Anne Sallow was saved but concerned over Elias and Sebastian's journey to achieve it. Professor Weasley granted mercy to the boys but warned them that she will not take future dalliances with dark magic as leniently next time.

Elias' final battle with Ranrok was watched by Sebastian (who was anxious the entire time and frustrated over not being able to do anything to help), Amit, Ominis (who relied on Amit's narration of events), the wheelchair-bound Natty, Poppy, and Garreth in the Map Chamber with the other professors. When the professors moved in to help battle the goblin armies, Herbology professor Mirabel Garlick and Deek the house-elf were tasked to watch over Elias' friends as they all watched the battle unfold on the floors of the Map Chamber. It seemed all hope was nearly lost when Elias sustained a critical hit from Ranrok's dragon, but Elias was able to strike back and win the battle for good.

To this day, nobody knows if Elias took the power of the repository for himself or if he let it lie where it lay.

Elias' victory over Ranrok in the final battle of the repository cost him his mentor, Professor Fig, who died peacefully in Elias' arms. The professors found them and were shocked and heartbroken to see their colleague and friend dead. Elias grieved, feeling as if his only father figure has been ripped away from him.

Eventually, Elias and Sebastian found time to process all the events that happened to them together and talk about their future. After everything they went through, they decided to stick together and keep going.

Post-Hogwarts:

Elias eventually graduated at the top of his class and found a job as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts. He and Sebastian eventually decide to move (with Ominis) to London to be closer to work. The trio, along with Ministry poacher hunters Natty and Poppy, astronomer Amit, chaser Imelda, and the rest of the gang, would get together once in a while to catch up and have fun like they were kids again.

Given how he and his mother no longer had the Village to return to, they decided it was best to have new lives in England. Ma. Aurora stayed at Hogwarts and continued her work as an assistant matron and eventually became the head matron of the Hospital Wing. She couldn't place a finger on it, but working as a healer seemed to give her more peace than when she was the head of the coven; and so, she chose the more peaceful path in her life. She eventually tutors Anne Sallow, who chooses to become a healer herself at Hogwarts after much work experience at St. Mungo's. Elias still kept in touch with his mother.

Elias eventually married Sebastian and they had three children: two boys (Eleazar Alfonso and Santiago Vittorio) and a girl (Leonora Anne), with the latter two being named after Eleazar Fig; Elias' father, Victor; Elias’s mother, Ma. Aurora Leonor; and, Anne Sallow, respectively. Eleazar and Leonora were sorted into Ravenclaw while the middle child Santiago was put in Slytherin.

After exciting careers that took them around the world, the two settled in Brighton. They settled in the home that was previously owned by Elias' old family friend, Marcelo de la Iglesias, after the latter chose to settle in Paris, France permanently.

When life calmed down for Elias and Sebastian as the kids grew up, It was during this time that Elias decided to turn all of what he learned of the ancient magic he learned from his former coven and from his time as a Keeper of ancient magic at Hogwarts into a book, supported by Sebastian and his intensive habit cross-referencing. The notes have been completed and a manuscript was finished, shelved away with hopes to turn them into a book.

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X. ETYMOLOGICAL/REFERENTIAL TRIVIA

Elias’ village, Ang Nayon ni Maria (Maria’s Village), is hidden remotely away in Mount Makiling in the province of Laguna. The village acted as a place of refuge for many magical families. The name Maria is a reference to Maria Makiling, the mountain guardian and deity who protects the aforementioned mountain and its bounty.

Elias developed a liking for hot chocolate in Britain as it reminded him of tsokolate tablea from back home in the Philippines. Tablea are (literally) tablets of roasted, ground, and molded fermented pure (100%) cacao beans. Preparation for tsokolate tablea is different from European hot chocolate, in which the end result of tsokolate tablea is a thicker and richer beverage compared to the European version.

Elias’ “debt of gratitude” is a reference to a common Filipino trait called “utang na loob”, which literally translates to “a debt of one’s inner self”. In Filipino psychology, “utang na loob” is an “accomodative surface value” wherein one accommodates what the world wants. “Utang na loob” is rooted in the essence of obligation to repay a debt that is beyond an ordinary debt or the Western notion of owing a favor. In Elias’ case, he’s attempting to repay debt that is impossible to quantify (ie. his being granted refuge at Hogwarts).

The ancient Filipino ritual Ma. Aurora uses to heal Anne is inspired by the 2022 Filipino-Irish psychological thriller film, Nocebo, directed by Lorcan Finnegan and starring Eva Green and Chai Fonacier. The film revolves around a children's fashion designer being plagued with an unknown illness and turns to a Filipino nanny who uses traditional folk healing methods "to reveal a horrifying truth" to her illness.

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WRITER’S NOTES:

Hi all! So, thank you for making it this far. I’m sure to edit a bunch of stuff along the way so yeah. Plus, I’m literally fucking with the timeline here because I… honestly could not care enough about it lol.

I also couldn't bear the thought of Anne Sallow dying without a cure. I don't have the heart to just let her die like that so I did research on possible ways to cure Anne in Philippine mythology.

Again, if anyone wants their HPHL be friends with Elias, just hit me up or reblog this post and let me know!

#hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy profile #hphl #hphl mc #hphl oc #hogwarts legacy playable character #hogwarts legacy fanart #oc: elias mendoza #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x m!reader #so there hahaha that's that on that for now #i have tried and i hope this bodes well uwu

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