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popawritter12 · 1 month

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Can I send yandere zed headcanons.

Yandere! Zed headcanons.

Author's Notes: Do you know I was just thinking about doing headcanons for this champion?!

Just when I returned from my studies (And from uploading the previous post), I came up with a character to make Yandere. I guess the universe sent me a sign juju.

(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

Chances of your loved ones being killed.

Well, this type of Yandere is simpler. Like Raiden, he will not kill unless it threatens his life or the life of his loved one.

We are told a phrase in the comic that, for me, greatly influences understanding the character (I clarify that they are not the exact words but rather the ones I remember) “Master Kusho sat me in front of a tree with cobwebs. The beetles that remained there could escape, due to their structure, unlike the moths, which suffered from the web until the spider came and devoured them. (...), then the teacher asked me 'How many moths did you save during the time you saw the web?' 'None' I answered, because I had killed the spider from the first day."

This phrase makes it clear to us that he will not attack or harm unless necessary.

(I know that the phrase from the comic has nothing to do with here, but I wanted to add it because I really liked what they wanted to capture with that phrase)

First impressions

You met Zed when he was a small farmer; You were a student of Kusho, your parents sending you there because they had been friends with the man for a long time. And, due to the constant trips you made with others, you were always intrigued by the fact that he was white-haired, since you were not used to seeing people with that hair color.

Sometimes you watched him from afar when you traveled with Shen, he used to joke about you going up to him one day and asking him to marry you, child jokes, you know?

It's not until Shen fights him that you notice something in his gaze, something in his eyes that makes you feel a connection with him; determination. Even when he fell again and again, whenever you noticed that glow you felt like he was different, like you had found a jewel in the desert.

When he was accepted by Kusho, you were the first to welcome him as a friend; You talked to him when he was resting due to the injuries he sustained after the confrontation with Shen, and although he barely responded to you, you assumed that you were getting along well.

He barely managed to recover, you accompanied him in his initial training; Kusho always assigned you to guide the beginners, since you were quite friendly and patient with other people, and your age made them gain more trust in you.

Together with Shen, they quickly became best friends, the three of them always together. Even though you were not particularly good at both physical and theoretical training, you always tried to stay average.

Falling in love

When they traveled in search of Jhin, Kusho decided to take you along with the two of them; It was not because of your talent or your incredible intelligence (Which was not exceptional in you), but because you were going to be a great emotional support for the two boys you accompanied.

Your parents, even though they flatly refused, ended up giving in to you going, this was thanks to the manipulation that Kusho exercised over them, since you would be indispensable in this mission.

The name of the “golden dragon” always sounded strange to you, especially when he saw firsthand the death and blood that had been spilled on the ground because of him.

You felt nauseous at the sight of dead bodies, or people suffering due to the traumas Jhin had left them with. Both the anger and hatred that was born in your soul at just hearing the golden dragon's nickname grew like a tree spreading its branches during spring.

You saw how Zed suffered for damaged people, how his mind was subjected to incessant agony as he struggled between the life and death of people other than him. You were the first to go and console him and give him the word that he was doing things right, that he was doing his best to save the lives of innocent people.

You tried to support Shen as well, but he was a little less susceptible to your words, since he rarely showed as much emotion as Zed did with you.

(Yes, I know that Zed has another name instead of this one, but I forgot it when I wrote it, I'll write it better later)

Your unconditional support for him along with your important help in catching Jhin ended up causing a certain crush on you.

Even when he claimed to love a woman, you always crossed his mind, as if he had clung to you in some way.

Beginning of Yanderism

The moment you noticed that the great demon misnamed golden dragon was nothing more than a man, you uselessly thought that you could face him alone. Your stubbornness ended up putting you in such danger that it put you between life and death. And neither of your two best friends could handle the fact that you were in danger.

They barely managed when you recovered, you had to be taken to the emergency room, the idea that you were going to die because of a man crazy enough to harm you and make you suffer for his pure amusement caused Zed's contempt for Jhin to increase drastically.

When Jhin was caught, Zed wished to kill him, but when he was denied that fact, he erupted in a rage worse than what appears in canon.

At that time, a blade passed close to Jhin's face, visibly damaging his mask, at the same time that your best friend longed to damage him and kill him once and for all.

No one would hurt his best friend, not now knowing that he was in love with (name).

First murder or Yandere act

Zed stayed by your side throughout your stay at the medic, since his fear of your death was something that remained in his mind for days on end.

When you managed to recover, the worst happened; the Noxian invasion. You were too weak to fight, so you could only watch from afar as Zed and Shen fought for their nation.

They both visited you regularly, but Zed more regularly than Shen. Him being particularly protective of you, but now with tiny things.

He insisted that you not go out, that you not trust certain people, saying that he could take care of you, etc..., basically without letting you do things on your own.

Even when you tried to stop these insistences, you eventually gave in because you thought he was just doing it as an innocent act of affection between friends.

You thought that when the war was over, these attitudes would stop.

Relationship or kidnapping

He ends up abandoning the Kinkou, mostly because of the war. You stop seeing him for a while, and when you see him again, it was when they had already told you what he had done.

At first you refused to believe that he would be capable of doing something like that, since he was someone with a good heart, someone incapable of seeking evil. It's a shame they put a contrary idea in your head.

You ended up hating him, the knowledge that he had killed someone as important as Kusho had damaged your psyche.

It wasn't until he saw you again that he noticed that he was late, too late to be able to talk to you.

You yelled at him, you said a lot of things that you had suppressed deep in your heart since you found out about his actions, and although he tried to explain the truth to you, you refused to listen to him.

Even since he abandoned the Kinkou, he never stopped thinking about you. Never on those days when he wasn't with you did he stop thinking about you, who you were and what you meant to him.

He left after the argument, waiting for you to calm down so he could talk to you peacefully.

But Jhin was following him, he was precisely looking to reach that person.

And he took you away from him, he took you to be part of a play against your will.

And that finally ended up unleashing that more twisted side in the white-haired man's mind. Even though he himself was desperate to stop Jhin, he was even more desperate at the thought of him bringing you to the brink of death once again.

As soon as they managed to catch Jhin, Zed went to look for you, finding you alive. Let's say you were a little hurt, but you were alive.

And he decided... to take drastic measures, if you understand correctly.

In case of kidnapping, where would he take you?

To the temple, obviously.

He exclusively takes you to a part far away from his students, mostly because he doesn't completely trust them.

Coexistence.

Very strict, unlike others he does implement the punishment system; More than anything soft hits or threats, he usually denies privileges such as going out or socializing with other members of your environment due to your disobedience or lack of respect towards him.

Marriage and family

He is not very comfortable with marriage, however, if you agree, there can be at least engagement rings between the two of you.

If it can, children?

I assume he'll agree, but that's a half-assumption.

At most 1 child or 2.

Bad ending

You managed to escape, for some reason, you had managed to escape from where he was holding you prisoner. And when he finds out, he loses his mind.

He searches for you in the heavens and lands of all of Ionia if necessary, and when he does, he doesn't react well at all.

He drags you back to the temple, he doesn't care if Shen or all of Ionia tries to stop him, he will have you back in his arms.

When he arrives at the temple, he ends up making an extremely drastic decision; he breaks the bones in your legs, specifically, your knees.

No matter if you cry or beg, he won't let you escape again.

From now on, your only remaining option is to accept your destiny and... love him.

Reasons to be a Yandere

-The comic tell us that he is quite emotionally unstable, especially after the Noxian invasion.

-The shadows, his voices try to tell him that he has to keep safe the only thing that he considers precious, the only thing that he feels gives stability to his life.

-I have the idea that after the first time they caught Jhin, he is left with consequences, some especially strong ones that damage his mind as the days go by.

Additional data.

-Actually, it was Kusho who told Jhin your whereabouts, who to be sure followed Zed to where you were.

-Kayn has deep respect for you; You are the most important person for his teacher, so we can say that he contributes a lot to not letting you go out.

-After your kidnapping, Shen constantly thinks about your condition, knowing that you could be in danger.

-Zed sometimes thinks about the “mistake” he made by not being able to save you from Jhin the first time he took you, since he constantly blames himself for the damage you suffered that day.

(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

I LOVED TO MAKE THESE HEADCANONSSSS

(I didn't like the end of the comic btw)

Also, im working in others headcanons, maybe tomorrow is gonna be ready to upload it ;)

#yandere #obsessive love #poppa thoughs #yandere league of legends #yandere x you #league of legends #yandere headcanons #yandere male #lol #poppa things #yandere zed #zed #zed League of Legends #zed x reader #League of Legends x reader #yandere zed x reader

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psychospore · 11 months

Text

Someone Special

A/N: Hello Tumblr Friends! Sorry for the unexpected hiatus but I'm back with a new fic for y'all

If you like this, you might wanna check out my Masterlist for more fics – smutty and fluffy and sometimes a bit angsty

@twhxhck tagging you on my new one :D

Pairing: Avenger!Loki x Y/N

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: mentions of torture, violence, death, fluff, mutual pining etc.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tony and Steve rescued Y/N from an underwater HYDRA experimentation facility that conducted Human-Animal Splicing Experiments. With a low chance of survival, HYDRA successfully spliced Y/N with a Peacock Mantis Shrimp with the intention of creating advanced weaponry to conquer the world.

The two Avengers rescued Y/N and shut down the system to prevent HYDRA from continuing the program. During Y/N’s rehabilitation in the Avenger’s tower, she has found an expected companion in the form of Loki – who she met while sneaking one night to grab a bite. With her enhanced vision, she was able to surprise Loki that she was able to see him despite his invisibility.

Months of constant interaction made Loki grow fond of Y/N, he is in denial of these growing feelings towards Y/N – thinking it was not a good idea for her to be closer to him given his track record. He grew distant, Y/N noticing this wanted to confront him but had to push it back due to a mission back to the HYDRA laboratory where they found her. Stark gifted Y/N with a full white nano-suit, a long white overcoat, and heavy gauntlets resembling a Peacock Mantis Shrimp’s dactyl limbs.

The Avengers were caught in a pinch when super soldiers cornered them, they were not aware before their mission that HYDRA has developed a serum to temporarily enhance these soldiers with the powers of a cockroach – nasty but freaking resilient despite losing limbs.

Y/N had to fight one of her comrades spliced with the Diabolical Ironclad Beetle, a perfect defense against her, during the mission. Her barrage of power-packed punches destroyed most of the room but barely had any effects on the spliced enemy in front of her. He deflected her attacks and knocked her out with a blow to the stomach, making her cough up blood as she noticed a hole in her caved-in torso.

After being captured, tortured, and injected with the triggering serum to activate her dormant powers – partially transforming into a Peacock Mantis Shrimp as she convulsed in inexplicable pain – red antennae grew from her head, her long brown hair, tainted green with red tips, eyes turned red – to fully activate vision able to see both UV and polarizing light, her whole suit and overcoat turned to fully resemble her spliced animal – gauntlets turning green with gloves turning red, overcoat turning into the green hue with the lower part turning into fan-like segmented carapace-like disks with red edges. Chest and facial plates grew that resemble carapaces partly with the help of the nanobots from the suit.

Unlike her other comrades, Y/N retained a part of her humanity, she ordered the rest of the Avengers – Nat, Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Loki to head back to the ship to assist Tony and Clint who were already busy fending off the 2 Leviathan attacking the Submarine. Loki was hesitant to get back and wanted Y/N to go back with them – their first interaction after Loki decided to avoid her. Y/N assured him that she can handle it so hesitantly Loki followed, fully trusting Y/N’s decision.

Y/N fought her comrade, leaving him immobile before destroying the control panels and drowning the whole laboratory along with the rest HYDRA soldiers. As she escaped, she grabbed a few vials of the Triggering Serum and Antidote to bring back with her but before she could go out, her comrade decided to have one last fight – trapping them both under the rubble of what was left of the facility under the sea.

With the monsters dead after the fight with the rest of the Avengers, Loki hurriedly went to the destroyed building to retrieve Y/N, his biggest fear lingering – the possibility that she might be dead. He saw Y/N’s unconscious body – the lower half trapped underneath the rubble and the upper half submerged in the water. With all his strength, he removed the large rocks and recovered Y/N’s body, and brought it back to the ship.

He feared she might have drowned – he never left her side as she lay on the table, praying that she comes back. And come back she did – she coughed hard, as she comes back to her senses, exhausted from the fight. She smiled at Loki saying that thank goodness she was able to breathe underwater now or else she would have been a goner before passing out again.

Back at the infirmary at the Avenger’s tower, doctors were running around, hooking her up to the many devices to monitor her condition. Loki was worried the whole time as he felt helpless, his healing magic could only do so much. Thor assured him that Y/N will be fine and he needs to believe in her.

The whole week, Y/N was out, and Loki never left her side. The doctors have decided not to inject her with the antidote just yet, thinking her current state would be optimal for her survival – her human form would not be able to take the damage done to her.

Slowly, Y/N’s eyes fluttered slowly to see a sleeping Loki, sitting by her hospital bed. She brushed Loki’s locks which woke the god.

“How are you feeling now, Y/N?” Loki worriedly asked.

Y/N’s antennae twitched, “Feeling better, but I feel a bit different” she weakly responded.

“I am deeply sorry for not being much help throughout your whole ordeal, you shouldn’t have faced it alone” Loki rubbed her fingers looking dejected.

“That’s alright, it was something that I need to do sooner or later,” she answered.

Soon, the rest of the Avengers poured inside the hospital after being notified by the nurses that Y/N has come to – bringing flowers and well-wishes.

“Your white suit looked good, but your current one looked better,” Tony commented.

“Looking more like a shrimp now?” Y/N joked.

“Can’t say it’s a bad thing,” he responded.

“You need more training when you get released from here. Despite your powers, you got us all worried about you with what you did with the facility,” Steve said, arms crossed.

“Especially my dearest brother, Loki. He hasn’t left you even for a second!” Thor exclaimed.

“You don’t have to tell her that,” Loki crossed, furrowing his brows.

“Nothing to be ashamed of brother – I know you hold Y/N dear so we understand,” Thor responded.

Before Thor and Loki could continue with their banter, Nat interjected, “Okay everyone, let’s let Y/N rest for now so she could recover quick.”

After a few more weeks in the hospital, the doctors cleared Y/N to be discharged.

Loki was reading a book in the lounge when Y/N popped in – now back to her usual form after being injected with the antidote. “Do you mind if I join?” before Loki could answer, Y/N sat beside him.

“How are you feeling now?” Loki asked.

“Much better, I feel like I could fight another freak like me,” Y/N joked.

“You are not a freak Y/N, you know that.”

“Hey, that’s a badge of honor for me now – not everyone gets to survive the whole shit show, now that I realized it,” Y/N responded.

“You didn’t deserve what you went through. Still, a part of me is glad that you’re here with us now,” Loki felt his heart hurt, while he was there at the facility, he saw the manuscripts documenting the harrowing experiments conducted.

“ Yeah, I’m glad to be here too,” Y/N eyes glimmered with hope as she looks outside the floor-to-ceiling window, not noticing Loki was looking at her with much admiration. Vowing to himself he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to her again.

“Y/N…” Loki moved closer to her, cupping her chin with his fingers, and gazing directly into her eyes.

Her heart fluttered with this gesture and before she could respond, Loki to her in a sweet and beautiful kiss that felt like heaven and lasted forever.

Loki broke the kiss to continue, “I couldn’t imagine myself being without you anymore.” Y/N’s face turned beet-red and before she could say anything, Steve walked in. Y/N jumped away covering her face with a throw pillow. She didn’t know how to react.

“Ready for your training, Y/N?” Steve naively asked.

“Perfect timing captain, you couldn’t have walked in a perfect time,” Loki sarcastically answered, leaving Steve confused.

“See in 5 Agent, training room,” Steve responded which Y/N answered with a squeak and a nod.

“Loki… I…” Y/N said.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Go with the captain now,” Loki smugly smiled at Y/N.

#loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki fic recs #loki x female reader #loki fic #loki of asgard #loki x you #avengers loki #loki au #loki x reader angst #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson imagine

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deadmenandthedivine · 6 months

Text

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter fourteen: what the lady beetle does

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3955

The first thing the princess did when she woke up that morning was check beneath her pillow, terrified the cloaked figure might have been the culprit behind the stones. There had been nothing in the Godswood the night before, but she could not take the risk. Her knight had searched her room but not her pillows. That morning, she checked every last one. Had the counter-curse not worked? Had it been too late? There were no more stones to be found. There was nothing beneath her pillow or any of the others. The dream had just been a dream — a nightmare. Although the small relief from a lack of looming runes was enough to let her breathe again, every hair on her body still stood straight up. Uneasy and on edge. Her limbs were tangled in her bed sheets just as they had been in her dream the night before as she fought to sit up properly and look around her chambers. Her heart pounded. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed; however, the feeling of eyes watching her every movement remained. She had felt the same way as Ser Gunthor had assisted her back to her chambers in the night, but she had been far too tired to worry about it. She glanced around a second time to find her room still empty. Nothing had changed. She successfully got out of bed on her second try. Her feet were still in her shoes, surprising her when her bare feet did not meet the ground. When she looked down, she found herself still dressed in her red evening gown too. Jewelry and all. Her maids knocked and entered soon after. They burst into giggles upon seeing her.

“You slept in your shoes and everything?” Adelyn smiled lovingly, “How were you comfortable?”

“Soldiers and knights do it, do they not?” The princess smiled.

“Aye and you, princess, are as tough as they come.” Noarysa joked.

“I am!” Maetilda nodded despite the maid’s sarcasm.

“You are!” Adelyn echoed as she began unlacing the princess’s shoes.

The two maids worked together to undress the princess before wrapping her in her housecoat and sitting her at the vanity. All with smiles on their faces. They brushed the knots and dirt from her hair before they began to weave it into the usual cascading style. From the speed at which they worked, it was clear that they were in a hurry. The princess took off her earrings, her rings, and her bracelet as they braided. But she could not get her necklace. She had hoped to save them time. That morning marked her sixth day at the Red Keep, and it felt as if she had been with her two maids for ages. Similar to her maids back at Dragonstone, she felt warm in their presence. Safe and looked after. But unlike her maids back home, she was oblivious to where their loyalties resided, and that was what kept her careful. Once her hair was done, Noarysa went to her wardrobe and pulled out a soft plum gown. It had a higher neckline than the red one from the night prior, puffed sleeves, and a full skirt that flared out beneath the bust. The hems and trims were decorated in blush pink and squash orange. Little ivory bows adorned the decorations. The princess selected her bronze citrine and sapphire jewelry to match. She was full of color, but not a single one clashed. At least not to her eye. The maids began to work at cleaning her chambers as Ser Eddrin came to collect the princess.

He gave her a warm smile as he held his arm out for her to take, “Ser Gunthor told me you had a cold evening.”

“He got me an extra blanket. I was not cold.” Maetilda smiled.

Ser Eddrin chuckled quietly as the princess took his arm. His creaking armor echoed down the hall as he escorted her to Rhaenyra’s chambers for breakfast. The princess’s eyes and limbs remained heavy and tired as they walked. The morning had come upon her quickly and she almost felt stuck in the events of the evening — the last two evenings. She did not understand what it all meant. The cloaked figure, the valley, the horse, the fall. It all felt so foreign and familiar at the same time. She wished Shrykos was near so they could go flying until they found the cliffs and hills of her dream. But just as her father had said the day before, Rhaenyra knew what she was doing when she made them travel by ship. Both the princess and the Rogue Prince were trapped in the Red Keep. In the castle of their ancestors that no longer felt like it was theirs. It was her sixth day at the Red Keep, and her life had been completely flipped onto its head. Rune binding, deception, marriage pacts, secret corridors, plotting, humiliation. It was as if she had been listening to a badly written book. What more would she encounter? What could possibly be worse? They made it to Rhaenyra’s chambers quickly. The anxiety in the princess’s veins set the pace quicker than normal. Two kingsguard stood at the entrance as usual. They smiled as they knocked and opened the door. The table seemed lively as she quietly stepped across the threshold. Jacaerys and Lucerys were already laughing. Joffery was haphazardly throwing words together to get his point across. Rhaenyra followed Joff’s story attentively as Daemon watched the group with pride. They all turned to Maetilda as she made her way toward the table and took her usual seat.

“There she is!” Lucerys teased, “The beautiful bride to be.”

“The prettiest in all the Realm.” Jacaerys chimed in.

“We have been blessed by the mere sight of you!”

“Like a star, plucked straight from the sky!”

“The brightest diamond!”

“The twinkle in my eye!” The two boys' eyes filled with tears as they held back laughter.

“Make one more remark about my beauty.” The princess warned.

“You are very pretty, Til!” Joffrey interjected.

She could only sigh, “Thank you, Joff.”

Luke smirked as he opened his mouth again,“It’s going to take one beautiful lady to handle—“

“That is enough. Both of you. As far as I am concerned, you older three are still treading on thin ice.” Rhaenyra warned.

“Thin ice?” Maetilda gasped.

“For dinner the other night when we were,” Jacaerys glanced toward Joffrey before looking back at his sister, “disruptive.”

“I was only defending Luke!” The princess immediately barked in her own defense.

“Of which, you did wonderfully.” Daemon chuckled.

The princess nearly choked when she heard his words. Complete and utter disbelief. She nearly did not hear the conversation that followed as she questioned if she heard him correctly. If he had truly said she had done something well. Certainly he did not, but he had laughed. He spoke jovially. Did her ears deceive her?

“My favorite part was when you threw the carafe!” Luke muttered not so quietly.

“Til threw what?” Joffrey gasped.

“Nothing!” Rhaenyra pointedly exclaimed.

Jace and Luke looked down before taking big bites of their food to avoid talking. Joffrey took an innocent sip of his tea, clearly basking in the safety of being the baby of the Velaryon brothers. Both Daemon and Rhaenyra adjusted themselves in their chairs.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat before she opened her mouth to speak again, “I expect all three of you to be on your best behavior for the rest of our stay. Make amends with Queen Alicent’s sons. I will confiscate inheritances if I must.”

In unison, Jacaerys, Maetilda, and Lucerys nodded their heads shamefully. It was never fun being scolded by the King’s heir. The future Queen did not threaten or punish often. And so there would be no question when her fire did spew, it was well deserved. The three had acted like children at dinner. They had embarrassed themselves and their parents. Even if they were defending themselves. In doing so, they had almost done more harm than good.

“How was dinner with the Queen last night, Maetilda?” Rhaenyra calmly changed the subject.

“It was… the food was wonderful.” The princess smiled.

Her father leaned forward to listen closer while her stepmother fixed her brow suspiciously. Rhaenyra gave the princess a once-over with her eyes, “And how was the company?”

“The Queen said that she was looking forward to seeing you more.” Maetilda stated innocently.

“How lovely of her,” Rhaenyra smiled, not at all fooled, “What else did you speak of?”

“So many things. I can hardly recall them all,” The princess nervously laughed.

“The wedding hasn’t been called off yet.” Her father pointed out.

Jace and Luke laughed, but Maetilda knew what that really meant. He was not happy with her, but neither was Rhaenyra. To make one happy, she would undoubtedly have to upset the other. The thought filled her with panic. If she wanted to get through the day unscathed, she would have to be honest. In front of her stepmother.

“Dinner did not go well,” The princess confessed, “I believe there was a time when the Queen told me that I was lucky she did not have my tongue taken out.”

It was then Daemon’s turn to laugh, “Those Hightowers would love themselves a little silent bride.”

“You riled her up, didn’t you?” Rhaenyra fixed her glare on her husband who straightened in his chair.

“I only told her to do what was necessary.” He seethed.

“Necessary for what outcome?” She retorted.

“The best one for all of us.”

“Daemon, you will ruin everything.”

“The only thing I will ruin is Otto Hightower’s fucking plans.”

“Children, you may be excused.” Rhaenyra barked for the rest of them to leave as the tension between her and her husband grew, “Go bond with your uncles. Behave yourselves.”

Maetilda did not wait a moment longer before she practically ran from the room, nearly crashing into Ser Eddrin on her way out. The knight caught her by the arms but said nothing as she led them far away from the chamber doors. They did not cover their suspiciousness well. She practically dragged the aged knight into the first empty corridor she found. Her breathing was labored when they stopped. She had no choice but to take a moment to collect herself before even looking up at Ser Eddrin. With his back, he shielded her from where the end of the corridor they stood in met the main one. Her mind replayed breakfast on a loop. She had no doubt that her father and Rhaenyra were arguing at that very moment. She wondered if her father argued with his wife like he scolded her. She feared what would happen in that room. But not enough to go back. Her feet would not carry her in that direction.

As soon as the princess caught her breath, she narrowed in on where she needed to go. They needed to move out of the open. She needed to get away from everyone, but did not want to be alone, “I wish to spend the day with Helaena.”

“Funny you say that, mi’lady,” Ser Eddrin smiled, “A certain white cloak happened to inform me that the Princess is in her chambers with her children and requested your company.”

“I never thank you enough.” She looked at the man like he had put the sun in the sky.

But the knight only chuckled and shrugged before replying, “He came to me. Told me she asked for you. I merely stood there.”

“You have my gratitude nonetheless.”

“Shall we?”

Mindful of the amount of stairs, the princess and her knight paced their journey to Helaena’s chambers. The corridors only grew busier after everyone broke their fast. She was stopped numerous times to be congratulated on her engagement. Every well wish felt wrong, as if each one were a farce. She thanked each one as politely as she could manage before excusing herself. While the script of it all started to become soothing, the whole charade quickly became infuriating. Just as she had guessed, many were condescending in tone. Most were. They looked down at her out of their inflated heads with cold eyes and poorly hid crocodile smiles. She was no fool. She saw right through their kind words. The Mootons, Lord Fossoway, Lady Graceford, the lot of them. By the time they had actually reached Princess Helaena’s door, the princess-by-title found herself wondering if she had gone mad. If she was seeing enemies in everyone. Or if the Red Keep was truly more dangerous than she had previously thought. With every lord and lady she encountered, Maetilda could not escape the piece of her father that lived in her mind. Never afraid to voice his opinion. Sometimes to the point where she could barely hear her own thoughts. Most times. She was not surprised to see one of the twins guarding Helaena’s door. Both kingsguard bowed their heads respectfully.

“Good morning, princess.” He sounded like Arryk, the one from the gardens.

The princess mustered her best smile, “Fine morning, Ser Arryk.”

“Ser Erryk.” He corrected, debunking her earlier suspicions.

“Ser Erryk.” She repeated, staring him down in an attempt to find the differences in his face from his brother’s. Yet even his own mother was known to struggle.

The door opened to a large bedroom chamber. The princess gave her sworn knight a parting nod before she entered. Not focused on a single hue but the entire spectrum of color, Helaena’s chambers were perhaps the most colorful of all the rooms within the Red Keep. Greens, yellows, reds, blues, purples, oranges, and everything in between. There was less furniture and more space for activity, but it was soon clear why. Two white haired children scurried in front of her as if she had been a permanent fixture. They did not even turn to look at her. Their giggles bounced off the walls. A tired maid chased after them. Twins. Maetilda still remembered the day they had received the raven with the news. A boy and a girl, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Born to Aegon and Helaena in the dead of night. The princess-by-birth had been young at the time, still was. The maester at Dragonstone had privately expressed his concern. That fortnight had been one of the first times the princess-by-title had been thankful for her father’s overbearing nature. At least she did not have to marry Aegon. Or produce children before her body had finished maturing. It was a fate no woman deserved, Helaena least of all. Maetilda got a strange feeling from watching her cousin’s children running about. She had never met them as babes. They were still quite young, and yet old enough to run and jump and play. A younger babe, old enough to have perhaps seen his third nameday, sat next to his mother as she pointed to different creatures in her needlework. He was white haired, just as the older ones, and already bore a resemblance to Aegon. Maelor. She could remember that raven too. Prince Daemon had been sour for three whole moons after it came. He drank from sun up to sun down, and grumbled tirelessly about the heir and spare that Otto planned to supplant him with. But they were all only children. Children that ran and played through their mother’s chambers. Children that still needed help feeding themselves. Children that held no responsibility or blame. What harm could they cause? Princess Helaena perked up when she noticed Maetilda, both grinned ear to ear. The King’s second daughter was dressed in a chartreuse gown with long paneled sleeves. Her neckline was high cut to her mother’s approval.

“Maetilda, I am so happy to see you!”

“It has been too long yet!”

“I know. I miss the days of our girlhood.”

“When we would sleep in each other’s beds.”

“Never went a day without seeing each other when we were in the same castle.”

“I miss those days.”

“Me too. But you must meet the children.”

“I must!”

The tired maid cornered and corralled the twins while Helaena readjusted the youngest’s outfit. As the older pair became aware of the unfamiliar presence, they quickly lost interest in their game of cat and mouse. Maetilda watched them with a smile. The maid instructed them on appearance and etiquette before moving aside to give them practice. Jaehaera rushed forward on the balls of her feet, a wild grin to match. The girl skid to a halt mere inches away from the princess-by-title.

“You are my aunt.” Jaehaera declared.

“Not yet, my love! She will be your aunt. First, she must marry Uncle Aemy.”

“She will marry Uncle Aemy?”

Helaena nodded eagerly as the bride-to-be used every ounce of her strength to keep her face even. Staring at the unfamiliar children wide-eyed, her weight shifted from foot to foot.

“Hello, Jaehaera.” The plum-clad princess crouched down to the girl’s level, “It is lovely to meet you. My name is Maetilda.”

“Muh-til-da!” Jaehaerys enunciated from behind his sister.

“Maedilda!” Jaehaera cheered after him.

“Very good,” She giggled, already picturing the three moons they would spend together before she left.

Suddenly, it all felt real. Her engagement, her marriage, returning to her castle, producing heirs. Terrifyingly real. In three moon’s time, her life would begin to look like Helaena’s. She would be responsible for bearing children of her own — Aemond’s children. They would run and giggle and play through the halls and courtyards of Runestone.

“Do you like lady beetles?” Jaehaerys inquired.

“I love lady beetles.” The princess confessed, “And butterflies. And earthworms… And silverfish.”

“I like earthworms!” Jaehaera exclaimed.

“They are so funny!” Maetilda replied.

“Funny, yeah!” Jaehaera giggled.

“Do you know what a lady beetle does?” Jaehaerys quizzed.

“No, I do not. Do you?” Maetilda shrugged

“Of course! They eat the bugs that eat the garden.” Jaehaera jumped at the answer.

“How honorable!”

Jaehaerys nodded, “Do you like dragons?”

“I love dragons very much. I have one!”

“Where?!” The twins gasped in perfect unison.

“She lives in a volcano!”

“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, do you remember what a volcano is?” Helaena chimed in.

“A mountain with fire!” The boy answered as his sister did a big, loud, and bold demonstration.

“Well done!”

“You are both so smart!”

“That was a compliment! What do you say to a compliment?” Helaena asked them.

“Thank you!” Jaehaera butted in before her brother could answer.

“Well done! You are welcome.”

“Very good, indeed! Judyth, send for refreshments and then you may be excused until nap time.”

With a nod, the tired maid left the room. The door clicked behind her, leaving two princesses and three children. Helaena handed Maelor over to Maetilda before setting the older children up with a new game that involved their dolls. Maelor wiggled restlessly as he fought to join his siblings. The princess-by-title did not argue, promptly setting him down on his feet. He took off like a little winged bug. As soon as the children were lost in play, their mother returned to her previous seat. The giggles chorused in the background as the cousins smiled to each other.

“I am very glad you came.” Helaena grabbed Maetilda’s hands in her own.

“I am sorry I have not been around more.”

“No, you are newly engaged and this place is exhausting. Besides, I must be the one to apologize. When we saw each other in the Godswood, I was feeling…”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes, overwhelmed. There is so much I must tell you. And I do not know where to begin.”

“The words will come when they need to. It is alright.”

“But it is not. You are in danger. We all are. What I told you in the Godswood was only the beginning.”

“One eye closed, two fires sparked, the heads of three have long been marked. That was what you said. Are you telling me that more than three will die?” Maetilda asked, “Who?”

Helaena’s eyes filled with tears, “All of us.”

“And it shall start with the death of three?”

Helaena nodded.

“When? How much time do we have?”

Helaena shook her head; she did not know. Maetilda wrapped the other princess up in her arms. They sat in still silence for a moment. After a while, Jaehaerys brought his mother a doll to hold before he ran back to his siblings. Helaena held it close to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Maetilda.”

“For what?”

“What will happen.”

“Whatever shall happen, it will not be your fault.”

“I… I feel as though… I feel… dread.”

“I shall be here with you for at least three more moons. We can dread the future together.”

“You will leave and never come back whole.”

Maetilda’s heart sank, “Will my marriage truly be so terrible?”

A tnk, tnk, tnk signaled the opening of the chamber door before platters of food and carafes of teas and juices and wines were carried in by several hands. It was all laid out neatly, placed just high enough to be out of the children’s direct reach. But of course, all three ran over to their mother and future aunt, begging for bites. Helaena loaded a small plate up for all three of them. The siblings scrambled for a place to sit. Maelor settled on his future aunt’s lap while the twins took the floor. Their mother handed them their plates, and for once they were silent as they snacked.

“May I hand you anything, Maetilda?”

“I have just come from breakfast, but I would love some wine.”

Soon, both women were giggling with goblets of wine in hand. Maelor leaned back against the princess-by-title even after he had finished eating. The servants tidied up slightly before they bowed and left. Just as they had been directed to. It surprised the princess-by-title to see how matronly her cousin’s servants looked. It was almost suspicious how none of them seemed close in age to the woman they served. They looked old enough to have grown children, not nursing babes. Helaena was the King’s second daughter, wife to his first son — more appropriate maids could not be found? Maetilda drank deeply from her wine, careful to hold it out of Maelor’s reach when she was done.

“You are scared.” Helaena observed aloud.

The princess-by-title nodded, “Have been since I got here.”

“You are not going mad.”

“Did you hear about my behavior at dinner with Aemond and your mother?”

“He recounted the evening to me.” Helaena nodded, “Word-for-word.”

“Yet you think I am not mad?”

“A mad woman would have no reasoning behind her actions.”

Maetilda sighed, “‘Suppose you are right.”

Jaehaera tried to hide her yawn as she rubbed her eyes. Jaehaerys blinked slowly with heavy eyelids. The twins had been watching the two women the entire time. Maelor had gone limp with sleep somewhere in the middle of it all. His half-eaten plate had been forgotten on the seat cushion next to them.

It was Helaena’s turn to sigh, “It looks as though we should take a nap early.”

The twins immediately perked back awake in order to voice their dissent. As if the word alone was enough to give them a second wind. Their whines filled the room and awoke Maelor, who then began to cry. Helaena took her youngest back into her arms before calling for the wetnurses. More matronly maids filed in. Maetilda watched it all wordlessly, as if she were looking into a crystal ball that told her future.

“I shall see you once your family has left.” Helaena smiled to her cousin, “I will be busy with the little ones for quite some time.”

A/N: Maetilda and Helaena never get enough time together imo. But stress will do that to you. Miss Tilda is in here over her head! But this sixth day is not over yet!!! Just y'all wait!!!

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace (if anyone wants added or removed, please just let me know!)

xoxo messy

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catsbeaversandducks · 2 years

Photo

“Popcorn is an opossum rescued two nights ago in rough shape and really struggling to survive in this weather. Did you know it’s not uncommon for rehabbers to be able to handle and even hold a wild opossum? They are so peaceful and docile in nature and are some of the most amazing creatures we have worked with.

While we are not recommending you attempt to pick up any wild opossum you come across, we would love to spread the true facts about these awesome guys and put a stop to the common misconceptions about them that often result in unnecessary cruelty. Here are just ten amazing facts about opossums you all should know!

1. They're Not Aggressive Even when confronted with a predator, they will use the infamous "playing possum" technique to appear dead and avoid an actual brawl.They can stay zoned out for hours, emitting a foul odor in order to further keep any bad guys at bay, but they'll never outright attack, even if they're baring their teeth.

2. They Rarely Have Rabies Unlike most other wild animals, possums are nearly completely immune to contracting rabies or passing it along. This is due to their natural body temperature being too low to maintain hosting the virus.

3. They Kill Thousands Of Ticks According to stats reported by the National Wildlife Federation, a single possum can potentially eliminate 4,000 ticks in one week thanks to their extreme self-grooming methods (either crushing or consuming the ticks burrowing in their fur).They also aren't susceptible to Lyme disease and therefore can protect humans from contracting it, as they rid an area of the real pests.

4. They Won't Destroy Your Lawn Or Property Unlike other nocturnal animals creeping around neighborhoods, possums won't destroy your lawn or property. If you happen to see one wander into your garage (a popular spot to see them pop up), and don’t want to share your space, simply leave a door open and remove any food that might have drawn them in. They'll eventually mosey on out without making a fuss.

5. They're True Survivors They've been around longer than any other mammal. Possums are often called "living fossils" because they've been able to survive on our planet for millions of years — over 70 million, to be exact, which really shows their ability to overcome adversity.

6. They Help With Waste Management They are not picky eaters. If it's edible, they'll eat it. Including commonly dining on animals struck by vehicles on the road (bones and all), which scientists refer to as "carrion."This basically makes them nature's most efficient waste-management team and cleanup crew.

7. They're The Only Marsupials Indigenous To North America You have to admit, it would be a shame if Australia were the only home to marsupials! Plus, it makes possums even more of a unique part of our natural environment.

8. They Get Rid Of Garden Pests They aren’t picky eaters when it comes to troublesome garden pests like slugs, beetles, and cockroaches, but they will leave the flowers or veggies you’re growing undisturbed.

9. They May Be The Key To Battling Venomous Snake Bites The venom of rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and other dangerous slithery snakes that might be hiding in your yard has no effect on possums.Researchers have been looking into whether they can find the toxin-neutralizing strain in their blood, which could potentially be used to treat humans who have been struck by poisonous snakes.

10. They're Actually Quite Smart Possums tested with a higher intelligence than more domestic animals like rabbits, dogs, and cats — particularly when it came to finding good food and remembering exactly where it was to go back for more.”

By Becky Zielinski ABC Wildlife Rehab, Inc.

#opossum #wild life #wildlife rehab #north america marsupial #nature

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ninemelodies · 4 months

Text

echoes of a dream

written for @doctordonnaweek day 6: help/friends

also on ao3

Donna has nightmares about what happened in Shan Shen. Usually, the memories of her dreams fade within minutes of waking up, washed away by a warm cup of tea and a couple of deep breaths. That is, until she dreams about how she died.

On that night, she wakes with a shout. She's tangled in her blankets and her sleep shirt has shifted so that the collar is tight around her neck. She sits up and, after a brief struggle, manages to get the blankets shoved to the floor and her shirt adjusted. Even without the weight of her blankets, Donna still feels like she can’t breathe. In an attempt to calm her racing thoughts, she closes her eyes and takes stock of herself.

The side of her body feels bruised and there's a fear that sits heavy in her belly. There had been a truck. The deafening screech of tires on asphalt rings in her ears. She had been hit. She had been dying. No, she had died. That had been the only way to disrupt that timeline, she remembers, the only way to get herself, the other her, to turn left.

Unlike her other dreams, this nightmare is not fading from her mind. In fact, with every breath she takes, more memories of that universe come flooding in. The feeling of pain and fear will not let her go. Without thinking, Donna gets up and makes her way to the TARDIS kitchen. With shaking hands, she puts the kettle on.

Donna leans back against the counter and waits for the water to boil. The wall across from her fades from view and suddenly she is facing that godforsaken blue truck again. Tires squeal on the pavement as the driver tries to both stop and swerve to avoid hitting her. They aren't fast enough. There's a sickening thud and then she's on her back in the road, staring at the sky and the face of a young, blonde woman. Donna's thoughts spiral around one thing - dying, dying, dead, dying, dead, dead, dead -

"Donna?"

She blinks and suddenly she's back to herself, back in the TARDIS, with the Doctor in front of her and the kettle whistling shrill in her ears. The Doctor scans her face and by the small frown that tugs his mouth downward, he doesn't like what he finds there. He reaches behind her, removes the kettle from the burner and turns off the heat.

Donna takes that moment to wipe tears from her face. She knows she must look a mess, eyes red and puffy from crying. She rubs her cheeks harder, like she can wipe away that happened. The Doctor takes her wrists and pulls her hands away from her face.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nightmare,” she says. “It was nothing." Donna pulls her hands free and turns to make that cup of tea. After a moment's hesitation, she pulls another cup out of the cabinet and makes one for the Doctor too.

Maybe it'll get him to stop asking questions.

He takes the tea but doesn't drink it. "Donna, I've been calling your name for five minutes. The kettle was going off and you couldn't hear it either.” His frown deepens. “You were miles from the TARDIS, weren’t you? Where were you?"

He isn’t demanding in his questioning, and Donna can’t help but notice that without his coat and suit jacket and tie, the Doctor looks so small, so human. He's standing in the middle of the TARDIS kitchen holding a steaming cup of tea and he’s trying to help, Donna just has to let him.

She takes a deep breath. "I died."

"What?"

"I dreamed about my death. In that alternate universe created by that blasted beetle." Her grip tightens around her cup. She forces herself to relax and take a drink. It's warm, comforting.

"You shouldn't remember anything from that universe, how-” the Doctor cuts himself off. “No, nevermind that, you died?" Donna looks down at her tea. "So did you." Her tears, which had slowed but not stopped, pick up again. They drip down her nose and her cheeks and into her cup.

"Donna..." The Doctor sets his cup down on the counter. He then gently pries her cup out of her hands and sets it down next to his own. He pulls her into a hug and Donna does not resist.

She fists her hands in the back of his jacket and sobs. She’s getting his shirt wet but she can't bring herself to care, not right now. Later, when she’s calmed down, she'll be embarrassed about it, but for now she cries and the Doctor holds her as tight as he can. He rubs one hand up and down her spine in a soothing gesture.

Even once her sobs have quieted, Donna does not pull away. She is reminded of Midnight, of the Doctor holding her this way because he had needed it. "In that universe, I turned right," she whispers into his shoulder. The Doctor continues rubbing her back. "I never made it to H.C. Clements. I wasn't there to stop you. You drowned under the weight of the Thames."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, like he's going to say something. Donna doesn't let him.

"Do you know how many people you’ve saved, Doctor? I know it weighs on you, how many people you've had to let die, but do you know how many more you've saved? Without you, the Earth became a horrible place. London choked, people dissolved into fat, everything you stopped happened. You've protected and saved so many lives."

Donna hears the Doctor sniff, and then he’s burying his face in her hair. “But I couldn’t protect you,” he whispers, and his voice is thick. “You said you died.”

“I did,” she confirms. “I had to. It was the only way I could make sure that I turned left. Nobody wants to remember what it feels like to die, but if I had to go back and do it again, I would.” Donna pulls back and looks him in the eye. “I would do it again, if it meant saving you.”

To that, the Doctor has no response. Donna likes to think it's because he knows arguing with her is a pointless endeavor. He searches her face for a moment. “I could block the memories again, if it would help?”

“Don’t you dare,” Donna says immediately. “Someone needs to remember what the world was like without you.”

Donna is no fool. She knows that there will be more nights like this, where everything she went through in that alternate universe bubbles up and she drowns in it, but for right now she is okay. She will make it.

She says as much to the Doctor. “Thank you.” Donna yawns and the exhaustion she had been fighting creeps into her bones. She lets the Doctor go and steps towards the door. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

The Doctor watches her go. “Goodnight, Donna,” he says.

#doctor who #doctordonna week 23 #donna noble #10th doctor

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ineed-to-sleep · 2 months

Note

2, 6, and 26 for the tav ask game

26 answered here!

6. What is your tav's favourite childhood memory?

A lot of her time spent in West Harbor among her friends has provided her with good memories, but her favorite is actually something she experienced in the swamp. Though she's been through a lot more danger and stress traversing that area, there was no feeling quite as good as the first time she managed to get inside an Illefarn ruin, successfully slipping by unnoticed by the giant frogs and beetles that made the place their home.

The ruins were unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The halls were large and drafts of wind whistled and echoed through them, tall pillars held up the broken ceiling and she saw flights of stairs that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond her vision. The walls were cold to the touch, but she touched them nonetheless, trying to trace the swirling patterns that decorated them with her fingers. The entire place looked alien to her, a complete departure from the modest wooden houses of West Harbor that she was familiar with.

There was also something unusual that filled the air, something that raised the hairs on her arms and sent a chill down her spine. It should've been terrifying, but instead, the feeling brought her a strange comfort. She felt as if the ruins themselves were taking her hand and pulling her in. She roamed from room to room, finding old tomes with little marks and dots of ink she couldn't read, broken objects with intricate but faded designs, statues of people that looked like elves but... not quite. She lost track of time in her exploration, excited for what she could discover next, moving deeper inside the ruins almost as if carried by a gentle current.

She doesn't remember how she did it, it just happened as she kept walking and the light around her kept dimming, but she heard what sounded like faint whispers from the darker corners of the hall and suddenly, in a burst of shivers, she was surprised by a flickering ball of light emerging out of her fingers. It stood beside her and became her companion for a while, following her as it slowly waned out over the hours, serving as a great assistant to make her way out of the ruins before it fully faded away.

She never forgot that moment, and even though the light disappeared, she learned to cast it again later on, along with many more lights to keep it company.

2. What relationship did your tav have with their family/guardian(s) growing up? Has that changed with age?

To put it simply, it hasn't changed and it's likely that it never will- for better or for worse.

She was raised by her uncle, with no other family alive besides him, something that was way more important to her than it was to him. To her, he was the most important person in the world, but to him, she was a responsibility he didn't want and a sour reminder of his own failings.

I go into it more under the cut as this is uh. A loaded question jfjckfk

Her parents were both dead by the time she came out of the womb- her father was a Neverwinter city guard, killed on the job, and her mother a seldarine drow that didn't survive the childbirth process. Her uncle had painful history with the couple, having been her mother's previous lover, and after a falling out, being left for his own brother. He never lived that down, and though he was always the outwardly stoic type, the bitterness never left his tongue whenever he was forced to talk to his brother.

But it's not like he ever told Nawen about any of that.

He took the baby back to Merdelain, to the small village of West Harbor, where he'd spent most of his life and hunting career. He was reclusive, quiet, distant. When he was in the house, it barely felt like he was really there, the occasional floorboard creek or sound of sizzling fire in the kitchen being the only alarms to announce his presence. It took her a while to learn how to properly talk, and most of the practice wasn't done at home, you can be sure of that. He tried his very best to maintain his life exactly as it was before she came into it, providing her with the bare minimum to keep his guilt at bay while spending most of the time away from her sight. All she learned about her parents came from old letters in the attic- a chest hidden away in the wall, behind the cobwebs and earthy smell of dust that covered long untouched memories. She found things she could only assume- or hope- were her mother's, along with the letters half eaten by termites. Once she learned how to read, she pieced together the story of a wealthy woman from the big city in love with a mysterious man living alone in the swamp. That was all she knew of her mother, besides a fantastical image she built of her in her head to fill in the blanks.

Her uncle never found out about her ventures in the attic- or if he did, he didn't care enough to scold her about it. She grew up learning from the villagers, learning from the swamp, from ruins and old books, from everything else but him, and wishing he'd sometimes sit at the table with her and have more to say than one-word answers. That he'd look at her and not just at the bowl of food in front of him. But he was never one to give her what she wanted.

As a teenager, she walked out of the swamp with a troupe of other misfits and troublemakers she called friends, and never looked back.

After getting roped into something that would lead to the worst years of her life, she decided to send a letter to him. She was now in Athkatla, tucked away in her bunk bed in one of the Shadow Thieves' headquarters, her eyes red and puffy from crying, and she wrote him a letter telling him how *good* her life was. That she was doing incredible, she was going to get rich, and she would never have to live in a backwards swamp, covered in mud like him. And no thanks to him, of course, because he was never there for her anyway, because he was a failure and nobody wanted to be around him and that's why he was alone now. It was bitter, malicious, she wanted to hurt him and twist the knife. She wanted him to feel the way she felt.

He answered with the most predictable, yet disappointing answer. He briefly told her he was glad she was doing well, and that he was doing fine. Nothing much besides that. It was barely an answer, she was surprised he even bothered to write the words down.

About a decade later, at what she would see as the lowest point of her life, she started writing another letter. This time, she apologized. She said she was angry and bitter, that she wasn't thinking straight and didn't really mean what she said. It was a really nice letter, especially for her, and she even politely asked how he was doing and about the state of the Mere and the village. But she never sent it. She reread it later and scoffed, thinking herself pathetic, that even after all these years she was still a naive little girl desperate for her uncle's attention. She burned it and put the idea out of her mind.

Her relationship with him has always been distant, she can't see it realistically being any other way, if she could even consider that they have a relationship at all now. And she's not sure if she would like to have one. Maybe some things are better left in the past.

#bg3 #tav #asks #sowwyy this took a while #I wanted to play around w the art & writing and try a few things #ended up going back and forth w a lot of this but I'm happy with what came out #I love the ruins drawing the most but the second answer is my favorite #it's long ik I. had a lot of words in me fjckkckc #parents amirite. eesh #oc.nawen #nawenlore

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shit-enmu-says · 7 days

Text

Note: This is the this installment in my as yet unnamed Drabble. Pretty heavy stuff in this one. CW for death, blood, violence, and gore. Also tumblr is telling me my account’s been terminated. If not please let me know.

Part 3

The door closed behind Enmu, leaving him alone in the small, drafty room. Well, alone except for the mangled, bloody thing on the table. He turned his gaze once more upon the remains of Hideki Sato. A large black beetle scuttled forth from the corpse’s empty sockets. Enmu doubled over and clutched his stomach, vomiting onto the floor.

What is wrong with me? he thought, head spinning as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. He was hardly the squeamish type. After his many years assisting Ayumu in the clinic there was little he hadn’t seen. He’d been sneezed on, bled on, vomited on and worse. Yet he’d never once encountered a dead body.

Was it remorse, perhaps? It couldn’t be. He hardly knew Sato, he was just one of the many faceless patients on his roster. He would have died anyway in his sorry state. Nothing modern medicine had to offer could have saved him. That wasn’t it, no. Something nagged at the edges of his subconscious. Something he thought he had buried years ago.

It was a humid summer evening in late July, and he was six again. The air was thick with the hum of cicadas as he crept down the earthen path through the woods. The path was slick with mud from the heavy rains the week before, causing him to stumble. The further he ventured in, the smaller he felt.

How did he get there? Enmu wasn’t sure. One moment he was on the front porch reading, the next he was surrounded by trees. Only one thing was certain: he was hopelessly lost. The tall green grass seemed to shimmer in front of him in the scorching air. His eyes followed the almost languid motion of it from side to side when he caught sight of a patch of black.

His father’s old tailcoat. The same one Ayumu snapped at him for trying on. As little as he was now, it was unlikely to fit him even when he was full grown. Not that he cared in the slightest.

Their father never came home the night before. Ayumu dismissed his questions. “You’re spoiled,” Ayumu had said, “When I was your age he was barely home, always working himself to exhaustion at the clinic. With Mother gone he has to come home more often but he’s probably just busy. If he’s not home by tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the clinic to check on him.”

Enmu’s room was closest to the wilderness. He often sneaked into Ayumu’s room, complaining of hearing strange things. The night before he slept even more fitfully than usual. “I heard a scream,” Enmu had whispered, tugging at his brother’s shirt tail, “What if it’s him?”

“Father, are you out here?” Enmu picked up the tailcoat. His hand came away sticky and red.

Ayumu was shouting at him, dragging him back up the path by the wrist. “What did I tell you about going back here?” He yelled, “Do you have a death wish?”

His brother trudged up the hill at a furious pace with Enmu in tow. At that moment his brother stopped dead in his track, every muscle tensed. Enmu recalled the wide-eyed expression on his brother’s face before he broke into a run. “Promise me, Enmu! Promise me you won’t look back!”

His brother had locked him in his room the moment they arrived home. Why were his hands shaking? He returned later that evening with dirt caked under his nails and red eyes. “What about Father?” “He’s not coming home, Enmu. Not now, not ever. Promise me you won’t go looking for him.”

Enmu blinked. The storage room came back into focus. Yet Ayumu’s words still echoed in his head. He glanced back at the corpse on the table. Was something like this what his brother hadn’t wanted him to see?

#shitenmusays #enmu tamio #enmu #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #drabble #enmudrabble #demon slayer

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strqyr · 8 months

Note

Yang protecting Raven's secret proves to me that Yang loves Raven in some way. But my question is, if Yang hasn't told everyone Raven is Spring, and Yang said she found Vernal dead ("..and Vernal was dead"), and it doesn't click Raven = Spring maiden, do RWB JNOR and Qrow think Cinder has 2 different maiden powers up her sleeve?

i feel like they think the powers went to someone random? like, this is the entire conversation yang and qrow had afterwards:

qrow: what happened? yang: i don't know exactly. when i got down there, cinder was gone, and vernal was dead. qrow: and raven? yang: gone. qrow: well, we're all glad you're still here, firecracker.

so, few things: 1. yang's reaction to the chess piece cinder left on ironwood's desk in V7 ("she's alive? and she's here?!") makes it abundantly clear she thought cinder dead, 2. in that context, "gone" here could mean "probably / likely dead but can't confirm bc no body", 3. obviously yang knows raven's not dead, but she uses the same "gone" as with cinder when qrow asks about raven, and 4. qrow's "we're all glad you're still here" kinda sounds like he thinks everyone else who entered the vault might be dead but he's glad yang isn't.

so like, if they thought cinder was dead, obv she couldn't have the powers.

of course it's possible that they might have reconsidered after it was proven cinder was still alive, but that's. . either having two sets of powers is possible to happen "naturally", or they'd have to know about cinder's ability to siphon them ( not unlikely since qrow has seen her do it once with the beetle ).

( also yang protecting raven's secret after summer's mission was the reason raven became the spring maiden + had to hide would be deluxe )

#rwby #anon #ask.strqyr

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goblinville · 2 years

Photo

The Deathwatch Beetle

Tick, tick tick...

Lying in bed on a quiet night or keeping silent vigil at a loved one’s side, one might begin to hear a light ticking sound from the walls and rafters of their home. For many this sound would have been just as terrifying as the wail of the banshee as, just like the banshee’s scream, it was thought to presage the death of someone in that home. Unlike the banshee however, the source of this noise was entirely mundane.

The actual cause of this sound is the tiny, inconspicuous deathwatch beetle (Xestobium rufovillosum). This wood boring species can be found living in the wooden beams of many old buildings. Because it spends much of its life in lightless passageways in the wood, it needs to be able to find mates using methods other than sight. Instead, they communicate via sound. Typically a male will begin by tapping against the side of his wooden tunnel, to which a receptive nearby female would tap in reply. This beetle gets its common name from the fact that it could often be heard by people who were keeping watch at the bedsides of dead and dying loved ones, a practice sometimes referred to as a deathwatch.

Image source: Gilles San Martin

While the constant background noises of modern life may drown out the sound of the deathwatch beetle, one can still encounter their influence in the works of writers such as Henry David Thoreau and Jonathan Swift. The insect’s rhythmic ticking sound may even have been an inspiration for Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Telltale Heart”. Swift’s poem “Wood, an Insect” even prescribes a treatment for the insects if they are heard:

The Third is an Insect we call a Wood-Worm,

That lies in old Wood like a Hare in her Form;

With Teeth or with Claws it will bite or will scratch,

And Chambermaids christen this Worm a Death-Watch:

Because like a Watch it always cries Click:

Then Woe be to those in the House who are sick:

For, as sure as a Gun they will give up the Ghost

If the Maggot cries Click when it scratches the Post.

But a Kettle of scalding hot Water injected,

Infallibly cures the Timber affected;

The Omen is broke, the Danger is over;

The Maggot will dye, and the Sick will recover.

If you would like to know more about this beetle, and the folklore it inspired, I will leave links to all my sources down below. And if you’d like to hear the sound of the deathwatch, you can hear a recording of it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Xestobium_sound.ogg

Sources:

https://www.eapoe.org/papers/misc1921/jer19691.htm

https://www.eapoe.org/pstudies/ps1970/p1971105.htm

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/may/04/specieswatch-beware-the-deathwatch-beetle

http://www.combermere-restoration.co.uk/a-hard-days-night-for-the-beetles/

#entomology #folklore #lore #insects #beetle #deathwatch beetle

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion XII (Chapter 66)

For most men, there was no cost to joining a company, but he was not most men. He dipped the quill into the inkpot, leaned over the first parchment, paused, looked up. "Would you prefer me to sign Yollo or Hugor Hill?"

Tyrion's such a loser he has to pay to join a sellsword company.

I have a prediction! Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion will always have their proper names as the chapter header.

+.+.+

The dwarf laughed and signed the parchment, Tyrion of House Lannister. As he passed it left to Inkpots, he riffled through the pile underneath. "There are … what, fifty? Sixty? I'd thought there were five hundred Second Sons."

"Five hundred thirteen at present," Inkpots said. "When you sign our book, we will be five hundred fourteen."

"So only one in ten receives a note? That hardly seems fair. I thought you were all share-and-share-alike in the free companies." He signed another sheet.

Brown Ben chuckled. "Oh, all share. But not alike. The Second Sons are not unlike a family …"

"… and every family has its drooling cousins." Tyrion signed another note. The parchment crinkled crisply as he slid it toward the paymaster. "There are cells down in the bowels of Casterly Rock where my lord father kept the worst of ours." He dipped his quill in the inkpot. Tyrion of House Lannister, he scratched out, promising to pay the bearer of the note one hundred golden dragons. Every stroke of the quill leaves me a little poorer … or would, if I were not a beggar to begin with. One day he might rue these signatures. But not this day.

Bowels! I was going to make an Orson Lannister beetle joke, but that's show-only.

I'm going to keep track of this. He's signing 25-30 contracts worth 100 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000)

+.+.+

"Debts written on the wind tend to be … forgotten, shall we say?"

"Not by us." Tyrion signed another sheet. And another. He had found a rhythm now. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Seven books of wasted buildup if you don't make them broke by the end.

+.+.+

He wanted to laugh, but that would have ruined the game. Plumm was enjoying this, and Tyrion had no intention of spoiling his fun. Let him go on thinking that he's bent me over and fucked me up the arse, and I'll go on buying steel swords with parchment dragons. If ever he went back to Westeros to claim his birthright, he would have all the gold of Casterly Rock to make good on his promises. If not, well, he'd be dead, and his new brothers could wipe their arses with these parchments. Perhaps some might turn up in King's Landing with their scraps in hand, hoping to convince his sweet sister to make good on them. And would that I could be a roach in the rushes to witness that.

More than enough evidence Team Daenerys will take Casterly Rock.

We'll have to wait and see if Tyrion screwed himself, and those mines are as empty as the show indicated. (I think they are.)

+.+.+

The writing on the parchments changed about halfway down the pile. The hundred-dragon notes were all for serjeants. Below them the amounts suddenly grew larger. Now Tyrion was promising to pay the bearer one thousand golden dragons. He shook his head, laughed, signed.

25-30 contracts are worth 1000 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000 + 💰25,000-30,000)

+.+.+

"You will work for Inkpots," said Inkpots. "Keeping books, counting coin, writing contracts and letters."

"Gladly," said Tyrion. "I love books."

Tyrion Lannister keeps landing the same job.

+.+.+

"I once had charge of all the drains in Casterly Rock," Tyrion said mildly. "Some of them had been stopped up for years, but I soon had them draining merrily away."

Speaking of evidence they'll take Casterly Rock, that would be the second time the drains have been referenced.

So to mark his manhood, Tyrion was given charge of all the drains and cisterns within Casterly Rock. Perhaps he hoped I'd fall into one. But Tywin had been disappointed in that. The drains never drained half so well as when he had charge of them. - Tyrion III, ADWD

Twice is never a coincidence, the show got it right.

If Team Daenerys takes the Rock with a stealth mission (as opposed to dragons) and holds the castle, that makes it far more likely it's the Red Keep falling on Jaime and Cersei.

+.+.+

I won't have you parading about where you might be seen. Stay inside as much as you can, and shit into your bucket. Too many eyes at the latrines. And never go beyond our camp without my leave. We can dress you up in squire's steel, pretend you're Jorah's butt boy, but there's some will see right through that. Once Meereen is taken and we're away to Westeros, you can prance about all you like in gold and crimson.

What is Ben Plumm's plan here?

The Second Sons defeat Daenerys in Meereen, then go to Westeros and do what exactly? Conquer the land with 514 men? It's not like he knows about Aegon.

+.+.+

Till then, though …"

"… I shall live beneath a rock and never make a sound. You have my word on that."

Like your brother and sister! ❤️

+.+.+

Three notes remained, different from the rest. Two were written on fine vellum and made out by name. For Kasporio the Cunning, ten thousand dragons. The same for Inkpots, whose true name appeared to be Tybero Istarion. "Tybero?" said Tyrion. "That sounds almost Lannister. Are you some long-lost cousin?"

"Perhaps. I always pay my debts as well. It is expected of a paymaster. Sign."

2 contracts are worth 10,000 golden dragons each. (💰2500-3000 + 💰25,000-30,000 + 💰20,000)

Not sure what to make of the Tybero stuff.

+.+.+

Brown Ben's note was the last. That one had been inscribed upon a sheepskin scroll. One hundred thousand golden dragons, fifty hides of fertile land, a castle, and a lordship. Well and well. This Plumm does not come cheaply.

The final contract is 100,000 golden dragons, fifty hides of fertile land, a castle, and a lordship. Final tally:

💰147,500-153,000 golden dragons, fifty hides of land, a castle, and a lordship.

Pray those mines haven't run dry, Tyrion Lannister.

+.+.+

"The Second Sons are amongst the oldest of the free companies," Inkpots said as he was turning pages. "This is the fourth book. The names of every man to serve with us are written here. When they joined, where they fought, how long they served, the manner of their deaths—all in the book. You will find famous names in here, some from your Seven Kingdoms. Aegor Rivers served a year with us, before he left to found the Golden Company. Bittersteel, you call him. The Bright Prince, Aerion Targaryen, he was a Second Son. And Rodrik Stark, the Wandering Wolf, him as well. No, not that ink. Here, use this." He unstoppered a new pot and set it down.

That's the dumb shit Targ who drank wildfire. Also, the Wandering Wolf! Arya's husband. ❤️ Other notable members include Oberyn Martell, and the Tattered Prince.

I glanced over their wiki, only noteworthy history I can see is the Second Sons fleeing when a Dothraki khalasar attacked Qohor.

+.+.+

"For most of us, the signature suffices, but I would hate to disappoint a new brother-in-arms. Welcome to the Second Sons, Lord Tyrion."

Lord Tyrion. The dwarf liked the sound of that. The Second Sons might not enjoy the shining reputation of the Golden Company, but they had won some famous victories over the centuries. "Have other lords served with the company?"

"Landless lords," said Brown Ben. "Like you, Imp."

Tyrion hopped down from the stool. "My previous brother was entirely unsatisfactory. I hope for more from my new ones. Now how do I go about securing arms and armor?"

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II, ASOS

And they both don't mean it.

+.+.+

Stumpy note:

I need everyone to know we're one-third of the way through this chapter when Tyrion goes to the armory.

I point this out because absolutely nothing happens the back two-thirds of this chapter. The chapter is fourteen pages long and two-thirds of it is nothing.

+.+.+

"Talking again, are we?" It was better than her usual sullen silence. All over an abandoned dog and pig. I saved the two of us from slavery, you would think some gratitude might be in order. "If you sleep any longer, you're like to miss the war."

"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired."

Tired or sick? Tyrion knelt beside her pallet. "You look pale." He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. If they thought Penny was sick, they would drive her off without a moment's hesitation.

I don't know if Penny continues to show symptoms of the pale mare in Tyrion's first few TWOW chapters, and I'm not about to read ahead to find out.

If I had to guess, I'd say we're being reminded of these early signs and symptoms because of another character (who is currently wandering the Dothraki Sea).

#JusticeForPenny'sDog&Pig

+.+.+

"We," she said. "If you're one of them, you should say we, not they. Has anyone seen Pretty Pig? Inkpots said he'd ask after her. Or Crunch, has there been word of Crunch?"

Only if you trust Kasporio. Plumm's not-so-cunning second-in-command claimed that three Yunkish slave-catchers were prowling through the camps, asking after a pair of escaped dwarfs. One of them was carrying a tall spear with a dog's head impaled upon its point, the way that Kaspo told it.

The peacock calls himself Kasporio the Cunning, though Kasporio the Cunt would be more apt. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Kasporio the Cunning touched his sword hilt. - tyrion XII, ADWD

I have a prediction!

Kasporio will do something stupid.

+.+.+

Snatch was waiting by the cook tent chewing sourleaf when the two dwarfs turned up, cloaked and hooded.

[...]

Snatch snorted and spat out a mouthful of red slime.

[...]

The serjeant's fingers were stained a mottled red from the juice of the sourleaf he chewed.

Snatch, the Bronn clone, is still deader than dead.

A serjeant, Tyrion knew, from the way the other two deferred to him. He had a hook where his right hand should have been. Bronn's meaner bastard shadow, or I'm Baelor the Beloved. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Snatch chewed his sourleaf, making japes and scratching at his balls with his hook hand. Something about his manner reminded Tyrion of Bronn. - Tyrion I, TWOW

+.+.+

"My father was wont to say it. Did you know Lord Tywin, Kem?"

"The Hand. Once I saw him riding up the hill. His men had red cloaks and little lions on their helms. I liked those helms." His mouth tightened. "I never liked the Hand, though. He sacked the city. And then he smashed us on the Blackwater."

"You were there?"

"With Stannis. Lord Tywin come up with Renly's ghost and took us in the flank. I dropped my spear and ran, but at the ships this bloody knight said, 'Where's your spear, boy? We got no room for cravens,' and they buggered off and left me, and thousands more besides. Later I heard how your father was sending them as fought with Stannis to the Wall, so I made my way across the narrow sea and joined up with the Second Sons."

"Do you miss King's Landing?"

"Some. I miss this boy, he … he was a friend of mine. And my brother, Kennet, but he died on the bridge of ships."

The more character development we get from the Seconds Sons the longer they'll stick around.

Snatch is the Bronn one, and Kem is ... the gay one. Can you tell I have nothing to talk about?

+.+.+

"Rats wouldn't eat my mother's cooking. There was this pot shop, though. No one ever made a bowl o' brown like them. So thick you could stand your spoon up in the bowl, with chunks of this and that. You ever have yourself a bowl o' brown, Halfman?"

"A time or two. Singer's stew, I call it."

Daily reminder Tyrion Lannister does not deserve to survive this story.

+.+.+

Kem liked that. "Singer's stew. I'll ask for that next time I get back to Flea Bottom. What do you miss, Halfman?"

Jaime, thought Tyrion. Shae. Tysha. My wife, I miss my wife, the wife I hardly knew.

Second time Tyrion is referencing Tysha, but the author leaves a little room for doubt.

"If m'lord would prefer a boy, I can have one waiting in his bed."

M'lord would prefer his wife. M'lord would prefer a girl named Tysha. - Tyrion I, ADWD

+.+.+

His greathelm sported a ram's horns, one of which was broken.

When he took it off, he revealed the battered face of Jorah Mormont.

Ram's horns and a demon's mask tattoo.

Jorah's looking like Satan.

+.+.+

The demon's mask the slavers had burned into his right cheek to mark him for a dangerous and disobedient slave would never leave him. Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.

Tyrion grinned. "As long as I look prettier than you, I will be happy."

Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow. - Daenerys II, ASOS

↓

"The girl finally poked her nose abovedecks," Tyrion told him. "One look at me and she scurried right back down below."

"You're not a pretty sight."

"Not all of us can be as comely as you. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

↓

A few more beatings and you'll be uglier than I am, Mormont. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

↓

Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.

Tyrion grinned. "As long as I look prettier than you, I will be happy." - Tyrion XII, ADWD

Yay!!

+.+.+

Her eyes got big. "You like my nose?"

Oh, Seven save me. Tyrion turned away and began rooting amongst some piles of old armor toward the back of the wagon.

"Are there any other parts of me you like?" Penny asked.

Perhaps she meant that to sound playful. It sounded sad instead.

Now he knows how Sansa felt.

+.+.+

He passed over a warhammer (too long), a studded mace (also too heavy), and half a dozen longswords before he found a dirk he liked, a nasty piece of steel with a triangular blade. "This might serve," he said.

Dagger!

+.+.+

"I don't want to hack off heads."

"Nor should you. Keep your cuts below the knee. Calf, hamstring, ankle … even giants fall if you slice their feet off. Once they're down, they're no bigger than you."

So many giants to consider here. Robert Strong? Littlefinger? An actual giant? Tyrion?

+.+.+

Penny looked as though she was about to cry. "Last night I dreamed my brother was alive again. We were jousting before some great lord, riding Crunch and Pretty Pig, and men were throwing roses at us. We were so happy …"

Tyrion slapped her.

How do we get Penny away from Tyrion without her dying? I need that.

+.+.+

Penny touched the cheek he'd slapped. "We should never have run. We're not sellswords. We're not any kind of swords. It wasn't so bad with Yezzan. It wasn't. Nurse was cruel sometimes but Yezzan never was. We were his favorites, his … his …"

"Slaves. The word you want is slaves."

"Slaves," she said, flushing. "We were his special slaves, though. Just like Sweets. His treasures."

Every master has their favourites, Penny.

No older than ten, she had the round flat face, dusky skin, and golden eyes of Naath. The Peaceful People, her folk were called. All agreed that they made the best slaves. - Daenerys II, ASOS

Dany stroked the girl's hair. "Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath." - Daenerys II, ADWD

Two of Dany's favorite hostages served the food and kept the cups filled—a doe-eyed little girl called Qezza and a skinny boy named Grazhar. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

Jhiqui and Irri would be waiting atop her pyramid back in Meereen, she told herself. Her sweet scribe Missandei as well, and all her little pages. They would bring her food, and she could bathe in the pool beneath the persimmon tree. - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

She was not all wrong. Yezzan's slaves ate better than many peasants back in the Seven Kingdoms and were less like to starve to death come winter. Slaves were chattels, aye. They could be bought and sold, whipped and branded, used for the carnal pleasure of their owners, bred to make more slaves. In that sense they were no more than dogs or horses. But most lords treated their dogs and horses well enough. Proud men might shout that they would sooner die free than live as slaves, but pride was cheap. When the steel struck the flint, such men were rare as dragon's teeth; elsewise the world would not have been so full of slaves. There has never been a slave who did not choose to be a slave, the dwarf reflected. Their choice may be between bondage and death, but the choice is always there.

Tyrion Lannister did not except himself. His tongue had earned him some stripes on the back in the beginning, but soon enough he had learned the tricks of pleasing Nurse and the noble Yezzan. Jorah Mormont had fought longer and harder, but he would have come to the same place in the end.

And Penny, well …

Penny had been searching for a new master since the day her brother Groat had lost his head. She wants someone to take care of her, someone to tell her what to do.

Settle down, Kanye.

This is not subtle. The author is practically begging the reader to recall her freedmen, Unsullied, Dothraki slaves, and Missandei.

"[...] Man has the right master, that's better."

Tyrion did not dispute him. The most insidious thing about bondage was how easy it was to grow accustomed to it. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

If Tyrion doesn't call out her mhysa nonsense (to himself) after they meet, I call bullshit.

+.+.+

"Or dead dwarfs," said Jorah Mormont. "We are all like to be feeding worms by the time this battle is done. The Yunkai'i have lost this war, though it may take them some time to know it. Meereen has an army of Unsullied infantry, the finest in the world. And Meereen has dragons. Three of them, once the queen returns. She will. She must. Our side consists of two score Yunkish lordlings, each with his own half-trained monkey men. Slaves on stilts, slaves in chains … they may have troops of blind men and palsied children too, I would not put it past them."

"Oh, I know," said Tyrion. "The Second Sons are on the losing side. They need to turn their cloaks again and do it now." He grinned. "Leave that to me."

George gave up, and decided to tell us how this is going to play out.

Monkey!

Final thoughts:

That was the most anticlimactic end to his chapters possible.

47 down, 2 to go. :(

I realize only one Tyrion chapter has been released, but we can't move ahead to Tyrion II TWOW without covering the short summary of Tyrion I TWOW.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #tyrion xii

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thelonelywiz · 4 months

Text

THE POET VIRGIL.

“Death and grief, I find, is inherent to vampirism. I’ve seen many die young and old, naturally and unnaturally. It may not look it, but the beast follows me yet still.”

SYNOPSIS.

In a world where monsters and humans coexist, anything can happen. Especially in the brownstones of Brooklyn, New York City.

The famous vampire poet, Virgil, lives with his roommate, Bea, a werewolf and former rock star drummer of BLUDHOUNDS turned grade school teacher. With his very last chapbook in the works and an award ceremony to attend, Virgil has a speech to write. But when his literary agent and best friend (and Bea’s on and off girlfriend), Calypso is found dead, he and Bea are spun into the world of murder mysteries and conspiracy. The threat of succumbing to their monstrosity increases as tensions and risks run higher, and Virgil and Bea must learn to face their grief together despite their differences. With the help of Bea’s brother, Seven; a fairy from the Bronx, Juno; an unlikely ally, and an eager human barista, a team of monsters (and Aaron) is just what the five boroughs need to defeat The Hunters once and for all.

In this romantic comedy turned murder mystery, The Poet Virgil tells a story of death, love, and what it means to be seen as a monster.

NOTES.

Started: Feb 2022

Format: screenplay

Word/page count: 256 pages

Genre: urban fantasy

Themes: grief, justice, friendship, family, generational trauma, love, hope

Content warnings: transphobia, heavily implied child neglect, on-screen child death, domestic violence, on-screen violence, blood & gore

(the following character art was made using wervty’s picrew, the first two are commissioned art by @fesenmoon)

CHARACTERS.

Virgil (he/him): An introverted vampire poet born in 1888. He likes baked goods, all things gothic, and has a special interest in the arts; art history, piano music, and of course, poetry. Protagonist and foil to Bea.

Bea (they/them): The former drummer of the all-werewolf punk rock band BLUDHOUNDS, now they’re a grade school teacher. They are the oldest of 8 and have lots of issues because of it. Deuteragonist and Virgil’s roommate (and foil).

Calypso (she/her): A human who would do anything to protect her friends. Her death haunts the narrative. Virgil’s literary agent and friend, Bea’s on and off girlfriend.

Aaron (he/him): A human barista who’s flirty but so incredibly awkward. A mama’s boy through and through. Virgil’s love interest.

Seven (he/him): The former lead singer of the all-werewolf punk rock band BLUDHOUNDS, now a college dropout. Second oldest out of 8 but is pretty chill about it. Not dissimilar to Beastboy.

Juno (she/her): A nature fairy going to community college. Has a special interest in insects, specifically beetles. Hates being called cute, don’t call her cute.

Belladonna (she/they): A water nymph who does get paid enough for this, but it’s not worth it. Morally gray, knows her way around a silver bullet. Works for the enemy…or do they?

Orpheus (he/him): A human musician that’s too obnoxious for his own good. Has a weird obsession with monsters. How he hasn’t gotten himself killed is anyone’s guess.

Minerva (she/her): A half beast that’s been severely brainwashed. Very bloodthirsty and weirdly into her boss. Has killed and will kill again.

Pandora (she/her): A human woman who really hates monsters, like really hates them. Main antagonist, manipulative and uses eugenics to get her way. Used to be a cop…enough said.

FURTHERMORE…

Feel free to send me asks or prompts about this project! I did a lot of worldbuilding on this and I think about it a normal amount (lying)

Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1irfe7yT2sWBlh506wOJVF?si=iZ5NXL-xQ06fmmIvaven-w

Pinterest board: https://pin.it/1FzCle5

Main tags: #tpv

Taglist: @calenhads, comment or write in the tags if you want to be added to the taglist :D

#my writing #tpv #writeblr #writerblr #writers on tumblr #I’m v bad at writing character descriptions but I prommy they’re v cool #also i've tagged fensenmoon in sm posts across platforms skdkddkd i just rlly love the way he draws virgil gahhh /pos #his art goes very hard pls peep his art !!!!#also this was gonna be way prettier but I’m all about efficiency folks #sorry it looks so bland the 10 image limit on mobile got my ass #anyway enjoy and pls bother me about this I love screenplay more than anything #<3 #urban fantasy

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todaysbug · 2 years

Text

August 15th, 2022

Tumbling Ragdoll (Mordella marginata)

The tumbling ragdoll is a tumbling flower beetle found most frequently in the Eastern half of North America. They are often found resting on flowers. These pin-tailed beetles are part of the Mordellidae family; a group known for, as you may have guessed, their less-than-gracious falls!

When faced with a threat, the tumbling ragdoll's first reflex is to preform a series of clumsy jumps. These do have a purpose, of course; when the beetle accidentally finds itself in a dorsal or lateral position, it will kick off with its legs repeatedly, preforming these jumps in order to right itself so it may take flight. Each jump lasts only 80 milliseconds or so, and is composed of many small rotations—the beetle may rotate up to 48 times per second! The metapodium, a leg of the third pair, is used to preform these rotations; it is connected by a screw joint, allowing the leg free movement of up to 270 degrees. Similar movement types are found in other insect species, such as other beetles and some weevils, but none have the rotational prowess of the tumbling flower beetles.

Tumbling ragdoll larvae are dead wood borers, but may also feed on plant stems. Adults spend their days resting on flowers; they are quite small and hard to spot, and harder yet to catch. They can be easily identified by their odd, wedge-shaped body and pintails. A peculiar trait to note is that, unlike with most beetles, these insects' elytras do not cover their abdomen.

#today's bug #entomology #insects #beetle #biology #bugs #ecology #nature

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cycloplasm · 3 months

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even MORE fruitbugs test designs! From top left to bottom right:

Concord Grape, he's a Citheronia Phoronea caterpillar- but he's an adult, like other caterpillar fruitbugs. Concord is deeply goth, even if the genre doesnt exist (yet) outside of the Fruitbugs game. He rarely smiles or say happy things, except when it comes to horror media- but he'll always say it in a deadpan tone. He has the ability to make people feel fear to various degrees, which he uses to keep people away from him- especially if the person dislikes Concord's favorite horror movies.

Pink Sultana Grape- he's a Roseate Skimmer (dragonfly) and brothers with Concord Grape, and is essentially the only person Concord hangs out with. Different bugs such as a caterpillar and dragonfly being related/family is a common occurence in the Fruitbugs world. Pink Sultana is specifically into pastel goth things, which also doesn't exist outside of the game. Sultana is also a singer- he's not very famous but that's not his goal, instead he wants to inspire people to be themselves. He's a very happy person, but loves horror and scary things like his brother does.

Cucamelon, he's a Cicindela Pulchra Tiger Beetle. i think you can guess his inspiration, but unlike the iconic monster, Cucamelon is not a dead body- instead he's more like a homonculus+GMO fruitbug. He was made by Jambul, who made Cucamelon just to see if he could create life- this why Cucamelon is relatively 'well made'. The latter is in quotations, because while he's mostly symmetrical and functional, Cucamelon suffers from muscular and joint pain, that he 'fixes' by purposefully getting struck by lightning. Jambul left his creation to do as it pleased, since Cucamelon is fully sentient and has ideas of his own. He really got into rockabilly music and fashion, and tries to attend every concert he can- Cucamelon is an especially big fan of Squash and Yellow Platanera's music.

Fredonia Grape, he's a Bat Fly. The yellow part on his face is in fact his true body, the rest is more like a host. He's a vampire AND a knight, but he typically sticks to the latter since his blood meals outside of his host's body are very rare. He knows other knights like Rosehip and Dragonfruit, but they're not friends in the slightest- in fact they fight a lot! Rosehip and Dragonfruit are serious fighters, while Fredonia views it as a game, even if his life is on the line. His sword can create bat-shaped bullets- he's both a long and short range fighter. Fredonia is not a hero by any means, but he's not outright evil either- he just wants to have fun; but most people that understand what he is can't ignore how he uses a host that might have had a life of their own...

Noni- he's a Strepsiptera (one of the weirdest bugs ive ever seen. those eyes). I've posted him before but i reworked him! Now he's a popular disco guy- unlike Mangosteen, Noni doesn't own a dancefloor and just crawls on others' structures and pretend they're his own, like a parasite (until/if he gets caught). He lies about this and many, many other things to appear cooler in order to make people like him despite his faulty, glitchy coding. His skin often glitches out, revealing his organs, and exoskeleton and sketch lines switch out with regular limbs without reason. He also can't coordinate his eyes at all- even if that makes him have a 360degrees vision, he views it as an unlovable flaw among many.

Simka Plum (all three last ones of the first pic are him), he's a Sabethes Mosquito and. A sona 😈 i just needed a Fruitbug AND Sabethes Mosquito sona to go along with Vanilla- Simka is also a horror sona! He's a vampire shapeshifter that can be a were'wolf', a franken monster's husband, and more to come- all comes with a monster boyfriend of course! In vampire cases, Simka interacts with Bloodlime, Lollipop Climber and even Fredonia- but mostly Bloodlime. He's also with Cucamelon and Pulasan, and many other fruitbugs monsters. Simka is a horror guy with specific knowledge of specific stories, mostly a genre of written horror stories called 'scaryspaghetti' and 'neversnooze'. Simka's love is via acts of service, he wants to be his monsters' 'favorite henchman-like guy'.

Coconut, he's a. Coconut crab... What you see is his actual face, with holes instead of eyes and nose, and idk if it's clear but he has stitches on his mouth- i dont know why yet but it's there. What i do know is that despite his unusual features, Coconut is a completely normal and nice guy! He's a photographer- he usually takes pictures of landscapes and animals, but sometimes he takes pics of consenting people/models. But he only ever does pictures for himself, he dislikes selling his art and having companies pester his work with ads and such. Sometimes his eyes or mouth leak coconut milk, but it doesnt mean anything and always have a few tissues to clean his face.

Trinitario Cocoa- he's a Helopeltis Schoutedeni, also known as Cacao Mosquito- but it's not actually a mosquito. Trinitario is essentially a 1920s idealized singer- with a jazz band always playing as he sings about love. He comes off as flirtatious to fans and the like, but in reality Trinitario is doing what he believes is polite. It's very hard to see who he really is behind closed doors/behind his persona. All that's known for sure is that Trinitario was asked several times to sing for Coco and Lemon's mafia underlings, but Trinitario refused without sugarcoating that he won't do art for violent people.

... Yeah, he'll probably be familiar to most of you- i just need to have him in my original setting, so i dont have to be into dltr to make his story... His fruitbug name's Red Velvet Apricot, and he's a Sabethes Mosquito. He lives in the city level, specifically in a part of the city who's black and red, full of futuristic architecture and... The mafias' headquarters. As a result a lot of mean NPCs live there and that affects the 'culture' of the neighborhood. Velvet was once a nice person who got bullied into being mean by NPCs, and while outwardly he acts like he doesnt mind, Velvet wishes things could get better... But one day he met a man who made his heart soar... If you want to see his crush, he's here.. Working on him as well.

Black Diamond Apple, he's a... Well thats a secret for now. I can't say much about yet, besides that he knows Rosehip, is feared by many many people all over the Fruitbugs world, and is so notoriously hard to romance that most players see it as impossible. It's not the case, but it's extremely hard...

Pink Guava, he's a Gyponana octolineata- which is a treehopper. He's related to Swenson Grape, but unlike the latter, Pink Guava is not famous. He does 90s music, but since that's futuristic to both the game's characters and players, it's not popular at all- but he wants to be! So he works hard to achieve his dream. Despite working hard and having an outwardly very happy personality, he has a deep feeling of inadequacy. He also uses 'strange' expressions and words like 'Tubular!' and 'Radical!'- no one knows what that means besides Pink Guava himself.

Lavander- lavanders allegedly makes nuts (allegedly bc i cant find any pictures), so fruitbug (let me have this one). He's a Pink Crab Spider. Despite being a spider, Lavander is not dangerous at all- quite the contrary, he's a cleric/healer! And he's not shy about healing people either- he's an emotional sponge, tell him your problems and he'll heal you and comfort you. However it's not uncommon for him to heal the wrong people if they come up to him- and he never learns, hoping others will realize their actions. He has no attacks besides a simple, extremely low damage bite and staff thwack... He lives in the Fields level, specifically and unsurprisingly, in a lavander field.

Cal Sweet Watermelon- he's a Spined tortoise beetle. He can flip his face and jumble his features to fit his moods. Cal is an unpredictable business man, who can protect others' companies from failing with generous monetary donations, but can also bring them to their doom if he dislikes 1 (one) employee. He can be as dangerous as laws will allow, and as caring as a benefactor. What dictates his choices are unknown, perhaps unknown even to Cal himself.

#o #rose'socs #fruitbugs #koncept drawign #note that once again the sizes arent right- pink guava is actually average size while black diamond and cucamelon are well above 2meters #fruitbugs concord grape #fruitbugs pink sultana grape #fruitbugs cucamelon #fruitbugs fredonia grape #fruitbugs noni #fruitbugs simka plum #fruitbugs coconut #fruitbugs trinitario cocoa #fruitbugs red velvet apricot #fruitbugs black diamond apple #fruitbugs pink guava #fruitbugs lavander #fruitbugs cal sweet watermelon

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ohwynne · 9 months

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TIMING: A few weeks ago PARTIES: Regan @kadavernagh & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Office of the medical examiner SUMMARY: Wynne brings a dead bird to Regan, because this is how you bond with people. The two talk about their own backgrounds in vague ways, leaving to continued (mis)understanding. CONTENT WARNINGS: References to past abuse (within a cult).

Wynne wasn’t entirely sure how you were supposed to make friends, but it seemed that repeated interaction and gifts were two components to building up relationships with others. Ever since meeting Dr Kavanagh and her dead rabbit, there had been a nagging in their mind to see her again. While they liked and loved the people that had become constants in their life, none of them seemed quite in tune with what Wynne considered normal. This Regan, however, who spoke so wisely and with such insight about death and had handled that dead critter in a way Wynne had appreciated, felt a little bit like the people back home.

A bird had flown against the window at work, landing on its back in the soft soil where flowers grew in front of the shop. Wynne had put it in a box that had held coffee beans after watching it die. The box had been pushed to the back of the changing room and had been taken with them when their shift was over. Now here they were, standing in the lobby of the mortician’s office with the box in their hands and their wide eyes trying not to look too much at a woman called Marcy.

Maybe this was a little strange, but they had never been very good at estimating when something was or wasn’t. It was as if all their standards for strangeness had been warped in the two decades they’d spent with the commune. They still felt a little awkward standing there, though, fingers digging in the cardboard as they rocked back and forth on their feet, only halting when the doctor appeared. “Hi!” Wynne smiled. “I hope it’s alright I stepped by. I found another … well, another dead little thing. I think my work might be a place where a lot of animal accidents happen.” One of their fingers tapped the box. “I thought you might want to see it.”

“You got another weird one here for you,” Marcy texted, “Looks kind of Midsommar? Has a box with something dead in it. You’re into that, right?”

Regan’s curiosity was piqued. It wasn’t often that she had people come to the morgue without an appointment, and even less frequently did they come bearing gifts. Who had brought her something? Was it Elias? No, he had little interest in scooping up remains outside of the confines of the medical examiner’s office. Kaden? Her chest tightened. Unlikely. Anita? They seemed to understand each other…

As Regan rounded the corner, she immediately saw just who was looking for her. And it felt like the most obvious answer in the world. “Wynne, hello.” Regan approached slowly, giving the child a curious glance. Even more interesting was the box in their arms, and the pulsating death that squeezed out of it from every side. Could Wynne feel it? No… surely not. But even before Regan’s abilities had been activated, death had its hooks in her. She knew they had something special. Maybe Wynne was the same, drawn to it even without understanding why. “Yes, it’s alright that you’re here. This is one of the few unexpected occurrences I truly do not mind. What do you have there?” She asked, preemptively pulling out her nitrile gloves and stretching them over her hands. “Better yet, why don’t you come with me? I’ll show you to my office. You may enjoy seeing it.” She gave Marcy a wave and carded herself and Wynne through the door, then down the winding hallway to her office. Familiar shelves full of skulls and a terrarium full of dermestid beetles greeted her. She gestured at the office space. “You can look around. Just don’t open any drawers or cabinets. So… how did you find this one? Does that happen a lot?”

They were relieved when the doctor finally showed, starting to feel more and more uneasy while standing in that foyer with Marcy offering them occasional glances. Wynne didn’t much like being noticed — they’d had their fill of that, back home. The anonymity they’d found in the outside world was sometimes suffocating, but it was a good alternative. Holding a cardboard box with a dead bird in it, however, drew some attention.

“I’m glad it’s alright.” There were plenty of moments where they seemed to do things that weren’t alright without understanding why that was. But even from the few times they’d interacted with Dr Kavanagh, Wynne felt maybe the social conventions outsiders were so keen on didn’t occupy her mind much, either. They liked that about her. “Alright.”

As they followed her into her office, their eyes were wide with observant stares. They had never been in a building like this, though the sheer existence of a mortician’s office was so very interesting. The bodies at home were simply burned and then scattered, except for those in senior positions who were given a burial by lake. In the office itself, their eyes kept getting stuck on the skulls. It was somewhat like home, except more sterile and modern — but still somewhat familiar. Wynne put the box on Dr Kavanagh’s desk. “You have a lot of bones,” they said, genuinely impressed. They didn’t have that many, and certainly not in display — but they had been keeping their rabbit phalange under their pillow again. “It hit the window of my workplace and died moments later from impact. I was going to bury it but then I remembered you.” They frowned. “I suppose birds fly against windows more often than necessary, so yes, a lot.”

Wynne’s wonderment was palpable, and she let the child soak in their surroundings. Regan knew little of children other than their cruelty, but she knew that when she was Wynne’s age, this would have been a standout day, to be able to explore a medical examiner’s office. But was Wynne like her? She still didn’t know. Everything pointed to yes other than the sheer rarity of duine caillte.

“It was kind of you to think of me.” Regan said, looking at the box that was now sitting on her desk. She wanted to open it, but didn’t want to distract Wynne from their train of thought. And potentially speaking more about how frequently this happens.

“I mean, do you often find yourself finding remains?” Her eyes hovered over the shelves, all of those empty eye orbitals staring back at her with their dark sockets. She could feel their presences and pulls, tugging at her skin. Could Wynne feel it too? “What do you think of them?” She asked, wanting to prompt something revealing from Wynne. Perhaps she needed to give more to get something back. A fishing expedition seemed worth it. “Before I was – I mean, when I was a child, I would find dead animals. And dead humans, occasionally.” That Augusta’s PD was familiar with a 10 year old child due to her propensity for finding bodies was something that appalled her father. “It took many years for me to understand why and perfect my natural talent. But it was always there.” She gave Wynne a softening look, and picked an otter skull from the shelf. She offered it to the child, inviting it to be held and understood. “So tell me. What do you feel?”

It was hard not to think about the fact that burned in their mind: they had told Dr Kavanagh that the place they’d come from had sacrificed people. Murder was frowned upon in the outside world, especially premeditated it seemed, and Wynne found themself agreeing with that kind of attitude towards taking a life. The doctor hadn’t called any authorities though, as far as they knew (nor did they realize that maybe she was an authority), but had apologized. People seemed to do that a lot when they learned of their past.

Maybe that was why they gravitated here now, wanting to offer something in return for the mild kinship they had felt and the comfort offered to through the internet. They stared at all the dead creatures. There had been some of those in their bedroom at home. “I don’t know many others who would appreciate it.”

The questions were odd, but everything was odd to Wynne. They shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I am observant in a way where I might see them, but I’m not really sure what’s ordinary in this case.” There had been so many animal carcasses back home, from the animals they slaughtered at the altar, to the hunted deer that were skinned and eaten during feasts. There had been birds like these too, found by the kids in the woods. Skulls brought back and placed in small palms. “Humans?,” they repeated, looking at Dr Kavanagh with a look of interest and confusion. Wynne wasn’t fond of dead bodies, admittedly. There was something the other was implying, but they didn’t quite get what it was yet. “I’m glad you realized it.” That was just said to be polite, but in a sense they did mean it. There were many things Wynne still hoped to realize about themself.

They took the skull, looking at it and then at Regan, who looked at them with a look that made them feel somewhat warm. It had been a while like someone had looked at them like this: like someone with potential. They didn’t want to disappoint. “I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I mostly feel some kind of reverence?” Wynne felt like there was a right answer, but they didn’t know it. They let their fingers slide over the bone. “Like even in dead this holds some kind of value and power, at least.”

“Humans, yes.” Regan nodded, supposing it was fair for that to strike Wynne as unsettling or unusual. “I found bodies. Homicides, mostly, that were dumped outside. I’d be walking to school with my brothers and find myself standing over human remains in an alley. The police knew me.” She hesitated. “It still happens.” Was any of that resonating with Wynne? She wasn’t sure. But the gentle way they handled the skull made her wonder if it actually mattered… even if Wynne was not like her, they were similar in so many ways. Cliodhna would always say humans lacked the capacity to connect with death, and though that seemed to be true the majority of the time, Wynne planted a small seed of doubt in her mind.

“Your reverence for the dead is a special thing. A gift, some might say. Though it is a gift with a great burden.” If Wynne was indeed duine caillte. She didn’t want to have Wynne leave today without getting closer to the truth. Regan approached the box and gently lifted the bird from it, giving it an affectionate look. It was an ordinary swallow-like bird, maybe a purple martin, but its feathers seemed to glisten with hundreds of colors. She stroked its wing, which she noticed was bent at an unnatural angle, probably a byproduct of the window strike that took its life away.

She looked up from the bird, trying to keep her expression soft as she addressed Wynne. That was a hard thing for her to do, a rare look on her face. “Wynne, I am very curious about your background. I have wondered, at times, if we have more in common than you know. And if we do…” Then what? Regan wasn’t entirely sure. She wanted to keep Wynne safe. Wanted to see that they would never experience a dúiseacht. “Then we should discuss how you wish to proceed with the rest of your life.”

That was a strange thing for the other to have experienced, to still experience. Wynne listened quietly, trying to imagine it. Being young and finding random dead bodies. They might have been exposed to death at a young age, but it had always been anticipated — something about death at home had been planned and orchestrated. Not stumbled upon. “That must have been very strange. More than coincidence, right?” Such things didn’t just happen to most people, that was something they understood by now. Maybe Regan also came from a place different than here.

Their lips pushed together in response to that statement. “Gifts are so often burdens.” As was duty. As was life. As was this second chance they’d forced upon themself. “But I don’t know who I’d be without it.” So many people here were disconnected from mortality, weren’t they? Death was something that happened in their movies and television shows, that was shared about on social media but it was never treated the way it had been at home. With rituals and preparation. With reverence. With acceptance before the denial, the anger, the depression.

When they looked at Dr Kavanagh she looked at them with a softness that invited Wynne in. Her question was probing, too close for comfort, especially considering all that they had already said. They were quiet, letting the words hang in the air — rest of their life, what did that mean? This already felt like the rest of it, every day lived in spite of it all a bonus day. “If you want to ask me questions I could try to answer them, but I’m not sure what you want to know now. But if we could have things in common, maybe it’d be good to know?” They swallowed. “You’re not going to tell anyone about what I told you before, right?” Because from what they’d gathered, the other did sometimes work with police.

“No, I won’t tell anyone. It was long in the past, and any investigation would have ended. You aren’t bringing anything new to light and were not directly involved.” Though something tugged at Regan’s uncertainty. Was there more, something Wynne intentionally neglected to mention? Was there another reason why they might be fearful of authorities investigating? She kept her concerns close for now, and tilted her head in thought. “I have secrets, too. Ones that I believe you might share, even if you don’t know it.”

She had never told a human this. She had doubts that Wynne was human, but she couldn’t say with 100% confidence, and thus, this was taking a bigger risk than she’d ever allowed before. Sure, there were some in town who knew of her true nature – Conor she told, and Metzli had somehow intuited it through knowing another – but it was not information she shared freely. “My family is unusual, too. Not all of it.” The part that matters, she thought, but struck down that ugly notion immediately. They were Cliodhna’s words, not her own. “What I’m about to tell you will probably make it seem as though I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But I could prove it.” Which was not to say she would. Her stomach sank like a stone when she thought of someone looking at her like she was a monster, what that might be like. Regan set down the dead bird gently, like she was prepared to kiss it goodnight, and firmed up her decision to proceed. “I sense death. I feel it all around me, ever-present here.” She glanced around at the shelves of bones. “It draws me toward it, calls me. I wonder if it does the same to you.”

Regan paced a semi-circle around the room, the bones looking down at her. Each small presence sang against her skin. Everything she had explained so far had been the easy part, the parts she could retract and lie through her teeth that she had been speaking figuratively, and they could part ways and Wynne would think this was none other than a strange interaction with a kooky doctor. But she couldn’t stop at the easy stuff.

“My grandmother has a word, a name, for that – for things like me.” Several, actually. Leanbh. Child. Whelp. Hopeless. Beyond repair. “An instrument of death and diviner of fate.” Regan frowned, looking into Wynne’s eyes. “I don’t suppose you know what that name is.”

The authorities hadn’t been their largest concern since running away, but they had been one of them. There had been some laws broken by Wynne, with them sleeping in places where they weren’t supposed to and stealing food from time to time. And then, of course, their knowledge of ritualistic murders that happened every decade or so, that they were forbidden to speak of with outsiders. Despite their complicated feelings about the people they abandoned, they didn’t want police to come sniffing. “Okay,” they said, visibly relieved. “I appreciate it.”

There was something about the doctor that seemed so wise, so knowledgeable, so calm. Wynne longed for adults like this in their lives, ones that felt steady, ones that listened and told them what to think while also asking them what they thought. All their life had been guided by strong, capable and cruel hands and now there were none but the ones they sought out. Dr Kavanagh had gentle hands, they thought. Ones that knew death the same way Wynne did. They listened to her speak, not thinking that she had lost her mind at all. Family structures other than their own didn’t make sense to them anyway, and there were none they had ever come across that were like theirs. But Dr Kavanagh didn’t speak of odd rituals, but rather something that seemed supernatural. Why not? Nothing here, in this town, seemed to subscribe to any rules. Nothing had subscribed to any rules at home either, besides the ones enforced by the elders.

Did it do the same to Wynne though? They had felt a pull towards death for years, if only because of its imminent and constant presence. Jac had died on the altar and they’d watched, quiet and young. After him, there had been the lambs and the chickens, the rabbits and piglets. Wynne had silenced a rooster with the flick of a blade, performing the act that would be performed on them. Death had pulled at them, yes. But they had ran from it all the same. “I think so. I just … I don’t always answer it. I think I’m afraid of it. The way it …” Eyes looked away. “Calls for me.” Them, specifically. Their body. They shouldn’t be alive but were.

As Dr Kavanagh paced, Wynne stood frozen as if glued to the floor. Were there others out there like them? Other communities like the one they dwelled from? Or was there something more at play here? But if the doctor was an instrument of death, maybe she was more like Siors. Knife-wielder, killer, determinator. He had pointed at Wynne. He had cupped their head and placed a crown of flowers and bones on there and thanked them for their devotion to duty. “Henuriad. Or, maybe, dewisedig?” Who was the instrument, the one bleeding or the one who made bleed? The elder who decided or the youth who folded? They shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” It felt like a test.

“Are those your words for it?” Regan tilted her head. That didn’t sound like Irish. It was an unfamiliar language, but that didn’t mean Wynne was incorrect. Regan had half a mind to reject the word banshee herself, viewing it as a label the others were insistent on, but not a truth. Whether she was a human inflicted with some unknown syndrome or something else entirely, she could not say, but banshee was no diagnosis. However, the part of her that hesitated before was pulling back more strongly now. Wynne looked confused, trying to pick meaning out of their past, but their eyes weren’t alight with realization like Regan thought they might be. She needed to learn more before she said something she could not take back.

“I might be incorrect,” Regan breathed, and she wasn’t sure if it was more relief or wistfulness, “I thought… before I truly realized my potential, I was confused. I didn’t understand why I was so different. Why my closest friend was an articulated coyote skeleton and why my peers would turn their noses up at the way I smelled.” She turned away from the shelves and paced back toward Wynne. “Perhaps it’s nothing. But I want you to do something for me, Wynne.” She waited until Wynne’s eyes were fixed on her. “Try to stay out of danger. Away from situations where someone around you may die. I know it’s difficult in this town, but you must try your best. Can you do that?”

“It’s Welsh. For elder. And the other one means chosen. We used them back home, to describe certain people.” Words to describe the roles enforced on people at home. Just people, living in servitude of a demon — and Wynne wasn’t sure whether the other was just human herself. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at. And I –” Well, it wasn’t like they wanted to speak of all the things they’d abandoned just yet. They also didn’t want to disappoint Dr Kavanagh, who had seemed so invested in them, looking at them with a look Wynne hadn’t been able to place. Teeth buried in their bottom lip, watching her pace around and still remaining standing rather still.

Arms lifted, wrapping themselves around their body. “I was different too, growing up. They all told me I was different, that I was special.” They wanted to understand. Or no, maybe they wanted to be understood. “Not because of things like you. But I think my people, we’re all very different. We all gravitated towards skeletons too. You know? Sew bones in our sheets and shirts. Wear them. But that might mean nothing to you. I don’t … I don’t know.” They looked at her, wide-eyed. “Of course I’ll try that. I don’t want anyone to die, let alone around me.” It sounded selfish. “But that seems … unnecessary to say, unless there’s another reason you’re telling me?”

“Elder… chosen…” Regan frowned. It was the heavy kind that sank on her lips, as her doubts grew weightier. They weren’t familiar words, or ones that made a particular kind of sense, and that concerned her. “It doesn’t matter.” Regan said, though it mattered a great deal, and her stomach twisted in mutiny.

She cocked her head at the curious way Wynne seemed to hug themself. Were they uncomfortable here? Or was it the subject matter? She considered tip-toeing away from it, but her determination to know more about Wynne’s history was greater than her desire not to cause some discomfort. “Wynne?” She asked, to check on them all the same. The memories they were recalling were clearly… difficult, in some way. It was hard to piece together every fragment of information she’d received from Wynne and not assume they were a banshee – the death they’d witnessed, the insularity, the bones – was it possible? “I don’t know either,” Regan said, looking down at the skunk mandible on her desk, “but I’ve known some who do that kind of thing. Perhaps it means nothing, perhaps everything.”

“There is another reason,” Regan said hesitantly, “but I don’t know if you being aware of it will be beneficial. Not at your age. You are too old, despite being a child. I was too old. It’s best to avert it entirely and not let it take everything from you.” She could hear something in her tone she didn’t like, something behind her voice that should have been long dead, and she reeled herself in before her lungs decided to respond. Regan wanted an answer, needed an answer, and it hadn’t carved itself out of Wynne’s responses yet. More prompting was needed, and it needed to be clever. Both overt and easy to deny if Wynne turned out to be nothing but an ordinary human after all. An idea occurred to her.

Regan approached her desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. Inside, she pulled out the fungus field guide that Leah had sold her, the one that had detailed just how to reverse the effects of death’s chariot. The section on that particular mushroom was dog-eared. “Here,” Regan said, offering to them, “I know it’s a strange gift, but take this home, see if anything in there stands out to you. And… don’t show it to any animal control officers.”

When Dr Kavanagh spoke their name, Wynne became aware of the way they were folding in on themself. They had been better at keeping their composure at home, but it seemed like all the things they had been taught and expected to do had fallen away. What was left, now that they were no longer someone who lived for a destiny? With pride? There was shame and fear and this woman, who made them more confused when they’d hoped that she might understand. “I’m fine.”

What she seemed to be suggesting was that there was more at play. To figure out if that was true, there was an obvious thing Wynne had to do: offer up all that was at play, speak of their history not just in vague flashes of detail. Because this was only proving to be disorienting, right? With the doctor alluding to things out of Wynne’s reach and them failing to mention the demonic entity they had once worshiped and later betrayed.

“It was already going to take everything from me. I mean, my it. I think, maybe …” They trailed off, fingers tightening their grip on their t-shirt. “I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing. I was supposed to die.” Was that what Dr Kavanagh meant, too? Because if so, Wynne had been aware of it since they were ten years old. Their voice was wavering, their thoughts jumbled. “I don’t know what else there is or was to be aware of. I am too old, because I’m not dead. Is that what you mean? Is this what you meant with death being a beginning?” Could there have been more, after their sacrifice?

They unraveled when the other revealed a book on fungi. Strange, indeed. They had never done much with mushrooms back at home besides put them in their food and enjoy their taste. “O..okay. I’ll read it. And I don’t know any animal control officers, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

Wynne seemed to be someplace else, withdrawn. What were they thinking, remembering? Regan held her breath as she waited. Would this be it? The definitive piece of information that provided her with an answer once and for all? She stared, trying not to unnerve the child, but too curious to look away for even a second. As with everything else Wynne had told her, this information provoked more questions than it provided answers. She couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something. That this wasn’t as opaque as it seemed. So much of it made sense, and yet, it was off.

“Yes,” She said, slowly, some kind of picture coming into focus. Maybe Wynne meant metaphorically. “You are supposed to die. That is a necessary part of what must be done.” The banshees viewed life as a part of death, rather than the other way around. And the An chéad scread was an end just as much as it was a beginning. Both were to be celebrated. She thought, her mouth flattening into a straight line. This was peculiar. Wynne knew more than Regan thought they did. She had assumed Wynne didn’t understand their nature, why they were drawn to such beautiful remains, but they seemed to know exactly what they evaded for so many years.

Regan decided she needed more information. Still. “How did you escape it? They track you down. I know they do… I’m certain they’re looking for me.” She flicked her eyes over to the door, like someone could have followed them down here.

They frowned at the other now, somehow more confused. Slowly, they shook their head. “No, I’m not supposed to any more. It’s too late now.” Sure, Wynne was going to die one day, but for now hadn’t they outran their fate? Hadn’t they been successful? Hadn’t this been nine months of extra time they had bought themself, through grit teeth and bravery? They swallowed.

They thought of that woman in the coffee shop, how strange her responses had been. And now the doctor was speaking of whether they were being tracked down and their panic flared up. “I ran. I —” They frowned, failing to remember all they had done when running. “I got some of my things and I went, I got the bus after I ran all night and then I just kept going. And now I’m here.” They were wondering now if they could stay. There were people here, who wanted to protect them. Emilio. Maybe even the Leviathan. Teddy. Zack. But could they ask it of them?

Gulping in a breath of air they looked at Dr Kavanagh. “Did you run too?” Wynne’s eyes had somehow grown even more in size. “My people, they don’t tend to leave. Not this far out. And —” They had no idea in what kind of state they had left the commune, after refusing to fold to the demon’s demands. “Maybe they’ll find me. I don’t want to —” They bit their lip. “I don’t want that. Not for you either, if that’s what could happen.”

So Wynne had run. Just left and took the bus. It couldn’t be that simple, not ever, and Regan knew there had to be something else – hounds on Wynne’s heels or something left behind. Regan had left something behind, too, something that had died there.

Had she run? Kind of. From the place, the people, her grandmother. She had run from their visions of duty, their praise and platitudes, their comfort and cruelty. But she had replaced them with her own, and while Cliodhna’s words could scald and scar, Regan’s worst failures were self-conferred. She thumbed over the harsh lines and circles across her palm and finally responded. “My kind is not supposed to run, but I suppose that’s what I did. Or what it amounts to, anyway. I thought… I was chasing something, the idea that the grass is always greener, but I don’t think that’s true.” She eyed Wynne. “Is it?”

She paced to the door. The room suddenly felt smaller. Claustrophobic. She sensed that she could extend some trust to Wynne – a small but not negligible amount – and within that trust she’d found that they were both tréigtheoirí. It was more of an answer than she’d ever sought, more revealing than what she had been probing for. Being in the same room with Wynne took on a new air of traitorousness, like the two of them had planned this together. Regan wanted to wash her hands clean of that feeling. To be alone again.

Regan turned to Wynne. The child probably knew the answer already. “If they find me, they will not stop until I go back with them. They will remove all obstacles. They will ensure I have no reason to stay.” Fortunately, she could count her reasons on one hand. There was Reilly, first and foremost. Then her work. If she could protect those two things, then she was covered. Everything else, everyone else, could fall away. Right? But as she looked at the child, doubt clouded her mind. Were there more things to count? The thought made her lungs squeeze with distaste. No. She refused it. “I think we must be careful; both of us.” Regan pushed the door open a crack, an invitation to exit. “Be safe, Wynne.”

“Nor is mine.” The people who left the commune were left with nothing. Disinherited. Cut off. Refused entry back in. Protherians weren’t violent inherently, but they could be. Those who considered leaving had been chastised, isolated, watched. At the end of the day, there had been nothing keeping Wynne from running, no invisible border or demonic claw pulling them back — but they had believed it. That they were all stuck there, under a contract, a shared agreement with something so much older and wiser than them.

All Wynne had taken had been the clothes on their back, the duffel bag they’d packed and that one piece of paper that proved they were real. They lifted their shoulders at the doctor’s question. “I don’t know. People here are ignorant and hard to understand. But … there are many things better here.” The sheer fact that they were alive, for one.

Suddenly, the other became more human. Less impressive adult who spoke with a wisdom and mystique that made Wynne think of her as some higher being, but someone who had something in common with them. Fear, maybe. Or at least a place and a past she was hiding from. They wanted to ask so much more now. “Then I hope they do not find you. Or me.” What would their family do? Would Wynne even fight them? Zack and Emilio, they had both vowed to protect them, but would they want that — would they not run into their father’s arms, as they had as a child? Did part of them not long, perhaps, for some kind of retribution. They had never been strong in the face of them and their expectant faces. Their bravery only existed in their absence.

The door cracked open and with it, all questions died. Despite the humanity they had gleamed from the other and the questions they were still burning with, Regan was still someone they thought more authoritative than them. “You too, Dr Kavanagh,” they said, clutching the book to their chest and moving to the door. They cast a glance over their shoulder and gave a small nod. “Afternoon.”

#deserters.#regan.#threads.

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