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#to the ones who draw her in the future i will bestow upon you the remaster screencaps i am about to get
theobjectofyourire · 1 year
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Being Daemon's Daughter Would Include (Part III)
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a/n: hi hi hi! once again, I'm so in my feels and absolutely blown away by all the love on this series! I definitely plan to continue this well into the reader's adulthood, I'm just enjoying the baby/pregnancy stuff so much! I got a little carried away again, so you get lots of daemon/wife goodness in this one, too! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for future parts!
Part I / Part II
summary: Daemon has always gone to any lengths to protect you, even before you were born. And oh, what gifts he will bestow...
cw: I actually don't think there are any warnings for this one! Daemon threatens violence?? other than that, it's just fluff. inspired by the scene in ep8.
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A Dragon's Custom
-In the very heart of Dragonmont, amidst sulfur and brimstone, Daemon Targaryen felt a true hero as he retrieved the dragon egg that would soon rest in his child's cradle.
-The day of your birth drawing ever nearer, your mother's belly greatly swelled. Growing larger by the day, he had teased, a comment which had been received by his lady wife with both a chuckle and a threat of violence upon his person. He expected no less from such a woman, his eyes sparkling as he knelt before her, pressing his forehead against her stomach as he whispered to you.
-"You must be brave, little one. I will soon need you to defend me from your mother's temper."
-His words earned him what was, admittedly, a rather playful slap to the back of the head. "You truly are a scoundrel, dear husband," she sighed, weaving her fingers through his silver hair.
-He merely smiled as he kissed her belly, her hands, her wrists, finally rising to meet her lips. "Your scoundrel, my love."
-She melted in the arms of her dragon, who murmured sweet nothings into her hair as he slowly ran his fingers up and down her spine, soothing her aches with his warm touch. She all but whined when he pulled away with a gentle farewell.
-"Must you go?"
-"Aye," he mumbled, lips against hers in one final kiss, "but I promise you'll be happier for it."
-"I disagree. I'd much prefer you by my side."
-"As would I, my love, but our child deserves a gift only I can bestow, and I daren't wait any longer to retrieve it." Her brows furrowed at his words, uncertain of their meaning as he caressed her belly with the back of his hand. "The child of the Rogue Prince deserves a dragon egg, do they not?"
-Your mother's eyes filled with tears. She was, of course, familiar with the Targaryen customs and had dearly hoped they would be passed to you, but she had worried, as of late, whether such a thing would be encouraged.
-Though cherished by many, not all in Viserys' court approved of your mother. The Hightowers, in particular, had been averse to the match, for while her bloodline was undeniably strong, she herself could not be considered a tame woman.
-She was well-versed in the graces, it was true, and a delight to all she entertained. In such matters, the nobles could not find an ill word to speak against her, but nor could they deny the indocility, even rakishness cast in her shadow. She had not known Daemon a fortnight when the King's own Hand had discovered them in the Dragonpit, having just returned from a moonlit ride atop Caraxes, and in the midst of acts unbefitting a woman of her station.
-Ser Otto, in fairness, was not wrong in his judgement. In their youth, your mother did little to quell Daemon's chaos. If anything, she encouraged it, thriving alongside him in his adventures. He had pleaded with the King to deny the marriage, and Viserys had half a mind to listen until he saw his brother's smile. As one, they seemed something out of Valyria itself, in all its glory, and he could not bring himself to tear them apart. He gladly consented to their union, going so far as to allow a Valyrian ceremony with only a handful of guests and the stars standing witness.
-In the months that followed, they retreated to your father's ancestral seat at Dragonstone, preferring to avoid the politics and scheming of King's Landing at all possible costs. The gods, it seemed, were not so easily satisfied.
-A raven was flown to the Red Keep shortly after your mother fell pregnant, and the news was met with no small amount of excitement. Your father's first marriage had left him without an heir, and many had presumed the Rogue Prince had little interest in furthering the line. Viserys requested his presence at court, if only to determine his brother's true thoughts about the babe.
-Daemon arrived on dragonback a few days later, descending with the impish smile well-known to him, and something warm, almost kind stirring in his eyes. There was no doubt of his happiness, a great relief to his elder brother.
-Viserys was, indeed, gladdened by the fact that they had found peace on Dragonstone, but he was eager to see them return to the Red Keep before your mother gave birth. This much, the King had insisted upon, for the Maesters and midwives of the great castle were said to be the most skillful in the realm. Daemon could deny many things, but his brother's summons was not among them.
-"We shall return, brother," he had said with a cold smile. "Upon your command, my child will be born in this nest of vipers, but never will I allow a single drop of venom to so much as graze their skin."
-"Daemon, you needn't-"
-Your father would not hear it, paying no mind that interrupting his King was easily a punishable offense. "They will have a dragon of mine own choosing," he declared, "and shall be raised as their mother and I see fit, in accordance with the customs of our ancestors."
-"As is your right." Viserys maintained the stoicism expected of him as King, but a genuine joy shone through the façade. "Your child shall want for nothing," he promised.
-"Nor shall my wife." Daemon's eyes narrowed as he lowered his voice, ensuring that none but his brother would hear his solemn vow. "Should any in your court speak so much as a word against either of them, I shall gladly cut out their tongue." Without thought, he found his fingers dancing upon the hilt of Dark Sister, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "If your dear Hand is anything less than welcoming, I will take great pleasure in relieving him of his duties by way of beheading."
-Were it anyone else, such a threat would have been followed by severe consequence, but Viserys had a soft spot for his younger brother, whose fire so much reminded him of their mother. Daemon climbed atop Caraxes, returned to Dragonstone, and no more was said on the matter.
-He did not tell your mother what was spoken, nor did she wish to hear of it. She knew well what your father's temper could do, coupled with his unyielding loyalty. Upon his heated word, you would have a dragon. She did not care for anything else. She brought his hands to her lips, kissing each knuckle before releasing him to his task, wondering which egg he would choose. In his mind, however, there was no question.
-His cousin, the Princess Rhaenys, had recently departed with her children after an extended stay on Dragonstone. Her own dragon, Meleys, had accompanied them and laid a clutch of eggs in the island's volcano, Dragonmont. It seemed the greatest of all omens, for years before his cousin had claimed Meleys, when he himself was just a babe, Daemon's mother was her dragonrider.
-Though he could scarcely remember her, he had been told by all that he was, undoubtedly, his mother's son. In her arms, to the dismay of the Maesters, she had taken him upon the back of her dragon for his first flight not a fortnight after his birth. A creature of scarlet scales and copper claws, she was one of the swiftest dragons in the realm, even after so many years of comfort. He could not think of a better gift for you than an egg from his own mother's dragon.
-The descent was not an easy one. Many had tried and failed, the slightest misstep resulting in the most fatal fall, but your father was not afraid. He relished in the danger of it. He was not halfway to the bottom when he felt the mass shift, crumbling under his boot and echoing throughout the volcano as hunks of rock hit the ground. Any other man might catch his breath or clutch his heart. Your father only chuckled as he continued to maneuver himself masterfully. Going to such lengths for a child not yet born to him, smirking in the face of risk and finding no fear in his heart, it made him feel a good man. He did not know if his talents were well-suited to fatherhood, but of this, he was certain: you would always be protected.
-Leaping to the ground, he imagined spending the rest of his days defending you, willing at every moment to vanquish any enemy with a single stroke of his sword. Though your mother was a rogue in her own right in her earlier years, she had, as of late, preferred comfort and calm to the uncertainty she had once craved. Of course, he hoped your life would be peaceful, but he wondered if that's truly what you would want, or if you would take after him, forever trying to satisfy your own impulsivity.
-There were seven eggs in Meleys' clutch. Seven eggs for seven kingdoms, Daemon could not help but think, smiling as he gathered them with care. Each were unique unto themselves, though they bore the mark of their mother. One had golden flecks reminiscent of his brother's crown. Another was as pink as a maiden's blush, but it was the seventh egg that most caught your father's eye.
-As crimson as Caraxes' scales, with dapples of a spring rose and shadows of the purest black, there was no gift so befitting the child of the Rogue Prince. He held it dearly in his hands, admiring the way it shimmered in the slight streak of sunlight. They would place it in the warming chambers until your mother gave birth, where it would then reside in your cradle until it hatched. The thought of you flying alongside him on a dragon of such striking beauty stirred in him a giddiness he had never before felt. He wondered if this was fatherhood. Could he really be so lucky?
-He returned to your mother somewhat filthy, ash smeared across his cheeks while his leathers retained the scent of the volcanic rock.
-"You stink of dragon," she said, crinkling her nose as he drew nearer.
-He gave her a wry smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "My darling wife," he murmured, "I know very well that you love it."
-She giggled as she brushed her lips against his, hands tangling in his hair. He smelled of adventure. Danger. Power. He was a Targaryen, through and through, and she secretly hoped you would be the same.
-She pulled away and this time, it was Daemon who moaned in protest. She merely chuckled in response. "Shall I have a bath drawn for you, husband?"
-His fingers danced across the small of her back as his eyes twinkled. "Only, my love, if you'll join me."
taglist: @rosaryos @justaproudslytherpuff @sirlovel @fulla02
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valeskafics · 1 year
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Little Wolf (Chapter Six) - Robb Stark x Twin!Reader [main pairing], Theon Greyjoy x Reader, Jon Snow x Reader
A/N: SORRY ITS BEEN FOREVER not too much of the boys this chapter again im sorry very plot heavy, just need to get to bobby b and ned's death and then we good
Summary: The Tourney of the Hand commences.
Word Count: 1,924
TW: incest incest incest, profanity, innuendo, death/gore (Ser Hugh's death, Ser Gregor cutting the horse's head off lmao), Y/N and Sansa kinda being bitches to each other
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire characters nor do I claim to own them.
Tag List (comment if you wish to be added/removed) bold means it did not allow me to tag you: @tinykryptonitewerewolf @dreaming-for-an-escape @ietss @bitchyglitterfox @caramelcandescence @mikariell95 @aaliyahjovel @aloneatpeace @mawofmeraxes @judereno1 @hwaillight @hedahobbit98 @smileykiddie08 @let-love-bleeds-red @marlene-the-witch @lea510 @poppyreader @hopelesswritergall @ad-astra-again @its-halleys-comet @not-a-glad-gladiator @disco--fairy @hwaillight
The Tourney of the Hand is, of course, peppered with high stakes drama, as is every tourney in Westeros to some extent. However, Y/N finds herself more focused on the conversation Lord Baelish attempts to conduct with her younger sister than with the jousts themselves. She interjects at every opportunity, not wanting this man anywhere near her family. She doesn’t care if he is indeed her mother’s childhood friend, there is something off about him. Something very wrong.
Arya asks why the man calls himself Littlefinger, which she’s quickly scolded for by Septa Mordane, but Littlefinger goes onto explain to her the origin of his nickname, being that he’s from the Fingers. Y/N stares at the man, a cold look in her eyes that worries him. Littlefinger is used to being able to manipulate everyone around him, but the eldest Stark girl and her father seem to be impervious to his silver tongue. This will prove to be a problem, one that he’ll soon have to deal with, but for now he turns to the eldest Stark girl, not Catelyn’s mirror in looks, but a beauty in her own right.
“How are you enjoying the festivities, Lady Stark? It’s a great honor being bestowed upon your father, you know,” he gives one of what he believes to be his most charming smiles, “Additionally, I believe congratulations are in order. You are to be our future queen, after all, to be married to the heir to the Iron Throne.”
He notices Sansa’s pursed lips and Y/N’s polite, “Yes, Lord Baelish, I am betrothed to Prince Joffrey, I am very lucky indeed.”
She gives him a smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The girl is a puzzle, he muses, and he does not like leaving these things unsolved. As the tourney continues, Ser Gregor Clegane goes up against Ser Hugh of the Vale. Y/N recognizes Ser Hugh’s name from her father mentioning him, Jon Arryn’s former squire, the one who rebuffed Jory when Lord Eddard sent his master at arms to question him. She watches in interest and then horror as the man is killed by the Mountain.
Littlefinger regales the girls, in particular, Y/N and Sansa, with the tale of how Ser Gregor was the one who gave the Hound the burns on his face when they were mere children, suggesting that they keep the story to themselves.
When the first day of the tourney draws to a close, Y/N rushes to her chambers within the Tower of the Hand and begins drafting a letter to Jon, as well as one to Theon.
Dearest Jon,
How are things at the Wall? Let me guess, you’re moping, skulking about like a Silent Sister with that pout on your face. Well, never fear. Your dear little sister is here with news from King’s Landing.
I am to be wed soon, to Prince Joffrey. I hope you ask the Lord Commander if you may have leave to attend my wedding. I certainly will require a dance with you, so I hope they don’t consider that forfeiting your vows, because if necessary, I will drag you onto the dance floor.
Write me back as soon as you can and tell me of all your adventures.
All my love
Y/N
Dear Theon,
I hope my letter finds you well. I’m sure you’re staring down the bottom of a bottle, laying on a bed in some brothel, having the time of your life, but you should know your friend misses you.
Write me when you can.
Love,
Y/N
The next day, the tourney continues and Lord Eddard joins while Arya stays behind for her dancing lessons. Y/N’s friend, Ser Loras Tyrell, has the first tilt of the day. The man is handsome, as everyone knows, but his interests don’t lie with women, rather with the youngest Baratheon son. He confessed this to Y/N during her time in Highgarden, so when he comes riding toward her sister, flirting and giving her a flower, she has to hold back a laugh.
“And my dear she-wolf,” he teases, grinning at her, “I see you’re a woman betrothed now! I’m sure hearts all over the North are breaking at the news.”
“Oh, very funny, Ser Loras,” she scoffs, grinning at him, “You can be my court jester when I become queen.”
Everyone present laughs, including Lord Renly and Littlefinger. The two start making bets about who will win the joust, Renly betting on his secret love and Littlefinger betting on the Mountain. The two jest back and forth and suddenly, Loras defeats the Mountain. Y/N looks at her friend oddly, wondering how in the Seven Hells he managed to do that. Littlefinger elucidates Lord Eddard and the elder Stark girls on just how Loras won, his mare being in heat.
Ser Gregor beheads is own horse in a violent rage and stalks over to Loras. The sisters grab each other’s hands, momentarily making peace and looking at each other in horror. However, the Hound intervenes and Loras names him the victor of the match. Y/N lets out a sigh of relief.
After the excitement dies down, Y/N is escorted onto the tourney field by Lord Renly and taken to Joffrey, where their engagement is announced. He gives her a smug smile and presses a kiss on her hand, while Y/N resists the urge to vomit.
“My lady,” he coos, “Soon you shall be a woman, wed and bed. And all mine.”
She puts on the mask of a coquettish maiden and giggles, kissing his cheek, “Yes, Your Grace, or Joff as you asked me to call you.”
He smirks and the crowd cheers for the future king and queen.
That evening, Y/N receives a raven from Robb. 
My little wolf,
The news of your engagement broke my heart. But fear not, I shall find a way to bring an end to this. I promise you. You shan't suffer the newfound king's tyranny for long.
However, I must warn you… Our mother has made a grave mistake. She has arrested the imp. And she rides for the Vale, with him as her captive. The repercussions of this will be felt all the way in King’s Landing, I fear. I pray that you, our father, and sisters may leave that horrible place soon.
Come back home. Come back to me.
Love,
Robb
Y/N panics as she reads Robb’s words. Their mother… Arrested Lord Tyrion? There is no way the Lannisters will allow this to pass, no matter how much the queen seems to despise her own brother. She shows the raven to her father and he lets out a deep sigh.
“Thank you, my daughter. Get some sleep, love.”
She nods, kissing his brow and walking back to her chambers.
The next day, of course, brings its own litany of problems; by its end, Lord Eddard has both quit as Hand of the King and been imprisoned due to Lady Catelyn’s actions. The three Stark sisters sit in despair at hearing the news of their father being injured at the hands of Ser Jaime. As well as the death of Ser Jory.
No one in the capitol tells her this, of course, rather she learns of it in a raven sent by Theon.
Dear Y/N,
Hope you are missing me like I’m missing you. You know me too well, I am partaking in pleasures of the flesh, though if you were here, I might have a very preferable alternative to the brothel girls.
She chokes back a laugh as she keeps reading.
Robb won’t march to Casterly Rock and grab the Lannister cunt who hurt Lord Eddard, the one who killed his men. I quite think you should convince him. Your father is Hand of the King. This shouldn’t stand.
Love,
Theon
“That blonde cunt,” Y/N snarls, pacing the floor, “He killed Jory and maimed our father! I’ll rip his hair from his fucking skull-”
“Y/N!” Sansa gasps, “You’re a lady!”
“Oh, I’ll make him a lady too, little sister, mark my words-”
Arya snickers and the three continue to wait for their father to return. When he does, he informs them that the king has ridden for a hunt and he is to rule in his stead until his return.
The younger Starks disperse while Y/N stays with her father and speaks softly, “We never should have left Winterfell, Father.”
“I think you’re right, darling. I think you’re quite right.”
The next day, Lord Eddard invites Y/N to sit in on his dealings in the throne room. After all, she is apparently to be queen one day. standing at her father’s side as he orders a hundred men to accompany Beric Dondarrion to Ser Gregor’s keep in retaliation for his razing the Riverlands. Her eyes widen at the implication. Her father is a man of justice, but this is a course of action that would lead to all out war. She is reminded of Theon’s letter. Of the fact that Jaime Lannister, after maiming her father and ordering the deaths of his men, Jory included, still rides free.
As though he knows what she’s thinking, Lord Eddard demands word be sent to Lord Tywin that he is to come to King’s Landing to answer for the crimes of his banner men. As her father leaves the throne room, she feels sick in her stomach.
After this, she sits with Sansa as Septa Mordane has them knit, the younger Stark enjoying it while the elder Stark sighs. Prince Joffrey calls upon his betrothed and offers her a gift. A beautiful gold necklace. She looks at it and gives a feigned smile.
“It’s beautiful, my husband to be, I thank you for this most gracious gift.”
Joffrey leans in and kisses her.
Sansa watches the way the blonde prince stares at her sister, desire evident in his eyes, and feels angered. And hurt. Her sister is in the place that was meant for her. The kiss that should have been hers. What she doesn’t see in Joffrey’s eyes, however, is his ill intent, the pure malice that drives him in everything he does. He’s a cruel, cruel boy who’s been denied nothing all his life, and this cruelty is the very thing Y/N wishes to spare her little sister from.
But Sansa is even more incensed when she learns Lord Eddard intends to send all three girls back to Winterfell. Y/N is overjoyed. She’ll be back with her beloved Robb and nothing could possibly make her happier. But her younger sisters are upset, Arya for not having her water dancing instructor back home and Sansa because she insists if Y/N does not wish to wed Joffrey, she should be permitted to stay in the capitol and wed him.
“Father does this for our good,” Y/N hisses, “You’re being a stupid selfish little girl.”
“You’re the selfish one!” Sansa retorts, “I’d be a good queen to Joffrey, a better one than you ever could! I’d give him plenty of sons with golden hair-”
Y/N sighs in annoyance while Arya laughs. The girls are sent to pack their things, while Lord Eddard goes off in search of something. What it is, the girls do not know.
But Y/N doesn’t care. All she can think of right now is going home to be reunited with her beloved wolf. With Robb.
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thedemonofcat · 9 months
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This concept draws inspiration from a particular episode of the television series "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" Unfortunately, I cannot recall the exact title of the episode. In this story, a young girl finds herself spending time at her grandparents' house. However, her neighboring friends suddenly vanish under mysterious circumstances. As the plot unfolds, it is revealed that these missing friends have become ensnared within a bewitched dollhouse, gradually transforming into dolls themselves.
In pursuit of a contract, Geralt finds himself, accompanied by Ciri, taking up residence in the grand manor of an alderman. The aftermath of the mountain incident has left Geralt feeling sorrowful, as he had initially intended to seek reconciliation with Jaskier. However, recent events involving Ciri have diverted his attention. As they gradually acclimate to their new surroundings, Geralt discovers distressing news: Jaskier has been missing for several months, and no one seems to have any information about his whereabouts.
Within the confines of the alderman manor, a peculiar room rests at the pinnacle of the highest tower, strictly off-limits to all. Nevertheless, Ciri becomes convinced that she can hear faint singing emanating from this forbidden chamber during the late hours of the night. Fueled by curiosity, one evening Ciri musters the courage to sneak into the locked room. To her astonishment, she discovers a meticulously crafted dollhouse-like space. Positioned at its very center stands a man adorned in an excessively frilly attire. When Ciri approaches him, intending to inquire if he is the source of the singing, she is jolted by the realization that the man's hand has transformed into porcelain.
The man, devoid of his memories except for fleeting fragments, explains to Ciri that he used to possess a name and a talent for singing. Regrettably, those details elude him now. However, he recalls a significant connection to someone with white hair—a cherished individual who gifted him a ring. Intrigued, the man bestows one such ring upon Ciri, as a token of their encounter. Though compelled to depart, Ciri promises him she will return, ensuring their reunion in the future.
The following morning, Ciri excitedly reveals the ring to Geralt, and to her astonishment, he immediately recognizes it. Unbeknownst to Ciri, the ring was a name-day gift that Geralt had purchased for Jaskier several years ago. Overwhelmed by the revelation, Geralt's urgency compels him to hasten towards the tower where the mysterious man resides. There, to his profound sorrow, Geralt discovers that the man in the tower is none other than Jaskier. However, Jaskier's body has been almost entirely transformed into porcelain, with the exception of his head.
Heartbroken, Geralt tries desperately to elicit a response from his dear friend, but Jaskier remains unresponsive. The anguish that initially grips Geralt quickly morphs into seething anger as the alderman, the owner of the manor, unexpectedly enters the room.
The alderman proceeds to offer an unsettling explanation, revealing that he became infatuated with Jaskier's beauty when he witnessed the bard's performance at a festival held in town. Despite the alderman's persistent efforts to win Jaskier over, the bard adamantly refused any advances, no matter how enticing the offers may have been. Driven by obsession, the alderman resorted to hiring a mage who concocted a potion. Unbeknownst to Jaskier, the alderman discreetly administered the potion by surreptitiously adding it to the bard's food. Slowly but surely, the effects of the potion caused Jaskier's transformation into a doll, accompanied by the loss of his memories as an unfortunate side effect.
The alderman reveals his twisted intentions to keep Jaskier as his eternal, flawless living doll, forever preserving his youthful beauty. Observing the deep connection between Geralt and Jaskier, the alderman brazenly inquires if the Witcher also finds the bard to be as beautiful as he does.
Geralt, in agreement, acknowledges Jaskier's undeniable beauty. However, he emphasizes that his love for Jaskier transcends superficial appearances, unlike the lords who pursued him. Geralt openly confesses his adoration for Jaskier's voice, his graceful movements, his vibrant personality, and even those little idiosyncrasies that he once found annoying. He declares that he loves Jaskier for who he is, and then tenderly presses a kiss to the almost fully transformed doll-like Jaskier's forehead.
To everyone's astonishment, the porcelain facade begins to dissipate gradually. Within a few suspenseful seconds, Jaskier draws a breath and returns to his fully human form. Though bewildered, he turns to Geralt, seeking confirmation of the Witcher's heartfelt words. Overwhelmed with joy, Geralt expresses his apologies for the hurtful words he uttered on the mountain and, with uncontainable happiness, kisses Jaskier, who eagerly reciprocates the affection.
The alderman, confused and furious at the spell's sudden unraveling, attempts to intervene and stop the reunited lovers. However, Geralt swiftly dispatches him, protecting their newfound happiness. United once more, Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri forge plans to depart and embrace their future as a family. While Jaskier initially struggles to walk due to the lack of use in his legs during his doll-like state, Geralt gladly carries him, elated to have his beloved bard back in his arms.
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gil-galadhwen · 8 months
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Rings of Power | Galadriel x Halbrand
Notes: I started this for Haladriel Week but never got around to finishing it until now!
I took inspiration from the song No Limit of Stars by The Veils.
Word Count: 700+
***
Forever Entwined
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Sauron might’ve preferred to inhabit an elf; they were strong, wise and immortal, and while he didn’t think he was particular about these things, the human man who lay dying with an orc’s spear piercing his chest, was probably his last choice. No one was going to miss him. That was a good thing, he guessed. It wouldn’t do to occupy a vessel that was recognisable.
The first thing he’d touched when he opened his blood-crusted eyes was what he thought was a scabbard - the leathery material beneath his hand was rough and plated with metal, but as he brought it up to his face to inspect it more closely, he saw that it was a medallion of some kind; time worn and oddly comforting. He had meant to throw it away or at least hide it somewhere for safekeeping but there was something about it that stopped him from parting with it. A strange familiarity that despite it having belonged to a dead king of a now dying kingdom, it still filled him with hope.
“You treat that talisman like a child with a beloved blanket.”
Sauron felt the reassuring weight of the amulet once more before tucking it beneath his tunic.
“Something tells me you never had a beloved item in childhood, Galadriel, because you were never a child.” 
“I was a child once. Although it was some time ago.” There was a smile in the she-elf’s voice, warm and inviting. 
“So tell me then, what was it?” He glanced her way, hoping to meet those blazing eyes of hers, but her attention was on the map spread out in front of them.
“I do not recall,” she said. “We live too long to keep a count of every single meaningful thing.”
Just like that, the smile in her voice was gone and something clutched at Sauron’s insides. Immortality was a coveted quality. It was unsettling to hear it spoken with a tinge of sadness. He was immortal himself but he was seeing it now through a mortal gaze and a human man’s compulsions. 
He watched her fingertip follow the line drawn on the map depicting the river that ran through the Southlands. 
“I had a boat once. It was only made from a piece of vellum paper but it was special. I remember placing it on the water and its sides fanning out like a swan. Something about it struck me as important at the time, and I still to this day, cannot tell you why. Perhaps it was a child’s imaginings.”
“What became of it?” he asked, moving closer to her side. “The paper boat?”
Galadriel stood up straight, rubbing her thumb over her forefinger stained blue from the map’s ink. “It sank, which is not surprising as paper does not do well with water. I knew then that nothing can truly last forever. Not even the paper we write our histories and draw maps upon, hoping to pass them on to future generations.”
That was the most she’d ever said to him since they’d met and he felt a man’s compulsion rise in him; the desire to draw even closer. To breathe in the scent of her warm skin and murmur comforting words against her neck. He’d tell her that they were as limitless as the stars. That together, they were forever entwined in the partition between the living and the dead and could do great things. That he alone could see her greatness. He alone could see her light. He would serve her and only her forever, if she let him.
But instead he let the Maiar part of him take over, blotting out the compulsions and compassion within him that belonged to someone else. A dead human king.
“Well, perhaps you should have made it from something more sustainable,” he said, hating every word as they left his traitorous lips.
He didn't wait for her reaction. Something told him she wouldn't bestow her usual scowl but something much more vulnerable that he didn't deserve to see. So he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his hand clutching the Southlands amulet tight enough for it to break.
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dystopian-reverie · 2 years
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Making two random Marvel characters meet #1
The Moon Boys and Kamala Khan
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Warning: Mentions of trauma only if you squint, nothing else.
This is just a headcanon that's been running around my mind for a while. I just think that they all would have a cool character arc together.
Of course, the headcanons have next to no chance of happening anyway.
This was written before the Ms. Marvel series was even completed, so this is pretty vague and contains no plotlines or might not be in sync at all with what might happen in MCU's future.
A/n: Felt physical pain knowing that Muslims don’t usually celebrate Raksha Bandhan (pls do correct me if I’m wrong because I learnt this from Google) because I’d give right about anything for Kamala to tie Rakhi on Marc’s wrist and him not taking it off for the whole day.
Tag list: @jakelcckley @wowifinallymadeanaccount @devilish-mirage @later-gators12 @wast3ofurtim3
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The way I see it, this duo could be the next “grumpy yet cool dad figure adopting an over-eager teenager with who they bonded quite a bit, and would definitely screw up anyone who hurt them” dynamics in MCU, following Tony-Peter and Stephen-America.
If their first-ever meeting was during super-heroing, whoever is fronting would most definitely go "Who the FUCK is letting a 16-year-old fight crimes around here? I'd like to have a word with them" and proceed to draw all the attention to him so she doesn't get hurt.
Let's say it's Marc who met her first. Fast forward a few minutes, he is clearly getting his ass handed to him and Kamala swoops in to save the day. They decide to team up, and after a messy, but successful mission nevertheless, they'd go get ice cream or a drink.
Kamala would immediately bombard him with questions, about his superhero origin story and how long he's been doing this because "Trust me, I know right about everything there is to know about the Avengers and you're not one of them."
"Far from it, kid," he'd grumble. "I'm the avatar of the Egyptian God, Khonshu" He'd explain how being an avatar works as she'd listen intently, taking in the fact that Egyptian mythology was indeed very real, as the Norse ones. "So, as I said earlier, I don't do team work, I'm better off alone,"
"But what you did back there was awesome!" She'd exclaim in dismay. "And the suit changes mid-fights? One moment you have this long cape fluttering behind you wherever you go and the next second you look like you're going to a serial killer met gala,"
That's when Marc truly laughs. It wasn't every day he met someone who doesn't want to kill him, let alone someone who was filled with life and enthusiasm and doesn't keep him on the edge all the time.
He could see Jake smiling in the reflection. "I like this kid. She's got spunk," He'd say, getting a warning glare from Marc.
He could see Steven in the back muttering something about "Serial killer met gala" and couldn't stop smiling to himself.
"The suit changes because the person who is wearing it changes, kid," he says and proceeds to explain about Steven and Jake, all the while she listens to him dumbfound.
"So, in a way," She'd smirk, "You're already doing teamwork. You just don't like being around other people,"
"Can't argue with that," he'd shrug. "Right. Don't you have any normal work to do? What do you kids your age do? Study, party? Why are you here?"
When he learns about her story, he realizes how much of her family and her ethnicity's history is bestowed upon this little kind. A part of him was impressed, and another part was mad that a teenager had to bear the mantle of representing an entire community, and if she ever messed up, bad people were going to come not only after her but her people too.
He'd feel his heart breaking for her because she was so young and innocent, she hadn't yet seen the fate of what happened to people who chose this path or what toll being a hero would take on her.
"That's her decision, Marc," Jake would chime in.
"She's just a child, Jake," Both he and Steven would hiss, their headspace immediately breaking into chaos.
I think there is so much potential for an awesome dynamic here.
Kamala and Marc would be the ultimate sunshine and sunshine protector TM duo ever. Layla would sometimes tease him about him basically being her brother figure, but he'd brush it off, grumbling about how he's just not letting that kid get into anything stupid.
It'd take him hours of convincing and some expensive chocolates to keep her from making a video about him and posting it on her youtube channel.
"Dude, it has like 5 subscribers anyways, and all of them are my friends," She'd whine, but would finally agree to keep his identity a secret.
Whenever Kamala would rant about her family, Marc would listen to her, wishing he could tell her how lucky she is to have a family that cares for her and loves her so much.
Kamala would sometimes be tip-toeing around that topic. Ever since Marc told her about his DID, she'd been researching about that and it came to her knowledge that this disorder develops in little kids who have gone through extreme trauma. She couldn't for the life in her imagine what would've happened. Abusive parents? Rough childhood and foster care system? He'd never talk about any of it and Kamala never tries to push it.
Marc would explain to her what having DID was like, and how he found out that he wasn't alone and shared his adventures with her. He wasn't great at narrating stories, so Kamala had to do most of the work, pulling sentences from him that would paint the perfect picture of the story he was trying to tell her.
She'd also brush up on her knowledge of Ancient Egypt and whenever she tried to geek about it, Marc would chuckle. "Steven's not available at the moment, try again later."
Muneeba's cooking was Marc's favorite. He'd traveled nearly all around the globe and had to eat a lot of dishes from various cultures, but he's always had a knack for Desi food, he found out, no matter how spicy it was. He'd huff and puff through it, his face red and hot but he'd be too proud to admit that the food's a bit too spicy.
Kamala would smirk, and tell him how she finally has a companion other than Bruno and doesn't have spice tolerance either.
If Kamala ever gets injured mid-fight, better take it for granted that whoever was responsible for that is going to get shredded to pieces. He would fight with such violence and vigor, not in front of her of course, that even Jake would be impressed.
Marc would feel less like a mistake and try to enjoy the lightness the kid brings whenever they hung out.
"Look, kid, if you want to survive out in the world with the kind of powers that you have, then you have to learn to physically fight too, alright, don't always rely on your superpowers, you never know what might happen," He had finally said one day, after Jake pestering him for a week straight.
"Jake, Steven, and I are gonna help you, and teach you how to fight," He'd say and be met with an over-enthusiastic and excited Kamala.
He'd soon realize how much he underestimated the kid because even without using her powers, with all the fighting, the kid has gotten physically and mentally stronger. Maybe she can survive this after all.
He couldn't help but worry at times about the inevitable- she's going to lose somebody close to her. An unsettling feeling would take over him, as he realized how much it would break him to see the kid in pain.
Kamala and Steven are probably the softest and most enthusiastic duo who aren't family related in the MCU.
Usually, when Steven is fronting, nearly the whole time would pass by as they both take turns sharing their knowledge on different things that interest them.
Muneeba doesn't understand how Kamala is sliding in random Egyptian facts in everyday conversation and doesn't remember buying her that large Encyclopedia of Egypt that sat heavily on her study table. Probably a gift from Bruno, she had shrugged it off.
If Steven ever got the chance to meet her family or already knows them in the story, he'd definitely help Muneeba around the house with all the work. Breaking through a Desi mother's doubts and initial distrust was probably his greatest achievement, he'd tell Marc and Jake.
This man would have ZERO tolerance for spice and the family would try to stifle their laughs as Kamala brings him cold water and curd to ease the burning. Muneeba made a note to go easy on the chili whenever Steven was around.
Steven Grant was a patient man, and Kamala liked to test that by going "Alright what's all this then," and "It's chewsday, innit?" in a terrible English accent all the time. Jake and Marc adored her for this very reason.
And let us not forget about Kamala's dad and Steven watching cricket matches together!! Those two would lose their minds during every sixers and fours, and wicket. They'd often get into heated discussions about the players and their styles, and historic cricket matches. They both would put the match's commentators to shame.
Kamala might ask for Steven's help whenever she had a history test, and Steven would spend hours teaching her the study materials and helping her memorize all the dates and places and major events fast because he was easily the best teacher Kamala has ever encountered in her life.
When she jokingly mentioned that, Steven felt so proud of himself, not something he was used to feeling.
Kamala is the best wingman for The Boys and Layla. They might be divorced, or complicated or working through it, but whenever Kamala was around, she would, in her own ways, try to help the boys out.
Whenever a mission was getting out of hand, his first priority would always be getting Kamala to safety, though as time went on, he learned to let her fight beside him because she was equally, if not more, stronger and powerful than him.
Kamala and Jake would be the definition of a disaster duo that raised the blood pressure of anyone and everyone around them.
He mostly never fronted when any of Kamala's family members were around. He had met Bruno tho and promptly traumatized that kid with his gruesome stories. Kamala would shove him in the ribs to make him stop, but he'd only keep smirking as he watched Bruno fumble around him.
He'd have zero verbal filters around the kid, earning him a string of warnings from both Steven and Marc which he blissfully ignored. He'd also not bother about beating guys to a pulp whenever she was around, unlike his other alters who were always careful to not use too much violence. Though it made Kamala queazy sometimes, she wouldn't say anything because Jake was the only one who she felt treated her like an adult who can handle things instead of a child who didn't know what she was doing.
Jake would be the one to spoil Kamala so much. He'd buy her whatever she wants on one condition: she exceeds in her superhero training program (but he just buys the random stuff she asks for anyways).
Kamala would try to learn Spanish from Jake, and he'd try to learn Urdu from her. It wasn't a thing they did voluntarily, they didn't set up classes or did it on purpose. They both would say something in their mother tongue and the other would ask what it means and they would go on teaching and learning for minutes together.
One time Jake even gave Kamala and Bruno a ride to their school in his infamous "SPKTR" Limousine that had the whole school turn around and look at them. "Enjoy the attention for the day," He'd say and drive off.
He'd often ask her if he wants to meet Khonshu knowing damn well Kamala can't see him (or can she, with her having Noor ancestry) but never got the chance to because he'd brush it off as a joke- a result of Marc, Steven and Khonshu yelling in the back for him to stop.
Jake usually steered clear out of the way of emotions and feelings. To him, existing while having fun and being wild was all that mattered. At least that was how he planned on spending his days. One day, he was flipping through Kamala's infamous sketchbook that was filled with superheroes and her friends, fictional characters she loved, or basic landscape sketches, and found illustrations of him, Marc, and Steven, fighting or just their basic character profiles.
He'd marvel at Kamala's talent. She really had the hands of an artist. That's when his eyes flicked to the captions beside or beneath every image that'd describe their superpowers or how she viewed them.
He could recognize his sketch pretty easily. The bloke with a boy cap and a suit, leaning over his limousine and a gun in his hand and mouth turned up in a smirk.
'Kid truly captured my essence,' He'd think. "Partner in Crime," He read the caption scribbled beside the illustration, smiling to himself a bit. "Coolest, deranged, uncle figure"
He never cared for much in this world, really. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was fighting for people he cared for. The list didn't have anyone other than Marc and Steven and only a couple of other people he'd seen in his short life, and Kamala was right beside the two idiots he shared his body with.
The Moon Boys and Kamala would be a fun and dangerous duo who have one of the most unique dynamics in the MCU, with so much potential for joint character development and arcs.
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jurassic-amber · 2 months
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Prepare thyself mortal. For I have questions to bestow upon thee.
1. Do you have anything resembling a story / route planned for Abigail? Supporting characters, ect?
2. Ever drawn a metal guitar before?
3. Regarding your Digimon artwork, what inspires you to create digimon? Do you have a favourite digimon you’ve designed? Is there anything in particular that inspired their design?
4. I *know* you’ve got a character who transforms into a monster somewhere in that brain of yours. Tell us about them. All of them.
5. What is your favourite Iterator OC? Why? Is there anything that particularly inspired their design (both art and character wise)?
6. How are you so fucking good at art?
7. Do you have any Pokémon OC’s? Or hell, OCs from existing works you haven’t talked about?
Love you and your art, please share more :happyhugs:
1: I’m very vague on Abigail’s story overall, but I know how it ends, specifically. If they were in a game it’d be a very short game compared to base game Undertale, only going up to Waterfall before encountering the “final boss” they couldn’t beat. (Hint: it’s not undyne) Gonna leave it mostly in the dark besides that for the time being (because it’d take too long to draw)
2: Nope, but here’s a quick sketch of an electric guitar
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3: Ohhhhh well, in the beginning I just drew a bunch of rookie level digimon to practice and do a sort of “attribute swap” where I draw stuff like plant digimon as dragon digimon or dragon digimon as birds, etc etc. But a lot of more recent work is actually modern designs for pen and marker drawings from when I was like 7! Some have changed names, some have improved colors, all of them have improved designs. Here’s an example!
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When I get around to drawing their champion and ultimate levels it’ll probably diverge even more as I get different ideas as to where I want the lines to go. I also just love making digimon cause I often draw to fill empty niches in works I notice, and digimon basically has infinite of those cause you can partner a digimon up with any character and then try to think of a special line for them! As for my current favorite… it’s a strange choice, but definitely CryoGreymon! Most of the body is traced from official art of the normal Greymon, but I liked the modifications I made. I redrew an entire leg to give him a wider stance, added more spikes and stripes!!
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It’s a champion form of Snow Agumon cause they never gave him a digivolution despite being the coolest variant (Hehehe cool and snow, get it?)
4: At first I was gonna do Aria for this, but then I remembered Cloe and fuck yeah let’s do her.
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CLOE, pronounced Chloe is a character for a sci-fi mystery game, and when I say sci-fi, I mean space travel and aliens sci-fi. She’s an early game red herring meant to be reasonably suspicious to the characters, but obviously innocent to us, along with being a parody of every horror movie alien. She’s from a species that grows to disguise itself as other creatures and infiltrate their society. Her species needs a very high protein count. However being a species means they don’t all think the same. Some eat the creatures they disguise amongst, others steal prey, some intimidate others into satisfying their hunger. Cloe herself is an orphan and only survivor of an alien ship that crashed into a human controlled planet, and isn’t a species allowed on human controlled planets. Fortunately the agency that ends up handling the case where she’s exposed also was established in the first place to handle these type of situations. She follows one of the protagonists around after it’s obvious she’s innocent, and post game she goes under his care for the foreseeable future. As an alien she’s not allowed in normal school, so she spends her time at his house both studying and finding hobbies, like speedrunning in video games.
5: Not sure if you meant my favorite one I’ve made? I’m still trying to come up with all their designs tbh. But my favorite concepts ever were the vague one of Gifted Order and I also really like Two Bloodstained Hands. Gifted Order basically makes a part of themselves into a Slugcat, but gives themself rot in the process. They don’t quite see it as themselves, but are satisfied to give part of themselves freedom. This is inspired by a plot point in a game I like, leaving it vague which. I also like Two Bloodstained Hands’ concept of being feared just because they associate with violence in their work even though they aren’t a violent iterator
6: A lot of it is really just doing it over and over again, but aside from that I might have a couple tips? Most objects are made up of basic shapes, then you smooth them over. Depending on your art style, you don’t have to use every shape either, just a circle for the head is fine if you’re drawing something simple. Hair can be done with just wavy lines usually. And one thing I learned recently is practicing line weight!! Balancing thin lines and thick lines can give more direction to artwork or help highlight the silhouette if the outside is made thick.
7: god, I have so many… but in terms of Pokémon, I do have a bunch of fakemon designs! Remind me later and I’ll put up I’ll the fan-eeveelution designs I made
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starshcwer · 2 months
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( baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2) | @opyre )
❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞
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she'd felt this before, when she'd first seen clive after a lifetime. it had taken her what felt like both an age & an instant to recognize him but, once she had, all of the ( thankfully empty ) tankards that she'd been carrying had fallen from her hands, causing a scene she hadn't intended. she remembered little of that moment other than her sudden struggle to breathe & martha's concerned voice coming from what had felt like far away.
luckily, she was better prepared when she'd seen joshua. her hands were empty, & the sight of phoenix's dominant didn't send her into the panic that once would have taken over her. instead, she spent time studying his eyes, his face, the curve of his cheeks, & she could see the resemblance from the boy from so many years ago. she could remember standing in rosalith castle, her body leaning to look around the body of the man in front of her ( despite her mother's whisper of ❛ be still, tifa. ❜ ) so she could see as the heir to the ducal throne bestowed a sacred & ancient rite upon his upon his brother–––– his first shield. she could remember feeling pride for the traditions of her people for the first time & joining in the cheers so loudly her voice had vanished by the evening.
they had all been so happy, just for their lives to be torn asunder less than a year later.
upon seeing him again, alive & just as grown as she, tifa had hesitated. she'd kept her head down & focused on her tasks in the hideaway. speaking with clive had been a necessity, but there had been no reason to bother joshua–––– not when he certainly didn't remember her, who had been just another face in the crowd of his future subjects. no, she hadn't needed to trouble him.
until, this moment. tifa had spent extra time cleaning the tub & crown. most of the residents of the hideaway were resting when she finally finished, & she intended her walk to her bunk to be a leisurely one, but she paused at a lone figure standing by the docks. joshua, alone in the darkness, watching the blighted waters. instinct told her to keep moving, to leave him be, but she couldn't find it within her to depart for bed without checking to see if he was alright.
though she made no effort to hide her steps, he didn't seem to notice her, & she mustered up the courage to call out to him, her hand reaching up.
❛ my lord? ❜
he jumped the instant her hand brushed his shoulder, causing her to do the same. for a moment he looked ready to draw a sword that wasn't even at his side. his explanation almost made her laugh–––– startling a man with the magic inside him to become an eikon certainly hadn't been something that she'd forseen herself able to do–––– but she managed an apology instead.
❛ forgive me, that wasn't my intention. i just wanted to make sure you were alright. you looked... ❜
just as he said, as if he was miles away. as though his mind had wandered to a place his spirit & body could not follow, & she knew well the dangers of attempting. tifa left her statement unfinished.
❛ are you okay? ❜
whether or not he would share the thoughts that plagued his mind with her was a mystery but, should she be given the chance, she would gladly help him carry whatever burden was weighing him down.
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jordanianroyals · 22 days
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King Abdullah II of Jordan, on 6 March 2024, bestowed the Order of the Bejewelled Grand Cordon of Al Nahda (Order of the Renaissance) on Queen Rania, in appreciation of her distinguished service, her leading role in the advancement of Jordanian society, and her keenness to support Jordanians in all fields.
His Majesty also sent a letter to Her Majesty on the occasion the Silver Jubilee.
Following is the full English translation of the letter:
“To my lifelong partner, Um Al Hussein, Your Majesty Queen Rania Al Abdullah, may God bless and protect you:
I address you today with my deepest affection and pride.
As I mark the 25th anniversary of the assumption of my constitutional powers, I find myself reflecting on my journey so far, as a humble and faithful servant to our homeland. Through thick and thin, God has blessed me with an unwavering companion, who has stood by my side in constant devotion to this nation, putting her larger Jordanian family before her own.
I have always known you to be a loving wife, and a nurturing mother to our children, Al Hussein, Iman, Salma, and Hashem, who never fail to draw upon the values of their dear grandfather Al Hussein, and the Islamic values of their revered ancestor, our prophet and messenger of our faith, Muhammad, peace be upon him.
I have witnessed, firsthand, as you have strived to ensure the very best for your fellow Jordanians in various fields, without ever seeking praise or gratitude in return. Every obstacle and hardship you have encountered has only made you more determined to serve the public with honour.
Every time I enter a Jordanian village or home, its people ask me to convey to you their greetings and their appreciation for your efforts to develop our country and create a brighter, more hopeful future for our children. I see, in their eyes, love for the wife of their King and the mother of their Crown Prince.
I see no brighter picture than the one of Jordanian women that you proudly present to the world. They, too, take pride in their Queen and their country everywhere they go. You have never shied away from taking bold moral stances, defending the oppressed and supporting the vulnerable, wherever they may be.
Today, as you celebrate your Jordanian sisters and as the world celebrates women, I can think of no better occasion, nor higher honour, to recognise your efforts. Today, I bestow upon you the Order of the Bejewelled Grand Cordon of Al Nahda (Order of the Renaissance). May it serve as further inspiration for you to continue with all that you do for our country.
May God Almighty protect you, and sustain you on the path of virtue.
With my love, trust, and appreciation, always,
Abdullah II ibn Al Hussein.”
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faytelumos · 2 years
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Directory and Info!
Welcome to my writeblr!
My name is Fayte, and he or she pronouns are both fine.  My biggest writing projects are fantasy with elements of drama, romance, and horror, interwoven with found family, enemies to friends, a journey to the underworld, coming of age (adult), an unseen and blazing angel, grieving, the bond between siblings, and some monsters.  For Tumblr, I have a selection of hero/villain content available (including two longer-form stories) and a smattering of other short, original fiction.  There’s also some vampires and a handful of prompts to be seen.
My own writing is tagged as "Fayte writes". I use content warnings somewhat generously, and if I ever feel something is especially detailed/descriptive, it will be listed as a trigger warning.  I am ask and tag game friendly, even when I’m really slow answering them.  Asks are under the tag "can I ax you something?"  I’m trying to get back into drawing, so feel free to ask me about that, too.
My profile pic is from this, and my header is from here.
Here's a link to a slew of men's help hotlines, because it's very important to me.
Directory below the cut. Don't mind all of the notes in brackets; this post is slowly being renovated.
Main Story
Yamez: It's time to go to war, but a big sister can't bring herself to let her little brother fight.
prompt fills: a list of posts where I used my OCs to fill a prompt
misc OC content: a list of character introductions, trivia, portraits, memes, and miscellaneous other things
Story Bites
The Lucid Dead, pt2: When the zombie apocalypse came, it made it impossible for vampires to remain in hiding.
Ulterior, pt2: Sidekick found Villain on the brink of death and secrets them away.
The Puzzle Box: Whosoever opens the Devilish Puzzle Box, bestowed upon The Little Ones by The Mighty Door Opener, Deliverer of Plenty, shall be revealed to be the Chosen One. (three puppies play with their new toy)
Saying Goodbye: Superhero and all of Supervillain's followers say goodbye. [fine]
Illusory: The past a hero has tried to put behind her returns from the dark. [completed series]
Heaven's Trail: Spy teaches Warrior about the stars on a quiet night.
Open Late: Hero is trying to cope with losing lives while Sidekick is trying to get them both to eat.
It's Cold Outside… : After a frigid brush with death, Villain warms up in Hero's care.
Open Wounds: Hero's hurt and vulnerable, and the only person they can think to ask for help is Villain.
Ol' Ben, pt2, pt3: Hero entrusts Villain with their elderly dog.
Fishing Fiasco, pt2, pt3: A late night fishing trip turns into a close call with mer-death.
Rookie: Villain's just minding their own business when some nobody comes crashing in.
Rescue: Villain is a little tired of the way Hero is being treated.
Breaking Up (Is Hard Enough): Hero's still processing their breakup on Valentine's Day, but their friends make sure they're not alone.
Teacher's Lounge: A teen vampire prefers to spend time with the teachers.
Nobody Loved Her: A researcher finds out that a dangerous experiment has gotten loose.
Future, Rural, Hope: A farmer and his robot are making the best out of a tough situation.
Short Form
How it Feels to Break Containment
A Good Girl's Eulogy (cw: real death mentions)
Requests
Know Thy Enemy, pt2: A confident and somewhat flirty villain catches a normally bubbly hero who becomes shy every time they interact.
Prompt Fills
"I think I'm going to be sick." / "Oh come on, it's one kiss and it's going to literally save the world!" / "Right, but it's you that I'm kissing."
A Month of Kisses (prompts from here)
“A clean white cape, baby blue underpants, and suddenly everyone thinks I’m the hero. Good PR has never been so easy.”
Whumptober 2022 (prompts and rules here) [broken] [clean]
"Please leave me alone."
"I know we're enemies-" / "Understatement of the century." / "-But I'd like to make an alliance." / "No."
Trick or Treats: pluttskutt's, superbatdisasterblog's, godswar's, ghost-town-story's, fickle-tiction's, dogmomwrites', epiclamer's
"You are truly unique."
"Are you waiting for someone?"
You are the newest addition to the police's K-9 Unit…
The villain's favorite snack company is on the verge of bankruptcy…
“I’m getting sick of running into you.” / “Same here.”
Accidentally hitting [someone] with a snowball meant for their friend.
"When you look at me like that… I feel like someone worth looking at. But I know that's not true. So I need you to stop." / "Not true? Now, who has you believing nonsense like that?", pt2
"Turn back."
[An alien race is concerned when they find humans with no FTL travel, and is horrified by the use of cryogenics.], pt2
"No one kisses me. Everyone's too afraid of me to kiss me. But you… you just…" / "Oh. Oh, God, was that your first kiss? I'm so sorry—"
Call Me. [one character calling out for/to another]
Knight x Jester
Write a horror story in the format of an internet search history.
Prompts
"And they said you couldn't fly."
"Will you sing with me one more time?…"
"Uh…. Happy birthday?"
"Let me guess your secret identity —"
Digital cameras have built-in content censors…
(long starter: Villain trapped with Hero in Hero's mind)
"Well, I tried."
"I didn't know who else to come to…."
"Why should I do anything for you?"
“Delete your account.”
Your teammate has time control powers...
"...How do you keep it together so well?"
The Halloween party was going great...
"I'm sorry."
"Don't say goodbye."
list of Sunshine x Grumpy prompts
Resources
Fayte’s character questionnaire
Fayte’s draconic diet research
Fayte's guide to writing inter-species romance
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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year
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Heart of Stone | Chapter 13
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, Read on AO3
note: I decided I am going to keep posting these here because I’m still going to be posting her musings/images and the like so it makes sense to keep it all in one place??? Shh.
pairing: Thranduil x Tamuril (oc) storyline: Tamuril was in love with Haldir but the battle at Helms Deep took  away all hope she had for the future. She struggles with her grief and tensions eventually run high when she shares a moment with Lord Elrond she feels she cannot come back from and flees Rivendell, hiding herself away in the Elvenking Thranduil’s Halls. chapter summary: A look back to Rivendell in the week or so after Tamuril leaves and the journey to Mirkwood continues.
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When morning came, Tamuril had barely rested, but she rose with the dawn regardless and moved to begin helping the others to put everything away. The wood elves gave her thankful smiles and she started to feel a little better for it. Useful. It was nothing big but she wondered if Thranduil was right.
Just as she had thought it, the King himself strode out of his large tent, dressed and ready for the ride ahead. She found herself watching him as he moved fluidly through the crowd of his entourage, everyone parting before him in a way that almost looked like a dance.
Tamuril found that she wanted to apologise for the way she spoke to him the previous night. He was a King and she did not share the familiarity with him that she had shared with Elrond. She had forgotten her place, she knew that, though she was surprised - and grateful - that he had not seen fit to reprimand her. Though for all she knew, it was coming.
Turning her gaze from him, she missed when he - a second later - turned his own towards her. He stood there, observing her for a long few moments, watching as she assisted his people until, satisfied, he turned away again and moved to mount his elk.
“He was just staring at you!” Nessa’s voice practically screamed in Tamuril’s ear, knocking her off kilter suddenly.
She winced, turning from where she had been helping pack away another tent, to bestow a frown upon her friend. “What are you talking about?”
“The King!” Nessa squealed again, drawing the attention of a nearby group of elves who were now mounting their own steeds.
Feeling her cheeks burning at the attention, Tamuril heaved a heavy sigh and pulled Nessa along by her arm, leading her over to where Willow stood waiting. “Nessa!” She hissed.
“What?” The other elleth stood there, blinking back at her with an innocent expression that Tamuril knew better than to fall for.
She levelled Nessa with a specific look and Nessa caved, her shoulders slumping. “But he was!”
Tamuril huffed, turning to untie the knot in the rope that had fixed Willow in place for the night of rest. “So?” She answered, greeting the horse with some light ruffling of its fur.
Nessa tilted her head. “I mean, if a King was staring at me, I would be taking a lot more interest in it.” She muttered.
Tamuril turned to her with another frown. “He was probably staring at me because last night I... I snapped at him and he is trying to decide how best to punish me for it!” She threw her hands in the air.
Usually, she could deal with whatever Nessa threw her way, her impetuousness often dragging her away on tangents that were sometimes best kept in her own head. She could be a lot of fun and she was a great friend but sometimes Nessa did not watch her words and went wherever the wind decided to blow her.
“You did what?!” Nessa’s eyes blew wide as she stared at the other girl in shock. “Tamuril! We have barely left Rivendell and you already...?" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Why would you do such a thing?”
“He was being irritating!” Tamuril snapped back, moving to mount the horse, eager to burn off all her newly rising frustrations on the journey. She knew that was hardly a reasonable excuse, or even the main reason, but still.
“He is a king, they are all irritating!” Nessa cried, tilting her head as she looked up at Tamuril from where she stood on the ground. She could tell the raven-haired half-elf wasn't being altogether truthful with her, though she had grown used to the walls Tamuril had put up. They had been built when Haldir fell and now seemed unbreakable. “Still...” Nessa mused, turning to look across the grass, her gaze falling upon Thranduil, his head held high as he spoke to some of his people from astride his elk.
Her voice had taken on the tone it did when she had started to get the beginnings of one of her little schemes and Tamuril’s gaze shifted back down to her in alarm. “Nessa.” She warned, not sure what thoughts had caught her friend’s attention but whatever it was she already knew she wanted no part in it.
“What?” Nessa turned her attention from Thranduil, shrugging once more in her little faux-innocent way as she looked back at her friend. “Oh, come, Tamuril!” She smiled at her, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her knee.
Tamuril raised an eyebrow at her, though slight amusement had started to creep in. Nessa had always had this way about her that was sort of infectious. “Whatever meddlesome little thoughts just tip-toed into your head, banish them.”
“I simply do not know what you mean.” Nessa trilled, offering Tamuril a soft smile before turning to prance away towards her own horse.
Tamuril shook her head as she watched her retreat, feeling too tired to dwell upon whatever Nessa had decided to latch onto this time. Still, she would have to keep an eye on her. She didn’t want to end up cast out of the Woodland Realm because her friend had decided to once more unleash her own personal brand of chaos.
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Arwen's footsteps carried her down the hall. She had just come from choosing the dress she planned to wear to Gondor. It was beautiful and she was very happy, though she was full of nerves and she kept thinking back to the last time she saw Aragorn. She was excited to finally see him again, to begin the life she had waited for, and she wanted to be perfect for him.
Still, her thoughts continued to shift back to Tamuril. She missed her. It had been her wish that they all travel to Gondor together when this had all been over - Haldir included. Arwen missed him too. It had been a week now since Tamuril and Nessa had left Rivendell and still her father had not told her about his vision, the one that had upset Tamuril so much. She could wait, of course, but she just wished that he would stop beating himself up about this entire thing. She knew that he was doing it still, even if he did not speak of it.
Arwen also knew that neither her father or Tamuril had meant - or wanted - any of this. Not that either of them had believed her. It seemed that nobody was listening to a word she said and it was very frustrating!
On the way to her father's study, she caught sight of Lindir sitting on a bench overlooking the valley. He looked to be moping and Arwen turned to detour in his direction.
He looked up when he sensed her approaching. "Oh. My Lady. Are you alright? Do you need anything?"
Arwen shook her head. "Peace, Lindir. I only come to ask you what's wrong."
"Wrong?" He asked, feigning confusion but he knew Arwen was much smarter than that. The look she gave him was confirmation enough and he sighed. "I am missing my friends, that's all." He shrugged. "It is not the same without them."
"No, it isn't." Arwen agreed, looking at him closely for a moment. "Why did you never tell her?"
Lindir blinked, alarm flashing across his expression. "What?!" His voice was practically a squeak.
Arwen chuckled but the sound was kind and she placed a hand upon his arm. "Lindir."
He deflated a little and sighed, shaking his head. "I did not wish to lose her friendship." Having Nessa as a friend was better than having Nessa as nothing at all, at least to Lindir. Now he kept thinking about her laughing with Feren or meeting some other elf in the Greenwood who she would finally fall for and forgetting all about him. He had missed his chance.
Arwen smiled kindly, reaching out to place her hand on top of his. “Do not give up on it so easily, mellon. There is always hope.” She told him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek before she jumped back up. “Do you know if my father is in his study?”
Lindir, whose ears were burning, ducked his head bashfully and chuckled. “He was the last time I looked, yes.”
“Thank you.” Arwen chuckled at him and turned to wander off in the direction of her father’s den.
When she pushed the door open, Elrond was sitting behind a large desk, focusing intently upon the papers in front of him. He didn’t actually have a lot to do, he was just focusing on finishing an account of his final years in Rivendell to leave behind once he departed for the Undying Lands.
He glanced up when his daughter entered and offered her a smile. Arwen could still see the traces of strain upon his face and she knew that it was partly to do with Tamuril but she also knew that it was about herself. He was still grappling with the fact that she was not travelling across the sea with him, to reunite with her mother, to live on with her family. That she had chosen the mortal life of those who came before her and he would have to leave his only daughter behind, never to see her again.
“Is something wrong?” He asked her. “I have informed the stables of our departure and asked the kitchen to ready provisions for the journey to Gondor. We should set out soon to make it in time.”
Arwen smiled graciously. “Thank you, ada. Everything is great, I just wanted to come see you.”
Elrond gave his daughter a look, a small smile gracing his lips. “You do not need to check on me, darling. I am fine.”
Arwen regarded him closely, shaking her head softly. “I didn’t say that you weren’t.”
Elrond’s brows knitted together as he frowned at her, though merely in jest. “Are you attempting to trick me, oh daughter of mine?”
“I would not dream of it.”
“Arwen...” He began, setting his quill down on the desk in front of him and shuffling away the papers he had been writing on.
Arwen sighed as she looked back at him. “Ada, I know when something troubles you.” She told him. “You play a convincing part but I know how you hold on to things.”
“Please.” Elrond held up his hand. “I do not want to think on it. There is too much else that needs my attention. I wish to enjoy the time we have left before we leave.”
“You are not getting on a ship straight away. Me going to Gondor is not goodbye.”
“I know... but, please, let me deal with this in my own way.” He smiled, reaching out for her hand. “Let us look forward, not back.”
Arwen was left dissatisfied but she merely smiled at him, nodding as she gave his hand a little squeeze.
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Two more weeks had passed without incident and Tamuril was feeling a lot more settled in this journey than she had been when she first set out. Even Nessa had calmed down somewhat and Tamuril had actually started talking to the elves around her, finding that she did not altogether hate their company.
They were readying to settle again for the night, before the final leg of the journey, when there seemed to be some sort of commotion nearby. Tamuril looked up from where she was helping erect a little tent, glancing over.
Curiosity saw her moving closer to the little group that the slightly raised voices had come from. “What’s going on?” She asked.
One of the elves turned towards her, looking like they were at a loss. “We have lost a tent!” She cried in dismay, throwing her hands up in the air.
“Oh.” Tamuril frowned, wondering how it could have happened but she supposed things could get missed on the road, right? It didn’t occur to her that it was the tent that she and Nessa had been assigned until she realised that everybody was staring at her. She blinked. “Oh.” She said again.
“I am not sleeping on the grass!” Nessa complained from her side. “It’s soaked from last nights rain.”
“You can stay in my tent, my lady.” Feren’s voice sounded out from behind her. Tamuril turned to look at him with a soft frown but Nessa seemed to have already accepted his offer.
“Are you sure there will be room for me?” She asked him.
Feren chuckled before he nodded. “Trust me, there is ample space. Though...” He turned to look at Tamuril with an apologetic expression. “There is not quite enough space for two extra.”
Tamuril held back a sigh and was in the process of opening her mouth to assure him that it was okay, while the other part of her mind was trying to figure out if any of the few other tents would have even a sliver of space or if she would be sleeping in a tree, but a voice came from behind her before she could get a word out.
“There is room in mine.”
Tamuril’s shoulders straightened of their own accord and she did her best not to let any sort of emotion show on her face as she turned, meeting Thranduil's intense stare with her own.
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archesa · 2 years
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Is the Knight of the Thorn quest still off limits? If not then Knight of the Thorn quest on either Anwen, Elianora or Galaëd (or maybe comparison/differences between)
Ooooh! No, the "Knight of the Thorn" quest is not off-limits! 🌱 Thanks a lot for your patience, I remember you had asked about the Knight of the Thorn quest the first time i reblogged this ask game (once upon a december ^^) but at the time I still hadn’t done the quest and I wasn’t sure what to make of it...
I’m unfortunately (?) not quite in the mood for a deep exploration of Elianora’s deep depression...
But I will gladly talk about the other two! 😄🍂🦋
(this will also overlap with @i-mybrunettelady ‘s ask! enjoy 😘)
I'm still figuring out some of the details for Galaëd, since the restoration of Caladbolg will be very intimately linked to his secret wyld-hunt – bring back the Green Knight from the confines of the Dream.
His journey started by a visit in the Grove, the sight of the statue of his late mentor and friend filling him with rage, grief and guilt, but also fueling a fire within that he had almost forgotten about, a whisper swelling to a resounding call, beckoning him to embrace and reminisce of a now distant memory and fulfill the destiny bestowed upon him by the Dream.
Caladbolg laid broken and withered in the depths of Dreamer’s Terrace. Not dead. Merely dormant. Longing for its missing pieces, its memory to be restored and its wounds to be healed.
Riannoc had carried it first, and his virtues and his flaws still echoed in the whimpers of the wind as the shattered blade brushed through the air. Honour. Courage. Recklessness. And as Galaëd traced along a path that was always meant to be his own, his steps shadowing those of the sword’s previous bearers, the blade’s song changed — the wind on its sharpness, the light at its core, the buds blooming on his guard drawing with every memory revisited the strengths and the merits of the three noble knights who ever carried it.
Riannoc’s bravery and ultimate sacrifice. Trahearne’s erudition and everlasting dedication. Galaëd’s curiosity and unwavering loyalty.
Canach had once described the mesmer’s connection to the Dream as a high-pitched constant whistle, an edge he pictured clearly, unyielding and sharp as a blade,  as opposed to the constant turmoil of interlaced voices and visions gravitating around most dreamers like a haze. A thread connecting him to the ones before, and pulling him towards an inevitable future.
Night was falling on the Grove when he laid down his head under the protective embrace of the Pale Tree. This part of his journey had come to its end. Stars lit up the skies and flickered beyond a veil of mists and memories. He was dreaming. Dreaming of the ones who came before. A familiar presence, waiting far beyond the horizon, wounded and ensnared in an entanglement of thorns. Dormant. Only sleeping.
And with the guidance of a White Stag, the protection of the Dreamer, the welcoming embrace of a friend, the Green Knight would awaken.
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It was different for Anwen, because Trahearne was there, still alive, recovering as she was, when she endeavoured herself to the restoration of the Thorn.🌹
She had taken Caladbolg with her, from the depths of the jungle to the heights of Divinity’s Reach, from the warmth and golden days of Tarir to the mists and starlit nights of Caer Aval, without a second thought as to why the Sword did not reject her the way it had rejected Canach — and it took broaching the subject to Trahearne for her to realise that Caladbolg had chosen her as its new bearer. And if the Thorn was willingly offered, it still demanded Anwen reconciled with the memories of its last two bearers to attune to its full potential.
Visiting Riannoc’s tomb was a very emotionally charged endeavour — Trahearne’s grief and regret echoed through the blade as much as it radiated through him, sorrow and guilt weighting on her shoulders as if they were her own, all the more crueler as she could barely find in herself the strength to comfort her beloved.
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But the duel itself sparked anew her courage, reminded her of the power of unity, of the danger of isolation, fueled her pride at the thought that they had remained strong and loyal and steadfast in the face of certain death. She prevailed because even in the sword’s memory, Riannoc was alone, and even as she stood her ground in single combat against the fallen knight of the thorn, she was not.
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The Vision Crystal next led them on the edge of Verdant Brink, where the Pact had fallen, the Thorn broken, and the wreckage of the fleet still painted in sharp shattered lines of scorched vines and torn metal a vivid recollection of their mistakes and nightmares.
The Glory of Tyria laid stranded, suspended in her last moments, a frozen speck of time holding within its core a shard of Trahearne’s soul — a part of him that had never left Maguuma.
Anwen took in a deep, confident breath before she plunged in the vision. She was not alone. Trahearne was with her.
Her heart sank in her chest, her lungs filling with frozen dread, and within moments before the second vision seized her, she knew what deep hidden, dark and secluded part of her the Sword had conjured.
She instinctively rolled away, a stone greatsword shattering the ground where she stood and vines like whips breaking through the metal carcass as if it were dirt to slash and ensnare her, but it were his eyes — fiery and burning with hatred — that immobilised her.
Pumice-like bark covered his bulk, a wreath of sharp thorns breaking through his skin like a crown, and at his side, half buried in the entanglement of roots and creeper plants conjured in his wake, laid the twisted forms of familiar figures, friends broken, corrupted by blight.
She blocked another swing of the sword, sent to her knees by the force of the blow and barely dodged the shadows frothing neath her feet, a column of darkness rising from the ground a split second before a scythe slashed it through.
Wreathed in obscurity, Trahearne charged at her and struck with yet another powerful blow that seemed to drain even the memory of warmth around them. Ice sizzling as it covered her armour and withered the still fragile buds of the sword, she slashed desperately at the vision, a litany of pleas and reassurances dying on her lips as she struggled to breathe.
‘You’re not real. You’re not him. You’re not Trahearne. Trahearne is safe.’
The tip of the sword encountered resistance and a light pierced through the shroud where the blade had dug.
'You’re not real. You’re not him! You’re a figment! The memory of a nightmare!’
Cold and darkness surrounded her, but a light shined through with every cut and slash of Caladbolg, the withered buds blooming and a scent of salt water and iodine replacing that of decay and rot as the wind swelled and the vines recessed.
The hardened bark shattered, and the blade dug in his chest without resistance. Bright blue flames flared from the wound as the fiery glow in his eyes dimmed to their familiar honey and closed forever as ley energy drowned the world and consumed him from within.
Anwen blinked away the vision, her breath stuck in her throat when she found herself not atop of the wreckage, but on the deck of the Glory of Tyria, a vast expanse of water beneath and the sun rising over Orr on the horizon. Trahearne was with her. Another memory, a vision of a past she would rewrite if she could, and yet would not change for the world; the morning after the Cleansing of Orr, the moment she should have realised, in retrospect, that Trahearne loved her.
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He smiled at her, his glow a deep purple striking against the warm silver and pale gold of the skies around him.
“One day soon, this plague will be but a memory. Every dawn rising bring us closer to seeing these wounds heal... But in the mean time, dear friend, this day is ours.”
She closed the gap between them, finding herself engulfed in a towering embrace, rather than nuzzled in the crook of his shoulder as the vision faded and she returned to reality.
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“I know you're probably tired of hearing this — especially from me — but thank you, dear friend. We've come a long way and have a long way to go, but for now, I am glad you’re here with me.”
“Here at the end of all things?”
“Hopefully, their beginning.”
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imkittyjustkitty · 2 years
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Kitty's Daily Pride — Day 11 — Part2/Bonus to This
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prompt ; rain
pairings ; None really, but this is a bonus to an Ethan Green x Reader
summary ; How many times did you call how many different people? Someone of sound mind would probably say too many. Or in other words, all the instances in which no one answered your calls, and why they didn't.
+ reader is gender neutral (no pronouns used) & no mentions of y/n (no reader perspective because this is all the stuff that was happening on the other end of the phone that meant people couldn't answer reader)
warnings ; death, descriptions of dead bodies and wounds, car crash, Lex doesn’t have a good relationship with her mum (it’s a big part of the musical so ppl know this but i just wanna put a warning for people just in case), mentions of bullying/harassment
genre ; angst / kinda just spooky or sad depending on how you look at it
word count ; 1564
A/N ; stuff's been tough recently and my time for writing has been limited, but finally i finished something :D !!! so proud of myself !! <3 also new format for these which i prefer , i think it looks v funky !!! :D
do not steal, repost, or redistribute my work in any way.
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7:15.
It’s like the screeching of a dying pig, the half broken phone crying for an answer. It’s wedged beneath his corpse, the ringing muffled by his body which lays over it haphazardly, combined with the blood that dried up in the speakers.
Wet blood no longer drips, now it just lays there, dried out, just like him, a thick river of it pooling from his open mouth.
He’s long gone, but his phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing, begging to be picked up, begging to be answered. But no such luck.
He doesn’t rise from the dead to answer the desperate caller, he doesn’t ease their worries. No, he just lies there, another life lost in that hell of a shopping centre, his whole future thrown away in seconds.
A cruel, undeserved fate.
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8:06.
“Someone’s calling.”
“Really, who? Let me see.” The dark haired girl leans over the console, gently taking her phone from her sister’s unsure hands.
Her phone screen is cracked beyond viable repair, and all she can make out is a few digits in the caller’s number.
She has to hold back a shudder, a sick feeling churning through her stomach. The numbers don’t look quite right, but still suspiciously similar to her mother’s phone number.
She doesn’t hesitate to dismiss the call.
She takes a deep breath, an action meant to calm her down, but instead pinches regret at her every junction as sharp pains stab at her sore throat and bruised torso.
Hissing in pain, she hand's her phone back to her sister.
The car swerves slightly as her attention briefly leaves the road. Her sister freezes up with wide eyes, terrified of what would happen if her sister's attention were to draw from the road again.
"Lex... Lex It's ringing again."
Cursing under her breath, Lex leans over to her sister, reaching for the phone. But it seems Hannah's too focussed on the screen, perhaps trying to figure out the number, to notice that Lex is motioning for her to pass the phone.
'Hannah he-"
Somewhere between one of Lex's hands leaving the wheel, and the road curving to the right, she slips towards Hannah and the car loses control.
Swerving in incomprehensible directions, Hannah squeezes her eyes shut, cradling her head in her arms, crying, begging that when she looks back up that everything will be okay.
But Lex freezes for a few moments too long, her eyes wide and wounded body rigid. Unmoving, frozen in terror, but her mind is reeling.
She lived long enough to get out of that fucking mall just to die in a car crash because someone refused to stop blowing up her phone.
Metal screeching. Heads meeting the dashboard of the car. Limbs thrown out the windows. Everything is flashing and bright, but also dark and all-encompassing. It's blinding and piercing and painful and unforgiving.
And yet her phone still rings, unaware of the horrors it’s bestowed upon the two girls.
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8:41.
His phone sits on his bedside table. The calls are coming through of course, no internet issues, no funny coincidences with multiple people trying to get through to him at the same time. No, it's nothing about divine intervention, rather just the universe having a slight sense of humour.
Cruel humour, yes. Cold, unforgiving humour that costs lives and laughs at those who deserve help and pity. And not even those who deserve good things, but rather those who do not deserve such horrible things.
Of course the person calling this man does not deserve such a run-around from the universe. But the universe does not care, the phone still remains ringing.
And so he sleeps a peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the fact that he has been made a father without a child. While the only person who can perhaps warn him of something, try to set off an alarm in his mind, is left without a single thought.
He may find out through the police, a cold and brutal band-aid will be ripped off, he will be told matter-of-factly that his son is deceased, and the officer who delivers the news will see it all as just another unfortunate occurrence. Not a single semblance of emotional connection will those people have with his son.
Or maybe he'll never be given that piece of mind. Maybe he wakes up days after now and only then feels something may be off. It will lead to a town-wide search for his son, which of course will come up empty handed.
It's sort of anticlimactic, how the only thing that stands between this man and finding out that something happened to his son, is the fact that he puts his phone on silent while he sleeps.
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9:01.
Not unlike him, her phone also rests on silent. She had shoved it under her pillow after too many messages. All angry, rude, condescending, all from family, employers, neighbours, supposed 'friends'. Everyone and their mothers tormented the poor women, and she was sick of it.
So she finds herself trying to push the bathroom door closed as quietly as possible, after a calming shower, trying not to wake him in the bedroom.
The second phone of the household makes it's debut, the phone that belongs to the woman that is desperately trying to lift the far too heavy weights off of her shoulders.
The phone vibrates far too quietly underneath the pillow, as the woman lets out a sigh from the hallway. For a moment, fate teeters from side to side, will or won't a phone finally get it's answer? The mythical scales bounce back and force, as the women does the same.
Does she go back to bed, and keep pretending it's all okay, her only reliefs being the nights she spends away from everyone else, thinking and willing herself to move on? Or does she stay here, where she can live in that place, her world of peace, for just a little while longer?
The phone begs for an answer, but the buzzing never reaches her ears.
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes thoughtfully.
Her light footsteps don't make a sound as she turns and softly walks away from the bedroom.
The protective bubble she places herself in each night floats around her as she walks further and further away from the bedroom.
And so the phone continues to buzz, pleading for an answer that will never come.
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9:13.
The ringing of the phone echoes through the empty shopping centre.
Did the owner of the phone deserve the death? Hey who the fuck knows anymore, he was an ass sure, but isn't death a bit far?
But that doesn't matter anymore. Yet another phone is left unanswered, it's owner's blood painting the floor, a canvas of crime and pain. His phone sitting in his pocket, untouched. After all, a dead person can't answer a call, that would be absurd.
The ringing sings on, whistling through the carvings of murder and suffering that lay in his bones.
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9:34.
The ringing calls out through the stagnant halls of the house, a house that is currently inhabited by four people, but nonetheless soaks in eerie nothingness, a silence born out of unspoken fears and just plain awkwardness.
A man and a woman sit next to together, sharing a brief glance as they both hear a phone ringing. The man sighs, and gives the woman a look that says she needs to do something, this isn't his place to do anything, he doesn't really fit here. To be fair no one fits here at the moment, after all, there's a lot that's driven and continues to drive them apart, a barrier of stiffness.
Sighing quietly, the woman looks over to another man, saying, "Tom, the phone's ringing."
Tom looks up from where his shaking hands lay in his lap, furrowing his brows, before muttering something along of the lines of 'it'll be no one important'.
Subtly rolling her eyes, the woman leans in her seat to get a view of the ringing phone that sits on a small table beside the front door.
Another woman sits next to Tom, but with a still considerable (awkward) distance between them. She pulls her lips up into a small, closed mouth smile that practically radiates discomfort and the need to please.
"I'll go get it," She gets up from the couch, lightly placing her hand on Tom's shoulder, who at that glances up and watches her as she exits into the room where the phone still rings.
She goes to grab the phone, the screen showing her a number she doesn't recognise, when it goes silent and the screen fades to black. Tilting her head, she shrugs, and walks back to where the three adults remain in a palpable silence.
"They hung up before i could answer, probably a wrong number," She 'smiles' like she did before, remaining the only one standing among the four of them in the room.
Tom nods, his mind preoccupied, not fully hearing what the woman just said, or even comprehending the current situation.
The woman sits back down, and any hopes of conversation is gone. No one knows what to say, or if they should say anything at all, so they remain in the deafening silence.
At least the phone doesn't ring again.
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reblogging helps me so much and means more people can see my writing !!! and i love hearing people's thoughts on my writing , it makes me so happy and helps me grow as a writer !!! &lt;3 :D
thank you for reading , have a fabulous day &lt;3
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enchantedquill-40 · 14 days
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As the days passed and their love deepened, Sokka couldn't help but notice Zuko's growing protectiveness towards him. At first, he found it endearing – a testament to Zuko's affection and devotion. But as time went on, Sokka began to feel suffocated by Zuko's constant vigilance, his every move scrutinized and questioned.
Even Katara noticed the change in Zuko's behavior, expressing her concerns to Sokka in hushed tones when they were alone. "Sokka, I know Zuko cares about you, but sometimes I worry that he's being too overprotective," she confided, her brow furrowed with worry.
Sokka brushed off his sister's concerns at first, chalking it up to Zuko's Fire Nation upbringing and the lingering scars of his past. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off – that Zuko's protectiveness was driven by more than just concern for his well-being.
It wasn't until Sokka discovered that he was pregnant with Zuko's child that everything came crashing down around him. At first, he was in shock, unable to comprehend the enormity of what was happening. But as the reality sank in, Sokka was overcome with a whirlwind of emotions – fear, uncertainty, and a profound sense of vulnerability.
When he finally mustered the courage to confide in Zuko, the Fire Nation prince's reaction took him by surprise. Zuko was visibly shaken by the news, his normally stoic facade crumbling as he pulled Sokka into a tight embrace.
"Sokka, I... I don't know what to say," Zuko stammered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never imagined... I never thought..."
Sokka could see the fear and uncertainty reflected in Zuko's golden eyes, mirroring his own inner turmoil. It was a stark reminder of the challenges they would face as a couple – challenges that neither of them had anticipated or prepared for.
But despite his initial shock, Zuko's reaction was one of unwavering support and determination. He vowed to stand by Sokka every step of the way, to protect him and their unborn child with every fiber of his being.
As the reality of impending parenthood settled over them, Sokka couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder at the miracle growing inside him. He was terrified, yes, but also filled with a fierce determination to do whatever it took to ensure the safety and well-being of his child.
In the weeks that followed, Sokka and Zuko embarked on a journey unlike any other – a journey filled with uncertainty and challenges, but also with hope and love. Together, they faced the trials and tribulations of pregnancy with courage and resilience, drawing strength from their unwavering bond and the love that bound them together.
And as their child grew within Sokka's womb, Sokka couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected gift that had been bestowed upon them. In Zuko, he had found not just a lover, but a partner – someone who would stand by his side through thick and thin, come what may.
As they prepared to welcome their child into the world, Sokka knew that their journey was far from over. But with Zuko by his side, he was ready to face whatever the future held, secure in the knowledge that their love would carry them through even the darkest of times.
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milkybishop · 3 years
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i commissioned this piece from @lokh years ago now and i still love how they drew ellen sm and her laugh makes me so happy
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Forms of Witchcraft
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•Dolls and Poppets
Poppets are the English terms for what movies call a ‘voodoo doll’. Voodoo doll is a misnomer, and does nothing for either poppets or Haitian magic.
Poppets can be used for a couple of things – mainly either cursing or healing. This doesn’t always have to be physical curses/cures – poppets can also be used to influence thought patterns.
Dolls can also be used to provide homes for Spirits, or used to create guardians. You can also use a doll as a scapegoat to prevent a curse from latching onto you.
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•Shrinemaking
Shrine making is less a way to create a defined outcome, and more a way of pleasing Spirits who you may later want to call upon. It’s kinda like taking your new neighbours a pie, in case you ever need them to watch the house whilst you’re away. The pie is an overture to a friendly relationship, not direct payment for the house sitting. However, if you just blundered into their garden one day and offered them £100 to watch the house, they’d probably tell you to get lost. Randomly calling up Spirits, Saint or Deities can have the same effect. I mean, would you help someone get a job if they just banged on your door and waved some incense at you? Get your local Spirits pies. Find out what scents, and objects, and offerings that they like. Keep the land around you clean, and pick up after other people if you can. Use your vote and your money to protect the land from logging and fracking. Build a dedicated ‘meeting space’ where you call up Spirits, and fill it full of pictures of them or things they like. It pays dividends in the future.
Shrinemaking can also be used to help bless and protect your home and land. By connecting with the other Spirits that are there, you solidify the relationship, and can work together against intruders.
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•Bottles and Jars
Witch bottles (or spell jars)  are fun, easy ways to create a variety of effects. As a spell base, they can be effective for:
* money
* love
* friendship
* animal work
* protection
Some people define a witch bottle as strictly the traditional version which is used as a scapegoat, and call other spells involving bottles and jars ‘spell jars’. Some people use the term witch bottle to encompass all magics involving jars.
You can learn about all types of bottle magic in the free course which you can sign up for below!
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•Candles
Candle magic is a much more modern form of magic than you’d think – especially if we’re talking coloured candles. Candles were very precious objects in the past! However, it was not an unusual item to have, like a hunk of crystal or fairy doll, which is why they became an item to use for undetected witchcraft – like brooms, and cauldrons.
As candles have got cheaper and cheaper and less needed to be used for lighting, much more forms and types of magic have sprung up around them. With the addition of coloured waxes or painted candles, the sorts of magic you can do with candles has grown exponentially.
Candles are a subset of fire magic and therefore are fantastic for banishing, but they are often the beginners tool of choice. It’s easy to understand why – easy to get hold of, easy to use, and there’s as much fancy ritual needed as you feel inclined to give it.
When you want to expand your knowledge, you can still stick with candles – but investigate the use of oils, herbs and crystals in conjunction with candles.
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•Crystals and Rocks
Crystals and rocks are often used as ‘ingredients’ in other spells. They are very easy to add to bottles, pouches, dolls and more. However, you can also use crystals in spell work solely on their own by adding them to your pillow, till, money box, plant pot, etc.
Their use goes much further than this, but that enters the realm of energy healing which is a part of many traditions and is a very dedicated and intensive practice all by itself, and too much to explain here.
Air
You can utilize the powers of air in a lot of ways. It’s usually good for cleansing spells – think sweeping with a ritual broom, burning incense (smoke=air, not fire), ringing bells or playing bowls, singing, using flags and wheels. Air methods tend to return quick results.
Earth
Earth brings slow results, but they tend to be larger. Earth practices include enchanting seeds that will bring you money as they grow, burying offerings in the Earth, making vessels and spells out of clay, or writing spells in the mud.
Fire
Fire can bring things into your life, but is much better used to get rid of them – for beginners, anyway. If there is anything in your life that you wish to get rid of, you can write or draw a representation of it and cast it into the fire to remove it.
Water
Water can take the longest time to bring you what you need. However, think of water pounding against a rock. Drips of water became rivers, became waterfalls. Water can often bring you the biggest results, but it may take a long time.
Water spells can include potions (see below), but can also include ritual baths, leaving offers in water, or giving up bad energy or habits to the ocean.
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•Bones
Bones are a contentious subject in witchcraft. Some people will never use them, some people’s practice is not complete without them. You can actually get bones in an ethical manner, by either cleaning up roadkill yourself or paying someone to do it for you, or literally keeping the bones from your dinner!
Some uses for bones are:
* Telling the future (casting bones or lots)
* Housing the Spirit of the animal so you can work with them
* Form parts of wands or ritual jewellery or headresses
* Ingredients in pouches
Tarot, Runes and Ogham
You can use all of these fortune telling tools in spells, too! You can choose one of them that has a characteristic or represents an outcome that you’d like. So if you wanted a new job, you might choose the Ace of Pentacles. Then you could do any one of the following with it:
* Use it to focus a candle spell
* Add it to a pouch or bag spell
* Add it to a jar spell
* Use it in lieu of a sigil
* Make a vision board around it
* Even burn it! (You can get single Tarot cards for this purpose on eBay.)
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•Potions and Elixirs
Potion Magic used to be a lot more popular. Whilst elixirs, tisanes and tea blends are still popular for use on yourself, the masses of recipes of potions, philtres and similar recipes have all but died out. That’s because a lot of potion magic is only to be used in desperate circumstances, like love potions and curses. The reason so many old fashioned love potions are beyond creepy and controlling is that woman’s husband was her meal ticket. If he left her, not only would she be blamed, but she would be out of a house, food and her own family probably wouldn’t take her in. She had shamed them all. (Often through no actual fault of her own.) She was literally facing public humiliation, being outcast, perhaps even starving to death – and sometimes her children along with here.
So dousing  a lover or husband’s food with love potion made a lot more sense then, than it does now.
Thankfully, most of us don’t live in those circumstances any more, so a lot of philtre or potion use has died out. However, there are still some amazing things you can make to ingest yourself:
* Tea blends
* Tisanes (herbals teas)
* Bath spells
* Lunar or solar water
* Herbal Oils
Spoken Magic
Spoken Magic can be long and complicated, or very short. It doesn’t have to rhyme (but it can) it doesn’t have to flow like poetry (but it can). You can use spoken incantation to help direct energy when you’re using other methods, but you can also use it on it’s own.
Some examples of spoken magic:
* Affirmations
* Words of power
* Singing
* Ritual Offerings
* Wishes
You can even banish Spirit’s solely through your voice. Shouting ‘Leave!’ with the correct intention can be very powerful.
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•Written Magic
Written magic has existed since we could write. Many cultures view writing AS magic. Think about it – 26 (or thereabouts, depends on your alphabet) tiny squiggles can become anything when placed in the right order. Dumbledore was right about the power of words.
Written magic can include:
* Petitions to Spirits
* Magic squares
* Words of power or protection
* Wishes
* Tattoos
* Rune work
Bag and Pouch Magic
There is all kinds of bag magic – from mojo bags, to more modern spell envelopes. The main idea behind bag or pouch magic is that keeping a carefully curated selection of objects together for a certain time period will produce the effects that you want. A lot of bag magic produces indefinite spells  provided they are charged. Such bags usually grant the wearer protection, prosperity, luck or good health. However, there are bag magics wear a specific time limited spell is wanted – invisibility spells, hex breakers and the like.
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•Enchantments and Glamours
Enchantment covers a variety of spell types, but theme of the spells are pretty much the same. Enchantment covers a lot of the old folklore kind of witchcraft – hidden worlds, changing age, changing into different animals and so on.
Enchanting something fools the viewer into believing something is there when it is not, or isn’t there when it is, or is something completely different.
Think of the Harry Potter scene where Hermione explains that the ceiling of the Great Hall isn’t a real sky, it’s just enchanted to look that way.
Real enchantment can be done for fun, but they can also be useful pieces of magic. You can enchant jewelry, clothes or makeup to bestow certain personality traits upon you. You can enchant your witchy items to look normal if you’re fearful of discovery. The possibilities are just about endless.
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dovechim · 3 years
Text
blessed be the fruit 01 (m)
➾ 3.6k, taehyung x reader, future OT7
➾ loosely based off The Handmaid’s Tale. In the New World Order that is Gilead, your life depends on your ability to bring a new one into existence. 
➾ warnings: unprotected sex, mentions of infertility, pregnancy, mentions of dubcon
➾ a/n: I had serious hesitation and doubts about this. but after a three month break and looking at it from a distance, I still want to go ahead with this AU because I want to draw attention to the themes of reclaiming agency & identity whilst under oppression. So I hope that you could get the message I’m trying to convey rather than focus on the noncon indubitably present in this AU. 
I'm saying this to clearly outline my intentions, for I do not condone rape or non-consensual sex whatsoever. 
that being said, I have plans to turn this into an ot7 series fic, but here is a little starter just to kind of test the waters a little :-) if you’re here, I've already warned you about what you’re signing up for, so please skip this if uncomfortable and refrain from sharing any malicious thoughts with me.
Crimson is the colour that denotes life. But these days, only the rare few have the privilege to don that colour; the deep red hue of the cloak that is meant to simultaneously draw attention to, and also hide your figure.
Handmaids are to be seen and not heard. They are to speak only when spoken to. The white wings that adorn either side of your head keep your gaze lowered reverently at all times. Meek and subdued, but always watching, waiting.
The supermarket is quiet and orderly as you stroll through the aisles with your partner close by your side. You have never seen more than a glimpse of her face, neither have you heard more than a few words of her voice other than the greetings you exchange when you meet every morning.
Even the task of grocery shopping, which you used to enjoy before the rise of Gilead, has become nothing but a sham. There is no decision to be made. Your purchases are entirely dependent on the coupons given to you by the Wife of your Household. Today, it’s the usual rice and vegetables, with one or two oranges thrown in as a request from the Cook.
“Under His Eye,” you murmur as you pass the other Handmaids and their partners, all doing their shopping with their partners.
You can’t see it with your head lowered, but there are armed guards stationed throughout the grocery store with guns cocked and menacing stares. The Eyes are always watching and listening, and you begin to feel suffocated.
“I believe I have everything I need,” you speak in a lowered voice, turning slightly to your partner, thinking of how to best hurry her along without making it too obvious. “Is there anything else you lack?”
“I too, am done, OfJeon,” your partner replies back, and you have to physically stop yourself from flinching.
Even though it is the proper way to address another Handmaid, you avoid using the names bestowed upon you by their Household’s Commanders. You try your best to not associate yourself with that name, for fear that you might come to forget your own in due time, but it gets more and more difficult as the days go by.
‘Of’ denoting possession, and ‘Jeon’ for your Commander’s last name. Put together, they form your identity, the identity that Gilead has carved out for you as an object.
The moment you forget your real name is the moment you lose yourself.
“Let us depart, OfPark,” you say with tightly clenched lips, grateful for the white wings that hide your bitter expression as you turn toward the exit of the grocery store.
Your basket is heavy with groceries, and the wind whips up your red cloak the moment you step outside. You glance up for a moment to see the gray skies, feel the wind on your cheeks before you dip your head down again, cautious of exposing your face for more than a second.
Here, to blend in is to survive.
“Have you made all the necessary preparation, OfJeon?” Your partner asks as she links her arm through yours, and you begin the slow march home.
You drag your feet slightly, hoping to prolong the walk. Aside from the brief half hour of grocery shopping every day, you hardly get a chance to be outside. To remember what the real world feels like, even though it is changing so quickly every day. You’re too busy trying to memorise the way the wind feels against your cloak that you are caught slightly offguard by OfPark’s question.
“Preparation?” Your voice comes out slightly unsure.
“For the Ceremony, of course,” comes her reply, and you can’t stop yourself from inhaling sharply.
Is it already that time of the month? How could you have lost track?
A lump forms in your throat as you attempt to calm yourself. “Yes, OfPark. Everything is ready.”
You are lying through your teeth, but the thing is, interactions are kept to such a bare minimum that no one knows you well enough to know that you are lying. If today is the day of the Ceremony, it means a visit to the doctor’s this afternoon. Your breath speeds up at the thought of it, palms becoming sweaty.
OfPark comes to a stop outside of your house, and unlinks her arm from yours.
“Blessed be the fruit,” she says by way of farewell.
“May the Lord open,” the automatic response falls from your lips without much thinking.
Then the gates open, and you enter the house quietly, setting your basket on the kitchen counter. You can hear footsteps coming from the main hallway as soon as you take your white bonnet off.
“You’re back, I was just about to send a guard to fetch you.” In her royal blue dress that tapers at her waist and falls nearly to her ankles, the Wife of the Household is always neatly pressed and well put together. Kim Yeri fixes you with an annoyed glare as she brushes her silky blonde hair behind her ear. You haven’t known her by that name in a long while, because like any other woman, she is only to be addressed by her title in society.
“Did you forget your appointment?” She demands, crossing her arms. She has never been outrightly mean to you, yet her manner is far from friendly. But its totally understandable, of course. Which woman would be content knowing her husband was required by law to fuck a baby into someone else?
“No, Madam. The line at the supermarket was-“
“Get in the car. We’re already late.” Yeri is not interested in your excuse as she cuts you off, turning to grab her purse, and her dress flows gracefully behind her slim figure as she walks to the door.
You barely have time to put your bonnet back on, fixing it so that it is presentable once more before following her outside. Yeri is already in the back seat of the black SUV car, and you climb in beside her. You catch a glimpse of Driver Jung’s eyes in the mirror, but quickly glance away before Yeri can catch you.
Drivers aren’t allowed to have Handmaids of their own. Instead, they live to serve the Household of their Commanders. As the car pulls smoothly out of the front gate, you begin to wonder who Driver Jung was before Gilead. If he had loved ones that he lost. If he too, was slowly starting to forget the person he was back then.
The blacked-out windows of the car don’t allow you to see anything outside. It is a tense journey made in complete silence as you can feel Yeri’s annoyance slowly mounting into a barely withheld fury. It is the same every month. You try to sympathise with her, to put yourself in her shoes as someone who has to accompany the woman her beloved husband is to have sex with to a fertility check-up.
When the car stops, Driver Jung rushes out of his seat to open the door for Yeri first, then he crosses to your side and opens your door. You thank him with a shy nod, careful to keep your eyes fixed on the ground as you follow Yeri into the clinic.
The waiting room has about one or two other Wife-Handmaid pairs.  As you walk in, you catch the eye of one of the Handmaids who is heavily pregnant. Her swollen belly protrudes from her red cloak, and her hands look so small in comparison as she strokes her bump reverently. The Wife sits beside her, a look of pride on her face as if she were the one pregnant.
It is such a rare sight to see a pregnant Handmaid these days. Even though the Handmaids were specially selected because of their fertility, your lack of a baby bump is bearing down on you. Each Handmaid is given three chances at each assignment. Three chances to conceive before they are moved to the next Commander. Three assignments in total before she is sent to the Wastelands.
Lining the walls are portraits of Commanders dressed in black, and their Wives dressed in blue, holding little bundles wrapped in white. The couples are all smiling with joy and pride in their eyes.
The Handmaids are nowhere to be seen in the happy families of three.
You don’t know if you should envy or pity the heavily pregnant Handmaid.
Thankfully, due to Yeri’s- or should you say your Commander’s- high status, you are bumped to the front of the line. The receptionist tells you to enter the doctor’s room, but Yeri waves you on with disinterest.
“I can wait outside here, can’t I? She won’t dare try anything,” she says this last part with cold frown, settling herself down on one of the waiting chairs.
“Of course, Mrs Jeon,” the receptionist says with a pleasant smile, then turns to show you into the doctor’s office.
You read the name on the door before you are shuffled into the white, sterile room.
Dr Kim Taehyung.
Two female assistants help you to take off your red cloak and dress you in the standard white gown. You sit on the chair, legs spread wide into the stirrups. The assistants lower a privacy curtain that conceals your face, leaving your lower half anonymous as you hear the door open, then the doctor’s footsteps.
You don’t even get to see his face before you feel his touch on your knees. Dr Kim Taehyung clears his throat before he moves to the side, dipping his gloved hands into a small dish of what you can only assume to be lubrication. The white privacy curtain is nothing but a thin sheet, so you can still make out his figure as he bustles about. You can even see the slope of his nose as he turns his side profile to you for a second.
It’s not until he speaks that you are jolted out of your thoughts by how deep his voice is. “How are you today?”
“I’m good,” you answer hesitantly, unconsciously crinkling your medical gown in your fist. No one has ever asked how you’re doing.
“That’s great, now let’s have a look, shall we?” You can hear the smile in his voice, and you feel your body relax a little.
He seems to be kind enough, this Dr Kim Taehyung. Much different from the doctor you had on your first visit. Dr Kim Taehyung has his bedside manner down pat, and even though you can’t see his face, he makes you feel a little bit less tense. His voice soothes you as he talks, saying random things about the weather as he spreads your legs.
Dr Kim Taehyung positions himself in between your thighs, and you feel his gloved hands dangerously close to the apex of them. “So, it says here on your chart that tonight is Ceremony night for you.”
“Yes,” you swallow hard at the reminder. “It is.”
“And how are the Jeons treating you? Everything okay at home?” You can feel him spread your lips with his fingers, starting to poke and prod around as you close your eyes.
“Yes. They treat me very well,” you answer.
He must have caught the monotony of your voice, because his fingers pause.
“You know, you can talk to me. If there’s anything you need.” His concerned voice is like a beacon of light, but your eyes dart around the room cautiously.
You think about the millions of things that you could tell him. How unfair it is to be reduced to a walking womb, and yet, how desperate you are, knowing that this is your third month at the Jeon’s household, and if it doesn’t work…
You swallow all of these thoughts with your fists clenched. You can never let your guard down. He might be one of the Eyes, pretending to be kind so that you might let slip a blasphemous comment about your Commander. There’s no way you’ll incriminate yourself like that, so you just keep your mouth shut. After a while, he goes back to examining you.
“… Alright then,” Dr Kim Taehyung says in a resigned tone. “Let me just check you over and make sure everything is good for tonight. This might feel a little uncomfortable, but just relax for me alright?”
You can’t help but tense up, ironically, at his instruction. But then you feel the warmth of one of his ungloved hands on your thigh, and as he bids you to relax again, he slides his fingers into you, and you can feel his fingers, thick and solid. Your thighs twitch, coming into contact with his hips that are in between them, and he lets out a gentle laugh.
“It’s okay… just a little more.”
Then, he withdraws his fingers slowly, and you let out a breath of relief. It didn’t feel bad, definitely not like the first visit where you felt violated. Dr Kim Taehyung’s gentle and respectful manner is… almost pleasant. You’ve long forgotten what it’s like to be treated like a human being, and not just an object.
“Looks like everything’s in shape, you’re due to ovulate these few days,” he declares, taking off his rubber gloves and tossing them in the bin. “Not that it matters, anyway. Jeon’s probably sterile. Hell, all of the Commanders are sterile.”
You freeze at the sound of that blasphemous curse word. But more importantly, you have to make sure you heard correctly.
“Wh-what do you mean?” You watch his shadow behind the sheet as he ticks a few things on your chart.
In this society, ‘sterile’ is a forbidden word. There is no such thing as a sterile man. There are only women who are fruitful, and women who are barren. But you know better than to subscribe to such damning ideology.
“Darling. I’ve seen so many top Commanders’ Handmaids in this room. In and out, month after month they come back and their Wives ask me why they aren’t pregnant yet.” He places a hand on your knee again, and that human contact makes you realise how much you crave the warmth of another person.
At the same time, his words awaken the hollow desperation in your chest. If… if Jeon is really sterile, that means no matter how many times you try, you won’t get pregnant. If all the Commanders are really sterile, then no matter how many assignments you get…
“It’s your third month here, isn’t it?” His kind voice accompanies the gentle stroke of his thumb on your knee.
Before you can answer, he steps away from you, walking to the door and double checking that it’s locked. Then, he’s between your legs again, and this time, his ungloved hands are caressing the top of your thighs. You can feel his hips pressing against you insistently.
“I can help you,” he says in a low whisper. “It’s your last chance.”
Your mind is in a fog. It’s hard to think clearly when you are craving his touch on your body, and the way in which he wraps your legs around his waist so delicately has you wanting to give in. Let this be a form of rebellion. An act of reclaiming your body and your agency, giving it to a man who treats you like a human being, and more importantly, deciding who you give it to. So that when Jeon performs the Ceremony with you tonight, no one but you will have the secret pleasure of knowing that someone else was here before him.
And if you do get pregnant, you will have the last laugh as you watch Jeon raise a baby that isn’t even his to begin with.
How’s that for rebelling? It’s no longer just about getting pregnant.
“I’ve helped many other Handmaids before,” Dr Kim Taehyung continues furtively. “They were all on their third Assignments. I saved them from the Wastelands.”
You don’t need any more convincing. You reach out and pull the thin privacy sheet aside, finally revealing Dr Kim Taehyung’s face. He looks taken aback at your bold actions.
“Do it, Doctor,” you fix your eyes on him with determination. “Get me pregnant.”
Dr Kim Taehyung looks as if he wasn’t expecting you to say yes to him, and delight slowly spreads across his face. But he can’t help himself from bringing one of his hands to your face, brushing your cheek and admiring your silent, resilient beauty.
“U-um, okay. He-here goes,” he fumbles with his dress pants, and the confidence from minutes ago is nowhere to be found. It occurs to you that he might have been fibbing about helping the other Handmaids before you, but it doesn’t matter. It’s no longer just about getting pregnant, anyway.
Thanks to the lubrication, he slides in easily. You catch a glimpse of him before he does, and a second later you feel his girth acutely. During the Ceremony, the lights are always turned off, so you never have a chance to see what Jeon’s dick looks like. If you were to compare, it feels around the same as Dr Kim’s. Except this time, you are doing this of your own accord.
The squeaking of the chair against the floor is deafeningly loud as he begins to thrust earnestly, and the thrill that you could be caught at any moment makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been since the rise of Gilead. You can feel him at your cervix as he grips your thighs, and you make sure to wrap them around him tightly.
In an unprecedented move, Dr Kim reaches down to brush his thumb against your clit, and your walls clench around him in response. He swears under his breath as he shifts his position to rest his elbows on either side of you so that he can increase the strength behind his thrusts.
“Sh-shit, you feel so good,” he groans as he sneaks his hand in between your bodies once more to pinch your clit. No one has cared about your pleasure like this in a long while, and you feel your body responding to his ministrations, your orgasm rapidly approaching.
“Ha-harder, Doctor,” you feel his cheek press against your breast. “Cum inside me.”
You swear you can feel him twitch inside you, as he bites his lip hard. You have a hard time holding back your derisive laughter as Dr Kim Taehyung gets more turned on than ever. So this is his kink? This is the perfect job for him. Seeing Handmaids who are more often than not desperate to get pregnant, no matter by whom.
You feel a modicum of power back in the palm of your hand, which is more than you’ve felt in ages. The feeling of having power over someone else as you watch the pleasure take over Dr Kim Taehyung’s expression is addictive. The man is losing himself in between your legs, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. Meanwhile you are the one watching him rut pathetically, straining to reach his end.
“Cum inside me, Doctor,” you say again, squeezing your walls around him and relishing his groan. “I’ll make you cum inside me.”
“Pl-please, call me Taehyung,” he pleads, raising himself up on his elbows to beg for a kiss.
You oblige, watching his desperation slowly take over his entire being. His lips are soft as he kisses you like a man starved, and you wonder who was the last person he kissed like this. Does he kiss all of the Handmaids he impregnates?
The next words you say are perfectly calculated. “Taehyung, I want your baby.”
There’s no reaction other than his hands clenching into tight fists, and his breathing getting harsher and harsher as his cock slams deep into you, and you clench around him one more time, only to feel him fill you up with his cum. The seed that you need to get pregnant and save your own life.
He doesn’t stop thrusting. His cock is still twitching inside you, and you can still feel the cum threaten to leak out. Dr Kim Taehyung lets out a long sigh of contentment as he expertly tilts the chair so that your hips are slightly raised.
When he’s satisfied, he slowly pulls out, eyes glued to the mess in between your legs. Only a little bit of cum is dripping out, and he reaches for a tissue to clean it up. The way he’s looking at you, a little bit too fondly, makes you realise that this is getting a bit too personal for your liking.
“Blessed be the fruit,” you remind him, and the phrase is like magic. You are all reminded of your roles in this society, and the forbidden act which you have both committed.
Dr Kim Taehyung seems to sober up when he hears this, as he tucks himself back into his pants and attempts to straighten his doctor’s coat.
“May the Lord open. You should… um. Stay here for the next ten to fifteen minutes. The nurses will be in to help you get dressed shortly,” he clears his throat as he lets the privacy curtain fall back into place. “And um… good luck.”
He leaves the room hurriedly, and you close your eyes, squeezing your thighs together and feeling the warmth that his cum leaves behind, feeling like your body is finally yours again.
You don’t know how much time has passed before the nurses come in and help you get dressed, and when you walk out of the room, Yeri makes a pointed remark about how long she had to wait. You follow her without a word to the car, waiting as Driver Jung opens the door for her, then you.
All the while, a secret smile upon your lips as you feel the cum from earlier drip down your inner thigh.
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