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bamf-jaskier · 4 years

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Who the Fuck is Philippa Eilhart?

I don’t know if you’ve been following Witcher news lately but Philippa has just been cast!

Of course, many show-only fans might not be familiar with her character and game-only fans might not know how different her story is in the books, so I’m here to give a relatively brief overview of her plot line in the books. Warning: lots of book spoilers ahead as well as the standard graphic violence that is the norm in the books.

With that, Hi! I’m Aaliyah and this is Part 6 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subject from The Witcher books.

The first time we meet Philippa in Blood of Elves, she is an advisor to the King of Redania. Dandelion is brought before The Redanian Secret Service because they wish to know Geralt’s whereabouts.

Excerpt:

Dandilion glanced at the fourth person present at the meeting, who until then had remained silent. Philippa Eilhart must have only recently arrived in Oxenfurt, or was perhaps intending to leave at once, since she wore neither a dress nor her favourite black agate jewellery nor any sharp make-up.

She was wearing a man’s short jacket, leggings and high boots – a “field” outfit as the poet called it. The enchantress’s dark hair, usually loose and worn in a picturesque mess, was brushed smooth and tied back at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, raising her even eyebrows. “Dandilion’s right. We can spare ourselves the rhetoric and slick eloquence which leads nowhere when the matter at hand is so simple and trivial.”

Here are some of Dandelion’s thoughts on Philippa:

Dandilion divided women – including magicians – into very likeable, likeable, unlikeable and very unlikeable. The very likeable reacted to the proposition of being bedded with joyful acquiescence, the likeable with a happy smile. The unlikeable reacted unpredictably. The very unlikeable were counted by the troubadour to be those to whom the very thought of presenting such a proposition made his back go strangely cold and his knees shake.

Philippa Eilhart, although very attractive, was decidedly very unlikeable. Apart from that, Philippa Eilhart was an important figure in the Council of Wizards, and King Vizimir’s trusted court magician.

She was a very talented enchantress. Word had it that she was one of the few to have mastered the art of polymorphy. She looked thirty. In truth she was probably no less than three hundred years old.”

Then, Dandelion leaves to go back to Geralt and Philippa follows him in the form of an owl:

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

“Don’t be silly, Philippa,” said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Philippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

“Good evening,” she said coldly. “Introduce me, Dandilion.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.”

Geralt is trying to hunt down a wizard, Rience, who is trying to get Ciri. When Geralt is about to kill Rience, Philippa lets Rience portal away and Geralt, Shani and Dandelion are quite upset:

“Philippa!” shouted Dandilion, still holding the weeping Shani. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” said the witcher with some effort. “She’s quite sane. And knows perfectly well what she’s doing. She knew all along what she was doing. She took advantage of us. Betrayed us. Deceived—”

“Calm down,” repeated Philippa Eilhart. “You won’t understand and you don’t have to understand. I did what I had to do. And don’t call me a traitor. Because I did this precisely so as not to betray a cause which is greater than you can imagine.

A great and important cause, so important that minor matters have to be sacrificed for it without second thoughts, if faced with such a choice. Geralt, damn it, we’re nattering and you’re standing in a pool of blood. Calm down and let Shani and me take care of you.”

Of course, this is all a part of Philippa’s larger plan to hold a coup and gain political power. Vilgefortz hired Rience and if Geralt had found that out then Vilgefortz would be revealed as a traitor to the Brotherhood and Philippa couldn’t have that happening before her coup.

The next time we see Philippa is in Time of Contempt at the banquet on Thanedd Island. She talks to many of the guests, here is a short conversation between her and Geralt:

“There’s no caviar.’ (Geralt)

‘One moment.’ (Philippa)

She looked around quickly, waved a hand and mumbled a spell. The silver dish in the shape of a leaping fish immediately filled with the roe of the endangered shovelnose sturgeon. The Witcher smiled.

‘Can one eat one’s fill of an illusion?’

‘No. But snobbish tastes can be pleasantly titillated by it. Have a try.’

‘Hmm… Indeed… I’d say it’s tastier than the real thing…’

‘And it’s not at all fattening,’ said the enchantress proudly, squeezing lemon juice over a heaped teaspoon of caviar. ‘May I have another goblet of white wine?’

‘At your service. Philippa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m told etiquette precludes the use of spells here. Wouldn’t it be safer, then, to conjure up the illusion of the taste of caviar alone, without the caviar? Just the sensation? You’d surely be able to…’

‘Of course I would,’ said Philippa Eilhart, looking at him through her crystal goblet. ‘The construction of such a spell is easy as pie. But were you only to have the sensation of taste, you’d lose the pleasure the activity offers. The process, the accompanying ritual movements, the gestures, the conversation and eye contact which accompanies the process… I’ll entertain you with a witty comparison. Would you like that?’

‘Please do. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’d also be capable of conjuring the sensation of an orgasm.”

She is quite ruthless and cutting and while Geralt remains upset about Rience, Philippa, in true sorceress fashion, has already moved on. As well, she is explicitly queer in the books which I talk about here

Later, Geralt gets up in the night to go to the bathroom and stumbles upon Philippa attempting a coup. Triss temporarily blinds Geralt and Philippa and Tissaia exchange tense words. Philippa sends Geralt away with Dijkstra, offering him mercy despite him finding out about her coup.

However, Geralt gets away from Dijkstra and goes back to Thanedd where a full-battle is going on.

Turns out, Tissaia and Philippa’s fight cumulated in Tissaia releasing Vilgefortz and lowering the barrier as seen in this passage:

“They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another…’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other… The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed… And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out… We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed.”

Geralt then runs in Keira Metz who was thrown out a window and she explains that after Vilgefortz was released the Scoia’tael (Elven and Non-human fighters who are allied with Nilfgaard sort of) attacked:

“Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?”

“They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way—Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart… They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings… But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave… Geralt, it’s too painful… It’s my leg… Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!”

Later, there is a flashback to Philippa and Tissaia’s fight:

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour.

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves.

And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.”

Tissaia states, “That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted.

But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors–who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard–intend to create.

We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.”

I won’t go into detail for the sake of brevity, but Philippa ends up escaping Thanedd unharmed after her failed coup and we don’t see her again until Baptism of Fire when she is forming The Lodge.

Here is an excerpt of her pitch speech about The Lodge to the other mages:

Philippa Eilhart stood up, her dress rustling.

‘Distinguished sisters,’ she said. ‘Our situation is grave. Magic is under threat. The tragic events on Thanedd, to which my thoughts return with regret and reluctance, proved that the effects of hundreds of years of apparently peaceful cooperation could be laid waste in an instant, as self-interest and inflated ambitions came to the fore.

We now have discord, disorder, mutual hostility and mistrust. Events are beginning to get out of control. In order to regain control, in order to prevent a cataclysm happening, the helm of this storm-tossed ship must be grasped by strong hands.

Mistress Laux-Antille, Mistress Merigold, Mistress Metz and I have discussed the matter and we are in agreement. It is not enough to re-establish the Chapter and the Council, which were destroyed on Thanedd. In any case, there is no one left to rebuild the two institutions, no guarantee that should they be rebuilt they would not be infected with the disease that destroyed the previous ones.

An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it.

Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly. We took the decision to summon you here in order to hear your opinions on this matter. With this, I have finished.’

Then, later on in Baptism of Fire at the first official meeting of the Lodge Philippa discusses how she wants to make Ciri Queen of the North.

“Who, then, is to be this Queen of the North?’

‘A girl from a royal family,’ Philippa calmly replied, ‘in whose veins flows royal blood, the blood of several great dynasties. Very young and capable of producing offspring. A girl with exceptional magical and prophetic abilities, a carrier of the Elder Blood as the prophecies have heralded. A girl who will play her role with great aplomb without direction, prompt, sycophants or grey eminences, because that is what her destiny demands.

A girl, whose true abilities are and will be known only to us: Cirilla, daughter of Princess Pavetta of Cintra, the granddaughter of the Queen Calanthe called the Lioness of Cintra. The Elder Blood, the Icy Flame of the North, the Destroyer and Restorer, whose coming was prophesied centuries ago. Ciri of Cintra, the Queen of the North. And her blood, from which will be born the Queen of the World.”

After this, Yennefer, who was brought to the Lodge agains her will (although she is a member) escapes with Fringilla’s help in order to find Ciri and Philippa is furious.

The next time we see Philippa is in The Tower of the Swallows and it is when Yennefer is hunting down Vilgefortz and contacts Philippa for help:

Philippa stared at her from under lowered eyelids. “If you believe,” she said finally, “that you've won peace, time, or security with this declaration, then you've miscalculated. Make no mistake about it, Yennefer.

When you fled from Montecalvo, you made your decision. You chose to stand on a different side of the barricade. If you are not with the Lodge, you are against the Lodge. Now you're trying to forestall us from finding Ciri, and the motives that guide you are opposed to ours.

You act against us. You do not want to allow us to use Ciri for our political purposes. You shouldknow that we will also do everything in our power to make sure that you cannot use the girl for your sentimental purposes.”

“So, it’s war?”

“Competition.” Philippa smiled toxically. “Competition only, Yennefer.”

“Decent and honorable?”

“You must be joking.”

“Obviously. Though on at least one specific issue, I would like to have an honest and genuine conversation. And, incidentally, it involves a favor to me.”

“Speak.”

“Over the next few days, maybe even tomorrow, events will occur whose consequences I cannot foresee. It may happen that our competition and rivalry suddenly has no meaning. For the simple reason that one of the competitors will not be there anymore.”

Philippa Eilhart narrowed her blue-shaded eyes. “I understand.”

“Ensure that I posthumously gain back my reputation and good name. I will no longer be held for a traitor or an accomplice of Vilgefortz. I ask this of the Lodge. I ask this of you, personally.”

Philippa was silent for a moment.“I deny your request,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but your exoneration is not in the interest of the Lodge. If you die, you die a traitor. You'll be a traitor and criminal to Ciri, because then it will be easier to manipulate the girl.”

“Before you do something that could be fatal,” Triss said suddenly, “leave something behind for us…”

“A will?” Yennefer said.

“Something that allows us to… continue. To find Ciri. Because we are primarily concerned for her health! For her life! Yennefer, Dijkstra has found some traces of… some traces of certain activities have been found. If Vilgefortz does have Ciri, then the girl faces a horrible death.”

“Be quiet, Triss,” Philippa Eilhart hissed sharply. “We are not trading or bargaining.”

“I will leave you the information,” Yennefer said slowly. “I'll leave you the information on what I've found and what I plan. I’ll leave a trail you can follow to her. But not in vain. If you will not facilitate my exoneration in the eyes of the world, then to hell with you and with the world. But at least grant me exoneration in the eyes of the witcher.”

“No,” Philippa denied the request almost instantly. “That is also not in the interest of the Lodge. You will also remain a traitor and a mercenary sorceress to your witcher. It is not in the interest of the Lodge for him to furiously attempt to avenge you. If he despises you, he will not attempt to take revenge. By the way, he's probably already dead or will die any day now.”

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

I know this is a long scene, but it’s so important and isn’t one I felt right in slicing up. This establishes Triss’ true betrayal of Yennefer. Just prior to this, it is practically stated that Triss and Philippa slept together and despite Triss’ love for Yennefer her loyalty to Philippa is stronger in this moment which makes this hurt so much more. Philippa is also so cruel to Yennefer in this scene, denying both Geralt and Ciri the truth of her motivations as to better manipulate them. It really showcases how her lust for power overrides her empathy.

The final time we see Philippa is in Lady of the Lake when Ciri is brought before the Lodge. Here, Philippa describes what their plans are for Ciri:

“You are coming with me,” Lady Owl (Philippa) said, breaking the heavy silence, “and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us.

At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.”

Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “First of all you must impress prince Tancred. Because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.”

“If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,” Philippa continued after a long pause, “still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.”

Then Later:

“Your’s and Tancred’s child,” Philippa watched here with dark eyes, “will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.”

“On the island of Thanedd,” Ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, “you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl, and now you say that I am one of you.”

Then, the Lodge asks Ciri what her last name will be, Philippa and others offering theirs but Ciri declines in favor of choosing Yennefer’s:

“Thank you, Lady Philippa,” Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. “I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tancarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.”

Ciri requests to go and see Geralt and The Lodge votes on this and Philippa is the deciding vote. At first, she is hesitant but then Ciri shows her a vision and Philippa says this:

“This Lodge,” Philippa said at last in a firm voice, “is to decide the fate of the world. So, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason… And heart.”

“I,” she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, “cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.”

“Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicting the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

“That thing,” she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, “is destiny in which I, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope”

In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. From outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

“Lady Yennefer,” Ciri whispered. “It means…”

“Come, my daughter,” Yennefer whispered back. “Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.”

This is the last time we see Philippa, but based on what we hear at other parts of Lady of Lake, we know she does not have a happy ending. After this, the Witch Hunt begin, a period of time when the Clergy hunted and murdered sorceresses and destroyed their pictures and images. The Witcher Hunts themselves could be an entirely separate post there is so much there.

Many sorceresses, Philippa included as later considered Martyrs but she was killed viciously by the clergy as described in this passage from Lady of the Lake:

…As well as many of the other faithful, St. Philippa was also besmirched with betraying the Kingdom, inducing riots and plotting a coup. Willemer, a heretic and sectarian, unlawfully appointed himself the title of archpriest, and ordered St. Philippa to be thrown into a dark dungeon, and to plague her with cold and hunger, until she confessed to her sins of which she was accused and repented.

Also various instruments of torture were used to try and break her spirit. But St. Philippa with disdain, spit in his face and accused him of sodomy.

The heretic had her disrobed and whipped her with barbed wire and placed sharp splinters under her nails. While unceasingly preaching about his faith and denouncing the Goddess. But St. Philippa laughed at him and recommended to him to heal his sick mind.”

“Willemer then gave the order to have her taken to the rack and stretched, while tearing her body with sharp hooks and burning her with candles. Although thus tormented, St. Philippa showed no weakness in body and indeed her resistance and endurance seemed almost superhuman.

The executioner’s arms went limp and with fear they retreated from her. Then the filthy heretic, Willemer, began to threaten them and told them to continue the torment. They burned St. Philippa with red-hot irons, pulled her limbs out of their joints and pulled at her breasts with blacksmith tongs. And although she passed away from this torment, she confessed nothing.

The shameless heretic Willemer, we read in the books of our holy fathers, later suffered for this punishment and it was that lice and worms began to eat him alive, his entrails rotted away and he died miserably.

His carcass carried with it a foul stench and nobody wanted to bury him, and so he was dropped in a swamp.

For the suffering and death of St. Philippa the eternal memory of a martyr’s crown rightfully belongs. Let us give the Great Mother Goddess praise for her lessons and teachings. Amen.

The Life of St. Philippa, Martyr of Mons Calvus

The Book of Martyrs Compiled in the Breviary of Tretogor, For the

Contemplation of the Holy Fathers and Mothers.”

Needless to say, Philippa’s hunger for power and The Lodge end in ruin. There are very few happy endings in The Witcher and this is just another example.

So that’s my overview on Philippa! I had to cut some scenes and moments in the hope of keeping it short, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read. If you want another character/topic WTF post leave something in my inbox and I will get to it when I can.

#I tried to keep it as short as possible while still doing justice to the character and this is still so fucking long #Philippa is so goddamn ruthless #I love how people say that Yennefer's character int he show is like Philippa's because like...damn #Yennefer in the show is empathic and kind and sometimes too trusting and it just hurts #I am interested to see how they bring in Philippa considering how she wasn't in S1 #perhaps she was a student of Tissaia's from before Yennefer's time that she didn't want to talk about #or perhaps she was a student and Tissaia just didn't want to say anything #either way she's a very important character to the plot of the books #Philippa eilhart #the witcher #meta #The Witcher books #the tower of the swallow #lady of the lake #time of contempt #baptism of fire #blood of elves #the lodge #myposts #wtf series

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solinarimoon · 3 years

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Fields of Wildflowers, Chapter 4

Fields of Wildflowers - a Sihtric x OC story.

Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is pretty heavy. I really tried to work on having the dialogue along with the imagery of each scene flow well. Constructive, but respectful criticism is always welcome.

Warnings: Discussion of rape and trauma surrounding rape

Word Count: 2,749

If you would like to read the earlier chapters of this story, find them here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen sat still. Very still. Her eyes bearing down on Eadith across the flickering flames.

The faces around the fire were frozen as well, none knowing what next to say or how to handle such a shocking admission.

Cwen had not meant to allow her companions to know this secret pain she bore. But after being in such close proximity to Eardwulf’s sister, a constant reminder of his roaming hands and lingering bruises, Cwen’s nerves had been a coiled snake ready to strike. And then Sihtric… then Sihtric and his watching eyes. It had been a long time since she had felt seen. Truly seen. And he saw her.

Cwen’s face didn’t hold hostility. It didn’t hold anger or resentment.

There was pain. And loss.

After many moments of shocked silence, Finan spoke up asking “Cwen, are you saying…”

Eadith spoke over top of Finan’s words. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew what Cwen was saying her brother had done. And she knew her words held the truth.

“I didn’t know…” she spoke softly. Her words trailed off not knowing what else to say.

“Of course not,” Cwen sighed, finally dropping her gaze from Eadith’s face. She stared at her fingers twisting and tangling in the tie of her brocade.

After a heartbeat, she brought her eyes up once more to find Sihtric’s stare. His mouth was a firm set line and his jaw flexed as he met her gaze.

The fire reflected in his eyes mirrored the rage swelling in his heart, knowing that his suspicions had been right.

He saw the unshed tears brimming on Cwen’s eyes. He saw the panic set in on her face as she realized now that they knew. That he knew.

She spoke in a frenzied haste, “I am sorry… Excuse me,” and she rose with her cheeks burning red and the tears she had tried to hold back finally slipping down her face, “I am sorry…”

With that Cwen stepped past Young Uhtred, Stiorra, and Finan and walked away from the light of the fire.

Sihtric took a breath then began to rise but Uhtred placed his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Give her a moment,” he spoke quietly but firm.

“She has carried this weight alone,” he paused.

Uhtred stared into the flames. His memories bringing him back to the night Isuelt had rescued Hild from such a violation.

“And now she has bared her soul. Give her a moment.”

At this Uhtred turned to Sihtric, “but then go to her. I see your eyes watching her. And I see her smiles when she sees you watching. Be strong for her and be gentle with her.”

Uhtred shifted his gaze back to the fire and continued, “but first give her a moment alone.”

Sihtric nodded his understanding.

As he rose he said “I will, lord.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sihtric took his time finding her. She had walked back past the tree where the children slumbered. When he did find her, she was crouched down, knees up, and back resting against a large elm tree. Her cheeks were streaked and her eyes red and swollen.

But her tears had dried. She looked up as he approached. No words, no smile, no sigh, or grimace. Just a look.

Sihtric sat next to her, close but not touching her. He did not want to do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she might be already.

He sat with his legs crossed and watched the trees ahead of them. The breeze blew leaves up in small gusts and brought Cwen’s hair to drift across her face in gentle waves.

She brought her hand up and ran her finger behind her ear bringing the tendrils that had escaped her braid to rest out of her face.

They sat in gentle and soothing silence for a long time.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,”

But Sihtric cut her words off, “No, Cwen, you owe us nothing. Me nothing. Your pain is yours to share or not share with the world.”

Cwen turned her face just a fraction to be better able to see him. His face was still watching the trees. His jaw firm and his arms, resting on his knees were clearly tense.

My pain brought him this anger, Cwen realized.

“I simply wanted to sit with you if you wanted company.” He added while bringing his eyes to meet hers.

The truth was that Sihtric did want to see her pain. To help her heal or cope or come apart and be lost. He meant it when he told her it was her pain to share or not share, but he wanted to be there for her for any and all of it. He had never felt such a need come over him before. The need to be everything for this woman. He saw her in all her strength. And he knew even the strongest person could fall apart.

“Thank you, Sihtric.” Cwen didn’t know if she had ever meant those words more in her life.

The pair sat like that for a long while. Sihtric could feel Cwen’s body begin to relax and unwind next to him. He had so many questions and wanted to share her pain. But just as she did with him, he would not ask. If she wanted to share her past with him, he would let her do it on her own terms. His own childhood and past were not filled with joys. And he had plenty he had thought of sharing with her. But he still held back. He respected her entirely too much to not give her the same courtesy.

But he did watch her. While they sat in silence, he found his face turned to hers and watching as she breathed and returned to the same calm and gentle spirit with whom he had become completely captivated.

Eventually, Cwen lay her head back against the tree and let her knees fall to the ground.

She took another of her deep and calming breaths.

She takes those steadying breaths often, Sihtric pondered.

“Rape is not about sex.” She said quietly. And with a calm and firm voice.

“It is about exerting power. About control. And those are two things that Eardwulf craves yet does not possess.”

She looked at him. His face was watching her. Waiting for her to continue. Sihtric knew she needed to speak more. He could feel it in her, ready to breath it into the world.

“I have spoken of this to no one before tonight.” Cwen admitted, turning her face back towards the forest.

After several moments, Sihtric asked, “The Lady Aethelflaed does not know?” His words held no judgements. There is no blame laid upon her. He just wished to give her an avenue to talk if she so desired.

“No. No one.” She said again.

“I have had a lot of time to think on this. And at first I was ashamed and scared and in pain. Mostly scared. But the more I thought about him and the things he would say to me, the things he would...do to me…” Cwen paused and looked down at her hand again. She took a breath and continued.

“I was of two separate minds. One was that if I spoke about it then it would make it true. It would make it real. And I desperately wanted to believe it was not real. That this agony was not being forced upon me. And the second was to keep the power from him. If I spoke of it and allowed myself to try and find solace and comfort from a friend, it would be giving him even more power. Power over me outside of the moments when he was violating me. So I chose to bear the pain in silence. And find my own peace elsewhere.”

She finished speaking and kept her eyes trained on the trees ahead.

They sat together quiet and still. And the wind whispered through the leaves.

An owl cried somewhere in the distance.

Cwen dropped her head to look at the forest floor.

“I do not wish for pity. I am scared now that things will have changed. I will not be looked at the same. You will not look at me the same.”

Sihtric took his time in replying to Cwen’s fears. Gathered himself. He shifted his weight a bit and picked up a fallen leaf near his boot.

“I told you once that I abandoned my father to swear my loyalty to Uhtred.”

Cwen shifts her eyes to find his, but he is now the one staring off into the trees. Seeing images that are not really there.

“The truth is that my father abandoned the thought of me before I was ever born. Maybe there was never any feeling to abandon in the first place. My father was Kjartan the Cruel. A feared and infamous Dane. My mother was a kitchen slave in his hall. She, like you, was treated with no regard by a man who lived to exert power. As an object for his lusts and I was the result,” Sihtric paused and looked down to the leaf in his hand. There was nothing left but tatters after he had picked it apart.

“He tolerated my existence and when I grew he allowed me to train and be a warrior for him. And at one time, I wanted his approval. I put up with his abuses. The slaps and the name calling. And the way he continued to treat my mother. But I wanted for him to call me son. It was the misguided desire of a wayward bastard. I look back on that boy now, as a man and feel disgust that I ever wished for anything from Kjartan. Knowing that he abused my mother and countless others. I feel shame.”

Cwen reached out and grasped his hand to still his fingers still trying to find pieces of the leaf to tear. She interlaced her fingers with his and shifted her body to lay her head on his shoulder.

“A few months before I found Uhtred, Kjartan had my mother killed. He burned her alive.”

Cwen gasped and lifted her head to look at him. He had his eyes squinted. An effort to keep his tears at bay.

“ He claimed it was because she was found to be stealing food from the kitchens. It was true. She used to give it to the other bastards and orphans. The urchins of Dunholm. And he killed her for it. And my heart was broken. My mother was the only person in my life who showed me real and true love. I had been slowly losing my desire to be counted among Kjartan’s favored sons but that was like a knife to my heart. But I had to continue on as his whipped puppy if I was ever to find my escape. And I found that in Uhtred. Someone worthy of my oath.”

Cwen began, “Sihtric, I …”

But her words were cut off when Sihtric said “I do not tell you for your pity. I tell you this because we all have a past. And most of us in this group have a pretty bad one. The others’ stories are not mine to tell you. But trust me that there is pain behind them as well. And I also tell you because it is possible to share your pain and still be seen as strong. I will share your pain, if you desire.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes now. Faces merely inches apart.

“I do not pity you or find you weak, Cwen. I feel rage over what you have been forced to endure. We all have pain. But knowing that does not make me want to take yours away any less. And I will do all in my power to see you are never put in that pain or danger again. But know that this does not define you. You have not given him that power.”

With that final declaration, Sihtric brought his forehead to rest on Cwen’s own.

The pair rested like this. In each other’s solace until Cwen finally declared that she needed sleep and to check on the children.

They walked back to find the others nestled in the roots of the tree. All except Uhtred, on watch for the early part of the evening.

When he saw them approaching, Sihtric’s arm wrapped protectively around Cwen’s shoulders, he spoke.

“Are you alright, Lady?”

“No. But I will be, Lord. I am sorry to have caused..”

Uhtred raised his hand and gently hissed for her to be quiet. “Nothing to forgive. You spoke truths and shared your soul. We value that. And we value you. As I know Aethelflaed does. Rest now.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Cwen nestled herself between the sleeping children and exhausted from reliving and sharing such trauma, she was asleep within minutes.

Sihtric watched her for a while longer. He had meant all he had confessed to her. He would do anything in his power to keep her from harm. But he also knew all too well that sometimes harm came regardless of someone’s desires and efforts to avoid it.

It was this thought plaguing him as he drifted to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon waking in the morning, the group made ready for their departure.

“Where is Ealfwin?” Cwen asked when she realized the girl was not still laying under the tree as she had been moments before.

“She had wandered that way last I saw her,” Stiorra replied. “She was still in sight. But she must have just gone over that ridge.”

“We will find her, come on,” Finan said as the group spread out in the direction Stiorra had seen Ealfwin wander.

Uhtred found her. Along with the sleeping forms of Mercian soldiers. And Eardwulf.

Quickly and quietly, the warriors returned and found the others. Cwen wrapped Ealfwin in her arms as Sihtric rushed to her sidetaking her arm.

“Eardwulf is here. Ealfwin nearly walked right into them sleeping. We must run.”

And they did. They ran as their lives depended on it stopping only for short minutes to catch their breath and check on the children.

Ealfwin’s energy continued to fade. Her complexion grew paler and there was no denying that she felt warm to the touch.

Afternoon found them at a slow moving river bed. Here they stopped to properly rest.

Cwen sat cradling Ealfwin in her arms as Osferth and Eadith approached to offer the child some water and check on her well-being.

“Thank you. Both of you.” Cwen said while meeting Eadith’s stare.

“Osferth, will you sit with her a moment. I would like a word with Eadith.”

“Of course, Cwen.” Osferth replied.

The two ladies walked several paces down the riverbed, near to a slow trickling waterfall.

“I owe you an apology,” Eadith said with a start as Cwen slowed her pace to trim and look at her.

“You do not.” Cwen sated plainly and gently.

“It is not you who forced themselves on me. You are not your brother. And I am sorry that I have told you an ugly truth about him. But it is the truth.”

The two women looked at one another until Eadith turned her gaze to the water, “I know. I mean I did not know about this before last night. But I do know who he is. I am seeing him for who he really is more and more. And I know you speak truly. And I am still sorry. I did not rape you but I am sorry that you have been preyed upon. I am not unfamiliar with sexual coercion.”

Eadith turned her face back to Cwen.

“You are tired of being controlled.” Cwen echoed her Eadith’s own words back to her.

“Yes. And we deserve better.”

“You are right. And I believe we will find it.” Cwen stated.

In that small moment at the stream’s edge, the women found kindred spirits in one another. It was a welcome thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued….

Let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.

Tag List: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978

#The Last Kingdom #sihtric x oc #sihtric #Uhtred and his pretty boys

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fkahersweetness · 4 years

Text

Hannigram/HEU Hub Directory

THIS IS THE NEW DIRECTORY: hannigramheuhub.carrd.co

This old one will not be updated further. The Hub continues to grow! :D

Main Stories:

Come, Thou Almighty! [17 chapters / complete]

A pious young man is tasked with caring for God's only living son.

Little Animals [18 chapters / complete]

A twunk runs headfirst into his third-life crisis.

Prothalamion [20 chapters / complete]

A young omega is sent to Romania to be courted by an alpha. The young omega's twin brother is not having it.

Peachboy [19 chapters / complete]

The innocent affection between an alpha and an omega unearths the beastly nature of a quaint Southern town.

Commissions:

No Sinner Need Rise Up, Forgiven [complete]

Post-Housekeeping. Those left behind figure it out.

Don't Let Him See Me Like This [4 parts / complete]

A sex shop worker struggles with the intimacy of a new relationship.

Champagne [complete]

An omega meets an alpha who smells of persimmons.

The Sea Upside Down [complete]

A Subject disappears in the desert.

What Remains of Will Graham [complete]

Hunger is endured on a lonely mountainside.

Bad Seed [complete]

A teacher is confronted by a problem child.

Colonize the Night [complete]

An infant learns how to eat.

The Gimp in the Graveyard [complete]

A gifted student embraces his talents.

Georgette [complete]

An omega marries an alpha who no longer smells of persimmons.

A History Lesson [complete]

A freshman lusts after an enigmatic grad student.

Adam (All the Time) [complete]

An integration of worlds goes awry.

No Children [complete]

Post-Prothalamion. Two celebrations on two yachts.

Swept Away [complete]

A trip to Mexico goes awry.

Hyperpop Princess Panic!! [complete]

A man falls in love with a pop star.

We Will Be So Young [4 parts / complete]

Two men become entangled in each other's addictions.

Rides With Strangers [complete]

I-70 becomes a hotbed for life-changing journeys.

The Trouble With Strays [complete]

What turns man into man's best friend?

Bloodmoon Rising [complete]

A man becomes a slave to the night.

Big Timber [2 parts / complete]

An omega adjusts to new surroundings.

Traumabomb [complete]

Mads/Reader #1.

Summer's Child [complete]

An omega loses himself to the season.

666 Kill Chop Deluxe [2 parts / complete]

Two serial killers get to the root of the problem.

NOEL [complete]

A scoundrel enjoys a cozy Christmas Eve with friends.

Your Weight in Gold [complete]

Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.

1899 [complete]

Two men look into the wonders of a coming century.

Short Stories:

Yourself and People Like You [complete]

An online encounter takes a turn.

Fleeced [complete]

A roving nobody comes to town.

Robbery [complete]

Post-It Boy. A first date gets off to a rocky start.

Chant This Charm [4 parts / complete]

A forest-dweller considers a life partner.

Adam (You're Freaking Me Out) [complete]

A man tries to reclaim his self-worth.

Arrogance and Sewage [complete]

Mid-A Gifted Student. A young Muse blossoms.

The Will Graham Revenge Machine [4 parts / complete]

A man with no past and a boy with no future collide.

Love Spell [complete]

Relationship essentials are examined.

The Shepherd's Sweet Lot [complete]

Milder weather on Breidamerkurfjall brings change.

Secondhand [complete]

A beloved owl is mercilessly killed.

The Professional [complete]

A college student pursues his goals.

Modern Marvels [3 parts / complete]

Amazon remains an unreliable entity.

Extras:

Catboy Drawing Hour is held for everyone in and out of the Hub here, on Tuesdays at 7PM EST.

Robyn Reviews

my knee-jerk reviews of all HEU movies.

The Black Girl Snapped

a column of my most controversial and hilarious Hannibal the Show opinions.

#hannigram #hannigram fic #fkahersweetness

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cross-d-a · 4 years

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Morai appeared in the Clone Wars season finale and I’ve realized that she symbolizes Anakin’s connection to Ahsoka

As we’re all reeling from the Clone Wars finale, I’m struck by the lingering image of a convor circling above Vader as he holds Ahsoka’s lightsaber. Since the convor is so strongly linked with Ahsoka I can only guess that it’s actually Morai and that this is where she begins to guide Ahsoka personally.

I’m sure we’ve all read meta about Morai’s symbolism as the Light Side of the Force, more specifically the Daughter from the Mortis Arc (especially since they share the same colour scheme). After Anakin helps the Daughter transfer her lifeforce to Ahsoka, the convorees begin to appear whenever Ahsoka is being tested. Filoni has even said:

"In some ways, I could say that it's a messenger, it's an observer. It is definitely something. And... I would rather have fans debate—but I would suggest... that whatever that thing is an avatar of has actually appeared in the animated Star Wars universe before. So decrypt from there."

This symbolism continues throughout Rebels where Ahsoka calls Morai by name, actually acquainted with the bird. Morai even leads Kanan to the Bendu when he was in need of guidance.

Ahsoka is intrinsically tied to the convor and through it, the Light Side of the Force. This lingering scene at the end of Victory and Death is absolutely so important, helping tie in the episode, and Vader as we see him, to the rest of the Star Wars universe.

Vader finds the 501st ship at last. We don’t know how long it’s been, how can we? All we know is that snow has covered the ruins and the carefully dug graves. We don’t even know if the troopers with him are clones or normal men. Silent and alone, Vader steps into the ruins. Eventually he stops and observes the wreckage, only to notice a glint in the snow. He bends his knee and reaches down. Almost gently, he brushes the snow away and discovers:

Ahsoka’s lightsaber.

He cradles it in his hand, brushing the snow away again with the other. Then, inexplicably, he flicks it on and we see Vader wielding a blue lightsaber for the very last time onscreen. Who knows why he turned it on. Maybe he couldn’t quite believe it was Ahsoka’s and that she’d lost it once more. Maybe he was testing to see if it still worked or if the colour was still that brilliant blue he tweaked it into.

Maybe it was one last goodbye.

But his gaze follows the point of her ‘sabre and when he reaches the end he sees Morai, soaring high above. He watches her for a long moment and this is when we see his eyes. Darth Vader’s eyes.

Anakin’s.

It doesn’t matter whether they’re blue or a sick-sulfur gold. All that matters is that we see them. We’ve never seen Vader’s eyes through his mask. In this one little moment, in Ahsoka’s lingering presence, we see Anakin Skywalker again.

It’s a clear parallel to Twilight of the Apprentice when Ahsoka destroys the side of his mask with her ‘sabre and Anakin leaks through.

Vader leaves and takes the ‘sabre with him.

It’s so, so obviously clear that he still loves Ahsoka in this moment. That Ahsoka still brings out the good in him. That this is, awfully, their final goodbye as they knew each other.

We always read about how Ahsoka and the convor are linked and how it’s really Ahsoka and the Light Side of the Force that’s linked. But I don’t think we’ve ever really seen anything about how Anakin is linked to the convor and Ahsoka.

The thing is, I think the convor also represents the link between Anakin and Ahsoka.

During the Mortis Arc, Ahsoka essentially dies. The Son kills her, inadvertently mortally wounding his own sister in the process. As the Father grieves, Anakin rushes over to Ahsoka and pleads with the Father.

“You must help her!” Anakin says.

But the Father only replies: “I cannot undo what is done. There is no hope.”

Despite dealing with his own trauma and insecurity and then, of course, eventually Falling to the Dark Side, Anakin has always been a hopeful person. We see this from the very first time we see him: a bright and cheerful slave who only wants to help others.

So of course Anakin pleads again: “Yes, there is. There’s always hope!”

Through his hope and conviction, Anakin convinces the Father to help, and so Anakin becomes the conduit through which the Daughter’s lifeforce is transferred to Ahsoka. As this happens, the main Star Wars theme rises.

This is so incredibly essential to the Star Wars universe, which has always, always been about hope.

Obi-Wan and Bail sequestered the twins away because of hope. The Rebellion rose and thrived and eventually won because of hope.

Luke saved his father because of hope.

Every single goddamn movie is about hope and the perseverance it takes to continue on, one step at a time, no matter how hard it gets.

The Star Wars movies have also always been about Anakin Skywalker. He’s the overarching shadow and the brilliant light in every single one, whether he’s actually in it or not. It’s called the Skywalker Saga for a reason. The only reason Star Wars exists is because of him. He is both villain and hero. He leaves behind a legacy that we can’t shake.

Luke saved his father, but only because Anakin had that little bit of light left in him. That little bit of lingering hope.

And we see it in the finale, in those few moments where Anakin holds Ahsoka’s lightsaber and she points him towards the Light, towards Morai. And we see him for who he is, who he was, and who he will become.

Anakin Skywalker has always been about hope, and because of that Ahsoka survives Mortis. Because of him, she survives everything that killed all the prequel Jedi. She survives the entire original trilogy.

Right after the Mortis Arc, Ahsoka gets kidnapped. It’s the first time she’s ever really been alone and forced to fight to survive. But she manages it, despite the other Padawans on the island giving up or succumbing to their fate. Again, out of everyone, Ahsoka survives. This is also the first time we see the convorees.

During this arc, Anakin is left alone, as well. Fearful and lost, he worries for Ahsoka, but Plo, the Master who found Ahsoka in the first place, guides him.

“What is Ahsoka’s strength?” Plo asks him.

“She is fearless,” Anakin replies.

“That can also be a weakness. Is she a worthy apprentice?”

“No one has her kind of determination.”

“Except you.”

“I’ll find her.”

“This may not be within your power.”

“Whatever you’re trying to say Master Plo, just say it!”

“I am suggesting that perhaps if you have trained her well, she’ll take care of herself and find a way back to you.”

This, again, is so, so important. “Except you,” Plo says. No one has Ahsoka’s determination except for Anakin. No one has her hope except for him. Ahsoka was already a wonderful, resilient person, but Anakin brought it out in her. He taught her, guided her, and now those lessons must guide her as she faces the world alone. This is only reiterated when Anakin and Ahsoka reunite.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry,” Anakin tells her, clearly very upset.

“For what?”

“For letting you go, for letting you get taken. It was my fault.”

“No, Master, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve tried harder. I…”

“You already did everything you could, everything you had to do. When I was out there, alone, all I had was your training and the lessons you taught me. And because of you, I did survive. And not only that, I was able to lead others to survive as well.”

This is, of course, a recurring theme throughout the Clone Wars and Rebels. Ahsoka perseveres and survives. She saves and guides people in kind. Ahsoka will always be Anakin’s Padawan, his legacy. She embodies all his best qualities, including, of course, his ever-lingering hope.

And that is one of the reasons why Ahsoka is so important: Anakin’s goodness lives on within her. Of course she is her own person, I wouldn’t love her as much as I do if she wasn’t, but being Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan shaped her into the woman we know today.

“You never would have made it as Obi-Wan’s Padawan,” Anakin told her in that very first movie so many years ago. “But you might make it as mine.”

That has never been more true.

If Ahsoka had been Obi-Wan’s Padawan, she’d be dead along with the rest of the Order. If she’d been Obi-Wan’s Padawan, yes she’d be skilled, and yes she would have learned to persevere throughout hardship— But there’s a certain passion for life and hope in Anakin that Obi-Wan simply doesn’t possess.

Ahsoka inherited that from him.

So now we circle back to the convor.

In various cultures owls represent death and wisdom. Filoni has even confirmed that in the Star Wars universe, it is the same. This isn't surprising when Anakin and Ahsoka are constantly facing off death and rising above it, becoming wiser because of it. And, horribly, I'm reminded that this finale is the death of them. They cannot be who they once were, and they cannot be to each other who they once were.

But owls can also represent luck and good fortune.

“Master Kenobi always said there’s no such thing as luck.”

“Good thing I taught you otherwise.”

All throughout her life, Anakin’s lessons and influence guide her, and after the Mortis Arc in moments of great struggle: a convor appears.

What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that the convor not only symbolizes the Light Side of the Force. It also symbolizes Anakin Skywalker.

And maybe that’s because Anakin Skywalker does embody the Light Side of the Force. Despite everything he goes through and everything he does, Anakin Skywalker clutches onto that bit of hope and comes back to the Light. He brings Balance to the Force.

The convor lingers above Anakin at the end of the Clone Wars after Ahsoka has survived despite the odds. It appears again after their duel in Twilight of the Apprentice. Morai watches Anakin limp out of the Temple, and then returns to Ahsoka after guiding her back from the World Between Worlds.

After guiding her back to Anakin.

“I am suggesting that perhaps if you have trained her well, she’ll take care of herself and find a way back to you,” Plo told Anakin that first time Ahsoka was lost. And he’s right. Ahsoka does find her way back. Again and again and again.

She loves him. He’s her brother and he taught her everything he knew, and she survives because of it. Ahsoka won’t ever let that bit of Anakin go. She won’t ever lose sight of the good in him, or in anyone else.

“I won’t leave you,” she promises him. “Not this time.”

It’s more a promise of hope than anything else. A declaration of loyalty and determination and love. She still believes in him, and she wants, no needs him to know that.

So yes, we talk a lot about how the Daughter and Ahsoka are connected through the convor, but we never talk about how Anakin was that conduit in the first place. The Light and life flowed through him into Ahsoka and so she survived.

As she continues to.

And maybe the ending of the Clone Wars was unbearably heartbreaking. And maybe it’s still making me cry as I write this, but we know how this story ends, and we’re reminded when Anakin, not Vader, looks up into the sky, Ahsoka’s lightsaber in hand and watches Morai circle above.

Star Wars is about hope. It always has been. Despite everything they’ve gone through, there is hope for Anakin Skywalker. And there is hope for Ahsoka Tano, too.

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dewitty1 · 4 years

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Fic Recs Wrap Up - September 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along. As Draco reckons with his ex-wife's infidelity and questions about his own sexuality, he finds himself going to an openly gay Potter for guidance. As their friendship deepens, Draco realizes that there is quite a lot that Potter can teach him. And that he is surprisingly ready to learn. Rec Post

And an Owl Named Romeo by Rickey

Draco breeds owls, Harry's an Auror, and an owl named Romeo is going to bring them together. Rec Post

Owned by JordanGrant

The Malfoys have always been owned by the Potters. Strange? Yes. But true, and coming true again. Harry finds himself with no alternative but to claim Draco for his very own slave. Rec Post

Forgive Those Who Trespass by Lomonaaeren

Harry Potter was convinced he had an ordinary, if inconvenient, life. Then Ron and Hermione vanished in the Department of Mysteries. And the only person who may know where they are is a mute Draco Malfoy. Rec Post

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound @firethesound

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on. Rec Post, Art post by @kuroostatic Art Post by @creeeee

Ligabus Filium by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley) @tessacrowley

It should be careful, deliberate, but it isn't. Like every other part of their relationship, it happens gradually and then all at once, before they even realize it. And when the little blue threads bind them together, there's no going back. Rec Post

He's got fire for a heart, and I'm scared of burning by Samcgrath

Harry returns to England to help solve a particularly tricky case but nobody bothered to mention that he'd be working with Malfoy, who seems just as happy about it as Harry. In his absence, the wizarding world has changed in ways Harry's having some trouble adjusting to while Malfoy struts around in his elegant robes and effortlessly charms everyone he lays eyes on. Months of grappling with his own feelings, trying to understand Draco's, pining day in and day out - it can get a little tiring especially when Draco Malfoy is as infuriating as ever. Rec Post

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren

Not even his own fame and power are enough to get the Wizengamot to pass laws protecting Muggleborn and orphaned children, so Harry swallows his pride and goes to Draco Malfoy, who can teach him how to convince the prejudiced old bastards to listen to him. And Malfoy hasn’t even named a price. Which…concerns Harry, but he’s found a cause worth living for. And maybe someone, too. Rec Post

Malfoy Flavor by Vorabiza (Biza)

Harry’s ready to banish the Golden Boy image and take charge of his life. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately, there are surprises in store for him. Rec Post

(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡ Have a look at these other fics I think you might enjoy -

A Gift for Draco by SquadOfCats @norelationtoatticus

Though their new relationship is going well, both Harry and Draco have trouble communicating and are holding back from taking things to the next level--emotionally and sexually. When Harry decides he is ready for more, he stumbles over how to start the conversation, but figures out a plan with the help of his friends. He comes up with the perfect Valentine's Day gift to show Draco trust, commitment, and desire: sexy pictures of his naked arse. Thankfully, Pansy Parkinson has a camera and is willing to help... Rec Post 1, 2

Another Heart Whispers Back by slytherco @slytherco

At twenty-five, Harry Potter is still a virgin and sorely lacking in options to change that state anytime soon. To help him find a plus one for Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and maybe kill two birds with one stone, Harry’s friends set him up on a series of blind dates. The only problem is, there’s something not quite right with each of their candidates.

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.” ― Plato

In which Harry learns that some things are worth waiting for, that looking and seeing are two very different things, and that his heart’s song has been heard a long time ago. Fic Claim

The Ferret's Nest by loveglowsinthedark @l0vegl0wsinthedark

Harry has a ferret and a whole lot of tattoos. Unfortunately, it's only one of these things Draco approves of. Art post by @rainsoakedhello

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Lubido Mendax by Anonymous (for @hd-hurtfest)

When Harry is hit by an old and alarming sex curse while on a job with Malfoy, he’s faced with an agonising decision. But it turns out that curing the curse was easy compared to everything that came next.

The Four Doors by fluxweed @fluxweeed

It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy.

(❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!

As always, thank you so much for following, reading, and reblogging! Your support means so much to me!

I’ve already started posting October recs!

xoxo Carey ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

#fic recs #Drarry fic recs #drarry #drarry squad #drarry fanfiction #fic recs wrap ups #Harry potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry smut #Drarry angst #Drarry eighth Year #Carey's bookmarkfic recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks

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sleepylixie · 4 years

Text

The Twilight Renegade- Spellcaster! Lee Know

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: As fantasy as it can get!

Beware of violence(a mild dose of it), mentions of an unhealthy household. Minho is a tricky lil shit and I loved writing him-

A/N: THIS FIC DOES NOT REFLECT THE CHARACTER OR LIKENESS OF THE REAL LEE KNOW IN ANY FORM OR MANNER. ONTO THE FIC!! I enjoyed writing this wayyy too much 💀😂😂 The idea of having Minho be a dark wizard was so appealing for reasons i am yet to comprehend. ANYWAYS. ENJOY!!

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

The Twilight Renegade.His name is passed from ear-to-ear in hushed whispers, his story told at children’s bedsides, the bard’s bonfires and old wives’ kitchens.

There’s so much known about the legendary dark wizard and yet, his existence remained shrouded in a cloak of mystery.

Where did he come from? Was he mortal? Did he sell his soul to the Devil?

It was said that the Twilight Renegade travelled the world cloaked and under disguise, sometimes not as a human, providing justice and retribution to those who couldn’t find it for themselves.

Where the Renegade came a- knockin’, treachery went a-runnin’, chorused the old song that every travelling musician worth his salt knew the words from memory.

Some said he was a poor orphan who died and was reincarnated by a magician hunting for a protegee.

Some claim to have known him as a child, a strange little boy who grew up with blood on his hands and bones in his pocket, he was always a strange one until he ran away from his family to never be seen again.

Some swear up and down to have seen his true face, singing praises of beautiful eyes and seductive lips like a maiden but a dead smile that betrayed his true nature.

If only they knew his true nature.

Said Twilight Renegade went by the name Lee Minho when he was off the job and was nothing more than a cat parent with a penchant for goodwill trickery.

In the spring days, a smiling young man wandered the marketplace with fresh game, bartering pleasantly with the baker and the butcher, greeting the maidens with a wink as they cooed at the 3 cats frolicking at his feet.

Of course, it was all a pretense-

the maidens only ever had eyes for Minho’s angular jawline and his sharp nose, his strong shoulders and lean yet built frame

sigh

He was an oddity, the sweetheart of the village.

Lee Minho lived in the corner of the village by himself for around 1/3rd of the year, then leaving on work trips the very day autumn begins to set in

He only reappeared again the morning summer awakens in their village, after almost 10 months away.

He’d bring back exotic spices for the old wives, pretty gemstones for the little girls and daggers for the little boys-

he was generous, the sweetheart of the village.

He’d always laugh away the questions thrown at him about his work trips, surrounded by hot-blooded young men in the crowded bar.

“Nothing interesting, I promise you,” He’d smile his mystery smile, tipping back his beer. “A lot of trading and a lot of travelling. You meet a lot of new people. That’s pretty much it.”

He was mysterious, the sweetheart of the village.

Little did those hot-blooded young men know how truthful, yet false his words were.

Lee Minho was a 400 year old dark magician, born into a small home of supernatural oddities.

His father was the last dark magician of a lost cult, his mother a necromancer from a family of elementalists.

He grew up with a rocky childhood, a shattered home where fights between a power-drunk father and alcoholic mother raged more often than not.

They had nowhere to go but home, they told Minho every night, for they had no family left but each other, and of course, him.

This young boy with lilac eyes and a penchant for spell-casting grew up more in the wilderness than in his own home, finding the crickets and owls safer than breaking glass and raging screams.

He found himself a love for animals-particularly of the feline type, cooing at the kittens in the ditch and unabashedly playing tag with the panthers over no-moon nights.

Minho’s parents were united in one front, however; they knew they had to leave their son with all the magical knowledge they’d ever gained over their years.

So Minho became his parents’ apprentice-He learnt to harness dark energy, to reanimate cat skulls and then cat skeletons, to bind the shadows to his bidding, to build incantations that would suck out his enemy’s power,to read minds, break minds

The more Minho’s power grew, the darker his eyes got- by the time he was 20, his eyes were bordering a deep royal purple.

He was his father’s pride and his mother’s joy, the apple of their eyes despite the hate they harbored for each other. He could almost believe that they were a normal family if he spent as long as he could out of the house with his feline (dead and alive) friends.

It was on one such night that he made his way back home just before sunrise, only to scramble back into the bushes and watch in terror as a battalion of humans tore his house apart with pitchforks and fire,

Drag his mother out by the hair, chanting WITCH. WITCH. WITCH. WITCH.

Watch his father be overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of mortal weaponry, succumb to age and fall, broken and very, very dead, from the way his head hung off his shoulders

Watch his mother burnt alive in front of his house’s doorstep, left to die with her husband.

And felt something crack inside him.

There were limits even a necromancer couldn’t cross, even after the loss of their loved ones.

Minho was distraught, understandably so. Having to watch his only family be butchered by a senseless mob had him bristling in a mix of emotions he couldn't differentiate.

He stayed in the woods with the owls, crickets and assorted felines, hunting game and satiating his human hungers.

He wished he wasn't human anymore. He wished he didn't have to be associated to a race of people that killed and let kill without a second thought, under the name of humanity.

Weren't his parents human too?

It was that exact thought that had him pulling together all of the magic running in his veins and perform his possibly last, potentially dangerous spell-

Nobody knows what happened in the Twilight Woods that night, but nobody would forget the raucous screaming that emanated from there for hours, like a young boy's screams of pain

And nobody would forget the piles upon piles of bones that laid at the edge of the woods

Human bones.

Every pitchfork wielder who had turned up at the witch family's house to burn the inhabitants were reported missing that very day.

Turns out Lee Minho had a skill other than feline whispering and spell-casting: he had an uncanny knack for staying alive

That final spell he cast in Twilight Woods was an incredibly dangerous spell that involved sucking out surrounding life forces- enough to make the caster virtually immortal

And of course he chose the people in the mob, not the sweet animals in the woods.

His new immortal status gave Minho a purpose in life.

He decided he was going to rid the world of all the lowlife scumbags that felt privileged and entitled to things and people who didn't belong to them.

Word travelled fast, even in thise times, of a dark wave that swept out from Twilight woods into the surrounding towns in a matter of months

Woman abusers and rapists found without genitalia, slave traders dead of uncurable disease

Cheating nobility hung by their coattails in town squares for their victims' amusement, their rightful money returned to them

The dark wave had a sense of humor.

When one of the stragglers of the dark wave swore that the dark wave was a person, a man, dressed in twilight purple and a dangerous smile

Townsfolk took to calling him the The Twilight Renegade

Minho took the name to heart, for what was he if not a newly immortal spell caster with a sense for the dramatic

He wore purple all the time, a mockery of the colour scheming nobility claimed for themselves

What a nice twist of irony would it be, to have your fate decided by a lowborn magical spellcaster who wore the colour of luxury better than they?

Everybody knows the story of the magical Robin Hood who came from questionable origins, but lived life with a love for trickery, feline companions and an unflinching sense of good.

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countessofbiscuit · 4 years

Note

What are your Bobasoka headcanons? I've already gone through all of the (criminally little) fic on ao3 and I especially loved Smothered and Covered, and I saw the majority of the fics in the tag were gifted to you so I'm assuming you're the OG shipper. Feel free to essay if you like!!

Thanks for the ask and kind words about that fic :3

Oh, Bobasoka … where to begin? It’s a pairing that’s been bumping around in exchange requests for a few years — I figure it’d be easy for anyone invested in Ahsoka’s relationship with the clones to be compelled by the idea. Lledra used to draw Boba and Ahsoka interacting, and it was probably a few panels of their incredible Destinies comic that set my Bobasoka wheels turning. I’m also drawn to them because their journeys traverse so much canon; there’s not just a sandbox to play in, but a whole goddamn stretch of beach, stretching far out into the horizon ... (#AhsokaLives #BobaSurvived :D)

I have to lead with the proviso that almost everything I write/daydream about/headcanon has a groundsheet of Rexsoka. Ahsoka’s interest in Boba, in my head, is intimately tied up with her attraction to and/or relationship with Rex — or, at the bare minimum, her intimate fellowship with the clones. She went through puberty (maybe with heats!) surrounded by a literal army of handsome, roughly college-aged dudes; that must’ve been a heady mix of heaven and hell. If she didn’t quench her thirst before war’s end and her (eventual) separation from Rex, she’d probably be pretty dehydrated when stumbling across Boba. As for Boba’s attraction to Ahsoka, well ... she’s very pretty, she’s potentially useful, she’s not likely to skewer him in his sleep (+2) on account of being a Jedi (-1), and now she’s the one down on her luck; if he falls in bed with anyone, why not this girl who isn’t afraid of him and stares a lot at his lips?

And Boba is like a hot shipping potato — satisfying, hard to fuck up, goes well (read: makes for an intriguing story) with almost everyone. And I think it has everything to do with his liminality, something he shares with Ahsoka and probably recognizes.

Their neither-this-nor-that-ness overlap in such interesting ways, and they each bring their identity issues to the table — Ahsoka as an on-again, off-again Jedi; Boba as a clone who isn’t a Clone™, a Mandalorian by birth and bearing, but not by the book. At different points in their stories, they identify as different things, and that would affect their headspace and color their view of the other. They wrestle with themselves and each other. Force-user and bounty hunter; privileged topsider and orphaned juvenile delinquent fugitive; GAR commander and outcast clone; Jedi and Mandalorian; Disillusioned veteran and disaffected army brat; Rebellion agent and Imperial contractor.

And as much conflict is baked into these dynamics, it also generates a certain magnetism; and I believe they recognize, on some level, their shared trauma and the symmetry in their experiences. Boba and Ahsoka both have happy childhoods with very little to distress or vex them (beyond the art, I do not jive with Age of Republic: Jango Fett, a Disney-canon comic that not only doubles-down on the Jango-wasn’t-Mando nonsense, but shows him being rather cavalier about Boba’s life); Geonosis happens and their adolescent lives are dominated by war (which is how they came to actively threaten each other as space!secondary-schoolers — whaaaaatf!); they are both dubiously (even wrongfully) imprisoned; and they both suffer alienation and incredible personal loss.

Boba was set apart from the clones before he was even pulled him from the jar, othered and elevated from the beginning. He never bonded with brothers, he does not identify as a clone. And while there are examples of clones making overtures to him, canonically his relationship with them is fraught and probably made worse when he gets banged up in Republic Central at the tender age of eleven or twelve — and of course, Ahsoka is an accessory to this, the second chapter in his tragedy at the hands of the Jedi. He needed help (whether he wanted it or not), it was not given by clones or Jedi alike (hamstrung by bureaucracy, sure, but surely some other means of intervention might have been lobbied for?), and Boba becomes a right teenage disaster, well-balanced only in the sense that he has a chip on both shoulders.

(n.b. Putting my RepComm hat on for a second, I can’t help but sniffle-laugh at the idea that the Alphas watched him get thrown in a maximum-security slammer and were like “Ah, there he is, the feral vod’ika. First time, we’ll let the little snot earn his stripes. Second time, we’ll bust him out and send him on a tough love retreat with A’den or Jaing.”)

Ahsoka, meanwhile, is part-and-parcel of the institutions that Boba sets himself against, even after she too has been cast out by circumstances beyond her control. She grows up in a supportive Jedi community and then spends some seriously formative years with a whole slew of brothers — brothers that should have been Boba’s!

Boba, on the other hand, is a great example of the proverb that a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. (As he tells Hondo, “Why should I help anybody? I’ve got no one.”)

The resentment that must create! But also, later, the quiet empathy too — maybe when Boba’s having one of his better days and Ahsoka’s obviously not.

And all of the above is interesting enough, without also touching upon the wildcard that is Mandalore.

Boba’s relationship with Mandalore .... well, that’s contested in- and out-of-universe and I won’t allow myself to essay overmuch. I subscribe firmly to a Mandalorian Fetts construction of canon, even though Boba must be someone who struggles mightily with Mandalorian identity. He’s raised by a bona fide Mando, a solicitous, loving father who’d have no reason not to pass on his language and beliefs; but at the same time, it takes that village, and when Boba’s clan of two is shattered, he has no one else. The loss of his dad unmoors him from his only anchor to Mandalorian culture and clan.

If Boba had been close to the Cuy’val Dar, one would think he’d have turned to them rather than fall in with Jango’s criminal acquaintances; or maybe the bounty hunters just scooped him up first, and troubled lil’ Boba was shepherded through bereavement by folks who enabled and encouraged him to externalize his anger in a way that gave him a (false) feeling of agency and strength.

Whatever the reasons, Boba does not repatriate himself to Mandalore (much to Fenn Shysa’s melodramatic dismay). He strikes me as a lapsed Mandalorian; he doesn’t exactly follow the creed besides wearing the armor (scavenged? his dad’s sans helmet? canon is confused on this point, but he doesn’t go Mando until the unfinished arcs at the end of TCW, either for lack of stature, lack of armor, or lack of enthusiasm). I feel like if someone rocked up to Boba in a cantina and had the balls to ask “hey, so you a Mandalorian?” Boba would be like “<ominously slow helmet tilt> who’s asking” and never give you a straight answer.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka gets a crash course on Mandalore from none other than someone who, at one point, belonged to a sect that wanted to expunge Jaster’s legacy from the galaxy — and at the very least, had reason to dislike clones. This isn’t the place to explore my Boba/Bo-Katan feelings, but know that they are fathomless, and I would pay good money to be a fly on the wall of that Kom’rk when Bo-Katan gives Ahsoka Mando History 101 with her own special sauce. Ahsoka is probably more up-to-speed on Mandalore than Boba, and at one point, she may even own more beskar than him! (n.b. After the crash, I think one of the first places Rex and Ahsoka bounce is just inside Mando space, to scope out the Sundari situation and maybe try to scramble a signal to Bo-Katan; she’d have the goodwill to at least get them back on their feet if she can’t help them lay low herself. For a variety of reasons worth maybe ficcing down the line, they aren’t successful.)

I don’t really have a concluding statement except, I just think Bobasoka’s neat :) They hit all my depressed-Millennial buttons.

Headcanon by bullet-point isn’t really my style, but this is tumblr so ... tl;dr:

They recognize a lot in each other, even if they’re slow to admit it, if ever. Boba’s a cagey bastard and Ahsoka doesn’t ever like him enough to be emotionally honest.

They bump into each other during Ahsoka’s walkabout(s) ‘cause Coruscant’s Underworld ain’t big enough for the two of them. Without Slave-1, Boba couchsurfs at Nyx Okami’s garage, but he does his laundry at Rafa’s. He might even borrow the Martez’s new, useful friend for a job or two.

Ahsoka eventually matures enough to be sensitive about her use of the Force on and around clones, and she definitely doesn’t use it around Boba. Definitely not during sex.

Boba is privately weirded out every time Ahsoka uses Mando slang she picked up off the clones or the Nite Owls.

Boba absolutely kills Cad Bane in that shoot-out, keeps the hat, and lets Ahsoka have it. She shoves it out the airlock and uses it for target practice.

So many great smut flavours! Hatesex. Acquaintances with benefits. “You’re traumatized and touch-starved and you look just like him/them, and I know how to be gentle and what to do, so maybe we could … ?” They’re both privately comfortable with their bodies and sexuality, but Boba’s got trust issues a parsec long and Ahsoka’s lost confidence; it’s always an awkward affair, but desperation wins out.

They exchange comm codes every time they run into each other, which is kind of pointless because they both use burners.

Ahsoka hitches a ride on Slave-1 more than once. There really is only one bed, so it’s either sleep upright, sleep in a pokey prisoner hold, or sleep with him.

For a few years, Boba can pass as a last-generation clone — the ones that got sold off in bulk units to slavers before Kamino sunk another three years’ food, board, and training into them. Boba pretends he doesn’t notice, easy to really, since he tells himself his helmet is his face. But occasionally, when Ahsoka can convince him there’s profit in it, he agrees to play sleeper agent and assists in liberating a few here and there.

They don’t talk about Aurra Sing.

When an Imp really crosses him, Boba passes on intel to Ahsoka to ruin their day.

Once, when they’re both super skint, Ahsoka volunteers to get handed in to some relatively minor and out-of-the-way Imperial garrison, so Boba can collect, bust her out, and split the pot with her. It’s the closest she ever comes to telling him “I trust you” — and when he brushes the idea aside, citing something about risk, it’s the closest he ever comes to telling her “I love you.”

Boba sees Inquisitors as muscling in on his game. There are so many lousy Force-users around nowadays, it should be easy pickings, but Inquisitors get privileged information. So he makes sport out of misdirecting them, especially from Ahsoka.

When he pisses her off, Ahsoka fantasizes about Bo-Katan taking Boba down a peg or two while she watches :)))

Boba experienced Ahsoka’s heat once, secondhand through a cabin wall. He thought he was being clever by shooting Rex up with some Nevoota stim pollen, locking him in with Ahsoka, and hijacking their locked ships. Longest three days of his life, limping on broken hyperdrives and shared fuel stores to the nearest waystation to a soundtrack of violent lovemaking : \

Bounty hunters invariably bump into spies and agents because they work in the same areas. The agents pretend to be bounty hunters, eccentric business people, sex workers, or a range of other things. Sometimes each party knows all about the other, but it’s only polite not to mention it. This happens to Ahsoka and Boba A LOT, especially once she becomes Fulcrum; rebel cells and Imperials often want the same people. Occasionally they exchange fire. A couple times Boba gets imprisoned in Ahsoka’s own brig. Once, Boba blows her cover and definitely lives to regret it.

(this essay was originally punctuated with pics, but replies with images won’t show up tumblr tags so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

#bobasoka #boba fett #ahsoka tano #rexsoka #the clone wars

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waiting4inspiration · 4 years

Text

May Snippets Masterlist (2020)

2020 Snippets Master Masterlist

May Snippets Request List

VIKINGS

Bjorn asks you to be his queen after you two have known each other since you were children

Catching Hvitserk having a midnight snack while you’re both trying a new diet

NSFW Ubbe fucking you into the mattress

Hvitserk doing ridiculous things to try and get you to fall for him (but you already have feelings for him)

Sigurd saying that Ivar can’t pleasure a woman and Ivar snaps, revealing that you’ve been cheating on your husband, Sigurd

You turning down every marriage proposal because you want to look after your father; Ragnar

Ivar realizing why you make him wear a necklace of a vial with your blood when he gets injured in battle

Killing an assassin while Ivar’s asleep and cutting out his tongue so he doesn’t wake Ivar

The brothers and Ragnar being protective over you when your beauty becomes known throughout the land

Asking Aslaug if it’s alright that you call her ‘mother’

Hvitserk encouraging Ivar to tell you about his crush on you

Ivar returning from a raid with jewels that he’s kept aside for the intention of spoiling you

NSFW Ivar being insecure about being naked in front of you for the first time

Your army coming to Ivar’s aid in a war he’s losing with a message telling him that he’s not dying until you allow it (twin!sister)

Hvitserk, Ubbe, and Sigurd knowing they have to be on their best behavior when around Ivar if they want good food from you

Deciding that it’s better to end things with Ivar when you get the offer of a better life somewhere else

Ivar suspecting you have a lover because he feels like you’re drifting away from him

Hvitserk rambling about being safe as he mends your injured hand

Ivar going above and beyond when you’re sick because he’s convinced you’re going to did (part ??)

Practically having Hvitserk’s order ready every morning because he orders the same thing everyday

Ivar refusing any suitors because he feels they’re ‘not worthy’ of you (part ??)

Ivar coming into his room after a long day and finding you sleeping on his bed because you missed him (part ??)

Telling Bjorn you only love him as your older brother when he confesses that he loves you (part ??)

Bjorn doing mundane things for you as a way to show you he loves you

NSFW Bjorn eating you out like a starved man

NSFW Going down on Bjorn under his desk while he does some work

NSFW Trying to keep it together as Ivar goes down on you while you’re on the phone with a friend

Hvitserk returning home from spending the day with his toddler, exhausted, but in awe at the fact that you can look after 2 kids and be pregnant

Ivar thinking that you’re in love with Hvitserk when he sees you laughing with him. But it’s actually something else

NSFW Hvitserk ‘punishing’ you for stealing his clothes (part 2)

Having a serious conversation about the law with Ragnar ant the brothers (gen z!reader)

The brothers' reaction to you dying your hair pink (gen z!reader)

NSFW Everyone thinks you’re super innocent, but Bjorn knows that you’re the complete opposite

NSFW Dom!Lagertha rearranging your guts with a strap on

People not second guess it when you slip a hand under Ivar’s shirt to feel his muscles

Lagertha feeling slightly brokenhearted to see you (her daughter) being close with Aslaug when she visits with Bjorn

Ivar realizing that he’s falling in love with you, but decides that it’s for the best to arrange a marriage for you (part ??)

How Estadir is around you on a daily basis (Hefna)

How you and Estadir met (Hefna)

NSFW Alpha Bjorn waking up in rut to you in heat and grinding on his leg in your sleep

Aslaug and Ivar joking that you’re his girlfriend and you blush and try to hide in his chest (much younger!reader)

Introducing the Ragnarssons to your boyfriend, Thor (avengers/vikings)

Each of the brothers spoiling and showing off to you to try and get you to like them more (little sister!reader)

NSFW Being a brat and teasing Bjorn before he puts you in your place

Ivar refusing to get up until you kiss him

Aslaug overhearing you telling Ivar why you can’t go through with the arranged marriage (part 2)

Ragnar finding out that the sons fake getting along so that you’ll talk to them

Losing your baby when a slave purposefully give you the wrong tea because she’s in love with Ivar

Ivar throwing a tantrum because you won’t marry him (part 2)

Telling Margarethe to keep her advances on your husband - Hvitserk - to herself

Lagertha overhearing you comforting Aslaug and saying how you’ll always be her daughter (part 2)

Having enough of your sister trying to seduce Ivar and having no choice but to banish her (part 5)

One of the brothers catching you making out with someone in a supply closet (part 2)

Killing the slave Ivar infatuated with because you don’t share your husband

Defeating Ragnar and deciding if you should kill him or spare him (part 3)

Ivar being happy that you’ve given him peace and a home he can call his own where he’s loved and respected

Aslaug being happy to see Ivar marry the girl she’s been in love with since he was a young boy

Your oldest son walking in on you and Hvitserk doing it

Coming back to Kattegat and telling your brothers you’re pregnant (perfect little sister!reader) (part??)

Ivar no longer being upset letting you breastfeed your child after seeing how happy you are and how strong the bond is with you and the baby (Only Mine) (part 2)

Giving birth to your first child and he barely fits in Estadir’s hands (Hefna)

Stepping in as a mother figure to the sons after marrying Bjorn

Being the big spoon when you find Sigurd asleep

Ivar finally telling you what the doctor said after days of silence (blind!ivar) (prequel)

Staying in bed with Ivar and trying to distract him from pain during a bad leg day

Meeting Ivar’s brothers upon arriving in Kattegat (Hefna)

Joking with Estadir that you may have to start your own tribe because of how many children you have (Hefna)

Ivar buying a bigger bed so that he can finally sleep with all his children and not get kicked off (part 2)

Telling Ubbe that you’re not hitting on him, but actually on his wife, Torvi

Alpha!Hvitserk finding you nesting

Spending time with Ivar and Hvitserk after a long day (shared girlfriend!reader)

Introducing your suitor to your brothers for the first time and trying to stop them from scaring him off

Hvitserk calling his brothers for help when you’re sick because he doesn’t know how to take care of a sick person

Ivar refusing the crown because he wants to keep you and his family away from danger

Ivar daughter asking if you’re her new mommy after dating Ivar for a while

Ivar and his brother teaching his daughter how to fight after she was attacked

NSFW A threesome with Hvitserk and Ivar

Ubbe mentioning how you haven’t aged a day because you’re immortal

Coming to Kattegat with your dragons to form an alliance and Hvitserk catches your eye

Begging Ivar to let you keep a kitten you found

Having a small rivalry with Ivar because he doesn't like how you steal attention away from him

Being best friends with Ivar and meeting his brothers, but you had a one night stand with Hvitserk

Thinking that Ivar’s only asking you to marry him because you’re pregnant, you say no

The brothers trying to impress you after Aslaug hires Geralt for a job (Witcher/Vikings)

Meeting the Ragnarssons and your child takes a surprising liking to Ivar

NSFW Finally having sex with Ivar after being secretly in love and he finds out that you’re just as crazy as he is

Ivar coming back after letting you go and finding that you found someone else

Having your first daughter with Bjorn and she turns out to be a daddy’s girl (part 2)

NSFW Teacher/Student role playing with Ragnar

Ivar coming home and knows by the smell that you’ve been baking

Mafia!Ivar struggling to kill you after finding out that you’re a spy

Celebrating your birthday with Ragnar and the brothers

Relieved to see Ivar coming back to you alive after a long raid

Knowing that his brothers are going to meet up with friends, Ivar tags long and falls for you right away

Ivar getting an awkward boner while watching a movie with you (his roommate) and having to talk about his feelings for you

You son coming back to Kattegat to take vengeance on Ivar for what he did to you and telling Ivar that he’s his son

The brothers following Hvitserk and being caught by you, his secret girlfriend

MARVEL

Introducing the Ragnarssons to your boyfriend, Thor (avengers/vikings)

Loki taking care of you when you’re very sick

You owl whining all the time to Bucky on a mission after switching animals (The Owl and the Wolf)

NSFW Bucky eating you out and making you squirt

THE WITCHER

Geralt and Jaskier fighting for your affection, but you have eyes for Yennefer

Feeling insecure when one of Jaskier’s lovers starts flirting with him

Telling Geralt how it is that you know him when he’s never met you before (part 2)

Jaskier explaining to Geralt how he needs to do something romantic for your birthday

The brothers trying to impress you after Aslaug hires Geralt for a job (Witcher/Vikings)

Jaskier regretting introducing you to Geralt when you tell embarrassing childhood stories

Jaskier writes a ballad for you for your wedding

Both you and Geralt being surprised that Jaskier could fight off an Alpha much larger than him

Basically disappearing when you cuddle with Geralt because you can hide in his cloak

#snippets #little snippets #snippets masterlist #vikings snippets #marvel snippets #the witcher snippets #may snippets

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

and this faith is gettin’ heavy (but you know it carries me)

Me, a simple fool: what if I wrote heavy angst (with a happy ending!) with Teomitl MIA/presumed dead & Acatl only realizing he’s been in love this whole time while he mourns?

Me, crying at 2 AM over my own words: that would be fun!!

ANYWAY, here there be lots of grief, Acatl lashing out in anger (it’s at Quenami, though, so like...he deserves it), Mihm trying to help, a very tense family dinner, and significant dreams. Oh, and reunion makeouts. Also on AO3!

Acatl grimaced as he stepped from the coolness of his home into the day’s bright, punishing sunlight. Today was the day the army was due to return from their campaign in Mixtec lands, and so he was forced to don his skull mask and owl-trimmed cloak on a day that was far too hot for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that priests of Lord Death weren’t required to paint their faces and bodies for special occasions; the thought of anything else touching his skin made him shudder.

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

“Come to tell me that the army is at our gates again?” They would never be friends, he and Acamapichtli, but they had achieved something like a truce in the year since the plague. Still, Acatl couldn’t help but be on his guard. There was something...off about the expression on the other man’s face, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He’d borne the same look when delivering the news of a death to a grieving family. Ah. A loss, then.

He’d expected Acamapichtli to spread his hands, a wordless statement of there having been nothing he could have done. He didn’t expect him to take a deep breath and slide his sightless eyes away. “I have. The runners all say it is a great victory; Tizoc-tzin has brought back several hundred prisoners.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

Acamapichtli let out a long sigh. “There were losses. A flood swept across the plain, carrying away several of our best warriors. Among them...the Master of the House of Darts. They looked—I’m assured that they looked!—but his body was not found.”

No. No. No. A yawning chasm cracked open beneath his ribs. He knew he was still breathing, but he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Even as he wanted, desperately, to grab Acamapichtli by the shoulders and shake him, to scream at him for being a liar, he knew the man was telling the truth. That his face and mannerisms, the careful movements of a man who knew he brought horrible news, showed his words to be honest. That Teomitl—who had left four months before with a kiss for Mihmatini and an affectionate clasp for Acatl’s arm—would not return.

It took real effort to focus on Acamapichtli’s next words. The man’s eyes were full of a horrible sympathy, and he wanted to scream. “I thought you should know in advance. Before—before they arrived.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He knew he should offer her comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

It couldn’t be real. Jade Skirt was Teomitl’s patron goddess, She wouldn’t let him simply drown. But there was an empty space to Tizoc’s left where Teomitl should have been, and no sign of his white-and-red regalia. Acatl’s eyes burned as he blinked.

Tizoc was still speaking, but Acatl heard none of his words. It was all too still, too quiet; everything was muffled, as though he was hearing it through water. If there was justice, came the first spinning thought, every wall would be crumbling. No...if there was justice, Teomitl would be...

He drew in a long breath, feeling chilled to the bone even as he sweated under his cloak. Now that his mind had chosen to rouse itself, its eye was relentless. He barely saw the plaza around him, packed with proud warriors and colorful nobles; it was too easy to imagine a far-flung province to the south, a jungle thick with trees and blood. A river bursting its banks, carrying Teomitl straight into his enemies’ arms. They would capture him, of course; he was a valiant fighter and he’d taken very well to the magic of living blood, but even he couldn’t hold off an army alone.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somewhere behind the army, Acatl knew, were lines of captured warriors whose hearts would be removed to feed the Sun, whose bodies would be flung down the Temple steps to feed the beasts in the House of Animals, whose heads would hang on the skull-rack. It was necessary, and their deaths would serve a greater purpose. He’d seen it thousands of times. There was no use mourning them. It was simply the way nearly all captured warriors went.

It was what Teomitl would want. An honorable death on the sacrifice stone. It was better to die than to be a slave all your life. But at least he would have a life—all unbidden, the alternative rose clear in Acatl’s mind. Teomitl, face whitened with chalk. Teomitl, laying down on the stone. Teomitl, teeth clenched, meeting his death with open eyes. Teomitl’s blood on the priests’ hands.

Nausea rose hot and bitter in his throat, and he shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. In for a count of three, out for a count of five. Repeat. It didn’t hurt to breathe, but he felt as if it should. He felt as if everything should hurt. He felt a sudden, vicious urge to draw thorns through his earlobes until the pain erased all thoughts, but he made his hands still. If he started, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop.

Still, it seemed to take an eternity for the speeches and the dances to be over and done with. By the time they finished, he was light-headed with the strain of remaining upright, and Mihmatini had slipped a hand into his elbow. Even that single point of contact burned through his veins. They still hadn’t spoken. He wondered if she, too, couldn’t quite find her own voice under the screaming chasm of grief.

And then, after all that, when all he yearned for was to go home and lay down until the world felt right again—maybe until the Sixth Sun rose, that would probably be enough time—there was a banquet, and he was forced to attend.

Of course there’s a banquet, he thought dully. This is a victory, after all. Tizoc had wasted no time in promoting a new Master of the House of Darts to replace his fallen brother, with many empty platitudes about how Teomitl would surely be missed and how he’d not want them to linger in their grief, but to move on and keep earning glory for the Mexica. Moctezuma, his replacement, was seventeen and haughty; where Teomitl’s arrogance had begun to settle into firm, well-considered authority and the flames of his impatience had burnt down to embers, Moctezuma’s gaze swept the room and visibly dismissed everyone in it as not worth his concern. It reminded Acatl horribly of Quenami.

Mihmatini sat on the same mat she always did, but now there was a space beside her like a missing tooth. She still wore her hair in the twisted horn-braids of married women, and against all rules of mourning she had painted her face with the blue of the Duality. Underneath it, her face was set in an emotionless mask. She did not eat.

Neither did Acatl. He wasn’t sure he could stomach food. So instead his gaze flickered around the room, unable to settle, and he gradually realized that he and Mihmatini weren’t alone in the crowd. The assembled lords and warriors should have been celebrating, but there was a subdued air that hung over every stilted laugh and negligent bite of fine food. Neighbors avoided each other’s eyes; Neutemoc, sitting with his fellow Jaguar Warriors, was staring at his empty plate as though it held the secrets of the heavens. He looked well, until Acatl saw the expression on his face. It was a mirror of his own.

At least his fellow High Priests didn’t try to engage him in conversation, for which he was grateful. Acamapichtli kept glancing at him almost warily, but he hadn’t voiced any more empty platitudes—and when Quenami had opened his mouth to say something, he’d taken the unprecedented step of leaning around Acatl and glaring him into silence.

If they’d been friends, Acatl would have been touched; as it was, it made a burning ember of rage lodge itself in his throat. Don’t you pity me. Don’t you dare pity me. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt, clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms, and didn’t speak. If he spoke, he would scream.

Somehow, he held it together until after the final course had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

Quenami didn’t. In fact he took a step closer, as though they were friends, as though he’d never tried to have Acatl killed. His voice was like a mosquito in his ear. “You must not be feeling well; you hardly touched your food. Some might see that as an insult. I’m sure Tizoc-tzin would.”

“Mm.”

“Or is it worry over Teomitl that’s affecting you? You shouldn’t fret so, Acatl. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not dead after all; there are plenty of cenotes in the southlands, and a determined man could easily hide out there for the rest of his life. He probably just took the coward’s way out, sick of his responsibilities—“

He whirled around, sucking in a breath that scorched his lungs. It was the last thing he felt before he let Mictlan’s chill spill through his veins and overflow. His suddenly-numb skin loosened on his neck; his fingers burned with the cold that came only from the underworld. He knew that his skin was black glass, his muscles smoke, his bones moonlight on ice, his eyes burning voids. All around him was the howling lament of the dead, the stench of decay and the dry, acrid scent of dust and dry bones. When he spoke, his voice echoed like a bell rung in a tomb.

“Silence.”

You do not call him a coward. You do not even speak his name. I could have your tongue for that. He stepped forward, gaze locked with Quenami’s. It would be easy, too. He could do it without even blinking—could take his tongue for slander, his eyes for that sneering gaze, could reach inside his skin and debone him like a turkey—all it would take would be a single wrong word—

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

Acatl took one breath, two, and let the magic drain out of his shaking limbs. He hadn’t meant to do that. He made it to the next courtyard, blessedly empty of party guests, and collapsed on the nearest bench like a dead man. I could have killed him. Gods, I wanted to kill him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. All because...all because he said his name...

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

She padded into the courtyard and took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, skirt swishing around her feet as she walked. Gold ornaments had been sewn into its hem, and he wondered if they’d been gifts from Teomitl. “I saw Quenami running like all the beasts of the underworld were on his tail. What did you do?”

“...He said…” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “He said that Teomitl might have deserted. He dared to say that—“ The idea choked him, and he couldn’t finish the words. That Teomitl was a coward. That he would run from his responsibilities, from his destiny, at the first opportunity…

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if he’s dead.” She set a hand on her chest. “The magic that connects us—I can still feel it in here. It’s faint, really faint, but it’s there. He might…” She took a breath, and tears welled up in her eyes. “He might still be alive.”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home.

Maybe held captive by the Mixteca, until such time as they can tear out his heart. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the sound of his own breathing. It didn’t help. He hated how pathetic his own voice sounded as he asked, “You think so?”

“It’s—“ She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

He’d managed to avoid them until then; he’d thrown himself headlong into his work, not stopping until he was so tired that his “sleep” was really more like “passing out.” But it seemed his body could adapt to the conditions he subjected it to much easier than he’d thought, because he woke with tears on his face and the scraps of a nightmare scattering in the dawn light.

The next night was worse.

He was walking through a jungle made of shadows, trees shedding gray dust from their leaves as he passed under them. His legs ached and his lungs burned, but he couldn’t stop. Ahead of him, someone was making their way through the undergrowth, and it was a stride he’d know anywhere.

Teomitl. He thought he called out to him, but no sound escaped his mouth even though his throat hurt as though he’d been screaming. He tried again. Teomitl! This time, he managed a tiny squeak, something even an owl wouldn’t have heard.

Teomitl didn’t slow down, but somehow the distance between them shortened. Now Acatl could make out the tattered remains of his feather suit, singed and bloodstained, and the way his bare feet had been cut to ribbons. He still wasn’t looking behind him. It was like Acatl wasn’t there at all. Ahead of them, the trees were thinning out.

And then they were on a flat plain strewn with corpses, bright crimson blood the only color Acatl could see. Teomitl was standing still in front of him as water slowly seeped out of the ground, covering his feet and lapping gently at his ankles. There were thin threads of red in it.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

Teomitl turned to him, smiling as though he’d just noticed he was there. His chest was a red ruin, the bones of his ribcage snapped wide open to pull out his beating heart. A tiny ahuizotl curled in the space where it had been.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

He awoke suddenly and all at once, curling in on himself with a ragged sob. It was still dark out; the sun hadn’t made its appearance yet. There was no one to see when he shook himself to pieces around the space in his heart. It was a dream, he told himself sternly. Just a dream. My soul is only wandering through my own grief. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered afterwards, clinging stubbornly such that, just for a moment, he thought Teomitl was truly by his side and had a moment’s joy before reality reasserted itself. Those ones were the worst.

He started timing his treks across the Sacred Precinct to avoid the Great Temple’s sacrifices to Huitzilpochtli. Sleep grew more and more difficult to achieve, and even when he caught a few hours’ rest it never seemed to help. He even thought, fleetingly, of asking the priests of Patecatl if anything they had would be useful, only to dismiss it the next day. He would survive this. It wasn’t worth baring his soul to anyone else’s prying eyes or clumsy but well-meaning words.

Still, when one of Neutemoc’s slaves came to his door asking whether he would come to dinner at his house that night, he didn’t waste time in accepting. Dinner with Neutemoc’s family had become...normal. He needed normal, even if it still felt like walking on broken glass.

Up until the second course was served, he even thought he’d get it. Neutemoc had been nearly silent when he’d arrived, but he’d unbent enough to start a conversation about his daughters’ studies. Necalli and Mazatl were more subdued than they normally were, but they’d heard what happened to their newest uncle-by-marriage and were no doubt mourning in their own ways. Mihmatini’s face was as pale and set as white jade, but as the meal wore on he thought he saw her smile.

“More fish?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Fish was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

Silence descended again, but It didn’t reign for long before Neutemoc said, “Acatl. Any interesting cases lately?” With a quick glance at his children, he added, “That we can talk about in front of the kids?”

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It was almost enough to make Acatl smile. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

Laying out the facts of a suspicious death or two was always calming. He could forget the ache in his heart, even if only briefly. But even when he was done, when he’d started to relax, Neutemoc was still talking to him as though he expected to see his younger brother shatter any minute. The slaves, too, were unusually solicitous of him—rushing to fill up his cup, to heap delicacies on his plate. At any other time he might have suspected the whole thing to be a bribe or an awkward apology; now, he just felt uneasy.

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He thought about Teomitl sacrificed as a war captive or drowned in a river far from home, and nearly choked at the fist of grief that tightened around his heart. No. He shook his head as though that would clear it. He wouldn’t want me to grieve over him. He wouldn’t want me to think of him dead, drowned, sacrificed—he’d want me to remember him happy. I can do that much for him, at least.

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

Remembered the smile that lit up rooms and outshone the Sun, the one that could pull an answering burst of happiness out of the depths of his soul. Remembered the way Teomitl had laughed and rolled around the floor with Mazatl, the way he’d helped Ollin to walk holding onto his hands, the way he sparred with Necalli and asked about Ohtli’s lessons in the calmecac, and how all of those moment strung together like pearls on a string into something that made Acatl’s heart warm as well. Remembered impatient haggling in the marketplace, haphazard rowing on the lake, strong arms flexing such that he couldn’t look away, the touch of a warm hand lingering even after Teomitl had withdrawn—

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

There was a sound—a soft, miserable whine. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from his own throat, that he’d drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. That he was shaking again, and had been for some time. As nausea oozed up in his throat, he regretted having eaten.

It was like that, after all.

And he’d realized too late. Even if he’d ever been able to do anything about it—which he never would anyway, the man was married to his sister—there was no chance of it now, because Teomitl was gone.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully, towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

She sat next to him, not touching. There was something calming about her company, but gods, he prayed she couldn’t see the thoughts written on his face. She stretched out a hand and he thought she’d lay it soothingly on his shoulder, but instead she traced a meaningless pattern in the dirt. “...It’s hard, isn’t it?”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

The words refused to make sense in his head at first—but then they did, and he reared back and stared at her. No. I’ve only just realized it myself, she can’t have...she can’t be thinking that. “I beg your pardon?”

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

He drew a long breath. He knew what he should say, what the right and proper words would be. No, like a son. Or like my brother. But he couldn’t lie to her, not even to spare what was left of her broken heart, and so what came out instead was, “Yes. Gods, yes.” Hate me for it. Tell me I have no right to love him, that you’re the one who has his heart. Tell me I’m a fool.

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She fell silent, her smile fading until it vanished entirely. He waited. Finally, in a much softer voice, she continued, “If you love him, there’s no harm in telling you what he swore me to secrecy over.”

Dread gripped him. Of course Teomitl was entitled to his secrets, but he couldn’t imagine what would be so horrible that Mihmatini wouldn’t tell him. At least, not while he lived. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “...What?”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

Mihmatini took a shuddering breath; he realized she was fighting tears, and had been since she’d spilled Teomitl’s heart to the night air. “In case he comes back. If he does...you should tell him.”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Without really seeing his surroundings, he walked until he came to the canal outside the house. The family’s boats were tied up outside, bobbing gently on the water. When he sat down, the stone under him was cold; the water he dipped his fingers in was colder still. Neither revived him. Neither was as cold as the pit cracking open in his gut. Mictlan was worse, true, but all the inexorable pains of Mictlan were dull aches compared to this.

In case he comes back. In case he comes back. I love him—I am in love, that’s what this pain is—and I will never see him again in this world. Mihmatini says he loves me too, and it doesn’t matter, because his bones lie somewhere in the jungle and his flesh feeds the crows and I will never get to tell him.

Between one breath and another, the tears came. They spilled hot and salty down his face; he let them, shoulders shaking, because he no longer had the strength to stop them. And nobody would come to offer unwanted sympathy, anyway. Mihmatini had her own grief, and the hurrying footsteps he’d grown so used to hearing would never run after him again.

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. He woke without tears welling in his eyes. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

But then other things intruded. He dreamed of a sunsoaked forest in the south, and woke feeling like a lizard basking on a rock. He dreamed that Teomitl was fording a fast-flowing river—one that did not turn to blood this time—and when dawn broke his legs were wet up to the shins. Teomitl barely bled at all in his dreams, now, and his wounds were only the normal ones a man might get from traversing hostile terrain alone. Despite himself, Acatl started to wake with a faint stirring of hope. Maybe he had only been separated from the army. Maybe he was on his way home. And maybe I’m delusional, came the inevitable bitter thought when he’d finished his morning rituals. It had become much harder to listen to.

It was almost a surprise when he dreamed about a city he knew. It was a small but bustling place about half a day’s walk from Tenochtitlan, and as he walked through the streets he realized that the torches had been lit for a funeral. He could hear the chants ahead of him. There was a darker shape in the shadows which spilled down the dusty road, and he knew the man’s stride like he knew his own.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

A funeral pyre had been lit, and it was so like the rituals he presided over that he felt a distinct sense of deja vu. There was the priest singing a hymn to Lord Death; there were the weeping family members of the deceased. There were the marigolds and the other offerings, brilliant in the gloom.

“That could have been me,” Teomitl said, and Acatl heard his voice as though he was standing next to him in the waking world instead of only in a dream. “But it’s not yet, and it won’t be for a good long while. So you don’t need to fear for me. I keep my promises.”

They’d never touched before. But this time Teomitl turned to face him, and the hand he held out was free of blood entirely. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Teomitl pressed his palm to his. Their fingers laced together, warm and strong and almost real.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

And then he woke up, the dream shredded apart by the blasts of the conch-shell horns that heralded the dawn. For a long moment, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. He could still feel Teomitl’s hand in his; each little scar and callus felt etched on his skin. He lives. The slow certainty of it welled up in him like blood. He lives, and he is coming back.

He rose and made his devotions before dressing, but now his hands shook with something that was no longer grief. As soon as he left for his temple, he could feel the change In the air. Scraps of excited conversation whirled past him, but he couldn’t focus long enough to pick any out. He concentrated on breathing steadily and walking with the dignity befitting a High Priest. He would not sprint for the temple, would not grab the nearest housewife or warrior or priest and demand answers. They would come soon enough.

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Even though he’d half expected it—even though the recurring dreams, his soul journeying through the night at Teomitl’s side, had kept alive the flickering flame of hope that now burned within him—he still briefly felt like fainting. He clenched his fists, the pain of his nails in his palms keeping him upright. “You’re sure?”

Ezamahual nodded enthusiastically. “The Revered Speaker has reinstated him to his old position, and there’s talk of a banquet at the palace to celebrate his safe return. I think he’s at the Duality House now, though—they’re like an anthill over there.”

Right. He exhaled slowly, forcing down joy and disappointment alike. Of course Teomitl would want to see his wife first above all, to reassure her that he was well, and of course he had no right to intrude. Nor would he even if he did—Mihmatini deserved her husband back in her life, deserved all the joy she would wring from it. The things she’d told him didn’t—couldn’t—matter in the face of their union. “I see. I suppose we’ll learn more later. Come—tell me if there’s been any new developments in those strangling cases.”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? It seemed like it was a thousand years ago now. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—“

He had a confused impression of gold jewelry and feather ornaments, but then Teomitl was flinging himself into his arms and the only thing that sunk into his mind was warmth. There were strong arms wrapped around him and a head pressed against his temple, and Teomitl’s voice shook as he breathed, “Duality, I missed you so much.”

Slowly, he raised his shaking hands and set them at Teomitl’s shoulderblades. He could feel his racing heart, feel the way he sucked in each breath as though trying not to sob. It was overwhelming; his eyes burned as he fought to blink back his own tears. He couldn’t speak. If he opened his mouth, he knew he’d lose the battle—and there were no words for this, anyway.

Teomitl abruptly released him, turning his face away. His voice was a soft, ragged thing, and his expression was a careful blank. “Forgive me. I was...Mihmatini said you’d be glad to see me. I wanted to look less like I’d been dragged over the mountains backwards, first.”

He swallowed several times until he thought he could risk a response, even as his eyes drank in the sight of Teomitl in front of him. He looks the same, he thought. His skin had been further darkened by the sun and there were new scars looping across his arms and legs, but he had the same face and body and sweet, sweet voice. “It’s—there’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

He steered his mind firmly away from the shoals of crushing grief that still lurked under the joy of seeing Teomitl before him. He is here, and hale, and whole, just as I dreamed. I have nothing to weep over. “I knew you weren’t. You wouldn’t let something like a flood stop you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him—what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuizotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Whatever Teomitl saw in his face made his eyes soften. He took a step forward, hands coming up to—gently, so gently—rest on Acatl’s waist, and Acatl let him. “I thought about you. I—Southern Hummingbird blind me, I dreamed about you. Every night! I made myself a promise while I was out there, in the event I ever saw you again. Scorn me for it all you’d like, but I’m going to keep it now.”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl wasted no time. The kiss grew harder, fingers digging into Acatl’s skin as he hauled their bodies together. They were pressed together from chest to hip but it still wasn’t enough, they weren’t close enough; blood roaring in his ears, he wrapped his arms around Teomitl’s back and clung tightly. His mouth opened with a breathy little whine stolen immediately by Teomitl’s invading tongue, and when he dared to do the same, Teomitl made a noise like a jaguar and let go of his waist in favor of clawing at the back of his cloak, grabbing fistfuls of fabric along with strands of his hair. It pulled too hard, but he didn’t care. The pain meant it was real, that this was really happening.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—“ before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Acatl twisted in his arms, knowing he was making a probably incoherent and definitely embarrassing noise, but shame wasn’t an emotion he was capable of at the moment. He loves me. By the Duality, he loves me. “I didn’t think—Mihmatini told me, but I didn’t think…”

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

His grip on the back of Teomitl’s cloak tightened at the memory. “She was trying to reassure me, I think. I’d just told her...well.” He couldn’t say it, even with Teomitl in his arms, and settled for uncurling one fist and running his hand up the back of Teomitl’s neck in lieu of words.

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

Teomitl made a desperate noise and kissed him again. There was no gentleness now; he kissed like a man possessed, hungry as a jaguar, and Acatl buried a hand in his hair to make sure he didn’t stop. Teeth caught at his lower lip, and he moaned out loud. This seemed to spur Teomitl on, because his mouth left Acatl’s to nip at his throat instead; the first sting of teeth sent a wave of arousal through him so strong it nearly swamped him. “Ah—!”

Teomitl soothed the skin with a delicate kiss that didn’t help at all, and then he returned his focus to Acath’s mouth. This time he was gentle, a careful little caress that gave Acatl just enough brainpower back to realize that he’d probably been a bit loud. Which is Teomitl’s fault, anyway, so he can’t complain. “Mmm…”

Even when they eventually pulled apart, they clung to each other for a long while. Acatl stroked up and down Teomitl’s spine, tracing each bump of vertebrae and the trembling muscles of his back. Teomitl dropped his head onto Acatl’s shoulder, breathing slow and deep. He’d twined locks of long hair through his fingers, gently running his fingers through the strands. Acatl had to close his eyes, overwhelmed. The stone beneath my feet is real. Teomitl’s skin under my hands is real. This—this is real. He is in my arms, and he loves me.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Neither do I. He tilted his head, nosing at the nearest and fluffiest bit of Teomitl’s hair, and let out a long sigh. “You’ll have to eventually.” Even though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the Master of the House of Darts, aren’t you? You have an army to help lead. Wars to wage. Glory to bring to the Empire.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

He smiled against Teomitl’s hair. “But first, why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl made an undignified snorting noise. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

It was the first time in a month he could remember feeling actually hungry. He decided not to mention that. To his regret, however, lunch meant that they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he began the process of disentangling them; after a significant period of hesitation, Teomitl deigned to help. Even when they were no longer wrapped in each other’s arms, though, he stared at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

And since Acatl was doing the same thing, cataloging the precise shade of Teomitl’s brown eyes and the exact path each visible scar took, he couldn’t blame him. I might have gone my whole life without this. What an idiot I was.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again. It wasn’t until they were finally ensconced in a small receiving room with a plate of fried newts to share and strict orders not to be disturbed that he could do more than look; just when he was getting up the nerve to maybe hold Teomitl’s hand, though, his beloved leaned in and kissed him. It was chaste, but it still made him blush.

Teomitl was smiling when he drew back. “I missed doing that.”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour,” he muttered. “You’re insatiable.” But there was no heat to it, and he found his hand resting at Teomitl’s waist. The skin under his palm was just so warm.

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. He’d wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home, but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

No, this time he lowered his mouth to Acatl’s neck and did it again. It was light and delicate, unlikely to leave marks, but Teomitl’s teeth were sharp enough that he felt each one in a burst of light behind his closed eyelids. He had to bury one hand in Teomitl’s hair and wrap the other around his waist just to keep himself upright; he couldn’t entirely muffle his own gasps. “Ahh—gods—“

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

If by some miracle all the rest of it hadn’t already made him blush, hearing Teomitl purr his name like that would definitely have done the trick. He had to turn his face away. “You know damned well it’s the latter. I can’t very well take the rest of the day off to…” Flustered, he gestured between them.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

By the time they finally remembered their food, it was stone cold. They ate it anyway; Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about such a mundane thing as cold food when Teomitl was leaning against him as they ate, with one arm still slung loosely around his waist.

When the afternoon light started to turn gold, they reluctantly stood up. They stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.”

Teomitl made no move to let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little tighter, turning to bury his face in Acatl’s hair. “Mrghh...”

He wanted to laugh, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the urge. He made do with stroking Teomitl’s hair—gods, it was so soft—and taking a deliberate step back so that Teomitl had to release him or be pulled off-balance. Now Teomitl was glaring at him, but nothing would stop the slow upwell of joy in his veins. “Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.”

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t an answer he even needed to think about, not with the way Teomitl’s lips parted in wonder. For the rest of my life. Whenever you want, for the rest of my life, I’ll be there.

Teomitl didn’t reach for him—he seemed to be deliberately holding himself still, tension ringing through his body like a drawn bowstring—but he looked like he wanted to. He looked like he wanted to yank Acatl back into his arms and finish what they’d started earlier, and the thought was exhilarating. “My chambers in the palace? They’re closest.”

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. “My house. I’ll—I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back.

Though he honestly hated the idea of separation too, he knew it would be alright. Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #acamapichtli #paladin writes stuff

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araingirl · 3 years

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Two worlds, one story: Thunder and ice

The temple of Goddess Wolvia was a bit silent now. Since the morning, a lot of subjects had visited it for the welfare of their kingdom. Now, it was the time to close it. Blowing off all the blue-flamed signature lamps of the shrine, the priest closed the main doors and looked at the ink-smeared sky. Mysterious the night was; even the bright full moon couldn’t investigate and unearth the reason clearly. A few owls were ogling him from the branches of the nearby trees, forgetting to hunt rats. The breeze was eerily calm, not remembering how to blow. Sighing, the redhead left the temple building for going to his house but before it, he heard a feminine voice behind him:

“Wait.”

His feet didn’t go forward, his nostrils sensed the burning fragrance unfamiliar in Hiawatha and skin sweated at the sudden amount of heat around him. Recognizing the tone due to his sharp memory, he smirked and turned back, “Welcome to Hiawatha again, princess Fernandez.”

“You…” The dual-haired girl was overwhelmed, “You’ve remembered me?”

“Thank this,” The redhead pointed at his head, “Anyways, the reason for which your glorious feet stepped on the worthless surface of Hiawatha?”

“Of course, my feet are glorious,” Julia proudly nodded, “But the ground of Hiawatha isn’t worthless. Otherwise, the people from Kaen would never be mesmerized to conquer her again and again, be it through a war or love.”

“You’re standing on the territory of your enemy kingdom,” Yuriy asked, “Aren’t you afraid? You can lose your life anytime.”

“No,” She shook her head as reddish glow was emitted by her cheeks, “I am not.”

“Hidden fear is intense,” Yuriy smirked, “Go back to Kaen.”

“Nope, Sir.” The elder princess of Kaen strode towards the redhead. Her heart was beating fast, the color of love was spreading across her face faster than the powdered color sprinkled in a glass of water. Yet, her feet didn’t stop; they didn’t follow the order of her brain. Her heart was pounding but the signs of shivering weren’t visible in her ankles and toes. The smirk was evident in the corner of her orange-painted lips, dry emerald orbs were seeming thirsty which were staring at the vast sapphire pools, only to dive in those. She didn’t know whose spirit possessed all her body, mind and soul but she was loving it, however.

Yuriy was confused, anyways. His deep-red eyebrows were creased, ocean-blue orbs were blinked in perplexity. Along with her, her warmth was also approaching him. He didn’t know what to do. Why was she walking towards him in this way? Did she want to kill him? But she couldn’t do it, she shouldn’t do it-at least before the completion of the challenges. Alert, he clutched the case of the knife attached to his kimono-belt. He should have stepped back or run or screamed at her, demanding an explanation behind her action but he couldn’t do any of them, he didn’t know why. Which kind of magic was binding his heart and soul this time, along with his body?

Before he could know what was being cooked in her brain, her orange lips clashed with his icy ones. He was thunderstruck; her fair arms were wrapped around his well-built back and waist. His lips were burning, her mouth was freezing. New sensations they were to the dual-haired princess and the scarlet-haired priest; they accepted them wholeheartedly. She shoved her tongue which landed on his dry taste buds, engaging into a fierce fight. He closed his eyes, one of his toned biceps fastened his slender midriff while another was seizing her nape. Their body gap ceased to zero since they respired from each other’s breaths. She shivered, he sweated. A pair of owls flew away over their heads; little did they realize.

Once they moved apart for breaths, they both were shaky, confused-what happened just then? Specially Yuriy Ivanov couldn’t raise his gazes to look at the jade pupils of the elder princess of Kaen. Being a priest, no matter how young he was, it was even beyond his imaginations to stare at a woman with desires, let alone kissing. How did he do it? The chills of Goddess Wolvia swam across his spine. Would he ever be forgiven for what he had done just then? Strangely, he didn’t know why he couldn’t blame the dual-haired girl in front of him. Was he affected by love just like commander Ray Kon and princess Dew Tachibana too?

“I have just done a task, I don’t know whether it will be a boon or a bane to me later on,” Julia huffed, “It depends only on the outcome of the challenges which have been given to emperor Kai Hiwatari and empress Hiromi Tachibana. If even one of them fails, I’ll be doomed. If both of them pass, I’ll not. But priest, know one thing. I’ve always wanted the welfare of two kingdoms. That’s why, that day, I came here only to warn you so that you could avoid another blood saga.”

Before Yuriy’s horrified eyes, she turned back to hide her tear-sparkling eyes, “If possible, pardon this slave of yours. I don’t know…whether I’ll be able to meet you informally after it or not.”

Sighing, she ran away, raising resonations of love and estrangement on the pebbles of Hiawatha. The priest expanded an arm and yelled by her name but couldn’t stop her. Maybe, stepping in the water kingdom, she also became restless and unstoppable like the torrents. A bottomless breath, sprang from his lungs. Shaking his head, he wheeled in the direction of his home. Without it, he didn’t have to do anything else, nor could he do.

#Two worlds one story #TalaXJulia #TalaJul

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c-atm · 5 years

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Dance in the Pale Moonlight chapter 1

Based on @meku95 awesome Witchanddemonau

She groaned as she walked out of the Delmarva public library finishing her shift and not just because of the idiocy she endured all day. Not even cause of her co-workers, who at times are annoying as all hell. No no...The source of the young witch in training groans, stood on the steps of the library surrounded by curious and flirty females and males.

Wearing his signature dark pink three piece suit, victorian-style bubblegum pink shirt, diamond collar pin, black loafers stood Steven Diamond Universe. In addition to his normal standout attire he placed on a pair of shades to cover his eyes and a hood to cover his ...other features(despite being able to 'glamour' them away.) On his shoulder sat a purple owl.

She sighed at the sight of his rabid fandom and the whining they made when he pushed pass them to get to her side.

"You're looking quite lovely today, My lady."

She grimaced at his slick tone slightly, before leading him around back into an alley for some privacy. When it was clear that no one was following them She growled at him.

“Steven.. Why are you here?”

“Can’t a familiar see his beautiful summoner, without summoning?”

“Not when said familiar is a demon with horns and such.”’

He chuckled as he pulled his hood and shades off, ignoring his lady’s protest, revealing..His slight tan skin, human like eyes and slight freckled face..completely human-like and teasingly smirking.as he folded the hood over his forearm. .

Connie turned away feeling her face grow a bit warm.‘ Sheesh. His playing is gonna kill me.’

“So why are you here, again?.” She folded her arms above her chest as she arched an eyebrow at the person in front of her, trying to ignore the budding affection that seems to grow just a bit every time they meet.

“I was just...around the area and figured I’d stop by.”

She kissed her teeth at his very weak answer.“Uh-huh…” With a nod, she looked at the dove on his shoulder and with a sweet smile she asked.

"Amy. Why are you and your 'Big Bro' in the city?"

"He got into it with Pearl again!"

"Amethyst!"

"Steven, really?"

He stiffened at her slightly dissatisfied tone, his pride of a familiar wouldn't allow him to look bad in his mistress's eyes.

She sighed tiredly. It was common but still she rather not her master in witchery and her friend and partner... be at odds with each other so often.

."So..What was it about this time?"

As the purple bird was about to answer, he pressed his index and middle finger on her beak, keeping her shut.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, my lady. Just a bit of a hiccup on a mission is... ah!

He waved his index finger in pain as Amethyst flew from his shoulders to the lightly chuckling Connie's.

"You kind of deserved that, Steven."

"Mean! That was mean Big Bro."

Steven only snared in response as Connie rubbed the birds under belly caringly inciting a smug look on Amethyst face.

"So...What happened on the mission?"

Steven and Amethysts looked at each other before Steven sighed in defeat, nodding.

From Amethyst story, The Crystal Witches found the whereabouts of a demon who uses music as a weapon, lurking in North Delmarva. It was supposed to be relatively weak, enough for two of them; Steven and Pearl..Amethyst tagged along as well.

The demon had been masquerading as a street performer and had set up in the very center of a shopping market. It was said that the demon was targeting humans, bewitching them, making them it's slave and stealing their vitality for power...Specifically it was targeting humans with aptitude for magic.

When they arrived they saw evidence that the information was correct. The residents were passed out appearing to sleeping peaceful and bodies with an unnatural tone of gray to their skin. They decided to split up Steven and Amethyst to the west and Pearl to the east, agreeing to inform the other when they made contact.

The market was completely under the demon siege, the deeper they went in finding more of the same. Steven and Amethysts stopped when they heard a lullaby being played on a ukulele, before running towards the music, they paused as they watched the purple hooded demon slowly drained the vitality of a group of young teens. The good thing is that at the time, they had the element of surprise; it seemed it was too engrossed in it's meal and performance to even register them.

Seeing this as a perfect chance, Amethyst attacked the demon first..and was unceremoniously kicked back to Steven side. Steven attacked almost immediately in a ready to send the demon back to it's world, harshly..Only to be obstructed by a small condensed forcefield of vibration keeping Steven back. With a strum of it's instrument the barrier explodes throwing Steven, and A few unlucky bodies back. He landed hard headfirst through a pole, Amethyst was able to catch the humans that were thrown in the explosion and get them to relative safety.

By the time Steven was done shaking the cobwebs out of his head and Amethysts was done checking on the humans, Pearl was steadily beating the demon back, exhausting it's borrowed strength with quick spells and hand to hand combat. Steven and Amethysts watched as Pearl broke the instrument In the demon's hand with a stab of her staff, the gathered vitality returning to the people. The demon growled before leaping back and vanishing in a purple mist, leaving a musical note in the form of energy before that too disappeared.

After they made sure the humans were indeed gonna be alright..Pearl and Steven got into it.

Pearl reprimanding them both for not calling her when they found the demon, sloppy fighting, and being foolish enough to try to fight it alone and putting the demons victims in potential danger..

Embarrassed Steven retaliated, stating they saw a chance and took it..Also they forced the demon to use a great amount of it's stolen power before her arrival, allowing Pearl to get the upper hand, and even then she couldn't finish it off.

From there it deteriorated to petty insults towards each other all the way back to the temple with Amethyst trying to play peacemaker. It was when they were at the temple things got more heated and personal.

"That's enough Amethyst, no need to talk about it anymore."

Steven interrupted as Amethyst before she said too much. Connie turned to her familiar, looking concerned at his dark tone.

"Ah!..I..I'm sorry bro."

"Not your fault. She was just mad…" He turned his attention to Connie and gave her a sly smile. "As to why we are here? Garnet stated that she saw our 'friend's is somewhere in the city. I was hoping to have you join in our investigation. "

Connie sighed tiredly, but smiled nonetheless. "Sure, but I haven't felt anything around her though."

"Neither did we, but Big bro just wanted you by him. He was worried!"

Steven smirked and shrugged..She wasn't lying. "Demon hunting is second priority when up against even a moment with you, my beloved lady."

Connie groaned at his flirting, her face hiding it's red. "Let's just get going, can we do that?"

"Lead the way, my lady."

"Can we get some food while we demon hunt, I want a torta!" Amethyst squawked on the young witch's shoulder, making Connie winced at the loud sound.

"Amethyst get off Connie shoulder, yeah? Cover yourself with the hood."

Amethyst with a disappointing groan leapt from the witch's shoulder and down to the ground, when Steven tossed the hood upon Amethyst, covering her completely.

The sounds of bones cracking could be heard as the purple bird shapeshift into a body of a robust female human, short in stature. Under the hood was plump lips,a button nose, amethyst stone freckles, purple hair covering the left of a pair of violet eyes, and light almond skin with purple streaks. Overall she was what some would consider exotically attractive.

She gave the witch in training a smile before giving her a hug around the waist.

“Can we get those tortas now?”

Connie had to giggle at the childish request before nodding, returning the hug as well.

“My lady! Where’s my affection?”

Connie scoffed at Steven complaining as she pet the smaller girl's head. “You be quiet and let’s go search.”

Steven whimpered teasingly but followed along closely behind giving a chuckle towards the witch; one that Connie couldn't help but blush at.

As they walked off the property grounds a regular walked by glancing at the trio from their right peripheral, suspiciously. Steven locked eyes with them for a moment before giving a slight grin and continuing on his way.

As they walked the populated city, Connie couldn't help but smile at the adorable actions of her demon cohorts. Amethyst stopped and looked at almost every food shop, magazine and comic stands and toy store. Each time smiling brightly.

Steven, for his part, took a more attention towards the task of actually trying to find the demon presence at each stop. She watched as his eyes always narrow for any magic signature. As his nostrils flexed for any non-human yet familiar smell. As his ears twitched for any sound with an unearthly presence. She had to admit, her familiar was impressive when he was determined. It was an begrudgingly attractive trait.

That didn't stop him from joining his 'little sis' in window shopping though, or taken his mistress's hand and leading her into a shop they found interesting. Her protest usually ignored to the point of her allowing it..To the point of her almost interlocking hers with his. A few hours into their investigation/playing and with the sun setting...

They didn’t find any demon.

Amethyst did get torta though..So that was one victory.

Connie found herself sitting on a bench as stretching a bit tiredly, as the demon duo found interest in a clothes boutique.

'This..This was a great way to spend the afternoon actually..'

Connie allowed a smile on her face at that thought. she actually needed this she realized. If it was any other day, she probably would have headed home. Get some witchcraft training, read a book..All alone in her home.

"Probably would have summoned Steven just to kill the boredom." Her smirk was a bit cynical.

Her home was almost always empty but that isn’t very new, comes with being orphaned against your will..that and becoming ' the quiet, cold. occult girl' as she heard people around the village she lives at called her. The little snickers and sneers about her being too weird, too uptight, too self-centered and such behind her back..It seeped under her skin for some reason. Her smile dropped into a frown.

“Whatever..They're just idiots, who doesn't know anything about the truths of this world. .. Who cares about them?” She hated how sadden her voice sounded. She leaned back before looking back at the troublemaking demons. Steven trying to get Amethyst to stop taking clothes off of random mannequins with little success. A small smirk on her face as she looked at her familiar, reprimanding his ‘little sister’ actions, before whispering something in her ear. Getting a smile from Amethyst ,who seemed determined in whatever the task he gave her.

She felt a small heat in her cheeks when he looked at her from the corner of his eyes.and waved towards her.

“Silly demon.”

She was a bit surprised at warmth in her voice as she waved back before watching Steven smirk and walk out of view.

It was then that she felt a chill down her spine..and not the delightful she gets from Steven at times..No this one was caused by the feeling of being observed. She stood up, fist clenched as she looked for any sign of an enemy.

The seal on her right glowed and surged with magic as she looked around. Her senses heighten and more sensitive to magic signatures. She looked at the billboards..nothing..The arcade..nothing…

' Steven come to me.'

The Crest glowed at her thought and almost instantly, rising behind her from the shadows stood Steven. His face determined, and still glamoured as a human but his eyes took their original black and dark pink.

"My lady?" His voice was cool with a bit of a worry but low.. A whisper.

"Is Amethyst still with you?"

"She's staking out on the wall..It's definitely somewhere in this area.."

"No kidding..I feel like it was watching me. just for a moment."

His lady's abashed tone caused the familiar clenched his fist in rage..

' To cause discomfort to my Connie..I'll see this demon dead before dawn'

He grinned gently towards his contractor, his eyes still vigilantly searching.

"Admiring your beauty to the point of losing concentration..Can't blame them. Your visage is quite distracting, my lady."

Connie lighty smirked, grateful for the attempt at humor.

"Not enough it seems..It's back to masking its presence."

Steven was about to agree when a female scream was heard to the west. Steven quickly crouched in front of her, looking back expectantly, who nodded before climbing on..

Steven knew it was serious but.he couldn't help the warmth he felt having her so close..Arms around his neck, knees and calves squeezing his sides, and his hand folded behind him as a makeshift seat for his lady. The fact that she always seem to instinctively press against him too was bonus.

He leapt from street lamp to street lamp heading towards the growing crowd and the presence of a fading heartbeat along with its magic.. The closer they got, the stronger the scene. They stopped on a tree limb above the crowd, watching as the police and ambulance scattered the crowd and the paramedics went to put the body in a bag or at least attempt to .as soon as the body was touched..It broke and shattered like brittle brimstone.Though it did give Steven enough time to confirm the identify the body through smell..along with other traits.

"It's the demon, we were chasing..Someone got to them first."

The way he spoke compounded the concern in Connie. She expected him to be more relaxed but, she could feel his anger radiating off him

“Isn't that a good thing? Wasn't that what we set out to do?"

He glared deepened just a bit.

"It's not the result...t's the method."

They got a quick glance at the body before it broke..and it was a sight he wished his lady didn't see..

The demon..It suffered..The look of pure torment on the corpses face told him that much. It was gray.. stone gray and hellishly thin...much different from the last time they met..signs of being drained of spirit and magic.

Rather it was the landing from the drop, which Steven figured due to the splattered blood..or its executioner; the body was mangled like a rag doll. Its bone snapped and pushing through its thin skin, ligaments torn open by what seemed to be claws..jagged claws..all for the world to see. The demon was used an example or an exhibition, to whom..Steven couldn't say, but they were certainly relished in their brutality and by the tightness of Connie's grip. She felt the same discontent at the visage.

There was one other thing he got as well. The residual presence of magic from a human and a non-human.

"This..we need to inform the witches of this..."

Connie voice wasn't that of fear but of resignation. She would have loved to investigate and try to find those responsible, but the look on Steven face said it all...They might be over their heads. She got a nod of affirmation from her familiar.

"Amethyst"

Almost instantaneously the limb above them shook and the demoness poked her head out of the foliage. looking quizzically at the duo.

"Yes Big Bro?"

"Go home and inform the witches."

His voice left no room for argument or questioning.

Amethyst still did the latter though. " What about you?"

He smirked before nodding his head towards Connie. "I'll be accompanying my lady home.Before heading back here."

Connie grimaced, faced red. "Hey now! I didn't agree to that!"

"Well, how else will I be able to protect my beloved lady?"

Connie gave him a gentle tap on the back of his head. A love tap. "I'm quite capable, thank you."

Steven gave her a small smile."Of course..But I need to be sure your safe,Connie. It'll calm me."

'He's hiding something...His eyes, there's worry in them.' Connie thought with a frown on her face at the false smile. "Sure.."

He nodded as he turned to Amethyst. "Hurry up, now. I'll be there later."

Amethyst, a bit disheartened at her Big bro somber tone, nodded reluctantly. Before she left though she whispered into Steven's ear, who eyes widen in thought…

"Take it with you..I'll collect it later Now go home and mask your magic."

Amethyst smiled a bit at his usual mischievous tone of voice. With a nod the demoness threw the hood to her brother, before leaping from her branch before transforming into a owl..with a box in its beak.

He watched for a moment before turning to Connie. who nodded.. They climbed down from the tree slowly, unnoticeably, blending into the busy streets..

Or so they thought. Not to far from them, someone watched with longing, envious eyes behind a chain link fence. On there palm was the crest of a contract.

#connie maheswaran #older characters #older connie #older steven #witchanddemonau #connverse fanfic #steven and connie #connverse #writers on tumblr #steven universe fanfiction #steven universe #rebecca sugar #meku95

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buirbaby · 3 years

Text

Thistle & Thorn: The Letter

Rating: General

Masterlist

Dawn always brought blisteringly bright sunlight with it, lancing through the sheer curtains and smacking Nessia right in the face. Summer in the highlands was mild, temperatures typically peaking just beneath 20°C (the 60s°F), the cracked window trailing in a refreshing breath of fresh air that caused the shades to dance. Rolling in her quilts, untangling herself from the fussed sheets, and nearly falling out of the bed to land upon the hard wooden floor, ivy green eyes peeled toward the window as talons scrabbled at the edge of the sill and an unfamiliar owl poked its head past the threshold and into her domain.

"Allo there," Nessia yawned, finally dislodging herself from the hazard of her restless sleeping arrangements. Her eyes pulled over the creature groggily, inspecting the tawny feathers banded with black, ear tufts quivering as the eagle-owl blinked pumpkin orange eyes at her. "Hae'na seen ye before. Post usually goes downstairs by the kitchen, big windows over the sink. Hoggle typically handles—" she explained, pausing when the owl offered a letter toward her. "Or is this for me?"

The owl preened, feathers lifting momentarily before it allowed her to take the parcel and bunkered down in the sunlight that streamed against the window, basking in the warmth.

Nessia hummed, turning the letter over before realizing what it was, her fingers becoming clumsy and wrists quivering in blistering excitement as she started to vibrate at the sight of the Hogwart's crest. Now, she'd known that one day that the school would send her a letter, just as all young witches and wizards in the area received one. However, she'd felt anxious because she didn't display her magic as brazen or spectacularly as Logan had when he'd been her age. Hoggle had told her all about how he'd caused a mess of the manor, from causing statues to come to life from laughs that echoed like lion's roars and knocked paintings from the walls. The most that Nessia had ever done was hiccup out a bumblebee, which Hoggle said was much more preferable to Logan's messes.

Breaking the seal, Nessia's eyes became watery, as if she'd gotten potting soil in them again from rubbing her face with filthy hands. This was no farce, written in beautiful emerald script was a letter addressed to her, welcoming her to Hogwarts for her first year, and hosting a list of supplies required as a student. Finding the acceptance form in the very back, Nessia scrabbled for an inkwell and signed her name, aware that the resting owl was roosting for the journey back and likely to also send her own reply so that she could officially be added to the roster. She wondered if anyone ever declined.

"Och," she placed the new letter before the owl, an orange eye blinking open suspiciously. "When yer all good and rested, can ye take this back? Ye can stay here as long as ye need. Here's some water too," Nessia grabbed one of her pails and filled a cup she had laying around in her room, pushing it up her desk toward the raptor. "Mind the plants, but make yerself at hame."

The owl shook its feathers out and gave a low, trilling hoot before bending down to lap up some of the offered water. Nessia took the pieces of parchment, threw on a proper dress—which was little more than a corduroy sack over her shift—and burst out of her room with more fervor than the typically quiet girl displayed. Sputtering around a corner, her socks slipped beneath her and she slid an extra few paces before a hand snapped out and gripped the bannister, redirecting her path so that she could sprint toward her grandfather's solar.

Located on the opposite side of the heirloom cottage, the home that she'd grown up in as long as she could remember, even when her parents had been alive. The MacDougal Manor, situated within the misty rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands, flanked by Loch Linsor and relatively removed from neighbors muggle and wizard alike. Despite the sheltered, rural location, the home was a hive of familiar faces including Hoggle, the house elf, to other friends and servants. In the lake was a pod of merrow, many of which didn't mind popping above the surface to spare an afternoon of conversation with Nessia, to their gardener, a centaur named Rowan who was estranged from the local clan and happily made his home amongst the MacDougal family.

Even if their own grounds were limited to those that worked and kept stock of the care and daily routines, they were often frequented by visits that related to her grandfather's connections. He had been an important man in his prime and despite the years of his youth slipping through the hourglass that was time, many still came to him for advice or whispering happenings within the shadows.

Being so early in the morning, Nessia hadn't expected it to be another day where Bhan was entertaining a guest, sputtering to a graceless halt in front of the oaken door wrought with intricately carved designs depicting the MacDougal alliance with the centaurs and merrow of this area of the highlands. Their family had always had close ties with other Beings (even if the merrow and centaurs disregarded this classification), including their own house elves which lived a much more comfortable life than most elves in similar positions. She had only just raised a tanned fist to knock upon the door when she overheard voices on the other side.

"He's escaped Azkaban?" it was her grandfather, Angus, hissing in frustration at the revelation. "How in Merlin's name? If I werenae so hoachin' I'd join the hunt for him meself. Where aboot did he get loose?"

"Further south and put a little more faith in the department assigned to hunt werewolves," the other person retorted calmly.

"Faith?" Angus huffed in indignation. "I had faith that the sleekit dug wouldnae escape from Azkaban in the first place!"

"Things happen, Angus."

"Things happen, me arse. When I worked for the Ministry this wouldnae happened. Folk be gettin' too relaxed noo that Ye-Ken-Who is pushing daisies. Noo the Ministry gets all gallus and let's a bloody lycan loose. How many ye think will be turned or killed, eh?"

"Angus, I only came here to deliver the news so you could keep your eyes and ears sharp. I doubt he'll come up here, not when there's nowhere to hide and far too many centaurs roaming the moors," her grandfather's companion sounded bone weary, exhausted by toiling with the idea that innocent people were going to be cursed, maimed, or killed.

"Makin' a habit o' eavesdropping?"

The sound of Hoggle's voice made Nessia leap up, fumbling her letters before giving the house elf a bashful, guilt ridden look. "I-I," she stammered quietly, worried that those inside the solar would hear her. "Got me letter to Hogwarts. I only wanted tae show Bhan."

"The MacDougal has a guest. Come downstairs fer now and break yer fast," Hoggle shook his head dismissively, but a tight smirk betrayed the elf's amusement by the girl's dolefulness. "A letter tae Hogwarts noo? Suppose it's aboot time ye had yer own turn there."

"Do ye ken anyone who works there?" Nessia trotted after the house elf, his ragged tartan swaying behind him, pinned in place by a rusty pennancular pendant that Hoggle took deep pride in.

"Got a few cousins who do work in the kitchens," Hoggle admitted, giving her a sideways glance. "Course they're nothin' like me."

"No one is like ye, Hoggle. Everyone's different," Nessia pointed out chipperly.

"Nay," he shook his head, batty ears swaying from their position where they'd been slicked back like hair. "The MacDougals are a fine clan. Good witches and wizards. Treat all their servants right. Hogwarts is good too, but... most places dinnae treat me kind like people. The MacDougal gae me a room, a stipend, clothes—this is a job. For other elves its servitude, slavery and they bow willfully. We were made that way... tae want tae serve. I wouldnae trade whit I hae here for anything. Me cousins... they're happy, because the folk at the school are kind and they dinnae ken better. So they might seem a bit odd compared tae me."

Nessia cocked her head, having never met another house elf aside from Hoggle. Truth be told, she thought all of the elves were servants who had their own respective quarters and free time. But slaves? Her wide lips pulled down in a frown and her steps started to trudge as she contemplated the situation others of Hoggle's kind might be subjected to. "I'm sorry, ye sound sad."

Hoggle blinked. "Is na yer fault, Nessie. Jus' the way things be."

"That's wrong though. Just like it's wrong that the centaurs and merrows are classified as beasts," Nessia huffed.

The house elf's lips tugged up in a smile. "World needs more witches who think like ye, Nessie. Be a much kinder place."

"World would be weak if it were more like me," Nessia muttered, mostly to herself as the pair stepped into the kitchen. Yet another one of her favorite rooms in the house, with high ceilings, a long table in the center of the room that functioned as both an island and where informal meals were hosted. With a wave of a knobbly hand, a stool danced toward Hoggle and he hopped up onto it.

"The world needs kindness, Nessie. It doesnae make ye weak," Hoggle assured her. "Yer bhan is kind."

"But he's also braw," she countered, plopping down on a barstool by the island.

"Och, yer bum's oot the windae, int it?" a third voice joined the conversation, the tall visage of her adult brother sauntering into view as he fixed his tie. The siblings, while having the same parents, reflected each parent in their own way. Nessia took after their mother, with tanned skin, thick curly black hair, and a flat nose-smattering her nose like a constellation was her father's Scottish freckles and the MacDougal green eyes were another telltale sign of her heritage. Whereas Logan was a shade fairer, strong jawed, tall and broad, a head of russet curls hashed with strands of auburn and gold. Whilst he looked more akin to their father, Bhan always claimed he had their mother's fire burning in his heart. Despite their differences, they did share their mother's nose.

"Ah umnae!" Nessia squeaked, cheeks darkening at the insinuation that she was talking rubbish.

"Whit hae ye got there?" Logan gestured to her folded parchment while he was adjusting the cuff links on his shirt.

"Oh! Me letter to Hogwarts," she stood on the pegs of the stool and leaned over the counter to wave it at him.

In just three strides, Logan met her and took the parchment from her, whistling low as he thumbed through it thoughtfully. "Who wouldae thought they'd accept a lil mandrake like ye. Did ye send a letter back sayin' ye'd only want tae study plants?"

"I can learn other stuff," Nessia grumbled, crossing her arms as her brother.

"Well, if that's the case, when ye get yer want, how aboot I teach ye some spells?" he offered, handing the parchment back and pouring himself a cup of tea that Hoggle had on the stove.

"I thought I couldnae practice magic outside o' school," Nessia recalled smartly.

"In front o' muggles. Otherwise, who's gaunnae stop ye? Most other students are na lucky enough to hae a big brother who's an Auror," Logan retorted glibly.

"Am not tryin' to be an Auror," Nessia reminded him.

"Och, yer too wee tae ken whit ye'd like tae do yet," Logan played off dismissively. "I do ken we hae a lot of the supplies ye need here—like the cauldron, scales, phials, telescope. I might even hae some of the books, I ken ye have the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi one in yer room."

Nessia gave a stout nod, pleased that she wouldn't dirty new books, as she had the uncanny ability to smear dirt on them as well as the inclination to make notes in the margins. Even if the clan had a manor, comparatively Nessia wouldn't claim they were the richest or most influential family. Most of the sacred twenty-eight turned their noses up at the accepting tendencies the MacDougals practiced. They lived comfortably, but if items could be repurposed or recycled, there was no use in wasting it. Both Nessia and Logan had been raised to be appreciative of what they had, what they acquired, and to not discard belongings without regard. An old book still held the same words as a new one and personally, the old one had more character.

"Suppose I'll need tae get a wand and robes, ye were a skinny malinky longlegs when ye went tae school," Nessia pointed out.

Logan sputtered into his mug, Hoggle chortling at the description.

"Keep the heid, young master," Hoggle taunted before the man could offer rebuttal.

"Whit's this noo?" Heads swiveled in the direction of the voice from under the awning, Angus having his hands propped up on his hips as he surveyed the crowd and began carving his path toward the tea kettle. "Yer gaunnae be late fer work, eh?" he prompted, turning verdant eyes to pin Logan where he stood, still gobsmacked from Nessia's prod.

"It's an important day. Na everyday that yer little sister gets an acceptance letter to Hogwarts," Logan preened, taking a glance at his watch.

"Sounds like an excuse tae me. Whit time are ye supposed to be in?" Angus countered suspiciously.

Logan grumbled. "Och, I'll go!" With a snap the man's silhouette rippled inward and he disapparated from the kitchen, fluttering a nearby towel that was folded over the oven handle.

Plates were beginning to float from the stove, landing soundlessly on the island as Hoggle moved as if he were conducting an orchestra. Silverware, plates, and cups followed—the door banging open, followed by the clopping of hooves as Rowan entered.

"Mornin'," he greeted, pausing to wash his hands in the sink.

"So ye got yer letter to Hogwarts? Aboot time," Angus remarked, returning to the island to glance over the parchment. "Might be time tae head to Diagon Alley for the rest o' yer supplies. Hoggle, ye think ye can scrounge up the auld books? I ken Logan had a few of these."

"O' course," Hoggle agreed.

Diagon Alley had been a less than often frequented place of Nessia. To be honest, it was busy, overwhelming, and cramped. Nothing about London was favorable to her, especially when she was so accustomed to the wide open moors and the loch that spanned her home. Additionally, it was humid and frizzed up her curls, turning them into a deplorable helmet. Usually, she let her bhan go without her, but managed to suppress a sigh because she knew that this outing would result in acquiring one of the most important items as a witch: a wand.

"Dinnae look so driech," Angus chuckled.

"It's gaunnae be gross, I jus' ken it," Nessia pouted, spooning hash onto her plate and settling on a scoop of eggs to join it. "Hogsmeade is closer, innit?"

"Tis," Angus mused. "I jus' thought ye'd want the full experience."

Nessia arched a brow at him. "Full experience? I'd prefer na tae sweat me breeks off."

"Lassie dinnae care fer the Sassenachs," Rowan observed mischievously. "Cannae blame ye for that."

"Most o' yer peers are gaunnae be Sassenachs," Hoggle wagged a wooden spoon at her.

"Well, if I can put off meetin' em for as long as possible-" Nessia suggested lightly, shoving some food into her mouth.

"Feart not," Angus declined. "We're gaunnae go to the Alley."

Nessia let out a plainative groan and nearly choked on her eggs, chasing it down with orange juice. The rest of breakfast went on as usual before she was sent off to get ready for the afternoon. London was going to be quite a bit warmer than the highlands, which forced her to choose thinner robes that she preferred to wear. Bundling her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck to save her the embarrassment of it being frazzled to hell, Nessia slipped on a pair of Wellies and trundled grumpily out of her room, the owl having left before she returned.

Upon passing her grandfather's solar, Nessia paused momentarily to reflect on what she'd overheard. Lycans? Escape from Azkaban? She hadn't caught a name, but a shiver traced down her spine at the thought of werewolves roaming the countryside in search of unsuspecting victims. Living in the highlands, she was reminded duly of the protection she was afforded so far north, so removed, and by plenty of other creatures that would chase the werewolves across the moors before letting them bunker down and cause a ruckus.

Waiting by the main hearth, Angus had already dressed in his afternoon robes, including a small sash in the clan's tartan which slashed across his breast. Adjusting his balmoral cap, his heavy brows raised at his granddaughter.

"Try na tae look too enthused," he retorted sarcastically, mustache twitching up at the 11 year old's dismay.

"It's gaunnae be driech, Bhan," Nessia whined, dipping her hand into the basin filled with Floo powder. "And they talk weird."

"Whit if we're the ones who talk weird?" Angus challenged.

"Doubtful," stepping into the fireplace, the sand sifting between her fingers, Nessia tossed the powder down with pizzazz. "Diagon Alley!" Careful to speak clearly, envious green flames lanced up in front of her, obscuring her vision completely. Holding her breath to prevent breathing in the fumes and ash, she narrowed her eyes in an effort to witness her voyage up out of the tippy top of her home's chimney. Arms pinned, up becoming down, skipping from north to south, Nessia groaned when she made impact with the public fireplace of the Alley.

Immediately, she was rebuffed by the humid air of London, the cool and refreshing summer of the highlands replaced by an unusually hot day, peaking at the high 20s (nearly 80F). Pushing a few stray curls from her forehead, Nessia grimaced and stepped out of the way as the chimney above her thundered with the warning of another traveler approaching. Never a pleasant experience, her nose wrinkling as she huffed a sneeze and barely managed to move as a wizard threw a haughty glare in her direction. Rolling her eyes, she waited another moment before her grandfather materialized, dusting off his robes and tartan, ruffling his mustache and sneezing just as loudly as she had.

The mimicked fashion made her grin widely and he chuckled. "Blasted Floo. Never been tae fond of it," he grumbled, striding up to meet her.

"I dinnae think anyone 'likes' it, Bhan," Nessia pointed out to his chagrin.

"Shoulda just disapparated," he muttered, rubbing beneath his nose again. "Noo, where do we need tae go?"

Unfolding the list from her pocket, Nessia could already feel sweat beading on the back of her neck. Maybe she'd worn too heavy an outfit, the corduroy like a smothering blanket amidst the humidity. Thank Merlin Hogwarts was in Scotland. "Robes, parchment, note books, a wand-" she recited, aware that most of the other supplies could be scavenged around the MacDougal grounds. Hand-me-downs didn't bother her too much, though it wasn't as if they couldn't afford newer items; Nessia just didn't see a point when there were perfectly good ones at home.

"Generic supplies," Angus admitted. "Och, well let's get started then. Get ye some robes, 'course yer wand—it's the most important item ye'll get. Maybe if yer not too cheeky, we can stop for some icecream."

Nessia beamed in spite of the blistering weather and flanked her grandfather as they started through the brimming streets of Diagon Alley. From the sloping roofs held up by only magic, defying gravity's expectations, to the gayly hued robes that bespeckled the populace, she settled into the hum of activity. From the freshly baked pastries that filled her with fragrant thoughts of Hoggle making holiday desserts to the owls ruffling their feathers within their cages, she relaxed slightly, keeping close beside her grandfather who parted the crowd as if he had a wand out and was thrusting folks aside. Be it the prowess the broad man moved with or just the heavy expression he always wore, most steered clear of the highlander. He was easily recognizable from his hints of traditional garb and the pride each shoe fell with.

Nessia wished she possessed an ounce of her grandfather's confidence or vindication, but as close as they were they couldn't have been more unlike each other. He was outgoing, strong, ambitious, wise, and willful. Nessia was quiet, reclusive, and shy. Only those that she knew did the girl have the heart to sass, but under the scrutiny of strangers she felt nervous and sweaty. The sheer idea of having to go to school without him made her falter. For today she should have been rejoicing, as excited as the other children around her that she would be going to school soon and beginning the next endeavor of her life. Truthfully, Nessia was terrified.

"Bhan, whit house do ye think I'll be in?" she asked him as they continued down the road toward the wand shop.

"Dinnae, bit o' a toss up for ye. Yer smart, so maybe Ravenclaw. Yer also too nice fer yer own could, ye could be in Hufflepuff," he answered honestly, which made her frown slightly.

"Weren't ye in Gryffindor, Bhan?" she prompted.

"Aye, do ye think ye'll be put into Gryffindor?"

Nessia wanted to be in the same house as her grandfather, almost as if it'd prove that there was more to her than the demure plant-loving witch, but she didn't think herself very brave. Just contemplating how desperately she wanted to be in the house made her eyes prickle with tears, which she quickly blinked back. "I hope Ravenclaw," she decided, knowing that Logan wouldn't let her live it down if she got placed into Hufflepuff. Not that the house sounded bad, but when her family came from a long history of Gryffindors, it made her balk at being placed in the 'softest' house at Hogwarts. After all, she was a highlander and only Ravenclaw or Gryffindor would do.

"Dinnae fash. Ye'll do well wherever ye are, lassie. Ye ken I'm proud of ye, even if ye got placed in Slytherin. No house will change me mind," Angus assured her, tapping her on her nose, having noticed that she was fighting back tears.

The shop in front of them was dusty, but then again, many of the store fronts around here were. It was strange, considering how busy Diagon Alley was, that time was rarely allocated to clean off store fronts or afford a new repaint. Considering all it would take was a swing of a hand or wand to set brooms or dustpans to work, Nessia cocked her head as she stared at the grimy pillow in the display and itched her nose at the anticipation of stepping into the shop. Hoggle would have lost his mind.

Bell tinkling upon their arrival, Nessia shielded her eyes—not because the shop was particularly bright, in fact it was rather dim. No, it was the chain reaction that her presence caused, a box on the wall jetting out amongst the rank and file and pinging right into the side of a rickety desk. An elderly man jumped, his thin white hair going astray as he glanced from the box, the mess the wand had created by acting so spryly—spilling at least two dozen others from the wall—before bending down to pick it up.

"Mr. MacDougal," the shopkeeper smiled, placing the box up on the counter and glancing between them. "I don't think either of you will be spending very long here."

"Nice tae see ye, Ollivander," Angus greeted, palming his granddaughter's back and thrusting her forward from where she'd frozen. "Seems yer wands got minds of their own."

"I see it... from time to time," he smiled gently, turning his wizened eyes down toward Nessia. "This must be Nessia? You look a lot like your mother when she came to get her first wand."

"You remember her?" Nessia's trepidation was trumped by the man's memory of a mother she barely recalled. Both of her parents had been killed when she was little, amidst the wizarding war that had made for a tumultuous childhood for her.

"I remember every person I sell a wand to," Ollivander winked, lifting the lid to the box and revealing a wand. "She had a 12", dragon heartstring cored wand, made from red oak. A very handsome wand."

"Whit happened with that wand?" Nessia inquired, gesturing to the one that had flown clean off the shelf.

"Ah, well let's take a look," he picked up up, holding it to the oil lamp beside him, scrutinizing the ribbing and the fine lattice work of knots around the grip. "Made from vine. They have a tendency to display their attraction to potential partners. I've only seen it happen a few times before, but they're not always quite a brash as this one."

At the insinuation that the wand had reacted to her, Nessia's tanned cheeks darkened and she sputtered. "M-me?"

"Certainly not your grandfather. I'm afraid this wand would not suit him," Ollivander betrayed. "This one has been collecting dust for a while. A very long while," he insisted, reaching over to offer it to Nessia. "I made it many years ago, while I was still experimenting with other cores aside from dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feathers. Honestly, I thought it might never sell. Griffin feathers are quite particular, perhaps even more so than phoenix feathers. Prideful creatures."

Accepting the wand, a tingle lanced up her hand, into her elbow, and caused the girl to shudder all over as if a strong gust of cold highland wind had knocked right through her. She could smell the rain on the moors, fresh air whistling through her thick curls, and roasted apples over a fire. A smile curled her lips and she opened her eyes to glance curiously at the wandmaker.

"A perfect fit," Ollivander declared. "It would seem MacDougals are always the quickest shops. I seem to remember when my father had a wand nearly jump into your hands, Angus."

Her grandfather snorted, removing his wand to offer it to the artisan, who ran his fingers along the wood with a sad, but pleased reminiscent expression upon his face. "Nessie's a MacDougal through and through," he puffed up in pride. "Griffin feather, ye hear? Makes sense, a good deal of griffins migrate to the highlands in the warmer seasons."

Always having felt that maybe being a witch was not suited perfectly for her, Nessia clutched the wand. She couldn't have wished for anything more than this perfect union with the unique wand. A tendril of confidence bolstered the girl's frail spine and she grinned up at her bhan. A griffin feather? Of all the cores, she wouldn't have expected such a braw one to choose her, but her heart soared like the creature it was made from.

"I always thought your core was so strange. How my father managed to acquire will-o-wisps and fashion it into a wand always eluded my skill," Ollivander commented, turning Angus' wand over a few times. "I would have expected the reverse for the two of you, but such rare cores are fickle and don't sell often enough to warrant making them in masses. I realized this once I had taken over, but it still warms my heart to see these wands finally find their partners."

"Served me well, it has," Angus assured him. "And dinnae forget that I wasnae always how I am noo. Nessie's got a much better head on her shoulders than when I was a lad," he patted his granddaughter affectionately.

"You were a bit naive if I recall correctly. Bright eyed and bushy tailed," Ollivander chuckled, returning the wand as he began drafting up a hand written receipt.

"Bhan?" Nessia gasped, as if the idea of her grandfather being anything other than the strident retired Auror that she'd known for the entirety of her life.

"We all grow up, Nessie. I was no exception," he mused, mustache twitching in amusement. "Mr. Ollivander is one of the few who still remembers. Though I hae no doubt Professor McGonagall might as well. We went tae school together."

"I think there are still quite a few more who do, but you're unwilling to admit," Ollivander smiled. "That'll be 10 galleons."

Mr. Ollivander packed up the wand for Nessia, which he shared was about 13.5" and had a relatively hard flexibility to it, but he assured her that the wand was rather delighted to have her. Keeping the bundle tucked close to her chest, she followed her grandfather through the streets which had only grown more busy and sweltering as the afternoon peaked. Past the shops with the pets again and to the robes shop. They passed the front of a second hand store, about to continue when a voice called out.

"Oh! Mr. MacDougal—"

Nessia didn't recognize the voice as one of the typical visitors to their homestead and glanced up inquisitively toward her grandfather who froze and wrinkled his nose. A bemused smile tucked on her face as he turned mechanically and forced a pressed, but polite look onto his face. "Allo there," by the second hand shop was a man with a head full of bright, coppery red hair. "Been a while, Arthur. How's the Ministry?"

Arthur was tall, had a face full of freckles, and beamed excitedly up towards Angus. Beside him were two boys, both of which appeared to be of similar age to Nessia, but she didn't know for certain. Just as ginger as their father, they spared her curious looks. One tall, the other a little shorter and broad. Subconsciously, she waned toward her grandfather, but still stared nonetheless.

"Not half as well since you left for good, but it's nice to see you. I hear you don't often leave the highlands, so I'm surprised to see you in London," Arthur admitted politely. He didn't look like an Auror, but Nessia supposed that was a rather rude thing to think by assessing his weathered robes.

"Me granddaughter, Nessie, starts Hogwarts this year. We came tae get the last few things we needed. Logan had quite a bit o' supplies she can put to good use again," he patted her back. "These yer bairns?"

"Ah yes, my eldest Bill, who is in his third year. My second eldest, Charlie, is starting this year. Perhaps the two of you will be in the same classes or house," Arthur suggested, motioning to his sons respectively. "Boys, this is the legendary Auror, Angus MacDougal. He headed the Aurors for many years, fought against Grindelwald and helped during the Wizarding War with intel. I'm surprised you didn't stay around, join the Wizengamot-"

"Bunch o' pompous pr-" Angus started at the mention of the Wizengamot, cutting himself off before he cursed. Nessia snickered behind her hand. "Ah, too many years workin'. Aboot time I enjoy me home, avoid the stress of the Ministry. How's work been for ye, Arthur?"

"Good!" Arthur chirped, but even Nessia caught the fleeting anxious look on the man's face and her grandfather stiffening. "Busy as always," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, it was nice to see ye. Nessie and I still hae to get some supplies before headin' back north. Tell Molly and the other bairns I've said allo."

"It was nice tae meet ye," Nessia squeaked quickly, following Angus' lead, but still finding her manners. "I'll see ye at school."

"Will do. It was nice to see you," Arthur said, parting ways.

Once out of earshot, Nessia glanced up at her grandfather. "Ye dinnae seem tae happy to see him."

"Arthur is... very passionate," Angus grumbled. "He's a good man, but he's obsessed with muggles. Half the time I see him, I worry I'm gaunnae be stuck listening to him prattle on for hours."

"Oh, he's not an Auror?"

"Oh, nay, nay," Angus shook his head. "Works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Tae be honest, that department's a bit ignored and underfunded... Ministry doesnae see the importance of it much, but we could learn so much from the muggles if we allowed our folk to study with better pay. Used to run into him when I grabbed me morning tea. Realized who I was, was a bit feart at first, but warmed up when he realized I wasnae gaunnae bite his head off. I suppose many other Aurors got their heads far up their own arses. Think they're better than people like Arthur. If any of them had as much passion for their job as Arthur, perhaps we wouldnae had so much of an issue with dark wizards like Ye-Ken-Who."

"Clan MacDougal always mingled with muggles."

"Aye, before Catholicism took hold. We had tae hide our abilities after, but we remained friendly with the muggle clans in the highlands," he added duly. "But not every wizardin' family thinks the same as we dae."

"I ken," Nessia shuddered. "That's why ye never accept those invitations that come from those other families. The Malfoys? Rosiers?"

Angus hummed in agreement. "Jus' posturin' to them. 'Look at what we have', when they dinnae work a day in their lives. Jus' takin' up space and lookin' pretty."

"They dinnae work? Whit do they dae?"

"Merlin kens," Angus rolled his eyes.

Madam Malkin's had a violet store front, a dapper, well dress family in the store display. She thought this one was considerably less dusty, as the mannequins were probably changed out enough that they didn't have enough time to collect half as much dust as the pillow in Ollivander's window. A plump, bright witch hummed around the shop and had her laden with packages as Angus commented about how thick the cloaks were and that a true highlander wouldn't need these to brave the winters in Scotland. While growing rosy cheeked at her grandfather's complaining, they acquired the necessary materials and hurried to collect the last few miscellaneous items. Without having to struggle with books, a cauldron, and the other items they had at home, they were able to easily settle down at the ice cream shop for a much needed treat amongst the heat of a strangely warm afternoon in London.

The path to the Floo hearths was a little choked up, various other patrons just as eager to head home after a successful day in acquiring their needs on Diagon Alley. While waiting in line, Nessia glanced up toward Angus.

"Bhan, we dinnae hae tae come back here, dae we?" Sweat was pouring down her neck, trickling down her back.

"Nay, not til September when ye hae to catch the train."

"The train!" Nessia whined. "But Hogwarts is not too far frae home."

"It's aboot the experience. Ye may meet yer best friends on the train," Angus wagged a brow at her.

Grousing quietly to herself, Nessia didn't shed light on the anxiety she felt surrounding the idea of having to find somewhere on a train to sit, let alone deal with not knowing a single soul. Sure, she knew the names of those two boys, but she didn't know them. To be fair, she didn't really know anyone. It was easy to get lost amongst her jungle at home, the pages of her journal, and the garden outside. There was Hoggle, Rowan, and Logan. Plus the merrow in the loch, which were quite conversational once she'd learned how to understand them. The centaurs were a bit standoffish, but they'd been polite to her.

Hoggle had located the books she needed for school, a couple of which were nearly falling apart because Logan had abused the spines. While the pages were intact—minus his maddened scribblings in a few books—she had to do some repairs of her own to prevent them from breaking further and threatening to actually spill necessary reading material everywhere.

"Knock, knock future Puff," Logan announced his presence, rapping upon the frame of her open door as he poked his head into the jungle.

"Och, ye dinnae ken that yet," Nessia huffed, blowing a few strands of hair from her face as she was sewing another binding back into place.

"Where else would ye go?" Logan stepped in, teasing his younger sister. "Ooh, sorry there. Those look as if they've weathered bein' beat by hippogriffs."

"Oh, yer sorry? Might've fixed 'em before ye handed em down tae me," Nessia quipped, but honestly wasn't that upset. The books still functioned.

"Well, how aboot I make it up to ye?" he offered.

"Ye gaunnae buy me new books?"

"How aboot I do ye one better? Ye got yer wand today, didn't ya?"

Opening the box in front of her, Nessia pulled out the pale wooden wand. "Aye, but I'm not supposed to practice magic outside of school."

"Not around Muggles," Logan corrected. "And if I remember correctly, there arenae any here. Yer perfectly allowed tae practice at home and we're quite remote. If anyone questions it, ye got me to vouch for ye."

Her brother's beguiling reassurances did little to quell the twanging nerves, plucking like an out of tune violin as she contemplated taking the bait. "Whit are ye gaunnae teach me?"

"A few defense spells—Och wait!"

"I dinnae need those. I'm not ye! I'm not gaunnae get into any fights—" Nessia objected immediately.

"Better to ken them and not need them than to be dumped on yer arse. Yer a MacDougal. Like it or not, we have a reputation to uphold and while Bhan will not say anything aboot it, I want to be certain no one picks on ye," Logan interrupted, raising a hand to deflect her disquiet.

"No one is gaunnae pick on me," Nessia snorted. "It's not like when ye went to school."

"Slytherin is still just as nasty as when I went. Yer better off, Nessie."

He wasn't going to drop it, causing her to groan at his insistence. "Fine, but I ken I'm gaunnae be foul at spellwork. Never been good at it before."

"Ye never had the chance tae really try. C'mon, let's go oot in the garden."

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic #growing up at hogwarts #original characters #prose filled

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ren1327 · 4 years

Text

“Why didn’t you use Martha’s family for the cannibal sinners?”

Who are the Roths?

Jasper Monroe was an Afro-Latino stable hand, who gained the attention of Grayson Roth. Grayson and Jasper ran when they heard of the war and settled in Texas, where they killed and ate a slave catcher to satisfy thier hunger and hide the body. They found a starving boy and later some infant twins left to die and adopted them. They all lived in comfort after they had Grayson’s dad for Christmas dinner. He was tasty. Then a forest fire took all of them, mostly from smoke inhalation. After getting to hell they settled in Cannibal Colony and live happily as associates of Alastor and Rosie. Grayson is a cook, Jasper and Mace are hunters while the twins tend to help in the kitchen or lure unsuspecting sinners closer to the gates and drag them in.

But here’s a few more reasons why I rather use them than Martha’s family.

1. Grayson would kill himself before cheating on Jasper. Jasper would set fire to himself if the thought crossed his mind. They are ride and die and die and die again.

2. They are the gay Gomez and Mortica I always wanted to be when I was a kid.

3. Guns are for wimps.

4. We love a southern accented Afro-Latino who has ties to Alastor strictly in the way you have a bond with someone from from your home town.

5. We love a English dandy who saw a stable boy who looked like a mocha Kylo Ren, and was ready to screw over money, status and his own father to marry him. He would have done that regardless, but killing your white supremist Dad along with getting a man who can crack your pelvis on the nightly is a bonus.

6. These characters were made for Creepypasta, a supernatural horror comedy on infinite pause, and simply to simp for each other so I could in turn simp for thier screen time.

7. We love an infinite teen who loved hunting down confederate soldiers with a axe and now listens to FOB while simping over an owl.

8. We love a eight year old who regularly hunted alligators and rattlesnakes with her Dad and made thier skulls into masks and hair accessories.

9. We love the eight year old who wanted to and killed every other game hunter just so he could pet the animals they were trying to hunt.

10. In thier Hazbin story, they moved from Louisiana after killing Grayson’s father and moved to the Texas panhandle, where they killed and disposed everyone who came too close except for runaway slaves, of who they allowed to leave after eating a full meal and sleeping at least seven hours.

11. I just realized, they’re like the housewife-cowboy version of radiodust, which is a lovely ship, but not one of mine, so this is a good compromise.

12. They are not Martha’s cheating ass.

#hazbin fanfic #hazbin oc #hazbin original character #hazbin hotel #i wish i could draw #i have so many cute ideas for them

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myth-lord · 5 years

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Mythika’s creatures from African and Arabian myths.

**THE CREATURES FROM AFRICAN MYTHS**

Guiafairo appear as giant bats which have the blood of fae. Their most noticeable ability is blinking and teleporting at rapid speed, which makes them almost immune to ranged attacks. They use their blinking to get into rooms that are locked so they can feast on the fear of their mostly elven and humanoid prey, as bogeys they only feed on their preys fear, but to create fear they sometimes also tear into the flesh.

@rt: https://www.deviantart.com/saeedramez

Adze (African) – Fae (Vermin / Vampire) - Giant vampiric insects with bioluminescence to lure prey close.

Aigamuxa (African) – Humanoid (Giant / Cursed) - Blind desert giants whose eyes are located underneath their feet.

Asanbosam (African) – Fae (Troll / Vampire) - Trolls living in trees, their hands and feet look like hooks.

Chemosit (African) – Aberration (Alien / Psychic) - Parasitic aliens located within the bodies of bears, these tentacle-like parasites eventually break free from within their hosts.

Chipfalamfula (African) – Aberration (Fish / Summoner) - Enormous fresh-water fish which keep their ravenous young inside their maws.

Eloko (African) – Humanoid (Dwarf / Mounted) * - Jungle dwarves which often stand on each other’s shoulders to appear bigger.

Gbahali (African) – Beast (Reptilian) - Much like Kaprosuchus, hunting from ambush in the mountains.

Grootslang (African) – Beast (Reptilian / Chimerae) - Giant behemoths combining the features of both elephants and snakes.

Guiafairo (African) – Fae (Bogey) - Giant fae bats which have the power to teleport or blink.

Guiamala (African) – Beast - Multi-horned Giraffe-like creatures with aggressive tempers.

Intulo (African) – Humanoid (Beastman / Reptilian / Mounted) * - Gecko-like humanoids.

Jba Fofi (African) – Beast (Vermin) - Giant wolf spiders.

Kishi (African) – Demon - Demons of pride and vanity, an ugly demonic face is located on the back of their head.

Kongamato (African) – Beast (Reptilian / Drake) - Mythika’s very own Pterosaur, much like a Pteranodon.

Makalala (African) – Demon (Avian) - Much like demonic Secretary Birds, with very long stilt-like legs.

Mbielu-Mbielu (African) – Plant (Reptilian / Parasite) * - Parasitic algae and moss which grows on the plates of stegosaurs and which turns them hostile and protective of the environment.

Migas (African) – Aberration - Swamp-based octopi with over twenty tentacles, some even live in trees.

Mngwa (African) – Undead (Tulpa / Cursed) - Undead spectral black lions which only exist and appear during the night.

Mokele-Mbembe (African) – Beast (Reptilian) - Much like a hostile and aggressive Amargasaurus.

Ngoubou (African) – Beast (Reptilian) - Much like a demonic-looking variant of the Styracosaurus, very hostile and aggressive.

Nguma-Monene (African) – Beast (Reptilian / Drake) - Much like a Mosasaurus on steroids, with sharp needle-like spines covering the entire length of its body.

Ninki Nanka (African) – Beast (Reptilian / Drake) - Tanystropheus-like creatures but much more dangerous.

Nyuvwira (African) – Dragon (Reptilian) - Eight-headed Hydra-like dragon serpents, which spit lighting and control gravity around them.

Olitiau (African) – Beast (Vampire) - Giant vampire bats.

Popobawa (African) – Demon (Psychic) - Bat like demons with a single eye which spread chaos and destruction.

Rompo (African) – Beast (Chimerae) - Strange chimerae which control the bones within their bodies, forcing them through their skin to create protective spikes.

Taotie, Khodumodumo (African) – Demon - Extremely large and bloated variants of the Taotie, their cavernous maw can engulf an entire caravan.

Umdhlebi (African) – Plant - Carnivorous plants with three bulb-like heads, very poisonous.

Ya-Te-Veo (African) – Plant (Alien) - Strange alien trees with tentacle-like branches which can walk on their roots.

Yehwe Zogbanu (African) – Fae (Troll) - Giant jungle trolls with giant horns growing all over their backs and heads, they use them to impale their dead future meal on.

Zombie (African) – Undead (Human) - Yeah, the house, kitchen garden variant.

============================

**THE CREATURES FROM MIDDLE EASTERN AND SIMILAR MYTHS**

Apaosha are one of the more vile and dangerous species of Kelpies. They embody the element earth. When they trick victims to ride them they trap them by turning their backs into quicksand, then they slowly turn them into the dust that forms the Apaosha’s very manes and tails. Apaosha are minions (and sometimes mounts) of the Horseman of Famine.

@rt: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3o9qm2

Acheri (Hindu) – Angel (Cursed) - Small gothic angel girls which look cute but which bring diseases through their arrows, much like evil Cupid.

Aeshma (Persian) – Demon (Summoner) - Much like D&D’s Balor and LOTR’s Balrog, the commanders of most other demons.

Aghash (Persian) – Demon - Beholder-like demons of many eyes, demons of Envy, sight, spying and wrath.

Ahl At-Trab (Arabian) – Elemental (Spirit) * - Sand elementals, living sandstorms.

Amphisbaena, Ouroboros (Egyptian) – Dragon (Reptilian) - Dragon-snakes with heads on both ends of their bodies, one evil black head and one gentle white head.

Apaosha (Arabian) – Demon (Shifter) - The desert and earth variant of the Kelpie, it’s rider-victims will slowly turn to dust.

Asdeev (Persian) – Dragon (Shifter / Reptilian) - Beautiful female white dragons with mist and fog based powers.

Aten (Egyptian) – Elemental (Spirit) - Very powerful light elementals, want to be worshipped like Gods.

Baykok, Airi (Hindu) – Undead (Human / Cursed / Summoner) - More powerful Baykok variants, they hunt for even stronger creatures with their two skeleton dogs at their side.

Caspilly (Persian) – Beast (Fish / Unicorn) - Giant lionfish with very poisonous spikes and a single unicorn-like horn.

Devalpa (Arabian) – Aberration (Parasite / Cursed / Mounted) - Sneaky tricksters with tentacle-like legs which want to ride other creatures and turn them into slaves.

Druj Nasu (Persian) – Demon (Vermin) - Fly demons of pollution, corruption and filth, minions of Beelzebub.

Dulhath (Arabian) – Fae (Troll / Mounted) - Very lazy trolls who ride around on Gallimimus-like creatures.

Dybbuk (Jewish) – Demon (Spirit / Parasite / Psychic) - Demonic spirits which want to possess other creatures, they appear as floating masks, who wears the mask is controlled by the Dybbuk.

Fulad-Zereh (Persian) – Construct (Spirit / Tsukumogami / Cursed) - Animated suits of armor, with the spirit of its former wearer still haunting it.

Gbahali, Petsuchos (Egyptian) – Undead (Reptilian / Cursed) - Ritualistic changed Gbahali, mummified and in possession of light beam attacks and cursed fangs.

Ghul (Arabian) – Undead (Shifter / Genie / Summoner) - Undead spirits of the Genies, controlling dust, sand, darkness and using the bones of their victims as weapons.

Girtablilu (Arabian) – Humanoid (Beastman / Vermin / Centauric) - Half monstrous humanoid, and half scorpion.

Hieracosphinx (Egyptian) – Beast (Avian / Chimerae) * - One of Sets favorite pets, looking much like evil black Griffons.

Hypnalis (Egyptian) – Beast (Reptilian / Mara) - Giant white cobra’s which can kill creatures from within their dreams.

Ichneumon (Egyptian) – Beast - Mongoose like creatures which are expert dragon slayers.

Ifrit (Arabian) – Elemental (Shifter / Genie / Summoner) - The genies of fire, almost demonic in nature and able to control fire.

Jidra (Arabian) – Plant - Much like D&D’s shambling Mounds.

Jokkho (Bengal) – Construct (Spirit / Cursed) - Animated treasures, mostly golden coins, cursed by the greedy former owner.

Juggernaut (Hindu) – Construct (Spirit) - Giant self-mobile war-machines created by the Gods of warfare.

Karkadann (Persian) – Beast (Unicorn) - Aggressive, arrogant desert unicorns with enormous horns.

Karkinos, Saratan (Arabian) – Beast (Vermin) - Very ancient and large Karkinos crabs grow small landscapes on their shells.

Khepri (Egyptian) – Beast (Vermin) - Giant bombardier beetles which shoot different elemental bombs at their enemies, named after a dead Goddess.

Manticore (Persian) – Beast (Vermin / Chimerae) * - Mythika has both winged and wingless variants.

Miraj (Arabian) – Beast (Unicorn) - Agile, deadly and hungry for blood and flesh, these killer unicorn-bunnies are expert killers.

Mummy (Egyptian) – Undead (Human / Cursed / Summoner) * - Cursed and resurrected people of importance which gained a lot of deadly curses at their command.

Penchapechi (Bengal) – Fae (Avian / Spirit) - Giant fae owls which can become incorporeal at will, they never make a sound.

Rakshasa (Hindu) – Demon (Shifter) - The ultimate shapeshifter, taking any humanoid form they remember, evil variant of Doppelgangers.

Raktabija (Hindu) – Humanoid (Vampire / Human / Summoner) - Humans who practice blood-magic, controlling their own blood and turning it into a deadly weapon.

Redjal Marja (Arabian) – Elemental (Shifter / Genie / Summoner) - Very fat and ugly green, genies of polluted water, very lazy and filthy.

Roc (Arabian) – Beast (Avian) - Enormous elephant and whale hunting monstrous vultures.

Salawa (Egyptian) – Beast * - Another one of Set’s favorite pets, they have bizarre magical powers over darkness and sand.

Scarabs (Egyptian) – Beast (Vermin / Parasite / Swarm) - Swarms of flesh-eating carrion beetles that devour anything within seconds.

Serpopard (Egyptian) – Beast (Reptilian / Chimerae) * - The last of Set’s favorite pets, combining serpent with leopard.

Shadhawar (Persian) – Fae (Unicorn / Summoner) - Antelope-like unicorns which create magical melodies with their horns which change the moods of listeners.

Stymphalian, Asipatra (Hindu) – Construct (Avian) - Stymphalian birds which are created with adamantium instead of bronze.

Urmahlullu (Arabian) – Humanoid (Beastman / Centauric) * - Also known as Liontaurs, half humanoid half lion.

Vish Kanya (Hindu) – Humanoid (Human) - Evil amazons which use poison to their advantage and which are immune to most poisons.

Vish Kanya, Saapin (Hindu) – Humanoid (Human / Summoner / Psychic) - Mostly leaders among the Vish Kanya, these poisonous human women can animate and summon their tattoos.

Zabraq (Arabian) – Dragon (Reptilian) - Desert drakes looking like moloch-reptiles which use their own acid blood as weapon.

Zalambur (Arabian) – Elemental (Shifter / Genie / Summoner) - Very greedy, golden-skinned genies, with power over air and metal.

#Mythology #Cryptid #Folklore #Fantasy #Monster

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