#god water miracle from rock
Text
Ascribe to the Lord the Glory Due His Name (193) - May 13 2023
LISTEN TO THIS PODCAST
Focusing on Numbers chapter 20 this week and the incident at the Rock with Moses, Aaron and the Assembly of the Children of Israel. How important it is to be obedient to the Lord’s commandments, and be led by His voice within our conscience. The importance of acknowledging the Lord for all good things in our witness to others, especially the lost as well as the saved that…
View On WordPress
#1 Chronicles 16:29#1 Corinthians 10:1-5#1 Peter 1:15-16#1 Samuel 2:2#aaron#children of israel#christ#christ jesus#christ the rock#cross#Ephesians 1:4#Ephesians 5:3#Exodus 15:11#father#god#god water miracle from rock#Jesus#jesus christ#Leviticus 20:26#Leviticus 21:8#miracle water from rock#moses#Numbers 20:1-13#Revelation 4:8#rock is christ#rock miracle#the rock#water from the rock#water out of the rock#wilderness
0 notes
Text
Doubting God’s Presence
1 All the congregation of the people of Israel moved on from the wilderness of Sin by stages, according to the commandment of the Lord, and camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. 2 Therefore the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Give us water to drink.” And Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” 3 But the people thirsted there…
View On WordPress
#deliverance#doubt#Exodus#Exodus 17#faith#fear#God&039;s presence#Israel#Jesus Christ#miracle#miracle in Rephidim#Moses#providential care#provision#sustenance#trust#water from the rock#wilderness of Sin
0 notes
Text
The city of Isin is not actually the city of Isin. Technically, it's the city of New New New Isin. That was the trouble with Isin. It was all wrapped up in itself. Like fabric around a nun, or a baby, or a whore.
People had been there, as in the physical location, for longer than history could be expected to remember. People have been in Isin since the word "people" meant something very different.
The first city called Isin was dragged kicking and screaming into the world by Heralds of the Church of the Third Sphere. A fourth-era religious order known for staunch orthodoxy and insufferable smugness. A cult whose grandest miracle was being almost universally despised by anyone who heard their sermons. Isin to them was a Good Rock. A polite term for "delusional pipe dream about the future City of God."
And it was a rock, a miraculously barren rock in the midst of a freezing swamp that only seemed to produce the sort of wildlife that stings and gnashes. Kunaabe oral history does seem to know of the location, but also seems to assume the foolishness of anyone attempted to actually travel there. This did nothing to deter the Church of the Third Sphere, as records indicate they were not aware of Kunaabe presence in the area.
The first 400 years of Isin's history were typical of other Good Rocks: regular periods of plague, mass starvation, and hyper-niche religious conflict boueyed by the occasional successful interaction with nearby Kunaabe and Baquari communities, at which point the enterprising trader would be ritually banished for speaking to hererical, racially impure outsiders.
Significant improvements were made to Isin after the local potentate promised that the Third Sphere would appear in the sky that spring. After the date passed, and no celestial body appeared to unite the Sun and Moon, the potentate was ritually burned to death, and his body was cast into Isin's only source of fresh drinking water. The fervent believers promptly died of several drinking-water related things at once. Those with a lick of sense brushed up on their Kunaabe and got busy creating a new sub-ethnicity, leaving Isin abandoned.
A decade passed. And much like the local chitin eel population grinding the corpse of the arch-astrologer into algae food, Isin soon became host to a new, beautiful population: Good, honest, criminals.
-- from An Addicts History of New Babel, by Ord Mornie
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
It Hits Different This Time
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
“Steve.”
He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.
“STEVE.”
He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.
Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by
“Alexa, volume up.”
“Steve – STEVE!”
It hits different, it hits different this time
“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.
“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”
“I’d rather not.”
Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
They lay in silence.
“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t even text me.”
“I know.”
“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”
“I know, Steve.”
There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”
“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”
Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”
Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”
“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”
“Steven, I’m always right.”
“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”
“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”
/////
Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle.
“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”
Silence.
What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.
He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.
The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.
There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.
Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:
I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.
Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank.
Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.
Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else.
Your biggest fan, Steve
He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit.
He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.
It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.
What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.
And now Steve is gone.
Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.
“Fuck.”
Five days.
He’s five days too fucking late.
He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.
“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”
“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”
Jeff’s silent for a moment.
“I’m on my way.”
#steddie#steddie week#steddie angst#steddie fanfic#rock star eddie munson#angst#stranger things#hurt/comfort#Steve x Eddie#lmk if you'd like a follow-up to this or not#hits different Taylor swift#Steve harrington#Eddie munson#stobin#stobin friendship#rock star au#fame au#corroded coffin
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers
Chapter 1: Don’t Cry
Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤
14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader
Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!
Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.
Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.
A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.
His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that.
From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.
His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.
Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.
The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.
In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.
With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.
"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet.
After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.
But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.
The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.
Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit.
Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.
"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.
The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.
In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.
"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."
"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.
With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.
—
The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.
The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.
"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.
The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.
“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.
“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)
Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."
I am a lonely mother.
—
The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.
Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.
"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.
In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.
Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.
Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.
It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you
"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.
"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.
With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.
In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.
"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.
Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.
"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.
The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.
The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.
"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.
Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history.
"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"
“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.
Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"
"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.
"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.
"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.
Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.
Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely.
“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man.
"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"
The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.
"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.
Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.
The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.
Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.
Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.
"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.
"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.
"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.
The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys.
As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.
"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.
The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.
The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.
—
The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.
Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.
As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you.
"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly.
The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.
You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.
Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.
Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.
With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.
Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.
Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff.
After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.
Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.
“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.
You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.
Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack.
With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.
Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.
An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing.
Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.
You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.
After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.
Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.
Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.
A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.
Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.
"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.
After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.
After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.
You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.
Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.
It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.
Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.
While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.
At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.
Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers.
This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.
Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.
In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations.
You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.
—
The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night…
The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.
Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.
But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar.
As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.
In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm?
When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu.
Years. Actual, years.
In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.
Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?
"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.
“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.
But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.
Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.
The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.
Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.
"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.
"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.
“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.
The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."
Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."
The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.
The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.
At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.
Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right.
This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.
As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.
Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.
He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.
Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.
Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.
Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.
He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.
Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life.
He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.
That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.
As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar.
With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.
Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.
—
After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.
With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.
As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.
With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.
The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.
You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.
But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.
Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.
With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool.
A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.
“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.
“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety.
Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.
He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.
“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.
Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment.
With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.
As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.
“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.
Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head.
Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.
In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.
“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.
You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.
The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.
The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms.
She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy.
—
The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.
Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.
Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.
Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.
Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.
His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.
Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.
He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.
Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible.
The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.
—
Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.
The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.
“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.
As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning.
Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.
Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.
The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.
As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.
Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.
To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.
Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.
From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.
—
Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.
As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.
“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.
Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.
"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.
—
"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.
The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.
You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.
As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.
It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.
However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.
You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers.
He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him.
His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more.
“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light.
He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t.
You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.
You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you.
His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place.
He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.
"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.
—
"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.
Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.
He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm.
"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.
"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.
Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then.
"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.
For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.
"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.
You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.
"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.
Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.
He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.
Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.
As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.
Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.
"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.
Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.
"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you.
"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.
"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.
"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.
"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.
"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)
Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him.
He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.
He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.
With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.
You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering.
In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.
"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.
Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.
"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.
"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.
As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.
Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.
A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.
He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.
In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned.
His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.
"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither.
#din djarin x pregnant reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#din djarin#mando#the mandalorian#mando x reader#star wars#star wars the mandalorian#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters
332 notes
·
View notes
Text
His Love
|Aegon Targaryen x Fem!Reader|
Part Thirty-Three
Masterlist of Series
Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.
Author's Note: I just wanted to warn y'all that we're going to be getting into some messed up shit here. Even more messed up than assault, getting drugged, nearly raped, and peeing on yourself. As always, thank you so much for your patience with these updates, and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of a miscarriage and related thoughts, vomiting, daddy Daemon.
The prescribed charcoal remedy had long dried on your stomach, cracking and flaking gray chunks into your sheets. Helaena had left with the sun low in the sky, leaving chaste kisses on yours and Aegon's foreheads. She went to ensure Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were comfortable, and they went down to rest.
Aegon refused to move when the Maester returned for the evening; his arm slung over your chest and nose buried into your neck. Orwyle did his work as if the Prince was not there, wringing a damp, woolen cloth into a bowl of cool water as he removed the hardened remedy from your abdomen.
He observed with wrinkled brows when he saw the Valyrian symbols above your womb, rocking the fabric over your malleable skin as he quelled the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He rinsed the material, the clear water becoming ash as he continued his duties.
Orwyle longed to voice his concerns regarding your health, fiddling with his fingers as he concocted another batch of charcoal and clay. You needed to wake soon so he could ensure your best chance of survival. The first forty-eight hours were the most crucial for those battling Poison Hemlock, and the fact that the Stranger had not taken you was a miracle. Animals who ingested the flowering plant died within a day of doing so, their lungs giving out or seized by convulsions.
The Maester believed you were more robust than he thought. The Mother had unquestionably blessed you with the strength of the Warrior to have you breathing for this long. Or perhaps, he thought, it was the Valyrian Gods of your ancestors, the dragon blood in your veins, that protected you.
The few interactions Orwyle had with you always left him with a joyful feeling, a small ray of light within his darkened quarters filled with dusty and ancient tomes. He tried not to care for your health more than that of a provider and his patient, but he found it challenging.
It was the dichotomy, he thought, of when you were awake, full of life, sparring with words and the swords against men who believed themselves better than you, to now, laying on your soft feather tick mattress with an emotionless, sallow hue to your skin. It caused him anguish. Orwyle was determined to find out who would do such a thing to you, uncharacteristically desiring them to be brought to the Father's justice, and resolved to remind Aegon of the need to do so when your two servants entered the chamber.
Once he finished making another concoction, Aegon waved him off, leaving with a firm yet uneasy bow to the room. The moment he left, Aegon stood, righting his rumpled tunic from his few restless hours of sleep, and addressed Fiora and Jeyne.
"What news have you?" he asked pointedly, gathering the ashy mucilage and brush to apply to your abdomen.
The maids shared a look, Fiora's eyes seeming to have never dried up as she cowered behind her companion. Jeyne inhaled a resolute breath. Her years of working for spoiled, impuissant palace goers was a typical occurrence.
"We have found a servant boy who claims to have seen the Princess's protector enter her chambers hours before your discovery. I believe that there is no coincidence to his absence at her door during that time," she relayed in one steady breath, hands clasped humbly over her lower abdomen.
Aegon grunted, disbelieving the credibility of such a statement. It would be the most obvious answer for Ser Arryk to be the culprit. He was heartbroken that his idyllic image of you shattered and the only one besides Aegon who could get close enough to slip poison in unnoticed. The answer was too simple, too straightforward to be true. A lowly kingsguard was the easiest to blame to save face within the royal family and protect whoever really did this. He still had the feeling within him that his mother had something to do with this. It was no coincidence that days prior, the Queen demanded you to leave, and now suddenly, you were at death's door.
Yes, heartbroken and ego-damaged men were a danger to those around them. Aegon understood that more than any, but Arryk would never go so far as to kill you for it. His oath was still to that of the King.
"Bring me this boy," Aegon said dispassionately, never looking in the maid's direction, simply painting your skin.
Fiora and Jeyne nodded, curtsying as was protocol, and headed for the exit until Aegon stopped them short.
"I'm sure you know that the Hand has barred any ravens from King's Landing to Dragonstone," he inquired, unamused as a sneer curled his lip. "Her family must know what has happened here. The more who know about this assassination attempt on a, perhaps this rat will feel pressured reveal themselves."
They both glanced at each other, Fiora gnawing on her lip as more tears emerged from her viridian eyes. Aegon ignored the servant's weeping and placed the bowl on a writing desk with the rest of the Maester's equipment. He pulled a piece of folded cream parchment from his trousers and hurriedly scribbled, fearing someone getting wind of his plan.
"Here is a letter meant for her father," he stated, flicking the paper between his index and middle finger. "You will not be able to send it through the rookery and must go to a brothel madame within the slums of Flea Bottom. Her name is Babette and she will ensure that my words make it to Dragonstone unhindered," Aegon instructed calmly.
They were stunned. Both maids stood in the doorway to your chambers with slightly parted lips, reminding him of a fish. They had never seen him act like such a... prince. He was raised within the castle walls and had the highest education of anyone in Westeros, yet he never seemed to take advantage of it. The maids heard rumors that Aegon was no longer seen at brothels or gambling houses, though they did not believe such a thing to be valid until now.
Fiora's gaze drifted to your listless form, fiery brows arched in disbelief, slowly drifting back to the white-haired prince. Jeyne was the first of the duo to compose herself and briskly walked forward, taking the wax three-headed dragon seal to her cracked hands. You had changed Aegon in ways that people believed impossible, and if she hadn't realized it until now, then who else knew?
If she, someone who saw you daily, did not know the effort and influence you had over a person, did anyone? The eldest maid felt a pang of sadness in her heart for you as weathered eyes lowered to the stone floor, the memory of her scrubbing away your blood and bile replaying as if she were there again.
Jeyne heard passing gossip that you had brought up concern for the small folk during a council meeting. It was fleeting, nothing more than a whisper of a feather drifting in the wind, and soon she forgot about it. What other accomplishments had you done that no one knew of? It was the plight of women, it seemed, to sacrifice one's soul to receive respect or recognition in the world. Once you awoke, she would tell you how much she saw and that your actions were not in vain.
If you woke up, she grimly realized.
A frown pulled at Jeyne's thin lips as she returned to Fiora's side. Her companion seemed to sense the elder's thoughts, placing a comforting hand at her back. Again, She faced Aegon, his violet eyes never leaving hers as she spoke.
"You are changed, Prince Aegon, and while that does not atone for the wrongs you have done, it shows that you are capable of being better," Jeyne expressed with a firm look on her visage. "It would do her well to know that."
Aegon needn't ask whom she was speaking of. He already knew, a sullen look coming over his face as he focused on the cracks of the stone floor. The memory of your limp body when he found you vividly displayed in his mind's eye.
Jeyne and Fiora exited with brief nods and bent knees, with two different goals in mind. The elder would get the servant boy, and the younger would go to the brothel, madame. They didn't ask why Aegon trusted this woman, but they knew it was useless to try. All that mattered now was ensuring your safety and justice.
A quiet groan caused Aegon to lose his collection of thoughts, swiftly going to your side as he watched your brows arch in pain. Droplets of sweat he had not noticed glistened on your hairline and ran down your temples, grabbing a cloth to blot at the excess perspiration. Your breathing sped, breasts rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. Seeing you more alive as Aegon rang the dampened fabric into the bowl was a relief.
Aegon slid into his place next to you, intertwining his fingers with your limp ones as he brought your knuckles to his lips, stroking the thin skin of your hand. His lips pursed in thought. Aegon knew the Keep was full of snakes ready to strike at any opportunity to raise themselves into higher power, no matter the cost. But in his mind, it was too risky to harm a member of the royal family, but others did not seem to share the same sentiment, and anger filled his hardened soul once more.
Aegon tightened his grip on your hand, harsh enough to bend their sides and crackle the bones.
"When you wake, little one, we shall rain dragon fire on who dared hurt you," he declared, sullen face now calloused.
If you wake...
***
You found yourself within a void, darkness surrounding your body clad in a simple white gown. You couldn't see the beginning or end of where you were, as if your eyes were shut, an unending blackness never touched by light. Your hands found their way to your face, fingertips touching your cheeks, the slope of your nose, and the sockets of your eyes to ensure you were, in fact, real.
Memories flashed within your mind, becoming the only thing you could see in the infinite darkness. You recalled voices, wet mouths talking and drinking, tongues licking lips and tasting something rancid and sweet, hands gesturing and twitching, crawling up your legs. Nausea churned your stomach, and pain rippled in your gut, causing you to fall to your knees. The ground was solid; it was real, and suddenly your eyes opened.
The world was still midnight, though you could see a man before you.
But it wasn't a man...
You weren't sure if it was a person, their face covered with an obsidian mantle and the seven-pointed star's insignia woven into their robes. Fear cinched your heart, and your chest rose and fell with quick breaths as you attempted to run, only to be flung back into your spot by an invisible force.
"Who-" you stammered, breaths coming in quick pants, "who are you? Where am I? I-I cannot see."
The being reached an arm in your direction, the fabric slowly drawing back to reveal its skin or lack thereof. Their finger slowly traced down your cheek, cold and warm, comforting and alarming, yet like nothing simultaneously.
"I am what I am," they stated, tone unlike anything you had ever heard. It sounded like the voices of many speaking simultaneously, men, women, children, and everything in between melting into one eerie noise.
"You're here to hurt me, aren't you?" The words did not sound like they came from a grown woman; instead, a young girl high-pitched and hoydenish with fright as tears lined your lashes. Your breath hitched as their fingers left your skin, fear scratching at your throat and squeezing your eyes shut. "Where am I?"
The being stepped backward, seeming to float on the ground as sparkles of white flashed in the air. Stars, you realized, twinkling in the infinite void. For a moment, you were put into a state of wonder, gazing at the bursts of light in awe as the being only stared. It made no movements nor breaths, allowing you to take in the amazement of your surroundings.
"Am I dead?" you asked, finally gaining the courage to voice the most prevalent question in your mind.
"You are in the world between worlds, child. Not dead yet not alive within the realm of your creation," they answered with not a hint of emotion.
You couldn't hide the aghast sob that left your lips at his revelation, your mind reeling. You knew what happened for you to wake here. You drank from a cup tainted with poison that caused your limbs to freeze and your brain to wave, but who did it was unknown. The only picture within your mind was a silhouette of a figure with short, mousy hair and a slouched posture, supporting their weight on something.
You knew who they were. You felt it in your bones, but your mind refused to let you see. Was that your psyche subconsciously trying to protect you, or did the poison affect your memory?
"I don't want to die! What did I do to deserve this?" you wept with blurred vision, looking at the unmoving being before you.
You felt them sigh, though they did not move, their chest not indicating if they had lungs. "New born babes should not be taken from the world before they can sin, yet they are."
An involuntary grimace pulled your face as you licked the briny water from your lips. The world was cruel and uncaring. It took children from mothers before they were ready and kind people into places of darkness. Life was bleak and hopeless and full of negativity. At times, you wondered if there was a point to living when life would always end the same—breathing, eating, fighting, and suffering until you died and were forgotten a hundred years from now.
"I know who you are," you spat, tongue thick as you swallowed tears. "You are a callus and heartless being who takes those undeserving while displaying yourself in a cloak of self-righteousness."
They did not seem angry about what you said and tilted their head in response, examining you like one of Helaena's pinned insects. Its unseen stare unnerved you, appearing like a statue you never prayed to within the Sept. Anger began to well in the place of your unease at their indifference, taking purposeful strides to them before your body was abruptly taken aback, nearly tripping over your feet.
"I am neither good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine."
It raised the same arm that stroked your cheek and pointed at you, causing panic to grip your chest as the shrouded hands shoved you to the ground, air knocking from your lungs. You struggled against them, the whites of your eyes visible as your arms and legs flailed in their vice-like grip. The being came closer, towering over your writhing form until you could see what hid underneath the obsidian hood.
A face not of this world looked down at you, half human and inhuman, alive yet dead. It was too much for your mind to comprehend as you released a scream, kicking your limbs as you desperately tried to escape from whatever fate awaited you.
The hands pulled at your hair, keeping your head down and unable to see the face of the Stranger any longer.
"No! No, please! I don't want to die!" you beseeched, throat raw from tears and screams as your wide-eyed stare found the Stranger at your feet once more.
"I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood and I have come to take what is mine—one soul. No less," they repeated in an amalgamation of different tones. Your heart broke for the loss not only of life but of what might be.
The Stranger's accusing finger continued to point not at you but at your stomach, your misty stare flickering from yourself to them.
You knew what was to come next. They would rip your heart out before your very eyes, crushing your life source within the secular realm and the divine. You would never wake again, never feel the sun flush your skin or the wind whipping your cheeks on dragon back. Aegon would revert to his old ways of whoring, gambling, and drinking himself into unconsciousness, a crown forced on his head as the realm plunged into war and your kin were slaughtered. Every sacrifice would be for not all due to one simple drink.
Refusing to resign to your fate, you thrashed and screamed in failed attempts at breaking free. There was no escape to this realm—no beginning or end in the vast darkness. There was only you, these unseen hands pulling you into submission, and the Stranger, his digit still raised and pointed.
"What have I done to deserve this?" you wailed, feeling your limbs locked at the joints. "I-I know I was not a devoted follower of the Faith and have sinned, but I repent. I'll pay penance to the Seven each day forth from now on. I'll attend services in the Grand Sept. I'll-I'll refrain from any vices you so wish. Just let me live!"
Your bargaining with the faceless being went unheard, his arm slowly falling to its side as you felt the hidden fingers slither across your abdomen, tearing your nightgown down the middle. Your eyes grew wide with horror, attempting to pry them away with panicked movements only to be thwarted by the others pushing your limbs into the ground.
"Stop!" you screamed, voice cracking as your neck was whipped back, head cracking onto the ground as your vision flashed.
Though you couldn't see them, you could feel them. Their digits indented into your malleable flesh as it broke under pressure, blood seeping from the gashes as a searing pain tore like a thousand cuts of a hot blade through your skin. Blood poured from your stomach and down your sides, soaking your tattered porcelain nightgown into a stained crimson. Wailing in agony, your throat grew sore, limbs twisting and contorted into inhuman positions as you gave under their ravenous scratching.
"Blessed be you, the daughter of the Mother bound to suffer eternal through the sins of your father committed long before your conception," the Stranger prayed, words carrying over your cries. "Blessed be your whore mother, tired and angry, waiting with bated breath on a ferry that will never move again. Blessed be the children. Each and every one who have come to know their god through some senseless act of violence."
The exposed image of your essence caused your heart to become faint, the torment fading into the back of your mind as your vision fluttered and your head became light. It was a small mercy in the ruthless death that you could no longer feel the torture of your organs torn into, limbs twitching in subconscious reflexes.
"Blessed be you, girl, promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you."
The squelching of your insides was sickening as silent tears leaked down your temples, confused as to how you were still alive. No human could survive being disemboweled; the blood loss alone would kill the most robust of men, yet the invisible beings continued to burrow into your insides, seeming as if in search of something.
The Stranger did not move from its place at your feet, observing as your intestines glistened in the twinkling lights of the void.
You felt betrayed by them and those who preached that the Stranger was not a being of good or evil. They were supposed to guide you into the afterlife, not watch as beings threw your organs to the side. They lied. No being would stand there and allow a daughter of the Mother to have her insides turned out. You never feared the Stranger yourself. Death was inevitable, but now you understand why followers of the Seven feared the Stranger.
Cries that were higher pitched than yours yanked you into reality, a single thread pulling your gaze back to your stomach as a babe covered in crimson, glistening with your essence, was ripped from your womb. Confusion, fear, surprise, and desperation surged through you, attempting to pry yourself from your confines again. The cord connecting the child to you still pulsed with blood through the purple and blue veins as it was taken and placed into the hands of the Stranger.
"What are you doing?" you questioned with a thick tone, panic seizing your limbs as you broke from their unseen grip.
That was yours—something you made solely of your labor, and they were taking it from you. It belonged to you!
You desperately yanked at the fleshy cord still connecting you to your child, the babe's shriek piercing your ears and into your heart. "Please, give it back!" you sobbed, reaching out again only to be shoved. "No! No, please! Please give me back my child! They are mine! They don't deserve this."
You were unsure of what came over you. You had never met this creature before, though it was born of your flesh and blood; you did not want them taken. An instinct to protect the life of something so fragile and innocent lay dormant within your body, coming to fruition. The thought of sacrificing yourself in the babe's place nearly slipped off your tongue, but a sudden light blinded you, pushing the cries of your kin to fade as your eyes burned.
When you came to, you were no longer in an infinite void. Instead, within your chambers, thick, fragrant smoke choked your lungs as the same searing agony from before tore through you. Aegon stood over your writhing form, and his brows arched with concern as he saw your sheets become scarlet.
You stared at him, his eyes glassy and filled with an exhausted longing, as he rushed to your side, grasping your slick palm. "You're alive!" he exclaimed, unable to think clearly through his shock. "You're alive."
Unable to speak, you nodded, sweat and tears dampening your face as another wave of pain knotted within your lower back, forcing a scream. Aegon's violet eyes danced over you, seeing your blood now spread onto your top blanket as his cheeks became devoid of color.
An array of thoughts swirled within his mind like a maelstrom at sea, swiftly lifting the sheet away as he saw the crimson between your legs. His first instinct was to believe that, somehow, the assassin had returned underneath his watchful gaze, paranoia seizing his chest. But Aegon, still confused as to what was happening, gripped your hand impossibly tighter, causing a groan that rumbled in your lungs.
"The Maester," you managed to breathe through gritted teeth. "Get the Maester, Aegon."
He paused for a moment too long, and another cramp went through you, wailing with a clenched jaw and shut eyes as your body arched in pain. The prince did not need to be told twice as he watched the woman he loved beg the Gods for mercy, swiftly exiting your room as he ran to Orwyle's chambers, your cries becoming distant within the pale red stone walls.
The man in question opened the door with tired eyes to the Prince's incessant pounding. He did not need him to explain. He knew it had something to do with you as he hastily gathered supplies and the seven-pointed star necklace on his person. What Orwyle did not expect to see when he entered your humid chambers were you on all fours, grunting and straining with blood-soaked hands and bedclothes, sweat discoloring your once pristine nightdress.
He went quickly into action, ordering Aegon to summon your maids as he stood there listlessly, unable to comprehend the urgent words over the sounds of your shrieks. Aegon was unsure when he finally summoned Jeyne and Fiora, the pair looking perplexed before spotting their Lady. Both quickly went into action, following Maester Orwyle's instructions, scattering in and out of your chambers with different items.
Aegon could not think as he observed the events unfold before him. It was all too much. He couldn't process the abrupt chain of events. One moment, you were laying there, breaths barely audible, now suddenly panting and sobbing for an end he was not sure he wanted to see. Aegon did not know if this was an effect of the poison as his distant eyes met yours, lips mouthing something he strained to hear. He could not bear to lose you. He finally had love within his grasp after years of yearning only for it to be promptly taken away before properly basking in its warmth.
Aegon, who was so focused on the end of something, could not see the future before him, staring with violet-rimmed pupils within thick lashes, begging him to bring comfort. Finally, he could hear you, a rush of sounds and voices barraging his senses as you strained a grunt for him to come near.
You took his fist in yours, the other clutching the footboard as sweat ran down your neck. It felt as if your head was about to burst from your skull with each contraction, panting like an exerted animal.
"It's almost over now, Princess. You just need to pass the biggest part," encouraged Jeyne, a soothing maternal presence in a place that lacked it. "Come now. In through your nose and push out your mouth."
Nodding fervently, you did as told, inhaling deeply and growling with downward force, bringing your arm to wrap around Aegon for support. You needed the closeness and comfort a loved one brought as you went through this traumatic event.
Tears from above sprinkled on your damp hair. Streaks of wetness lined Aegon's cheeks as much as they did yours as another cramp rolled through you.
"What's happening?" he whispered against your cheek, breath uncomfortably hot.
Surprise dawned on your features as the pain ebbed for a merciful moment, resting on your knees. Your free hand grasped his silver roots in support as your other led Aegon down to your stomach, unable to speak. He stared with wrinkled brows and glassy purple eyes as you allowed him to apply pressure there. You need not tell him the reason in words as he glanced down. It could only be one thing.
"You are with child?" he questioned softly, tenderly stroking the area with his thumb.
You nodded, the cramps rising and commanding your body to gush more gelatinous blood. "I saw her. She was right there and they took her from me. Straight from my womb as she wailed."
"Who? Who took her from you?" he asked, free head tangling within your matted hair as you rested your forehead against his.
"The Stranger."
Aegon believed this to be the ramblings of someone in labor, the blood loss not helping to have a clear mind.
The death of a child, whether in this realm or within the womb, hurts immeasurably. The loss of something you could see and touch, something you formed a connection with, brought immense suffering to you and many of those around you, but it wasn't grief to bear alone. Having a life stolen from inside you created feelings of failure and doubts about your body's natural capabilities in isolation, morphing into self-blame and loathing of what could have been if only you were different.
But it was not your fault, not in this or any other sense. Your body did its natural process of protecting you, and even though you did not meet the child in its complete form, there was still a connection to mourn.
So deep within your thoughts, you did not hear the opening of oak doors, two pairs of footfalls storming into the room as your support was suddenly ripped away. Your fists balled into the crumpled sheets in compensation. Aegon struggled in Ser Criston's ironclad grip on his collar as you felt the sudden urge to push, push, push.
"Yes, Princess, yes! Keep going, more is coming out! You're almost finished," Fiora cheered, kneeling in Aegon's place as she clasped her fists around yours.
"Bring him back! I want Aegon!" you shouted. "I need him, please!"
At your cries, the Prince felt panic begin to take root, a terror and desperation to get to you that was so visceral that he did the only thing he could. Aegon growled and bit down on the fleshy part of Ser Criston's palm that met his thumb and forefinger, breaking the skin as blood stained his lips scarlet. The knight howled in pain, releasing the Prince on instinct as he attempted to return, only to have his mother stand in the way.
"Aegon, you needn't worry about her now. She is in capable hands," Alicent attempted to placate, her voice as gentle and maternal as when he was a child.
He paid no mind to her false coos and shoved the Queen out of his way, uncaring as she landed into a corner of furniture that stabbed her side. Ser Criston swiftly regained his composure at his Lady's shriek, once again grabbing Aegon by the fabric of his tunic and towards the exit.
"She is your Queen and mother! How dare you lay hands on her!" Criston admonished and struck the Prince with an armored grip upside his head as if he were no more than an insolent mutt.
You protested the action, begging the Queen, Ser Criston, the Maester, or anyone who would hear your pleas to bring Aegon back to you, but no one listened. The Queen was the highest authority in the room. Her word was law, and you were nothing but a lowly bastard dressed in fancy clothes and titles left without regard.
"Mother! Please, don't do this. She's with child!" the Prince beseeched, unruly locks of unkempt silver strewn across his pale face.
"Not anymore," Ser Criston jeered as his vision met the blood-stained sheets, dragging a raging Aegon away.
Alicent stood, righting herself and smoothing the fabric of her peridot gown with jeweled fingers. "You do not have the right to make such demands, Aegon. Leave at once. We shall discuss this later."
She couldn't stand to look at him, the shame of everything weighing heavier than all man's sins, as Alicent turned her brown orbs away from her son. He had sired bastards before, as had many Targaryen men, but one within his own house, with another bastard no less, was too much for the Queen's mind to comprehend.
The doors to your chambers slammed shut, rattling your bones as sobs of defeat tore through your throat. Your body did not allow you to mourn Aegon's absence, focusing your efforts as your muscles forcefully contracted, expelling the last of the thick matter out of your womb and onto the bedclothes. Fiora stroked your sweat-knotted hair as the pain subsided into dull cramps, reminding you of a particularly rough moon's blood, lungs slowly inhaling as your body relaxed.
Maester Orwyle began dabbing at your temples and neck as you sat, breathing heavily through your nose. "You did well, my lady," he praised quietly, glancing over his shoulder to Alicent, who stood staring into the hearth with her thumb in her mouth.
You sighed in acknowledgment, eyes briefly shutting as your fury gave you the energy to speak. "You are a cruel woman, Alicent." Your words were a dagger straight to her heart as you wiped your stained hands on your nightgown.
She turned to you and quickly placed her arms at her side, trying to put on an air of pomp that the situation did not need. "Tis hardly proper for a man to witness the pains of a miscarriage," she answered as if rehearsed.
"Proper?" you asked rhetorically. "I was dying and all you cared about was fucking propriety?" you snarled, rising to your knees with a wince, nerves alight.
The Queen did not dare say more, her conscience gnawing at the back of her mind like her teeth to her lip. "I know this was your doing," you spat, allowing Jeyne to help you onto your plush settee as the Maester began to clean your stained thighs.
The two women who had been with you since the moment you were forced to call the Red Keep a home gathered your soiled linens, stripping your bed without needing to be told. The sight brought warmth to your heart you had thought died moments ago. Through the brief time of Ser Dalton Greyjoy's presence to dutifully covering marks left behind from stolen moments with Aegon, Jeyne and Fiora's loyalty did not waver. Most maids would be eager to pass on gossip and rumors among the nobility for a chance at some coin. Or perhaps to provide themselves some entertainment in their less fortunate lives, but your two maidservants did not.
You were overwhelmed by a sudden gratefulness for them, longing to bring them into your embrace to sing praises and shout thank yous, but the Queen's looming presence forbade it. There was uncertainty about why she was here. Undoubtedly, the same woman who all but told you to leave King's Landing was not concerned for your well-being. You were hardly but an insect pestering her with your annoying, buzzing wings.
"Is it not enough that you've murdered the last remaining blood of my mother? Now you must take the life of my unborn child," you grunted, adjusting your position on the plush, emerald cushions as nausea struck through your core.
The Queen gasped, and everyone in the room looked weary, certain they were not supposed to hear this. "I would do no such thing, Princess," Alicent rebutted with a horror-stricken expression. "You are being unreasonable. 'Twas whoever snuck into your chambers and poisoned you that did this! Do not blame me for your misfortune."
A hollow laugh escaped your chest at her words, swallowing the bile that rose with the lingering cramps. "Oh, but how fortunate for you," you replied bitterly, the jab tasting acrid on your tongue. You wanted her to leave, to let you grieve the loss of a future you would never know, but she refused, implanting herself into the lives of others to ensure her gains were met. "Have I not earned my place here? Have I not sacrificed enough?"
"You know nothing of sacrifice," Alicent rejected quickly, snapping her avoidant gaze to yours.
"Don't I?" you chortled. The laughter sent your stomach into knots, but you pressed on, nudging Maester Orwyle away to stand upright, much to his concern. "Have I not done what you commanded of me? Kept your son from whoring and drinking himself to death on the streets of Flea Bottom? Do you remember the day you wrote to me? How you implored me to come to King's Landing and herd your son back to the Keep?" you sneered, tears of frustration and sadness welling in your puffy, bloodshot eyes.
No matter how desperately you wished to do so, you would not break in front of the Queen, heart empty as you spoke, blood trickling down your leg. "I have done what you asked and more. I've made Aegon understand the responsibility of his birth. He does not gamble or whore, gluttony is no longer a vice. He's become a better husband, brother, and father. He is everything you want him to be because of me!" Your voice wavered, barely containing a gag that pulled your lip muscles, threatening to become something more.
Realization struck you as you observed the Queen stand underneath your rage. All your life, you have served others to attain recognition in their eyes, whether to prove yourself competent or receive the love and acceptance every child craved. With your father, desperately eager to please him, to show him and all others that you were not the baseborn bastard daughter of a whore---that you could hold your own and make a name for yourself. Your desperation to prove yourself would be your downfall, but no longer would you allow yourself to be the subject of your insecurities. Worth was not dictated by what you did for others but by what you thought of yourself.
"Now that I no longer serve to further your schemes of putting Aegon on the throne, you see it fit to discard me as if I am nothing but a piece thrown about the board, sacrificed to achieve victory." Your anger was palpable, striking the Queen into her soul without physical action.
Alicent inhaled sharply, glancing at your maids and the Maester, who had all seemed to have halted their tasks. Your words were a mirror to her as anxiety began to flutter within her gut underneath so many stares. Hands once primly placed at her side were now picking at the skin of one another, a nervous tick she never broke. She did not know these people. She did not trust them not to run to the nearest lord, who was desperate for Rhaenyra's favor with word of treachery.
"What you claim is treason and not from a sound mind," she protested, her voice velvet. The Queen knew that if she spent a moment longer discussing secrets that had been unsaid, they would finally surface to harm the steps made to plant Aegon on the throne.
You opened your mouth to speak once more, but Alicent's smooth voice was quick to interject.
"Maester, I believe the Princess has gone into hysteria due to the poison. She is not thinking clearly."
You began to argue, but the feeling of nausea overcame you, and you quickly stumbled to your chamber pot as the little contents of your stomach exited. Fiora and Jeyne rushed to your side, holding your tangled strands from your face as the other rubbed soothing circles across your lower back.
"Her hysteria is dangerous to herself and those around her, Maester. I believe milk of the poppy will numb her mind enough until she is well again," Alicent said with pursed lips, staring down at your hunched back from under her nose.
Orwyle blanched, understanding that this was not a suggestion but a request. Who was he to deny the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms? "Your thoughtfulness for the Princess moves me deeply, your grace. However, any attempt to sedate her now would put her at more unneeded risk. She has lost far too much blood, and I must monitor her health."
The Queen's jaw clenched, teeth grinding at the man's tenacity. What did you have that gave people such a steadfast honor to protect you? Unlike her, you could not give them titles, land, or money in compensation. She was the Queen. They were supposed to serve her and bend to her will. Yet, they tended to your well-being with unyielding devotion, even in the face of one of Westeros's most influential people. Why did they not stand with her? Did a Queen not offer more than a bastard? Why not her?
Why not me? Why not me? Why not me?
Envy ran hot through her veins at the thought.
The three servants knew what this was—an attempt to control the situation and narrative, to prove that Queen Alicent would remain the all-encompassing figure of power and dominance, not some young, pretty bastard girl who bewitched all those around her.
"I shall not allow another danger to lurk about my home, especially one that deceives. We already have her assassin to worry about." She ignored your scoff, her words velvet but holding an icy undertone.
When Maester Orwyle did not move, Alicent shifted, palms conjoined just below her heart as she raised a manicured brow. "Do it Maester or I will have my guards do it for you."
He hesitated again, gaze flickering to your slouched one leaning onto your ladies for support. You gave him a solemn nod, conveying with a single look that you would not resist. If this would get Alicent to leave the four of you alone and allow you to mourn peacefully... so be it. It would be better for you and them. You would not have to think about what happened for at least a little longer, and perhaps the pain would be gone when you woke, and your beloved Prince would be at your side once more. But hope was a double-edged sword. Each side was as sharp and brutal as the other and cut equally profoundly.
***
The air was cold on Dragonstone, with a salty bite stinging Prince Daemon's flushed cheeks as he stood on a brimstone balcony overlooking where Blackwater Bay met the Narrow Sea. The moons spent without his daughter chipped at his war-hardened soul, revealing the center he kept tucked away, though many did not see it.
People believed Daemon to be a cruel, calculating man deserving of the title "Rogue Prince." And while they were not wrong, it did not mean that the same sentiment traveled to the treatment of his family. He was devoted to his wife, stepsons, and true-born children, tending to them as a shepherd would his flock. He no longer cared for the war in the Stepstones or any battle, focusing his efforts on the future, a future for his family that seemed to grow more uncertain as his brother's health declined.
While he did feel guilt knock at his hollow chest when he thought about his eldest daughter, the life she was born into, the life she was kept from and forced to live, he did not have regrets. Daemon would, a thousand times over, accept you into his heart.
You were a part of him he did not know was missing, fitting so perfectly into his cracked soul that not even Rhaenyra's love could mend. You are as much of his blood as the young Aegon, Viserys, and the babe that grew stronger every passing day within his wife's womb. There was a special connection between the two of you that only a father of a girl could comprehend. He now understood why his brother passed him in favor of Rhaenyra becoming heir, for if he had the choice, you would serve to inherit all he had.
Daemon longed to have you at his side again, listening intently to whatever thoughts, happenings, and plans you had. The council meetings around the Painted Table grew increasingly irksome as he patiently awaited your next raven. Rhaenyra brought Jace along to more than one gathering with the pompous lords. Daemon admired the boy's fire and tenacity, yet he always seemed to lack the mature awareness you seemed to possess—no doubt a byproduct of your vastly different upbringings.
It had been a sennight since your last word, the longest Daemon had ever waited, and he grew antsy with each passing hour. He found himself pacing the sandy beaches across the island, climbing the same mountains and hills he forced you to in training. Memories were what he felt he had left of you now and that of the written word.
"My love."
He heard his wife's tender voice calling him inside. "You will hear from her soon. I know it."
Rhaenyra's soft hand found Daemon's, bringing it to the growing bump underneath her Myrish lace dress. The notion grounded him as much as her as they pressed their foreheads together, sharing a kiss full of all the longing and melancholy he kept hidden within himself.
It was not until late evening, as he and his wife retired to their chambers for rest, that a footman knocked, revealing a single piece of parchment atop a bronze platter. Daemon's heart leaped for joy, knowing it could only be one thing, and he hastily tore at the three-headed dragon seal.
Rhaenyra allowed her husband to read in silence, brushing out her long, snowy hair as she hummed a tune her late mother used to sing, absentmindedly stroking the life tucked below her breast. When her task was done, and she had secured herself within her thick nightdress, she turned to Daemon, his hunched spine facing her over their shared writing desk.
"What news does she have, my darling?" Rhaenyra sang, combing a fragrant oil through her strands. She prodded him further at his silence, eager to know what her chosen daughter said. "Has another lord insulted her again? You mustn't worry about it like last time. She is more than capable of defending herself."
Daemon did not answer, a strained, choked sound that his wife had never heard before emitting from his throat. Rhaenyra turned, swiftly walking to him as she smoothed a palm down the crown of his head to his nape. "Love?"
"She's dying."
"What?" Rhaenyra stammered, taking a step back.
"She was poisoned. The Greens have obstructed all communications with Dragonstone, and the sender is unsure if she will be alive by the time I read this," he answered, paper trembling.
The shock paralyzed all rationality. Rhaenyra didn't know what to think or feel. "Who sent this to you?" she ardently asked. The world around her became fuzzy, and her head went light as she braced herself against the wooden desk.
Daemon flipped the parchment over, searching for any indication of who the sender could be, but found none. "It has the royal seal, yet there is no signage."
His wife had no answer, dread beginning to take hold of her chest as tears collected in her amethyst eyes. A sob escaped Rhaenyra. The pain, the suffering you must have been through, was enough to make her faint, knees buckling as she struggled to stay upright—her poor child. Poor perzītsos dampened until they snuffed out her flame.
Daemon was lost within the confines of his mind. Fear, betrayal, sadness, and anger coursed through him, roaring the dragon blood to life in his veins.
He felt powerless living on an island away from the daughter he loved, unable to fulfill his role as father and protector. It was a failure on his part not to see what the Hightowers could do. Their schemes and treachery reached from King's Landing to Oldtown, an ancient family with roots among the elites of Westeros. There was a reason they held onto power for so long, and it was not by allowing one unexpected person to throw them awry.
Swiftly, Daemon stood, throwing the sturdy wooden chair behind him with the force of his legs. He gripped the letter with an iron fist, wrinkling the parchment under pressure as he went for the door.
"Daemon," Rhaenyra called, struggling to steady her breath. "Where are you heading?"
The Rogue Prince paused just before the exit, turning on his heel to face his wife, crumpled paper raised high in his hand.
"To burn that green bitch and her cunt father," he proclaimed, a fire within his voice that assured he would keep his word. "They will pay for what they have done to our daughter."
Rhaenyra understood that convincing him otherwise was futile, and deep down, she didn't want to. Despite not being her biological child, she held you in her heart as her own. She wouldn't stand in the way of Daemon's quest for retribution, knowing that he would spare no effort if their roles reversed. With a brief nod, she left him and settled into a cushioned chair.
Daemon stormed through the brimstone halls of Dragonstone, leather riding boots echoing his every step. He had only one goal, one in which he had no care for the consequences of as he reached the cave where his ride was housed. The Rogue Prince climbed the ropes of Caraxes as the Keepers struggled to untether the beast, mounting atop his dragon and fastening the chains in the saddle.
The Blood Wyrm chirped with a puff of smoke through its nostrils as Daemon snapped the reins, sending the dragon forward and out of the cave. He did not care as the frigid wind cracked like whips against his exposed skin, flying higher—faster to his destination, death and destruction trailing behind beating crimson wings. His daughter would be avenged even if it meant the whole Keep would be nothing but ash and bone by sunset.
Masterlist of Series
Daddy's on his way, babies! Are we excited? I know I am!
I hope this chapter wasn't too sad for y'all. I've never had a miscarriage before or have been pregnant. I wanted to make the most accurate portrayal by talking with people I know who have had one or been pregnant. I apologize if I've offended or triggered anyone with what I wrote.
Thank you again for your understanding and patience while waiting for these updates. Life has been chaotic!
Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk, @xitsemm, @justbelljust, @qardasngan
#house of the dragon#aegon the second#hotd fanfic#aegon ii#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon targaryen x you#hotd aegon#aegon targaryen#aegon x you#aegon ii smut#aegon ii targaryen smut#aegon ii fic#aegon ii x you#aegon ii targaryen x you#aegon ii targaryen x female reader#hotd alicent#alicent hightower
101 notes
·
View notes
Text
my dearest y/n-c.s
warning:sad
a/n:i cried writing that..
"my dearest y/n,
As I sit here, engulfed in the waves of grief that crash relentlessly against the shores of my soul, I am compelled to pour out my heart to you, my beloved. The mere thought of you fills my being with an ache so profound, it seems to stretch across the vast expanse of eternity itself. How can mere words encapsulate the depth of my love for you, or the magnitude of the loss I feel in your absence?
From the moment our paths intertwined, my life was forever changed by the brilliance of your presence. You were a force of nature, a whirlwind of laughter, love, and boundless energy that swept me off my feet and carried me to heights I had never dared to dream of. Your laughter was like music to my ears, a symphony of joy that reverberated through the chambers of my heart, filling me with an inexplicable warmth and happiness.
In your arms, I found sanctuary, a safe haven where I could lay down my burdens and be truly and wholly myself. You accepted me, flaws and all, with a grace and kindness that knew no bounds, and in your eyes, I saw reflected the love and acceptance I had been searching for all my life. You were my rock, my anchor, my guiding light in a world fraught with uncertainty and darkness.
And then, as if by some cruel twist of fate, cancer reared its ugly head, threatening to tear us apart and shatter the fragile bonds we had forged with such care and tenderness. But you, my brave warrior, refused to be defeated, facing each day with a courage and resilience that left me in awe. You fought with every fiber of your being, clinging to life with a tenacity and determination that defied all logic and reason.
Together, we embarked on a journey fraught with pain, fear, and uncertainty, navigating the treacherous waters of illness with a steadfast determination to emerge victorious on the other side. We laughed in the face of adversity, finding solace in the simple pleasures of everyday life and drawing strength from the unbreakable bond that held us together.
But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, it became increasingly clear that our time together was slipping away, slipping through our fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. And though I clung to hope with all my might, praying for a miracle that would defy the odds and grant us more time together, deep down, I knew that our days were numbered, that the inevitable was drawing near.
And so, my love, as I sit here, penning these words through tear-stained eyes, I am overwhelmed by a profound sense of gratitude for the time we shared, for the love we nurtured, and for the memories we created together. You were my everything, my reason for being, and though you may no longer walk beside me, your spirit lives on in every beat of my heart, in every breath I take.
Until we meet again, my love, know that you will always hold the most sacred place in my heart. You were my soulmate, my confidante, my partner-in-crime, and I will carry the memory of our love with me for all eternity.
With all my love and devotion,
Chris."
chris closes the letter, tears streaming down his cheeks in front of the grave of his beloved. God how he’d like to hold her in his arms, to be able to tell her how much he loves her, to be able to kiss her one last time times before leaving.
matt and nick are behind their brother.Crying too, y/n had become like the little sister they never had. By dint of coming every day they decide that she could move in with them. Chris and y/n got even closer and the same with matt and nick. A group of inseparable friends, a couple they thought were indestructible, but even if she can't be with them, they don't know that y/n look at them, her too crying from paradise, wishing them all the happiness in the world.
-🩷
#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris#chris x reader#sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo fluff
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Lighthouse
Note: requested by @foxyanon! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.
Warnings: fluff/angst, mention of death by drowning and mention of blood.
pairing: Sailor!Sihtric x Lighthouse Keeper!you (f)
summary: a sailor washed ashore and changed life as you knew it.
wordcount: 3,1k
Masterlist
Chapter 1.
'There's another one coming!' Beocca shouted, barely audible over the harsh wind and pouring rain as he desperately held onto his dark blue mariner's cap, 'get ready!'
Exhaustedly, you hiked up the drenched skirt of your white, mud stained dress with one hand, holding a glowing lantern in your other, and you made haste back to the water. You tried to catch a glimpse of the next body that was about to wash ashore, as the bright light of the lighthouse scanned the wild and deadly sea in the dark and stormy late autumn night. The violent wind slammed the big drops of rain painfully hard against your cold skin, it felt as if needles were being stabbed into your face and bare hands.
Beocca, the old man who owned the lighthouse you worked at, had seen a ship collapse not too far away from his land and, together with his wife Thyra and you, he had tried to save the men who washed ashore, but to no avail. Each man was already dead by the time they reached the safe land. The poor souls who hadn't drowned immediately in the freezing water were slammed hard against the sharp rocks just below the lighthouse, their skin split open and their insides punctured. The didn't stand a chance.
After hours of enduring the horrible weather, dragging dead body after dead body out of the water to give them a proper burial later, Beocca saw one more body closing in on the shore. You all prayed the last man to approach was either already dead, or somehow managed to make it safely past the sharp rocks. And by a miracle, or sheer luck, the last shipwrecked man was still breathing when the three of you reached him, and he had washed ashore without any life threatening injuries.
'A blessing!' Beocca shouted just above the howling wind, 'praise the Lord! God is good!'
You knelt down next to the unconscious man, while Thyra ran back to the house to fetch warm blankets, and Beocca climbed up the higher land to take another good look at the sea, to make sure none of the men who belonged to the half sunken ship were left behind in the water.
You held your lantern near the survivor's face, and you carefully pushed back strands of dark, wet hair, which had escaped his braids and stuck to his face. You gasped at the discovery of a large scar on his forehead, and of a smaller one on his cheek, but you noticed they were old and none to be concerned about. His nose was sharp, as were his cheekbones, and his facial hair was rather well kept for a sailor. Your eyes trailed down to his neck, where the hint of a tattoo was visible, and then your eyes trailed down further. His baggy white blouse was ripped and half wrapped around his scarred, muscular torso. His hands had turned blue from the cold, as had his tattooed fingers, and his loose black trousers, held up by a leather belt, had holes in one knee and were torn at both his ankles. The man's feet were bare and turned blue as well, and you figured he must have lost his shoes to the crashing waves.
'Oh, poor soul,' you whispered as you studied the man's appearance.
You couldn't help but think that he was incredibly handsome. More handsome than any other man that had ever washed ashore, and there had been many. You leaned in closer and brought your cold hand up to his even colder face, and you gently traced the scar on his forehead with your fingers. Then, out of nowhere, the man opened his eyes and gasped for air as he coughed up water. You were startled, but as you were about to jump back, the rugged sailor grabbed your wrist and looked up at you with wild and terrified eyes. You stared at each other for a few long seconds, both breathless and speechless, until the man finally parted his blue and purple lips to speak.
'They… t-they are real,' he rasped as he stared at you, almost enchanted, and he then coughed a few more times.
'What?' you asked, confused and not sure if you heard him right above the howling wind, 'who? Who is real? Just… just take it easy,' you tried to calm him and placed your hand on his chest while he still held onto your wrist, and you felt his heart beat rapidly underneath your palm, 'calm down, okay? You are safe now, I promise. What… what is your name?'
But just as fast as he had gained consciousness, he lost it again too before he could answer, his fingers still lightly wrapped around your wrist, while his eyes closed again and his head fell back on the ground beneath him.
You lived in the small attic of the house, which was attached to the lighthouse, and you lived a solitary life by choice. Despite Beocca and Thyra living in the same house, you always had breakfast, lunch and dinner on your own. You only saw the couple when you were working. It's not that you didn't like them, they were actually incredibly friendly and you considered them your only family, you just preferred to be alone. Despite the fact that you enjoyed the peace and quiet as a lighthouse worker, you always did long for some kind change in your routine. You just had no idea that your life would drastically change after the sailor, who had washed ashore, was to recover in the small attic you called your home, as it was the only somewhat available space.
'But what if he's a savage?' you asked Thyra while you both stared at the handsome stranger, who was still unconscious.
'I understand you are worried,' Thyra said and she took your hand, 'but there is no other room for him. I suggest you keep a few candles burning and leave a night light on. I am sorry, but he has to stay here until someone will pick him up.'
'Pick him up? How long will that take?' you scoffed, 'I'm… I have to share my room with a stranger? With a male stranger?'
'We don't know how long it will take. But Beocca is sure there will be ships looking for survivors when the weather has calmed again.'
'What if he tries something in the night?' you hissed.
'Look at him,' Thyra reassured you, 'that man is in no state to try anything. Don't you worry. You just take care of him and nurse him back to health. I left clean clothes and towels on the table.'
And with those words, Thyra turned on her heels and hiked up her skirt to walk down the stairs. You stared at her, completely bewildered, and then you looked back at the sailor, who was suddenly your roommate. The man laid on a mattress on the floor, across from your bed, while candles burned close by to keep him warm. You sighed and fought your tears, you had no idea how you were going to adjust to this sudden change.
With a lot of reluctance you walked over to the man and knelt down beside him. You carefully took off his wet clothes, starting with his ripped shirt. You were surprised the sailor was in such good physical health, unlike the other men you had fished out of the water before him, and you figured that it might be the reason he was the only one who survived. You threw his soaked shirt in a bucket and then took off his belt and his wet, torn trousers, all while the man was calmly breathing and passed out. His skin warmed up gradually as you dried him as best as you could with a towel. But then you had to remove the last piece of cold and drenched clothing he was still wearing, which you dreaded; his undergarments.
You took a deep breath and reached for his underwear, which you slowly pulled down his lightly scraped and bruised legs, and you quickly covered him up with a towel. You told yourself you wouldn't look at his private parts as you continued to dry him off, but as a rather lonely lady, albeit by choice, you couldn't help yourself when you continued to take care of him. With warm cheeks you glanced over when you pulled away the towel, and you bit down a shy grin. Once you had completely dried his cold, wet body and ridded it off the salty water he had been in for a while, you cleaned his fresh wounds and patched him up. Then you dressed him in the warm and clean clothes Thyra had left and, as expected, the clothes were a little baggy on him, but it wasn't a bad look, you thought.
While the man continued to sleep, you decided it was best to try and get some sleep yourself. But you would barely get any sleep as you left a few candles lit and a nightlight on. Because instead of sleeping, you kept staring at the washed up sailor in your room, not knowing what to expect once he would wake up. And you were terrified he'd wake up while you were asleep and vulnerable.
But the man wouldn't wake up until early evening the following day.
The next morning you searched the shore for anything that could possibly tell you more about the stranger in your room, but not much was found except for ripped clothes and a half dozen shoes, which belonged to the sailors who had died in the night. After you dragged several heavy wooden planks out of the water, which belonged to the shipwreck, your eye caught something shiny near the rocks beneath the lighthouse. You held up your skirt and carefully climbed the sharp stones and reached for the water, where you fished out a bronze pendant on a black leather cord. You inspected the foreign looking necklace and, just when you wanted to return to the attic, you spotted a soaked book a few paces away. You grabbed the thick wet piece of paper and half flipped through the pages that weren't fully stuck together. Some of the softened pages ripped as you tried to turn them, and the book had lost its cover over night, but you soon saw smudged images of the ocean, boats and sirens.
With the few items you had found, you returned back inside as the evening approached. You dozed off in the kitchen for about half an hour, until your body jerked you awake and you realised it was time to start cooking dinner. You figured the man in your room needed some food too, so you made a little extra, for the first time in many, many years. You carried the tray with food, tea and the items you had found earlier up the stairs, and to your surprise you found the handsome sailor awake and sitting up on his mattress.
'Oh,' you mumbled shyly and placed the tray on your small table, 'you're awake.'
The man nodded quietly and watched you with big eyes, which you noticed were beautifully mismatched when you came closer to hand him some tea.
'How are you feeling?'
'Like death,' he rasped and gave you a faint smile.
'Understandably,' you said, 'drink the tea, it will make you feel better. I also made you some soup, and there's fish with potatoes,' you pointed at the plates.
You watched the stranger gulp down the tea and attack the food, as if he was a starved man, which, in fairness, he probably was. You stared at him as you delicately ate your dinner, while the rough looking sailor chewed with his mouth open, and picked his teeth in between a few bites.
You cleared your throat and smiled awkwardly as you averted your eyes, realising you were clearly of two completely different worlds. But in what world a man could eat like a wild beast was beyond you, and you were intrigued as much as you were disgusted.
'Manners,' you coughed under your breath, to which the man looked up at you and froze, and a piece of chewed potato fell out of his open mouth.
'I- I sincerely apologise, madam,' he said softly, clearly embarrassed, and dropped his fork before he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, 'I… I haven't been in the presence of a beautiful lady such as yourself for a very long time. I… excuse my manners. Dining etiquette gets kind of… lost at sea after a while.'
You immediately felt bad for your snarky remark and apologised in return, as you found out within that split second that the stranger was actually well spoken and polite, and not a complete brute, as you had expected.
'No,' you said, 'I am sorry. I haven't had company for a long time either, especially not the company of a… man. And I surely never had the company of a man like you,' you blushed, 'I can't imagine what you have been through. It is unkind of me to judge you in any way. Only God can do so. So I apologise, sir.'
The man gave a curt nod and the hint of a smile before he continued eating, in a more calm and well behaved manner. You quietly watched him as you continued your own food and, when the man finished eating and you still had some vegetables left, you offered him your plate.
'Are you sure, madam?'
'Please,' you chuckled awkwardly, 'no need to call me madam. And yes, I am sure,' you handed him your plate, 'you must regain your strength.'
'I thank you kindly,' he smiled, 'madam.'
You disapprovingly clicked your tongue but couldn't completely fight the smile that tugged at your lips at his polite and charming behaviour.
'So,' you asked after a moment, 'what is your name?'
'Sihtric, madam.'
'Sihtric,' you repeated, then told him your name. 'Sihtric,' you said again, pondering, 'what a strange name. Not a very common one either, is it? Where are you from?'
'From Denmark, mada-' Sihtric stopped speaking when you gave him a stern look, 'from Denmark.'
'Denmark,' you smiled when he finally dropped the formalities, 'and… you worked on the ship that collapsed?'
'I did. I kept watch when we'd be ashore and also made sure no fights broke out on the ship during travels,' he explained, 'and if they did, I stopped them.'
'I see. But then the storm…'
'The storm was unbearable. We knew the weather forecast was not good, but no one expected it was going to be like this,' Sihtric sighed, 'we were caught by surprise.'
'It is true,' you agreed, 'we also weren't fully prepared for the storm either. It was worse than expected.'
Sihtric nodded and you poured him another cup of tea, which he gulped down just like the first cup.
'Are you married, Sihtric?'
'No, madam,' he said with a grin and winked, to which you blushed and chuckled.
'Family?'
'Those who I considered my family have all died during that storm, miss,' Sihtric said softly.
'I am sorry.'
He gave a weak smile and looked down at his empty cup.
'Well,' he cleared his throat, 'I, eh, thank you for… for this,' he held up his cup before he placed it on the table, 'I appreciate it.'
'You are very welcome,' you said as you gathered the empty dishes and placed them back on the tray. 'I, eh, I found some things when I searched the shore this morning. Perhaps you recognise some of it.'
You showed him the book and the necklace you had found, and Sihtric's eyes lit up.
'My… my necklace,' Sihtric said softly, he then scoffed and smiled, 'thank you. Thank you kindly,' he said as he placed it back around his neck.
'What does it mean? The symbol?'
'Mjölnir,' Sihtric said, 'a symbol of hope and strength. A symbol of one of my gods.'
'Gods?' you frowned, 'but there is only one God?'
'Maybe for you, miss,' Sihtric smiled politely.
You gave him a confused but curious smile, and then gave him the faded book you found. Sihtric nodded and smiled as he looked at the water stained images of the sirens.
'That is mine too, thank you.'
'You're welcome. It's not in good shape, but,' you shrugged lightly, 'I, eh, I've been meaning to ask,' you cleared your throat, 'when we found you, you woke up at one moment. I'm not sure if you remember any of it, but you grabbed my wrist and said something along the lines of they are real. What did you mean by that?'
Sihtric stared at you for a moment, then shook his head lightly and looked down at his book.
'I… I don't remember,' he lied as his eyes scanned the drawing of a siren.
When Sihtric had opened his eyes after he gained consciousness, and saw you above him while he was all soaked and cold after he almost drowned, he simply thought you were a siren. He had never seen such beauty before with his own eyes, and he was absolutely convinced that you had to be some kind of sea goddess, for you had saved him from the depths of the ocean.
You had saved him from a horrible and unhonourable death, and you had enchanted him too.
'The night is a blur,' he said, 'I have no answer. I am sorry.'
'Don't worry,' you said, 'it must have been an intense night. I think you should rest some more, after I take another look at your wounds.'
Sihtric agreed and, after you brought the tray with empty cups and plates down to the kitchen, you tended to his wounds. You changed the bandages and cleaned up some of the remaining blood that had dried on his skin. The sailor enjoyed your warm and gentle touch, while you tried your best to keep your trembling hands under control. You felt the man's piercing eyes on you as you sat close, and you felt a mixture of emotions. For some reason you felt almost at ease with him, and his dashing looks definitely made an impression. But you also knew to be wary, and you worried that maybe he wasn't as nice as he seemed.
After Sihtric had thanked you for patching him up again, you changed into your nightgown in your small bathroom, and got in bed.
And just like the night before, you let a few candles burn through the night and you had your night light switched on. Sihtric may seem nice, but you still didn't know much about him. So another sleepless night it was.
taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn @sihtricsafin
#sihtric x reader#sihtric x you#sihtric kjartansson#the last kingdom#sihtric#tlk#sihtric fic#the last kingdom fic
112 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄; arc one
I. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐚
next: I. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐚 | table of contents
AS FATE would have it, the island of Oetia had been so shrouded in the overgrown greenery of myth and legend that any tall tale could eventually be seen as fact with a simple pen stroke in the people's history books. It wasn't hard in such a place when even the isolated nature of Oetia was an epic, filled with glorious gods that had devoted themselves to saving Oetians from the dangers of the Grand Line. These gods kept the Oetians happy: they kept their harvests bountiful, swept danger away in the waves, and ensured peace throughout the island. No myth had failed them yet, so they had just become part of normalcy—even Helle's.
You let her name simmer in the forefront of your thoughts, let the wind around you sweep it back and forth like the bow of a fiddle, making melodies out of your synapses. Helle, Helle, Helle, Helle, Helle, Helle, Helle. Helle, queen of the sea, ancient princess of Oetia. You wished her to you, hoping today would be the day she answered your prayers. You hoped she could feel the ache in your knuckles and the tightness in your fingers each time you clasped your hands together. You hoped she could see how close you pulled your hands to your chest as if you were desperately trying to push it into the cavity of your chest.
But just as always, she didn't respond.
"May Hellespont be merciful." The words tiptoed on the whisper of your breath, leaving as soon as they came. You let your eyes flutter open, allowing their heaviness to be swept away with the sea breeze. In the shelter of Helle's shrine, you looked out upon the Hellespont Sea, its waves so tranquil it made the ocean just beyond the jagged rocks appear vicious. You watched it silently, fingers still clasped tight, your knees aching against the ceramic tile. Your joints screamed for a reprieve, but you wished them silent and stared out into the endless expanse of blue.
Somewhere out there, on islands that were part of the seven routes on the Grand Line, were people— no, devils. Vicious men and women with powers stolen from the gods, seizors of prosperity. Monsters. It was a miracle that none of the men and women who had come to Oetia in its early days were like them long before the self-proclaimed king of those monsters had caused havoc for the dwellers of the Grand Line. You drew your eyes away from the ocean and instead to the clear waters of Hellespont that oscillated against the rocks, too curious of what was beyond. Still, it would never cross over, and neither would you.
You pulled your gaze back to Helle's statue, almost glowing in the beginnings of sunlight. She stood in front of you, reaching for the sky, desperate. You didn't want to think of her myth today, so you messed with the long, light blue, almost white dress you were made to wear every morning instead. Not that you could complain about it, no, that was anything but princess-like. Somewhere behind you, you could hear the faint, hurried calls of your lady-in-waiting, Nasia. You prepared your smile and glanced at the fresco-painted gods above you, who stared back with cold eyes.
"M-My lady! My apologies-" You turned to meet Nasia, red-faced as she rushed toward you with her dress pulled up to her knees. She was frantic, her sharp breaths making it harder for her to utter any words past the ones she had already said. You held back a laugh but kept a graceful smile to save face. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass her, and you had the feeling that with a few words, you wouldn't have to worry about that.
"May Hellespont be merciful."
"Ah, may Hellespont be merciful, my lady- I truly didn't mean-"
"Nasia, please... It's alright," you assured her with a smile, closing your eyes as if it would help soothe Nasia's nerves any more than if you had kept your eyes open. When you opened your eyes once more, she was still teary-eyed but—if you had to assume— much more relieved. Her eyes sparkled, and you prepared yourself for the usual onslaught of praise. The gods would have to forgive you today. You seriously considered allowing the compliments to get to your head. Inflate the ego you shouldn't have had a bit.
"Oh, praise Helle! My lady is far too kind! Had it not been for my lady's grace, I would have long been without a way to provide for my family! Oh, praise Helle! Praise be!" Nasia sang, hurrying behind you to gather the rest of the spindling fabric you could not carry on your own. You let a chuckle slip from your lips as Nasia continued her praise, making your heart swell with— oh, no, you really couldn't let yourself feel so giddy. Pride was something reserved for anyone but you. Nasia's compliments soon dimmed to a small humming as she cradled the fabric in her arms.
"Alright, my lady! Let us make for your chamber! Breakfast has already been fixed!" Nasia cheered, head barely poking out from above the sea of blue-white. You peered at her from over your shoulder and gave her another smile, watching her eyes light up. You knew one day she would realize the truth about you. She would realize that you weren't fit enough to be a princess. Until that day, you would let yourself revel in her devotion. Let her believe in a girl not fit to be anything close to a goddess, let alone a princess.
"Has there been any news of my father's arrival in Paloen?" you asked as you strode forward with care, heading for the staircase that was just out of view. The light of the sun grew dim, filtered by the leaves of the trees that framed the mosaic-style tiles that led away from the temple. Your bare feet ached for the grass, yearning to feel the morning dew between your toes. The sea breeze whistled for your return, but you kept your gaze on the path, keeping a tight grip on your dress.
"Surprisingly, there has yet to be any news," Nasia began, keeping close behind, "but at this rate, he's sure to arrive with Lady Irini and the young lords by sundown." You blanched— Irini must have been overjoyed to be with your father, far, far, away from the crown prince and princess that she despised so much— but kept walking, hoping your momentary silence didn't scream the obvious. The last thing you needed was for your silence to be taken the wrong (or rather, the right) way. Your stepmother knew too much about how to use things like that against you. Thank Helle, your half-brothers hadn't inherited such a trait.
"Ah, hopefully, Lou and Mica haven't caused too much trouble for Father and Mother—" you strained yourself to call that wicked woman your mother, it felt like treason, "— Mica is of that age where all he'll do is ask questions. I'm not sure how many 'Are we there yet's Father can handle." Nasia giggled, and you joined her, albeit softer. You had barely registered that the stairs were in front of you, your mind too addled with worries about the woman you despised since the moment she had taken the place of your mother at your father's side.
"And Lou is convinced he can do anything without help. I even caught him scolding Mica the other day," you added as Nasia continued giggling, all the while you took the first step that made up the long descent down the steep staircase. You readjusted the dress in your hands to keep one hand atop the wall. It was the only thing keeping you from falling into the rocks below that shot sea spray up onto the stairs. The water pooled along the edges of the steps, and you made a mental note to remind your father to redesign them before anyone got hurt.
"You must miss the young lords," Nasia cooed as you turned around the corner of the staircase, beginning to come down the second flight, "how lovely to know that their sister worries for them." You held back the big grin on your face. Seriously, if Nasia complimented you anymore, you weren't sure how you could keep a regal composure. Still, maybe just once wouldn't hurt. As you made your way down the final steps, you convinced yourself to turn around at the bottom and give Nasia another smile.
"You think too highly of me, Nasia. What kind of older sister would I be if I didn't miss my dearest brothers?" you grinned, watching Nasia's eyes widen as she missed a step and fell straight at you. You didn't even take a moment to think before shooting one leg back to steady yourself, dropping the fabric in your arms to catch her instead. Her body fell into yours harshly, the weight of her body straining against your own. You nearly fell back, but you let Commander Vlassis' words overwrite your thoughts.
"Allow your body weight to sit on that back leg- Magnificent job, Pericles!"
Nasia was limp in your arms, and you could only assume she had lost consciousness from the sheer shock of falling. Past her, you spotted the fabric of your dress, dirtied and wet by the overspray of the waves that had dampened the floor. You had been so busy worrying about smiling that you hadn't even reminded Nasia of the slippery steps. Now, she was unconscious, and oh, Helle, your stepmother was sure to say something if she found out.
Nasia's head rested on your collarbone, and you tried to push back the thoughts that started running rampant in your mind. She lay still in your arms for a few moments longer, her fingers twitching around your biceps. Nasia jumped back before you could even ask if she was okay, her eyes wider than you had ever seen them, while her cheeks glowed a faint red.
"My lady! I am so deeply sorry! I didn't mean for, I didn't-" Nasia sputtered, nearly slipping on your dress this time. Your dress had become a hazard now, that much your father would have to understand. You grabbed her arm before she could fall a second time, making Nasia's cheeks burn brightly, contrasting against her pale skin. She stared at your hand until you removed it slowly, watching as she bowed her head at your gaze. Shame pooled at the bottom of your stomach as she began to sniffle.
"Nasia, it's alright," you assured her, "the stairs just weren't cleaned properly after the rough waves from last night. No one could blame you for your fall. Not even I." Nasia looked up at you with a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Oh, Helle, she only ever seemed to fuel your perfectionism.
"I... My lady... you are too kind," Nasia cried, her bottom lip trembling, "I thought- oh, I thought I-" You stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, patting it a few times until Nasia's tears stopped joining the puddles of water on the floor. It was all you could do, unsure of what more to do afterward. It was all you knew, all you could remember at least.
"My lady, if I could ask... Have you ever trained with...? Oh, what am I saying, my lady? You are far too busy to train with Lord Pericles." Your heart dropped. You stared at Nasia, who had looked embarrassed by her question, looking away at her feet once more. Your head spun with things to say, but you couldn't muster anything but a "Huh?"
"It's just that... your arms or, rather, your muscles... you have... really strong arms, my lady!"
"Oh."
"I mean, I know Lord Pericles does and- well... I just thought... I figured maybe-"
"No- No, I... don't."
"I see. I... I shall see myself out then!" Nasia scurried past you, hands covering her face as she headed straight for the doorway—or rather for the door frame, which she ran straight into. She stumbled back as you winced, just for her to finally make it through the doorway, right past your dearest twin brother, who gave you the most irritating smirk known to man. How long had he been there?!
"You have really strong arms, my lady! Please do allow me the pleasure to fall into them again!" Pericles mimicked with a high-pitched voice, mocking you more than he was Nasia. You looked away, not "allowing him the pleasure" to see you roll your eyes at him. Instead, you crouched down and gathered your dirtied dress, hitching it up to your knees as he watched in amusement.
"Good morning to you, too," you greeted, finally turning to him with a forced smile on your face. His grin widened— he knew you far too well to fall for your facades. You were twins, after all. You scoffed at him as he continued smiling and made your way to the door, struggling to keep all the fabric from dragging across the floor. You gave him a look as you walked past him, "I'd prefer it if you helped me with this instead of just standing there, Pericles."
Pericles groaned as he still sleazily leaned against the door frame, "Don't call me that. It's Percy, loser." You scoffed again, readjusting the dress in your arms before scowling at him until he walked up to you and took the smallest bit of fabric from your dress, barely even a fold. He grinned wide again.
"I don't plan on calling you that, Pericles. You should stop insisting that people address you so informally," you stated as Pericles took another piece of the dress, still just barely enough fabric for it to be considered a fold of your dress, "you know Father wouldn't be pleased."
"Okay, well, the old fart isn't here. I think Vlassis said something about him not returning 'til the month's end." You sighed for what must have already been the hundredth time since Pericles had decided to bug you. You felt a tug at your waist, and you looked over to the right, where he jogged beside you, haphazardly pulling at the dress with his bit of the fabric.
"Regardless, you should start being less—" you paused to look at Percy up and down, an eery copy of you but with a more masculine look to his figure, "— you." He laughed, loud and hearty like the King he would be in the future (of course, he did so without even trying, which was more than terribly infuriating). You let him laugh and turned to look straight ahead as you both made your way back to your bed chamber, where Nasia was sure to still be fretting. Percy's laughter eventually died down, his lips pursing before another one of his smiles tugged at his lips.
"So... (n/n)-"
"Don't call me that."
"About training today..."
You shot him a look, fingers clenching tightly around your dress. You stopped in your tracks, letting him awkwardly come to a stop beside you. You blew a harsh breath and looked around the empty open-air hallway, the only "spectators" being the passing birds that cawed by the open archways. There was no one there besides you and Percy.
"I swear to Helle, if you sneak out again-"
"Melina and I haven't seen each other in ages!"
"Percy, that is not my problem-"
"Ah-ah-ah, you called me Percy-"
"That is not what we're talking about right now—" you stopped to catch your breath, "—what we're talking about now is that you're trying to sneak out!" Percy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, huffing as he stood there.
"... Okay... and?"
"I'm not covering for you! I will not do it!" you seethed, letting half your dress fall to press a hard finger into Percy's chest. Percy looked exasperated, attempting to come up with something to say as you let your hand fall back to your side. "You know why you have to train! The last thing anyone wants is for those devils from the Grand Line to show up and you to be unprepared!"
"We're twins! You look just like me! Who else would do it but you?" Percy whined while you turned away from him to grab the rest of your dress. The poor fabric looked nothing like it was supposed to anymore. "Plus, there haven't been dangerous people here in years! Decades! You've been reading too many history books again. What are you a nerd?"
"I'm not a nerd. But, y'know, I'm sure Lou-Lou would love to cover for you," you taunted, eyes narrowing as you frustratedly grabbed at your dress. Percy groaned and kneeled to grab the dress, gathering it in his hands even as it spilled out of his grasp.
"He's not here! He's also like... a toddler! I don't even look like him!" Percy blustered, his eyebrows furrowing as the fabric continued to slip out of his careless grasp. You grimaced and just took what he gathered from him with one fell swoop. He glowered when he looked up at you— it was impossible not to smirk.
"Really? I couldn't tell the difference," you snickered while Percy got to his feet, still glaring at you while he got to his feet. But the more your smile widened, the more his glare fell short. He brought a hand to his head, running his fingers through his hair. Despite all your quips, he looked more stressed than you expected and you hoped you had just been overthinking it.
"Oh, I get it. I look like a toddler! Ha. Ha. Real funny," Percy huffed, and you couldn't help but laugh, keeping your smile hidden behind your hand, "but seriously, (n/n). You know it'll be impossible for me to see Melina again in a year. I just want to... make the most of the time we have." Your laughter fell short when Percy looked down at the ground, his arms hanging slack at his sides. It was hard to see Percy like this, as much as he loved getting on your nerves.
Percy would be the king in a year, and you would still just be you. Oetia had no interest in alliances with other islands. No island was close enough for there to be any interest in the other, so there had never been any mention of a diplomatic marriage across the Grand Line. But Percy would still have a wife arranged for him and you, a husband. When that would happen, you weren't sure, but while you could not allow yourself to care, Percy did.
"You and Melina, huh," you muttered to yourself as Percy kept his eyes glued to the floor, "I'm happy for you, Perse." You looked at the man who had grown up beside you, stuck to your side through every major event the two of you went through. It was hard to even imagine what life would be like if he wasn't at your side to poke fun at you every waking moment.
"Alright, asshole. I'll cover for you," you sighed, groaning when Percy looked up at you with that mischievous look in his eyes, batting his eyelashes at you as he slowly approached you with open arms.
"Ahh, bring it in."
"No... No, I'm good." You regretted ever agreeing when Percy wrapped his arms around your midsection, gluing your arms to your sides as you tried to pull away. After a harsh look, Percy backed away, hands at the sides of his head in defense before he skipped back the way you came. You watched in annoyance before finally turning around and heading down the rest of the hallway to finally get the dress off yourself.
˗ˏ' 〄 'ˎ˗
"That's the last time I ever help that fool," you huffed, pulling the bottom of your dress up to your knees as you tiptoed through the corridors, keeping your voice low and your steps light. The setting sun shone down at you through the windows, rhythmically blocked by the columns between them. Your whole body was sore from the vigorous training Percy should have been doing. You yearned to be bathed in the sunlight. You knew what else your body wanted; you'd give in soon enough. Just as soon as you were able to sneak around this corner...
"Commander Vlassis! I am glad to have caught you here, sir."
You pressed yourself to the wall, breath caught in your throat. You were so close to making it out the backdoor! There were usually no patrols in this part of the castle during this time of the day; you knew that for a fact. Helle, you had staked it out some time ago. If they didn't leave soon, your shame would catch up to you, and you'd find yourself right back in your bed chambers, waiting for the dinner bell to ring. You didn't need that to happen tonight.
"Ah, yes, Admiral. How may I help you? I was just on my way to the barracks."
"I see. Allow me to join you. I wish to speak to you about some... issues we've been having. The townspeople have continued to..."
You held back a sigh as their footsteps faded away, leaving out the door you planned to escape through. You brought a hand to your ever-beating heart, allowing yourself to catch your breath. You couldn't risk bumping into any soldiers; You didn't need the men you trained with often catching on to the fact that you were not their beloved Lord Pericles but the princess they only saw once in a blue moon. Your established distance from these men was the only reason you ever agreed to take Percy's place so often.
"One day, I swear to Helle, I'm going to lose it," you grumbled as you peered out from behind the corner, double-checking that they had indeed left. You let yourself sigh this time, leaning against the cool stone walls, already feeling the prodding feeling of guilt crawling up your back. It slotted itself between every disk in your spine, ready to mess with your subconscious until it was too much to bear. You could feel your limbs growing heavier, and the shame was beginning to cloud your thoughts.
"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine—" You stumbled out into the hall, nearly tripping over your hastily fastened dress— "I'm still a good princess. I'm still..." You tried not to let your thoughts consume you and rushed out the door, not even thinking of checking that the Commander was still around. You didn't care. All you wanted was the sea. The salty sea breeze hit you hard, making you take a short step back, steadying yourself as all your worries flew away with the wind. The water was so close.
A smile immediately crept onto your face, settling between the lines of your aching cheeks. Your bare feet sunk into the soft grass like it belonged there. While the morning dew had long been gone, the coolness of the dirt was just enough to be refreshing. You had been wearing Percy's boots again— you couldn't keep wearing the damn things; his feet were larger than your own— and being barefoot after so long was like a blessing. You weren't sure how much longer you could keep up the excuses for the amount of blisters you had accumulated.
The breeze blew against you once more, reminding you of what you had left the castle to do in the first place. You gathered the fabric of your dress far higher than your knees without a care in the world, knowing you'd throw it off of you soon enough. You bumbled your way down the hill the castle sat on, laughing all the way. You could nearly see the grotto now, calling to you from where it stood. It hid between rocks, splashed with water that had still not reached the height it would at night. It was only now that it welcomed you, called your name from the grassy knolls.
Grass and dirt turned to sand and rock, only momentarily stopping you from heading to the place where all your guilt would fade away— the only place where you didn't need to be perfect, where you didn't need to be the princess of an island in the middle of a dangerous ocean. The sea would cradle your body and tell you you were enough, just for an hour or two, before it turned its back on you for the rest of the day. But you didn't mind that. That was just fine.
You took a tentative step onto the first of a small path of stones that were just smooth enough for you to comfortably walk upon. The sea nibbled at the sides of them, spraying you teasingly, knowing you'd be discarding that annoying dress. You gathered the fabric of it and pulled it over your head, knowing that by now, no one could see you make your escape. You giggled like a child when the breeze flayed across your bare chest and squealed when the water nipped at your toes that hopped across the path the sea had made for just for you.
You took one more leap and reached the small ledge that wrapped around the rim of the grotto. With your dress in hand, you shimmied around the edge and finally found yourself in your heaven. The wall shimmered with the sunlight reflecting off the water pool, casting wringing, twirling strands of white across the dark cave walls. You placed a hand against those same walls, letting your fingers strum across the natural cracks as you walked atop the ledge, heading for the rocks that jutted out the back wall of the grotto.
"Finally," you sighed as you reached the rocks, dropping your dress onto the driest ones that were right up against the wall. You took that time to peel your panties off, dropping them on top of your dress. In all your nakedness, you crouched down, placing your palms against the rock as you shimmied your way down to the crystal-clear water. It was warm, warmer than it had been all day as usual. You didn't think twice when you pushed off the rock and plunged into the arms of the sea.
The water crooned around you as you left the comfort of the rocks, making your way to its depths. You let the water take all of you; let it swallow you whole. It would have done so anyway, even if the shame had protested. It held you as you swam, swam, swam, swam, swam, swam until you ran out of breath and relented air to your lungs. It wasn't long before you sank back into the depths, sinking so low that you could only see the reflections on the ceiling in blurred vision. You let the blue take hold, and Helle decide your fate.
"Helle... I needed this," you gushed, floating limply in the water, letting the occasional wave from just beyond the rocks that separated the grotto from the sea jostle you gently. You rose one arm up and behind your ear, switching back and forth, letting rivers form in the valley of your breasts. You could stay in the water forever, even if it made your skin grow aged, even if you knew it would get too cold to bear. You didn't care anymore; you just wished you would never leave. As you swam toward the row of rocks at the mouth of the grotto, you turned over, dipping your head under just a moment-
Did you see that right?
Your head immediately resurfaced, hastily trading closer to the rocks, making sure your body was concealed. No, you must have been seeing things. The navy wasn't scheduled for routes on this side of the island during this time. You should have had at least another hour if it was them. Your brain racked itself for anyone else who could have possibly been floating past the Hellespont Sea and on the open ocean. Still, there was nothing, and this unknown ship was growing closer.
You scanned the ship for as much information as you could— your father wasn't here, and Percy was anything but a good diplomat, not to mention a mediocre fighter, so who in Helle's name was going to deal with this— but still could just barely make out what was on their sails. You pressed yourself closer against the rocks, careening forward with a furrowed brow, your bottom lip curling beneath your teeth. There, just faintly, you could make out the sickening sight of a skull and crossbones plastered on their sail.
"No, no, shit," you cursed, pushing off the rocks and hastily heading back towards the furthest part of the grotto, back where your dress was. You could hear your heart thud in your ears, your tolling death bell. Your feet kicked erratically, trying both to keep you afloat and reach some sort of footing to propel yourself through the water even quicker. You eventually managed to reach the rocks and hastily slipped your way back to where your clothes were. You didn't stop to think about how you would dry off and instead slipped your panties back on, followed by your far too intricate dress.
"I- I have to get to Pericles," you told yourself as you managed to button up parts of your dress. It wasn't perfect, but Helle, it would have to do. You hurried across the ledge, digging your fingernails into the cracks this time, ignoring the little scrapes on the pads of your fingers. The ship was getting closer now, too close for comfort. You could even make out the people on it— a black-haired guy sitting on the head of a ram, a blond leaning on the railing with what must have been a cigarette, and a green-haired man who leaned beside him holding three swords on his hip. There were others further back on the ship that you couldn't quite see yet, but maybe that was for the better.
The one thing about the natural barrier around Oetia was that it was lower near the castle, not to mention closer to the mainland than the rest of the island. It made it easier for the navy to come and go from the ports in town when the midday tide was deep enough for them not to damage the ships when they crossed over the barrier. Plus, your ancestors had always been quite fond of the ocean, so it had been decided (rather foolishly, in your opinion) to build the castle where it now stood. So, as you swung across the ledge of the grotto and onto your path of stones, you watched with a sinking stomach as the Demon ship crossed over the barrier with ease.
"No- No! Pericles! Percy!" You shouted frantically, knowing that your brother was nowhere near you. Your eyes flooded with tears as you tried to cross using your path. But, of course, fate seemed to have it out for you. Every leap you tried to make ended with you slipping into the sea, drenching your dress. You could feel the shells and sharp rocks cut your feet every time you slipped off your path, knees buckling every time the pain shot straight up your spine. You bit back your cries, even when you fell straight into the sea, its waves splashing against you relentlessly.
"Hey! Lady! Whatcha doing over there?!"
Your head shot up, and you watched in horror as the black-haired guy you had seen called to you from the mast, the rest of his crew watching from the deck of their ship. Your heart might as well have stopped. You pressed yourself against the wall of the seaside rockface, unable to utter a word. Your eyes flitted over every face that stared at you and stopped when you saw a furry little head poke out between the deck railing.
"She looks like she needs some help, Luffy."
That was all you needed before you screamed bloody murder.
"GET YOUR RACCOON-DOG AWAY YOU SEA DEVILS!"
i completely forgot that i was supposed to post this on here :9 it's a couple days late but here you all go <3
#seaofhelleop#one piece#op#one piece x reader#monkey d. luffy x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#nami x reader#nico robin x reader#usopp x reader
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 13
this took. a while!! life has been busy recently lol. i feel it is important to note that this part 13 also cashed in at 1,666 words. this was not intentional, but uh. definitely has got some evil undertones.
reading some of the stuff peter says might get a lil confusing- just remember he is signing all of this!! i didn't want to write the word "signed" three million times and sign language is literally a language, just not a spoken one, so i used "said" instead
I SUMMON THEE TPP CREW: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye
Way down deep in the pit of Juno’s stomach, a scaly rattlesnake of dread curled up and bared its fangs.
His muscles ached and his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and every few steps came with a cough from the horrible, black-dust air. He’d been searching the walls for hours now, looking for any sign of the tall, knife-thin figure that had sliced his world in half from the moment he walked into it.
He’d seen a lot of workers. It took a lot of effort for him to not cringe at the sight of them. A hundred thousand faces, laying brick and chipping away at stone, each one looking as bone-tired and hopeless as the next. Some even looked vaguely familiar, distorted into someone he recognized through the dream-like haze in the air. But he hadn’t found anything of Peter Nureyev yet.
The rattlesnake shivered out a tense hiss. He was beginning to question everything. Had Rita remembered what had happened correctly? Maybe he’d missed him somewhere? Was Peter even here?
And suddenly all of Juno’s fear melted away.
There he was. A lone figure against the harsh lava glow of the factories behind him.
Just like he had the first time, he looked tired and disheveled, dirt on his face and a wall around his heart. His overalls were covered in mud and brick dust, his glasses were broken, and his eyes looked hollow and weary. But, gods, he might as well have had a gilded halo around his head for the way Juno wanted to fall down at his feet weeping and praying.
Blessed Saint Peter of the Workers.
Juno broke into a sprint.
“Nureyev?! Nureyev!!”
There was no answer. Peter just kept hacking away at the rock with his pickaxe, head bowed to the ground.
Juno scrambled up the rickety wooden ramp to the top of the wall as the rattlesnake slithered back into his gut. Peter barely noticed him. “Nureyev. Nureyev, please. Peter, please look at me!”
Nothing. Just that steady Hadestown rhythm of breathe, strike, lift. Breathe. Strike. Lift.
Juno grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Peter’s eyes were completely empty, like the work here had sucked every last ounce of life out of him. Flashes of memory sped by in Juno’s mind.
Peter laughing. Peter working out logic problems with Buddy. Peter telling stories with Rita. Peter fixing up the bar with Jet. Peter looking at him in wonder. Peter being alive.
He wasn’t alive now. The poorly sutured gash in his neck was evidence enough of that.
Juno was nearly crying now, scared and desperate, the world going blurry through the tears stuck in his lashes. The rattlesnake hidden in his stomach was letting out another steady hiss, it’s teeth bared in warning once more.
“Peter, please, you gotta remember me,” Juno whispered, pulling Peter’s head down to his. “I’m here to take you home.”
And then something strangely extraordinary happened.
Peter blinked. And it was like a miracle.
The hollowness cleared from his eyes in an instant. He squinted slightly through the dim light and broken glasses, and then recognition sparked in his eyes, and a grin more blinding than the sun snuck onto his face, chasing away the despair and melancholy. He looked at Juno, wonder and surprise and love in his eyes, and mouthed a single word.
Juno!
And then they were in each other's arms, holding each other like it was the only thing in the world that existed. Juno realized he was fully crying now, and Peter was crying too. His fist was clenched in Peter’s shirt that smelled like coal dust and sweat and fear but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were here now, and they were holding each other, and he felt whole again. And it was like the world released a breath it barely knew it was holding back.
They stayed like that for a long time, crying and hugging and gently rocking back and forth, until both of them could breathe normally, like the sheer fact of the other’s presence could fix every problem they had ever known.
Juno pulled away from the hug first and kissed Peter hard. “You absolute DUMBASS. What the hell were you thinking, Nureyev? Getting yourself tangled up in the underworld?”
Peter made a slightly sour face and began signing something at Juno, too fast for him to understand.
“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down a minute. It’s been a while since I had to interpret sign, babe. You’re gonna have to sign slower than that.”
Peter sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but planted a sweet kiss on Juno’s cheek before signing again, slower this time.
"How the hell did you get down here?"
“Jet led me. Apparently he used to work for Hadestown as a psychopomp or something. He wouldn’t go into it too much, though.”
"No, no, no," Peter said, snapping his fingers closed in slight frustration. "How did you get past the wall? No one gets in unless they come by train."
“Ah. Well, that’s interesting. There’s a backroad that I went down. And then when I got to the wall… I just. I sang. I asked it to let me in, said I needed to find you, and the stones just moved aside. I don’t know how.”
There was a pause. Peter was chewing on his lip now, looking at Juno with some emotion akin to reproach on his face. “What’s the matter, babe?”
"I called your name before I… left. And you never came for me."
Juno sucked in a pained breath through his teeth and looked at the rough-hewn ground. “You…. you did. I know.”
Peter’s expression was rapidly approaching one that looked like it might burst into tears. "You knew? You heard me?"
“No, I didn’t know. Rita saw all of it. She…. she told me the story.” Juno sighed deeply, ran his hands over his face, and squatted down to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Nureyev. All of this is my fault. I should have been paying more attention to you, because you told me that you were hungry and I thought it would be fine, I just didn’t listen, and if I had listened, you wouldn’t be in this mess-”
Juno broke off as he felt Peter’s fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up.
"Listen to me. This is not your fault," he said gently before giving Juno another kiss. His face had such a soft expression on it, soft like a magnolia petal in early spring with the kind of tenderness and care that only a very deep-rooted love can produce.
Juno looked at that softness growing through the cracks of Nureyev’s walls and found himself falling in love with him all over again.
“It’s okay, though. I can fix this. I came to bring you home again. I can just sing the song again and the stones will let us back out- what’s the matter?”
Peter had begun shaking his head slowly. "Won’t work," he said, jaw clenched tight and face painted with varying shades of regret.
“What do you mean, it won’t work? It’ll work, I promise, Peter, I can get us out of-”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
A booming voice echoed across the wall in response, and Juno watched Nureyev go completely still, eyes wide and face stark white with fear and panic. Juno wasn’t sure who the man in the neat suit walking towards them was, but Peter’s reaction to his voice was enough to set Juno on edge in his defense.
He stood, back straight and eyes narrowed with as much confidence and menace as he could manage. “And who the hell are you?”
The man grinned, and something about his smile made Juno want to punch him. “An old friend of Petya’s. And the man who owns this city. You can call me Slip. You’d best be going, though. This city doesn’t take kindly to strays.”
Juno didn’t move a muscle. The man stared at him, eyes cold and clean and razor sharp.
“I said, you need to leave this city. Now.”
“I’m not leaving without him.”
Nureyev stood then and turned to face the man, Slip, with a tension Juno had never seen in him before, and began shooting angry words in his direction. His hands were moving too fast for Juno to catch anything more than a few words: “alone,” “deal,” “my voice,” “take,” and “let him go”. Slip’s grin only widened.
“He hasn’t told you, has he?” he asked, leaning slightly to see Juno’s face.
Juno looked at Peter, a sick feeling beginning to snake back into his gut. “Tell me what, Peter?”
Peter looked at him painfully before staring wide-eyed at the ground and chewing on his lip.
The rattlesnake buzzed out a tremor of fear. “Peter, what did you do?”
“I told you I own this city, and that includes the people in it. My darling Petya here signed a contract for a job, and now he belongs to me. I was initially going to keep him from having to work out here, but since he decided he would rather keep company with my workers than me, I decided to let him do some of the work himself,” Slip shrugged, walking forward and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
It was like the world was collapsing in on itself.
“It isn’t true,” Juno breathed, eyes widening. “It can’t be true. Tell me it isn’t true.”
Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes. He simply nodded and said nothing else.
The rattlesnake’s hiss crescendoed. Juno felt like he might throw up.
“Executives? Would you mind showing this young man here what we do with trespassers?” Slip called.
Suddenly, two large, identical men dressed in brown coats appeared behind Juno. Before he could say a word or move in defense, there was movement, a sharp pain radiating through his skull, and then Juno Steel knew no more.
#don't worry about benten and the gang#they're all fine i promise#the penumbra podcast#tpp#tpp hadestown au#song for a caged lovebird#i hope y'all enjoy <3#i love you guys!!!!!
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oho, such excellent comparison topics from @the-commonplace-book. Very good! Let’s dive in.
There is something Kuyper identified called the inescapable concept. It is not whether, but which. 
It is not whether supernatural occurrences have happened (magic, one might call it, or miracles, or true accounts of the occult) but which sort of disruption of the material world we’re talking about.
Similarly. It is not whether humans will engage in sexual expression, but which sort of sexual expression will they engage in?
In the case of both topics in question, there are two options for both. There is the obedient kind, and then there is the disobedient kind.
Moses parted the Red Sea, struck the rock for water, and turned his staff into a snake. Elijah called down fire from Heaven and made the flour and oil last way longer than they should have. The Lord Jesus walked on water, fed the five thousand, and raised the dead. Among other things.
The Witch of Endor summoned the spirit of dead Samuel, and Scripture is clear this was not lawful for her to do.
There is “magic” in the service of almighty God, and there is “magic” in the service of demons. Not whether, but which.
Similarly! There is obedient sexual expression, and there is disobedient sexual expression. The obedient kind is covenantal. This sort of covenant can only be made between a man, a woman, and the God who has joined them together. All other sexual expression is not only unlawful, but it fundamentally fails to understand what greater truth marriage and the sexual act are typological of.
There is sexual expression under the sweet blessing of almighty God, and then there is everything else. Not whether, but which.
Now. Naturally. The cries rise up. That’s just how you interpret the Bible! Only one interpretation! That’s just your interpretical biases showing through! Interprety-tonk, and I mean it to sting!
There exists an interesting discipline known as hermeneutics. This is also subject to the inescapable concept. It is not whether you interpret what God has said, but which lens will you use to interpret it with?
If I have a shoddy enough hermeneutic, I could argue that women are literally saved by childbearing. No Heaven for you, barren women!
I could assert that Judas hanged himself and that you should go therefore and do likewise.
I could make the claim that Jesus loved people, and that we must also love people, and so naturally it follows that Ol’ Uncle Chuck should be able to love your five-year-old daughter in all the same ways Jacob loved Rebekah. Love is love is love, right?
I could even posit that God speaks more often and more strongly about occult practice than He does about sexual sin.
But Scripture is not the witness on the stand, subject to the verdict we deliver from the judgement seat. Scripture is the great judge brought to bear on every human heart. It is not difficult to understand when we yield to how the Lord Jesus and His apostles taught us to understand it, Scripture interpreting Scripture.
When it is taken seriously as an intelligent, harmonious whole, written by an intelligent, eloquent Author, with no postmodern interpretive shenanigans, it is not muddled on issues of sexuality. It is not muddled on what the true definition of love is.
Praise God, His Word is not muddled, or we would have no assurance of salvation, no promise of forgiveness, no hope in the resurrection, no Christianity.
And it is not muddled on the difference between demonic, disobedient “magic”, and the kind that splits the Stone Table, chases the Nazgûl back into the dark, and says to a cold, grey, little girl, sweetheart, wake up…
Go therefore and write likewise.
207 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Phoenix and the Crow
part sixteen
pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader
genre: netural
el's thoughts: the next part!! yayyy please let me know your favorite parts or what you are hoping to see next!!
The sick feeling in Y/N’s stomach had nothing to do with the rocking of the rowboat. She tried to breathe deeply, to focus on the lights of the Ketterdam harbor disappearing behind them and the steady splash of the oars in the water. Beside her, Kaz adjusted his mask and cloak, while Muzzen, one of the Dregs, rowed with a relentless and aggressive speed. Hellgate rested on one of Kerch’s tiny outlying islands, Terrenjel.
Fog lay low over the water, damp, and curling. It carried the smell of tar and machinery from the shipyards on Imperjum, and something else – the sweet stink of burning bodies from the Reaper’s Barge. The place where Ketterdam disposed of the dead who couldn’t afford to be buried in the cemeteries outside the city. ‘Disgusting.’ Y/N thought, drawing her cloak tighter around her. How could these people live with themselves? Not giving the dead the respect they deserved. Then again, it was Ketterdam… How many of these people truly deserved an honoring of their name?
Y/N shuffled away from the edge of the rowboat, accidentally brushing her arm against Kaz’s side. If her being this close to him bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he spoke in a quiet whisper, “We’re almost there.”
The tightness in her chest dwindled at his words. She nodded just enough for him to notice her thanks.
~
When the boat’s hull scraped sand, two men rushed forward to haul them farther onto land. The other boats she’d seen were making ground in the same cove, being pulled ashore by more grunting men. Their features were vague through the gauze of her veil, but Y/N caught a glimpse of the tattoos that inked their forearms. A feral cat curled into a crown– the symbol of the Dime Lions.
“Money?” One of them had asked as the crows clambered out of the boat.
Kaz handed over a stack of kruge and once it was counted, the Dime Lion waved them on.
They all followed a row of torches up an uneven path to the leeward side of the prison. Y/N had seen the prison from afar before but looking up at it now… She understood why the mention of the jail instilled such a strong fear in people. She tilted her head back to gaze at the high black towers of the fortress named Hellgate.
A door had been propped open, and another member of the opposing gang led Y/N and the others inside. They entered a dark, surprisingly clean kitchen, its walls lined with huge vats that looked better suited to laundry than cooking. A strong aroma of vinegar and sage filled her nose. ‘Like a mercher’s kitchen.’ She’d thought to herself. The Kerch believed that work was akin to prayer. Maybe the merchant wives came here to scrub the floors, walls, and windows to honor Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce. Y/N resisted the urge to gag. They could scrub all they liked. Beneath the wholesome scent was the indelible stench of mildew, urine, and unwashed bodies. It might take a miracle from the Saints to dislodge it.
They all continued down a dark hallway, and she thought they would head up into the cells, but instead, they passed through another door and onto a high stone walkway that connected the main prison to what looked like another tower.
“Where are we going?” Y/N whispered. Kaz didn’t answer. The wind picked up and lifted her veil and lashed at her cheeks with salt spray.
Nina let out a breathless gasp as she looked around the familiar surroundings. “I thought we were breaking him out. Brekker, you lying bastard.”
Kaz didn’t turn around to look at her, “We are breaking him out. But he was already scheduled. He survives tonight then he gets out.”
Y/N looked between the two, confused as to what was happening.
Nina gritted her teeth, “Hellshow.”
The slow cranking of metal against metal echoed in the arena over all the shouts and loud conversations from the crowds. The two grisha women walked closer to the metal cage, Nina grasped the thick bars between her hands tightly, as if willing the metal to bend at her will. They both watched as a tall man walked out from under the gate.
“Matthias.” Nina’s voice was barely heard over the cheering around them.
The two men in the ring stood there for a moment before the one with ‘cannibal’ written on his back lunged first. A strong punch to the Fjerdan’s jaw caused his head to snap to the side, and with no time to recover another blow was aimed at his stomach.
After taking a few more hits, resulting in the Heartrender flinching at every grunt, the Fjerdan finally snapped. He threw a jaw-snapping punch at the smaller man, spun around, and threw his elbow back landing on the man’s collarbone. The latter fell to the floor giving Matthias an opening to continue his attack. He picked up a leg and dragged the man on his back before crushing his leg in his grasp.
Y/N’s eyes widened at the memory and felt a sickening feeling creep up on her. Such a dishonorable way to keep your life. But then again, what choice did these people have?
The Dime Lion led them around the tunnel to the third archway, where a prison guard dressed in a blue-gray uniform was posted with a rifle slung across his back. “Four more for you.” The Dime Lion shouted over the roar of the crowd. Then he turned to Kaz. “If you need to leave, the guard will call for an escort. No one goes wandering off without a guide, understood?”
“Of course, of course. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Kaz said from behind his ridiculous mask.
“Enjoy.” The Dime Lion said with an ugly grin. The prison guard waved them through.
Y/N stepped under the arch and felt as if she’d fallen into another nightmare. They were on a jutting stone ledge, looking down into a shallow, crudely made amphitheater. The tower had been gutted to create an arena. Only the black walls of the old prison remained the roof long since fallen in or destroyed so that the night sky was visible high above, with dense clouds and free of stars.
It was a different view from when she came with Nina before. Now higher in the stands, the crowd’s shouting echoed and made her ears ring. Around her, masked and veiled men and women crowded onto the terraced ledges, stamping their feet as the action proceeded below. The blazing light from the torches on the walls was hardly bright enough to make out anyone’s face even with a strained effort, but it was bright enough below them to see the red and damp sand of the floor.
Y/N swayed on her feet when she saw a man standing in the caged arena while a desert lizard crawled out from under the heavy metal trap door. Her sight blurred the moment she noticed the man pick up his knife and quicker than she could whisper a prayer the crowd’s volume got louder only this time they were booing. Y/N turned to the man standing next to her. “Why are they complaining? Isn’t this what they came here for?”
“They wanted a fight,” said Kaz. “They were expecting him to last longer.”
“This is disgusting.”
Kaz shrugged, “The only disgusting thing about it is that I didn’t think of it first.”
“These men aren’t slaves, Kaz!” Y/N spoke harshly but kept her volume down. “They’re prisoners.”
“They’re murderers and rapists.”
“And thieves and con artists. Your people.” Nina spoke up from Kaz’s other side.
“Nina, sweet, they aren’t forced to fight. They line up for the chance. They earn better food, private cells, liquor, jurda, conjugals with girls from the West Stave.”
Muzzen, the man who accompanied the crows on the heist, cracked his knuckles. “Sounds better than we got at the Slat.”
The two grisha looked around the stands at all the men and women who came here to support such a violent show, all of them exchanging bets while walking up and down the aisles. The prisoners of Hellgate might line up to fight, but Pekka Rollins made the real money. At least he used to. News got out shortly after Pekka was thrown into the high-security prison where he was brutally beaten to death by a few of the other prisoners.
“Helvar doesn’t…” Y/N couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything as she spoke and pulled herself out of her own thoughts. “Helvar doesn’t fight in the arena, does he? You bought his name off the list, didn’t you?”
A grim look passed over Kaz’s eyes as he looked down at the inferni. “We aren’t here for the ambience.”
“Are you aware that I could waggle my fingers and make you wet your trousers?” Nina was beyond furious at this point. Her hands clenched at her sides.
“Easy, heartrender. I like these trousers. And if you start messing with my vital organs, Matthias Helvar will never see sunshine again.”
Once the stomach-churning sound of the heavy metal gate being cranked open was heard the crowds went wild. Y/N looked over to see Nina staring down into the arena with a pale face. She had turned to look down and felt her heart drop to her stomach at the sight before her.
Matthias emerged from the mouth of the cave while the unmistakable growls of wolves could be heard from the other side.
The Fjerdan had to fight his most sacred animal.
#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker#six of crows#six of crows x reader#six of crows imagines#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x you#ellora.writes
79 notes
·
View notes
Note
are there any songs you think they should bring back for the setlist or a song you wish they would play live?
also which live performances are your favorite? (you could even go by era cuz i think each era is pretty unique)
ok so i need to start this off by saying BRING POOL BACK IMMEDIATELY!! please with the intro and everything. it’s just so fucking good. next up, which i know might be controversial, but i’d love to hear fences live once (i would watch this video all the time when i was younger, it just seems like a lot of fun). i always think it sounds so cool. and then obviously i’m on my knees screaming and crying for them to bring back Let The Flames Begin / Part II, which i know they’re probably sick of but it always turned out so good!!! and Turn It Off & Careful are my #1 picks. like, genuinely I need to hear them live or else. Also, Sugar on the Rim.
anyways i used to be better at pinpointing my favorite performances because i would watch them to a point where it was super concerning, now i’m a bit more mellow about it. however, since you asked i will attempt to deliver. just for you, dear anon.
this is in no particular order or anything, basically i’m just going off what i remember really saying damn this is good about (which is super easy when you love a band like paramore).
First off let’s start with the Miracle Outro performed during Brand New Eyes era. this song just goes so fucking hard and i curse Josh Farro for the fact that he wrote it so they couldn’t record it and release it since he left the band soon thereafter.
Paramore at Wembley Arena in 2009 — This concert is so good. like thank god this person filmed it and decided to upload it to youtube. I cannot get enough of Intro / Ignorance. truly.
RTMorasonMD had a great full concert vid from 2010, the sound quality is great for 2010 too. considering most of the time videos look like they were filmed with an nintendo D.S..
Paramore at The House of Blues in Anaheim, California (2006) this is like nostalgia city for me. I remember running my old paramore fan account on instagram and stumbling on this and being like… i’ve hit the paramore jackpot. shout out to Paramore History for always posting the real hard to find stuff… where would we be without you?
When Paramore performed Careful at Warped Tour in 2011 or like the whole Warped Tour Set — i will say this over and over again on this post but i have to be real with you when i say, i watched these videos so much it’s crazy. but careful was my favorite. i love careful. any performance or careful and i’m there.
Paramore live in Paris (2013) when i tell you i watched this religiously i mean it. i could probably do all the dance moves / movements hayley did in this specific video way back when. i was obsessed.
Paramore performing Let The Flames Begin / Part II at Bunbury in Cincinnati (2014) i just love this one. like all of these are just nostalgic for me and i can’t help but want to show you.
When Paramore performed Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen and then it went into Hallelujah by Paramore (lol) at Parahoy (2016). What a way to open the show. i mean, i remember watching the final riot and being totally in love with Hayley’s voice and the way she sang it. I think I was introduced to Hallelujah by Shrek but Paramore was the second one to show me the ways of Leonard Cohen. Thanks for that.
I Caught Myself in Hamburg (2017) is an obvious one but I feel like I had to mention it… the emotion Hayley fucking pours into this performance makes me want to cry.
Turn It Off live from Grand Casino in Hickley, MN (2017) we’ve all seen this one i think? but what an incredibly breath taking performance of turn it off. i mean.. damn.
Fake Happy performed at Rock for People in the Czech Republic (2017) the quality is insane for this one. I remember being totally obsessed with this. so i’m adding it here; to share with you.
Pool / Idle Worship in Paris (2018) something must be in the water when they go to paris because i love these videos.
Pool live in Amsterdam (2018) is another one that came to mind cuz the sound quality goes crazy. it’s just beautiful.
The full 2018 RED ROCKS show because the sound is great and i just remembered being obsessed with this. you’re kinda cracking my head open like an egg with this ask and i love it.
Paramore at Concrete Street Amphitheater (2018) incredible footage, incredible show.
Simmer live in Bakersfield (2022) i have to add this because she’s gone too soon. like they should be performing this one nonstop. but i also understand crystal clear is a bop so it’s fine… i’m fine. PLAY SUGAR ON THE RIM OR ELSE!!!
Crystal Clear debut in Dublin / Dreams (the cranberries cover) (2023) I mean….. we all know about the Dreams cover but I just have to add it here because wow. i love it. it’s incredible. and the crystal clear debut is just insane because the person filming that knew what they were doing. High Quality to the MAX baby.
Crave / Outro live at The O2 in London (2023) I mean I just love this video. like, what’s not to love.
Speaking of quality, this video of You First performed in Cleveland Ohio (2023) is available to watch in 2610p60, which basically means it’s better than your eyeballs. incredible stuff. just insane.
there’s probably a whole lot more i can’t think of at the moment, maybe i’ll make a list eventually. but i hope you like this in the mean time. ❤️ thanks for sending me this ask and letting me talk about my favorite band. send me an ask anytime (goes for everyone, i love this).
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
How can I go on?
Why did it have to be her? She was the purest person to ever walk on the earth and never done anything wrong. What the hell was wrong with this world?
Luisa just wanted her back
This is set/inspired by reincarnation au by @miracles-and-butterflies
Yes, gift time! I've tried to keep your characters writing
Luisa was furious.
How did everyone dare to be so happy? How did they all dare to live their lives like nothing happened? How could they smile and have these stupid conversations with each other when she had lost her life, buried under the rubble? Luisa hadn't found her head, no matter how long she searched for it, tossing all the debris over and over again until her fingers would get worn down to the meat. It's not like it was important, Luisa was always the strongest person except for the moment when she actually had to be strong, but she didn't manage to save her .
Hell, there wasn't even a proper mourning. No mourning at all. No one fucking cared about her. But why would they? It was the same back when she was still alive. Maybe if anyone actually cared: if their parents had said that they actually loved her, if Isabela wasn't a fucking spoiled bitch, if Abu- Alma didn't treat her like shit if Luisa had spent just a bit more time with her instead of working Maybe she wouldn't try to look for that stupid candle. Maybe she would still be alive.
Why did it have to be her ? Why couldn't anyone else be in her place? Why couldn't it be Dolores, who never interfered until it was too late? Why couldn't it be Camilo, who had always been a jerk? Why couldn't it be Bruno whose fucking tower beheaded her just for him to return the next morning, stealing the only bits of attention anyone cared to give to her ? Why couldn't it be Luisa herself, who didn't manage to save her? She was the purest person to ever walk on the earth and never done anything wrong. What the hell was wrong with this world? If God was real, Luisa hated them with a burning passion. This world wasn't fucking fair. It had stolen her. The last person who deserved it. It took an innocent child and deprived her on everything.
Luisa wanted to blow out that freaking magic herself, destroy it in the way it had destroyed her , bury it under the rocks, to tear Casita to shreds even before it was rebuilt, make it feel the slightest glimpse of pain she had felt.
Being with family was hell. Each time Luisa saw their faces, she wanted to yell at everyone. They weren't good enough, never paid enough attention to her. How did they dare to even call themselves her family? They didn't deserve her. Luisa didn't deserve her. Laughter was streaking Luisa's ears louder than the sound of the house falling apart. The sound of the house falling on her. The fact that people still lived as if nothing happened, as if she didn't die, as if Luisa was deficiently strong enough to save her.
And she was snapping at everyone. Her family, townspeople, visitors whom she hadn't met before at all. How dare they enjoy their lives when she was gone? How dare they walk and laugh with their loved ones? How dare the word keep spinning around?
The worst part was when the family tried to confront Luisa. Or just stood upon her.
Luisa was just getting some water. Because she had been saying that it was important to stay hydrated as long as Luisa remembered her being able to talk.
"Agh!" Luisa winced, bulking slightly from a sudden obstacle, the water jumped over the brim, spilling on Luisa's blouse. Isabela huffed, looking up at her. "Look where you're going. You almost knocked me off."
Luisa just rolled her eyes, brushing off her clothes with her free hand. Of course, Isabela just couldn't keep her dirty mouth shut. "Do you think I give a fuck?"
"Listen here, you're acting like a fucking bitch," Isabela narrowed her eyes. "You've been lashing out at everyone like a wild dog!" Her voice got louder, almost ringing like the screams of a beheaded girl.
"Well, excuse me for being fucking sad when my hermanita died," Luisa growled, squeezing the glass in her palm.
"She was my—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP," Luisa yelled at her as Isabela dared to say anything, the glass shattered in her grip like her life, breaking into tiny pieces. "She was my sister, not yours. You never gave a shit about her." The younger girl was breathing heavily, her fists shaking from rage. "I bet you're actually happy that she's gone, aren't you, Bela?"
Isabela's eyes darkened as she lifted her head, locking eyes with Luisa. "Are you crazy or what? How could you even assume that?"
"If you weren't a spoiled brat, she would be alive." Luisa voiced angrily through her clenched teeth.
The oldest out of the two roared, stomping her foot in rage. "Excuse me?! Do you think I'm to blame for what happened?" She looked almost as outraged as Luisa was. "Well, what a wonderful world you have," She grabbed Luisa's blouse and pulled it, probably trying to force her to lean closer, but it didn't work. "Everyone is bad, everyone is to blame. Everyone except you, because you're such a good big sister who could do no wrong." Isabela scoffed, placing her hands on her sides.
Luisa's world burst into red. Her body reacted before her mind could even proceed it. A strong palm grabbed Isabela's neck, making her gasp in shocked terror as Luisa began to squeeze it. Flowers tried to pull them away, but they were no use against immerse strength. Maybe Luisa could just rip her head off all along, avenge her sister. The free hand was held in a tight fist that stung a little but Luisa couldn't care less.
After maybe ten seconds the angry reaction calmed down and Luisa threw Bela on the floor. The latter immediately reached for her neck, feeling fresh red bruises that were left here from a tight grip. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She muttered, looking at Luisa from the floor.
The younger sister didn't answer and just passed over her. As she was out of Isabela's sight, she unclenched her palm which was still painful, and noticed shreds of glass digging into her skin. The leftovers of what used to be a glass. Luisa stared at the bright blood, running down her hand. Isabela would probably make a scene with adults later. Luisa cared about this as much as about the glass that was stuck in her hand. She didn't care about Isabela, she didn't care about their parents, she didn't care about Alma she didn't care about herself.
She wanted her back.
She wanted Mirabel back.
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
end-of-life care.
the words bounced around in caretaker's head as they carried the tray holding whumpee's breakfast back to them.
it was the finality that got them. their desperate hope for some miracle solution dashed against the rocks when the doctor said there's nothing more we can do, just try to make them as comfortable as possible until the end comes.
they'd taken whumpee home that day. if there was nothing the hospital could do to help them, then at least the familiarity of home could help soothe them in their final days.
god, just thinking like that made caretaker want to throw up. they felt so helpless, so small in the face of the illness that was going to take the love of their life from them.
taking a deep breath, they gingerly opened the door to their and whumpee's room.
whumpee was awake, which was always a good sign. they seemed a bit lost in thought, but the corners of their lips twitched upwards when they saw caretaker.
"morning, sleepyhead." caretaker said, rustling whumpee's unruly bedhead and doing their best to keep their voice even and chipper.
whumpee gave a quiet hum in response, leaning into caretaker's touch.
caretaker helped prop whumpee up in bed, then set the tray down in their lap.
they held out the fork to them. "think you can do it yourself this time?"
whumpee accepted the utensil. "i can try." they said in their weak, crackly voice.
whumpee had a month. maybe two, according to their doctor. they were only in their mid-twenties, and they wouldn't live to see their next birthday.
they managed the first few bites on their own, but eventually their hands shook too much and they dropped the fork, unable to keep a proper grip on it.
they huffed out a frustrated sigh, while caretaker squeezed their other hand and kissed their forehead in consolation.
"it's alright. you wanna try again?" caretaker offered, but whumpee shook their head.
"i'm only gonna drop it again." they mumbled, and caretaker conceded, feeding whumpee the rest of their meal while they hung their head in shame, no matter how much caretaker told them it wasn't their fault.
after that, they carried whumpee to the bathroom, and waited outside for them to be done, to at least preserve as much of their dignity as possible.
if caretaker were to tell themself from two years ago that they'd be able to carry whumpee with ease one day, they'd probably be called a liar.
whumpee was a good head taller than them, and before their illness left them wasting away, they were strong too. once, when they were in school together, caretaker had twisted their ankle, and whumpee had carried them all the way from the running track to the nurse's office without even breaking a sweat.
now, whumpee struggled to lift a water bottle on their own, and caretaker could carry them like it was nothing. what a horribly ironic world they lived in.
once whumpee was finished in the bathroom, caretaker helped them dress and gently set them down in their wheelchair.
"it's nice out today." caretaker said. "and i know you hate being cooped up inside all the time. we could go hang out on the porch for a while?"
whumpee made an affirmative noise, so caretaker pushed their wheelchair out the front door, then transferred them into one of their porch chairs. if nothing else, they'd do their damndest to help whumpee feel as normal as possible, even through something as small as sitting on a shitty wicker porch chair.
it was one of the first proper days of spring, color and warmth starting to return to the world after the frigid winter. it was beautiful, in a way, but caretaker couldn't help but feel like it was mocking them.
day by day, beauty and life returned to the world, just as day by day, whumpee faded a little bit more.
they were snapped out of their increasingly bitter spiral by the sound of a quiet sniffle by their side. they looked over to see whumpee, eyes fixated on the environment in front of them, tears rolling down their cheeks.
"whumpee?" caretaker asked, slightly panicked. what if whumpee was in pain? had they accidentally put them down in an uncomfortable position? did they forget whumpee's pain meds? did they-
"i'm so scared." whumpee whispered, so quietly that caretaker almost didn't hear them at first. "i'm scared, caretaker. i don't wanna go."
caretaker felt their heart shatter into a million pieces.
"whumpee..."
"why- why do i have to go? what did i do? i- i'm so young, i've barely even lived yet." they hiccupped, steadily increasing in volume. caretaker grabbed their hand, and they clung to it desperately.
"caretaker, i'm scared." they sobbed. "i don't wanna die."
caretaker almost knocked their chair over with how fast they stood up, rushing to whumpee's side and gathering them up in their arms, hugging them tightly and peppering kisses all over their face. they were crying too, they could feel it, but they were focused on comforting whumpee as they released all the fear and despair they'd been bottling up from the moment they'd been told their condition was terminal.
"i don't want you to die either." caretaker said. "it's not fair. you don't deserve this." they buried their face in whumpee's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of their shampoo. "why is the world so cruel?"
the pair just held each other and cried for what felt like forever, clinging and finally letting out everything they'd repressed for the past year.
"will you be with me? when... when it's time?" whumpee asked, sounding so, so small.
"of course." caretaker whispered, holding whumpee impossibly tighter. "i'll be right here. i'll never leave you."
"thank you." whumpee murmured. "i love you." they paused. "...i'll miss you."
caretaker let out a tear-filled, mirthless laugh. "i'll miss you too. so much."
"i'll wait for you." whumpee said, before leaning back to look caretaker in the eyes with a mock-serious expression. "but don't get there too quickly. then i'll be mad."
caretaker laughed for real that time. "of course, of course. i'll try to stay on schedule."
whumpee smiled, then suddenly started coughing.
"eugh, now i'm all mucus-y." they complained.
"we should probably go back inside and clean up." caretaker looked down. "you kinda got snot all over my shirt."
whumpee sniffed. "my bad."
"eh, whatever. i have more shirts." they unfolded whumpee's wheelchair from where they'd left it and moved their partner back into it, before pushing them back inside to get cleaned up, as promised.
their problems hadn't gone away, but they'd at least managed to let all their bottled feelings out, and their hearts felt a little lighter for it. whatever came next, they'd face it together.
#whump#dying whumpee#terminal illness#caretaker x whumpee#mine#i don't have much commentary for this one#yeehaw or smth idk
32 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you write something about the triplet saying their first word please ? (If you add an anecdote about Buggy's and Shanks first word *thank you Rayleigh* it would be marvelous)
I love Buggy's family sooo much 💕
So glad you love my little clown litter & their parents ! Here for you ! Sorry for Shanks & Buggy first word tho, didn't have anything in mind :(
Rory
Rory was the first one of the triplets to say a real word and not a non sense prattle.
His parents saw it coming... He was the most vocal / talkative of the three, and the one with the most social facilities.
So of course Buggy did everything he could in order to make him say "Daddy" or "Dad" or "Buggy" as his first word.
Everytime Rory started to babbling next to him, Buggy took him in his arms and talked to him in order to get this first word.
"Look at DADDY my sweet treasure don't you love your DAD your old dad BUGGY you love your old one BUGS don't you?"
One day Buggy was carrying Rory in his arms while shouting orders to the crew.
"Boss, does Reddie knows you took Rory at work ? - WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY NOSE ??!"
As he took a break, he started rocking Rory, sitting in a corner of the desk.
Suddenly, Rory looked at him with a smirk - which was a miracle, for god sake this kid never smile
He pointed his Dad's face and started to babble
Buggy looked at him with a very proud and impatient smile
"Yes ? Yes Rory ? Say it ! Who am I ?"
"NOSE !" Rory yell proudly pressing his index on the said appendice.
Skye
When she was a toddler, Skye loved making mimics and throwing raspberries. She was the first to laugh at Buggy's jokes, a real little clown just like her father. Both Reddie and Buggy thought her first words would be around mimicking a bad pun, or circus themed.
But as always with kids : it didn't go as they thought.
One day, Reddie & Buggy were busy giving a bath to the triplets.
It was always a very rough chore since the twins hated it.
Skye, in the other hand, seemed to love water. It was really hard to take her out of the bath once she was in.
This day in particular it was hard. Buggy was behind Reddie, trying to wipe off the twins with a warm towel.
Reddie, on the other hand, was trying to get Skye out of the bath.
But it was a particular day - to have some fun, the young parents put extra soap in the bath, quickly filling the bathroom with soap bubbles.
Skye was in the basin they used to wash the triplets, covered in foam, fidgeting, a bright smile on the face.
After an eternity, while Buggy was putting the boys in their pajamas - or at least was attempting to do so - Reddie finally managed to get Skye out of the bath.
As Reddie was wiping her daughter with a warm and soft towel, a single soap bubble, the last one, escaped from the basin and came to pop next to them.
"BUBBLE" Skye yelled before laughing in a joy outburst (honestly, it sounded more like "BUB")
Buggy and Reddie immediately stopped what they were doing to look at eachother.
"What did you say Skye ? What did you just say ? Did you just speak ?" Buggy asked, kneeling in front of his daughter with a manic grin on the face.
"BUBBLE BUBBLE BUBBLE" Skye continued to shout, laughing as hell.
Blaze
Despite being the first born of the lil clown family, Blaze was the last one to talk.
It worried Reddie a bit, since he didn't said his first word before being like, 2 years old.
Buggy however, wasn't concerned about this. Blaze compensated by being an early walker - which leaded to funny situations where Rory and Skye babbled together sitting on the ground while Blaze runned around them without a word.
It was a little before Buggy and Reddie short breakup, way before they discuss the kids safety.
Buggy anchored the Big Top on a random island for a few days. He didn't plan to make any plunder at first, but a group of drunken sailors came to tease him as he was taking some time with his crew on the docks.
Reddie and the kids were out in town for some groceries so he allowed himself to enter a good old fight like in the good old days.
After a few blade & chop chop exchanges, buggy pirates finally kicked their asses far away.
"AND NEVER COME BACK FUCKING BASTARDS" Buggy was lauging as hell, his signature grin on the face.
"Fucking bastard ! Fucking bastard !" a tiny, little, baby voice echoed behind him.
Buggy face collapsed.
He turned slowly, really slowly.
His wide opened eyes locked on Blaze who was running to him, proud of his first words. "FUCKING BASTARDS !" he yelled another time before hugging his father leg.
Buggy slowly raised his head to meet Reddie's eyes.
She was mad, mad, mad. Oh damn he was in trouble.
If her eyes were guns, he would have died at this moment.
Buggy swallowed in anguish, way more terrified now than he was in the previous fight.
#buggy simp#buggy the clown#captain buggy#buggy one piece#op buggy#buggy#buggy fanfiction#buggy x oc#redbombshipping#buggy x reddie#buggy kids#buggy triplets#buggy the daddy
41 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sapphickorro
aspiring barbie
witchjugs
Oof. WTF
instantpoliceland
Untitled
astrobhoomiblog
Untitled
turbanlli
Türbanlı sayfası Admin erkektir