#I know I know that snake skin in Bonny village

[irithylldancer]

I wrote this in some tags, but does anyone else feel like snakes as a theme are a huge red herring. Snakes can represent trickery, so it wouldn't be surprising that Fromsoft used this imagery for misdirection. I think the GEQ is a red herring and ironically some people think she is a snake lady. And also that Eiglay/god devouring serpent is the base serpent.

[spectrumos]

relaying a theory, and my narrative on it.

Edit: I said in this post I'd also write the narrative in a separate post, so here it is! It's also a slightly expanded and better edited version of it.

for two theory videos linked below.

This one was made pre-dlc

And this one post-dlc.

Send them both some love, they both have more to say on theory than I do.

Below is my attempt to convey both these videos and then my attempt to tell a narrativized version, which I will likely post again but separately.

"Solidified knotgrease made from a mixture of bone shards. The delightful festival is an old tradition; one old enough for the Erdtree to tacitly tolerate its endurance." Festive grease item.

made of blessed bone shards and yet it's full of flowers. odd.

You know where else is full of flowers? The shaman village of course. But where else?

Dominula!

The windmill village! Remarkably close to the Erdtree, and it contains a Godskin apostle! Why though?

Wouldn't you like to know!

Near the outskirts of Bonny village lies this giant snakeskin. Quite close to the tree and statue where you get the "O mother" gesture.

This leads to a theory that I had always believed a little bit, but the snakeskin, despite not being referenced in any descriptions or dialogue, feels quite important.

Especially because it shares a head shape with

THE GOD DEVOURING SERPENT!

and yet...

The skin near bonny village...

Is far larger than the one that ate Rykard!

So what snake is this second one?

THE GLOAM EYED QUEEN.

Now you may look at me like i'm INSANE and that's because I AM!

"Sacred sword of the Gloam-Eyed Queen who controlled the Godskin Apostles before her defeat at the hands of Maliketh.

The black flames wielded by the apostles are channeled from this sword." -Godslayer's greatsword

"A black flame incantation of the Godskin Apostles. Sweeps a wide area before the caster with black flame. Charging enhances range. The black flame could once slay gods. But when Maliketh sealed Destined Death, the true power of the black flame was lost." - Scouring Black Flame.

"Superior black flame incantation of the Godskin Apostles. 

Summons a circle of black flame pillars around the caster. Charging increases the size of the circle.

The Gloam-Eyed Queen led the apostles. It is said that she was an Empyrean chosen by the Fingers." - Black flame ritual.

Chosen by the fingers, huh? This is the symbol for the blackflame incantations. It looks quite a lot like Metyr, I would think.

"Sacred cloth of the Godskin Apostles, made from supple skin sewn together.

Successive attacks restore HP.

The Gloam-Eyed Queen cradles newborn apostles swaddled in this cloth. Soon they will grow to become the death of the gods." - Godskin Swaddling Cloth.

"Robe made by sewing together patches of smooth skin. Subcutaneous fat makes it plump and soft. Worn by Godskin Nobles, known for their seven-face aprons.

Strengthens the Noble Presence incantation.

Nobles are the most ancient apostles who are said to have ASSIMILATED INHUMAN PHYSIOLOGY Not unlike the crucible, the Erdtree in its primordial form." - Godskin Noble's robe.

The Godskin noble has a snake tail! And the solo noble boss fight is in the fucking temple of Eiglay in volcano manor! Where one of the snakeskins is!

The beast eye given by Gurranq/Maliketh is a rather similar color to

You guessed it! Melina being the GEQ has always been a popular theory, given her eye color and close relation with destined death!

but the things connecting it all is this

FIRST of all. Blaidd has near identically colored eyes. Why doesn't Maliketh have gloam eyes? The one who would have them is dead... mostly.

See there's some interesting lines Blaidd has.

A part of her very being.

Additionally, in Maliketh's arena is this statue.

Marika wears rather serpentine bracelets here, and some people have pointed out there seems to be scars on her wrist. Tooth whip scars?

This is the last piece of information/evidence I'm gonna post.

Below is my headcanon and narrative.

The temptation.

Leda mentioned a temptation.

Imagine it. A girl running from the toothed whip. Into the forest, taken in by wolves. Led to the fingers, whether it's their mother or just one of the pairs.

potentially given the Elden Ring at this point.

I've been partial to the idea that Marika was the first successful ahem "jar saint" because it's cool and ironic and tragic.

She meets the wolves and fingers either before or after the jarring, if she was jarred at all.

The three wolves are the three shadows. Maliketh, Blaidd, and the baleful shadow.

But what would make Maliketh Marika's half brother?

That's just it. Maliketh is a piece of Marika! "But how would he exist before meeting Marika?" You ask? Because Maliketh is only HALF Marika! Half empyrean! Her literal shadow because he's partially her!

But how is Marika the gloam eyed queen?

She followed Metyr's orders in her ascension! She skinned her first god at the divine gate! What followed would be one of the greatest slaughters she participated in! A god hunt! The elimination of the society that ascended the gate before!

But within her grew her rage against the gods! The hornsent mutilated her people in efforts to make the divine! In efforts to reach the gods!

Within her grew her will to be free! She turned against the fingers, viewing them as simply another god to be slain, as they all deserve!

And Maliketh goes MAD. Under the control of the fingers. Just. Like. Blaidd.

He defeats Marika/GEQ, takes destined death, and slays the parts of her that the fingers no longer desire.

The Gloam Eyed Queen is dead and gone, but secretly, she left two pieces of herself behind. One, her COLD FURY, her HUNGER for REVENGE.

A hunger that could devour the very gods.

The other... We'll get to that.

What is left is a hollow, golden, and "pure" queen. Missing base parts of herself. What parts? Who knows.

But the swaddling cloth implies motherhood. The gloam eyed queen wanted to be free! Marika lost that too.

She didn't desire children anymore, they were a duty. She built a culture as the fingers desired. She warred against all who would resist her rule. The society she created adhered to the biases left within her.

A hatred of snakes, fear of her past self.

A hatred of horns, fear of her past.

A hatred of anything like the crucible.

A hatred of anything that can't be controlled.

Her first child was with Godfrey. But it was not an Empyrean. The fingers were not pleased.

Her second child was with herself. Messmer, bearing a curse from the fell god, like his father. But far worse. An all consuming flame.

A blessing from his mother's dead self, that would eventually snuff the fire out.

The fingers, and Marika, were not pleased.

She feared her son and sent him to do an act of pure evil in her stead! She abandoned him!

Radagon leaves and marries Rennala.

But he's a good father that loves his children, and he's a good husband that loves his wife? What makes him different?

He's a larger piece of her loyalty, an unconscious decision to give herself more freedom. He's a piece of duty. so as to let her take more time to search the depths of the golden order. He is their fatherhood. Their less prevalent, masculine half.

When his third child is an Empyrean, the fingers are ecstatic. But they want to assure their control. They have Radagon connect her to her own two fingers, her own shadow would be made.

But queen Marika throws the fingers for a loop, stripping Godfrey and so many others of the Grace of Gold. Sending them to war in distant lands. The only one who understands her goals at this time is herself.

The fingers call Radagon back, to lay with himself, now that they KNOW Their puppet can make another.

But Radagon's marriage to Rellana was a sacred vow. Our favorite turtle Dog pope has something to say on that topic.

The severing of the vow would have disastrous consequences.

Radagon and Marika's second union would curse their two Empyrean children. Rotting and Unceasingly-Nascent.

Time passes, the fingers are begrudgingly satisfied. Ranni plots, and on the 'night' of the eclipse, Godwyn the Golden is killed, sending Marika into a pit of despair.

Whenever Radagon is joined with her, his loyalty suppressed their thoughts of rebellion. Thoughts of her master plan.

A plan who's conditions were not yet met. But despair is quite the powerful emotion.

The ring shatters, Radagon understands. The beast emerges from them. They are imprisoned.

But in their very last moments of control... The last piece of them to ever be removed again, their last, tiny little desire for freedom, and their desire to die, is removed.

And so is born Melina, a woman with a vision of fire and death.

[roachymochi]

The serpent flail or whatever it's called is a fascinating piece of lore for me. Not for it's description, but for the depiction of the snake in a coiled shape.

Which his a pretty common depiction of the animal irl, except her he is coiling upward, like a spring, or a spiral.

Now every major age use a form of upward spiral as a symbol of its power. The Hornsent have the double helix, adn-like, and the Erdtree as the braid, three strands intertwined.

The easy conclusion is that the number of "strand" in the helix is indicative of their respective place in the timeline. Marika is last with three, before came the Hornsent with two, and before that the Snake as one? Coiling on himself like an ouroboros to ascend to divinity.

This would mean the hornsent got their status by putting an end ti the age of the snake ? This would surely explain why we can find that snake skin in bonny village. Was the pot ritual actually a process to get rid of the snake ? After all, a snake never die.

But if each chunck of his flesh was drowned and melted in a ton of human flesh ? Then sealed in a pot, and put in an ice cold jail far from the heat in which he'd thrive ? Maybe his essence would be lost forever.

I can't find info on it, but I know there is some kind of japanese exorcism where the "evil" is chopped into pieces and sealed in a box, or sometime several boxes in an attempt to reduce its power. Maybe the pot ritual is something similar?

[katyspersonal]

Some more SOTE adventures! (Yes no work today)

1) I wasn't really sure what to do with myself for now since I prefer to meticulously explore corners of the map instead of going the 'straight road' (that's how I only got to Rellana later), so I went back to my sorry attempts to get down to that village-looking place down in Scadu Altus! And succeeded! Turned out it WAS the place that revealed more of Marika's backstory :') Bonny Vilage, where the potting is done!

(Also be careful if you are selling duplicates, it looks EXACTLY like Anastasia's butchering knife! Makes sense since both exist for the same purpose)

^ This weapon is found in a secluded building literally named Whipping Hut, also near the ghost that reveals the reasoning. I guess everyone and their dogs already got informed on the twist that the shamans stuffed in jars by Hornsent to become "divine" were Marika's village people, so I won't dwell on this. Also I assume the poison in question is that of giant scorpions since they're found in Belurat and close to this village? Old woman in Belurat also gives you scorpion stew if you speak with her wearing Lion Dancer's mask after reloading the area 🤔

2) There is shed snake skin in this place!!!

Really interesting 👀 It was also near a headless statue and I picked 'O, Mother' gesture from it

3) Cleaned the gaol associated with this area too! The boss was one of the "awful posture guys".. that turned out to be an awful posture girl x)

Yes, this boss interestingly was casting darkness all over the area, which is not something this type of enemy does! However, Lamenter also was using darkness if I remember correctly, and his mask says that the Hornsent were scared of this transformation and hid it away 🤔 This reminds me of those Omen Twins fought on the way to the Divine Tower of Morgott and Mohg, who were casting darkness. Basically I start to get a picture that there were things about Hornsent nature that even themselves were scared of! (Scared of the dark? Gwyn approves XDDDD) Just going to put a pin on that for later!

Also they better explain who the heck Labirith is later :/

4) More about this

Yes, I've finally finished grinding the full sets of both Horned Knights and Curseblades! Both sets include the bit about effects of the flasks lessening due to being nauseating! It is pretty clear by now that the Hornsent who currently exist don't know why Marika's people (her most loyal son more like) exterminated them, however their hatred and pain carries even onto their armors.

Have the Hornsent forgotten their history? But isn't the old woman in Belurat an Empyrean too? Would not she be old enough to remember why? Could the carried plot to butcher and """ascend""" the shamans have been not a common knowledge but only a doing of one like, cult within Hornsent? And yet the vengeance came for EVERYONE... Or Maybe Marika/Messmer never revealed who EXACTLY came after their kind for vengeance? Tea? (I'm gonna pick "cult" option for now.....)

5) SPEAKING OF OLD WOMEN,

I did not expect more Miriam info of all people!! @val-of-the-north you seeing this????Makes sense we found it in this building!

6) Yeeeeees I've met him when I went on another path from Bonny Village!

His hat resembles the statue we use to turn that Carian tower upside-down, where we fight Miriam again and in which we get to Ranni's quest secret place! And also unreal amount of wolves on the way to him and in his residence, who are carian symbol. So yeah this guy is 100% Carian!

7) He gave me a map and I'll need some time to figure out where the location is.. I could not use a simple map to save my life, just full topographic cretinism as usual!

8) This item is interesting though, as well as how his mansion is called Manus Metiyr! Manus means hand!

And there are giant fingerprints full of fingers on the overworld map, and those Fingercreepers, and Ranni's place had Cathedral of Manus Celes (celestial hand)...... things are starting to piece together 👀

9) Another mention-only character we will never see? :p Some engineer that created a gun that shoots magic!

That's it for now since I have to go.. But yes, now I am SUPER willing to know the deal with giant celestial fingers having once grabbed this land hfhgfhgh

[maletofujoshi]

elden ring shadow of the erdtree really is like. the end. like its literally it. there probably maybe idk won't be a game in the same style again- both in its gameplay grooves borrowed from ds3 and developed from demon's souls, and in this repeated narrative of a land diminished, and spurned.

okay so this leans on what seems to be cut dialogue- but im only using that to further support things that do actually exist in release.

"Now comes the age of our eden." is a line that in my mind confirms parallels between elden ring and that story of original sin- original sin being referenced in game as something miquella wishes to "bury". We are shown that original sin in the trailer. Marika takes a few golden strands of hair, hair that does not seem to be her own, and holds it up towards the gate of divinity- a golden sky and wind appears to bless her, as the held up hair forms the shape of a rune arc.

This is the moment where marika receives the bounty of the elden ring. It is also the betrayal, following the seduction. what marika goes on to do is creating "gold" and "shadow" (is this true? what of the crucible?), with the birth of the erdtree and the scadutree existing as a necessitated inverse.

there's this idea of two trees- the erdtree is obviously a tree of life. the scadutree... is probably a tree of knowledge of good and evil. To see the land of shadow, and to see what is rejected is to understand "morality", and it is also a realm of learning. Marika seems to be Eve, but is maybe also the serpent that "seduces" Eve (why did marika give birth to a serpent? why is there shed snake skin near the shaman tree in bonny village?), but here- rather than eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge (maybe an act committed long ago by someone else), Marika eats the fruit of of life- becoming like god, becoming god. This act is a betrayal of the hornsent, and the keepers of the tower/enir-ilim. in fact the gate of divinity is first obscured by another sealing tree, veiled in shadow, and once seen... it's no longer the grotesquely majestic thing that marika once stood facing. It's dried. the once fresh, bloody and flowing walls are white, and seem to be disintegrating into sand. for as much as miquella is following in the footsteps of marika- he can't be as marika was. her circumstances are gone and any attempt to recreate them is defined by what marika went on to do. this is seen in the very clear image of an erdtree- branches of light, a trunk, and roots, seen in the negative space of the gate and by miquella's hair

by embracing the whole of it, miquella wishes to become a perfect god, ruler, and mother. to deny nothing. but his age of compassion rests on him abandoning everything- including his love. and his charm manifests as this suppressing thing. ansbach describes a vexing fog, he literally places a spectral golden circlet over you if you get grabbed, one that allows for your "heart" to be "stolen" if you are grabbed again. He wishes to embrace but in that embrace dissent and conflict is simply suppressed, held down, agency is taken away... it's literally a return to the cradle, the halcyon days of the age of plenty. "loved" but not allowed to grow, or to truly exist. as a dissenting lord, you refuse to be embraced, and miquella loses to the first powerful opponent he and his consort face.

what does miquella want here? well- okay miquella the character we know is different from miquella the god- but miquella the empyrean was terrified by his destiny, but felt that he Had to become a god- that he would become a god. to this end, and to amend the sins of marika, the mother, he divests himself of everything- his flesh, his fears, his "love". and yet he wants an age of compassion... how does he square this? firstly there seems to maybe be two types of "love" here. I think there's a division between "godly" love, of including all within paradise without discrimination, and then the love trina feels for miquella, or the love miquella felt for malenia. for now i'm going to call one compassion and the other love. "love" as it exists, in miquella's mind, might be no different from discrimination (in the same way when prompted, a person may choose the life of their loved one over that of a stranger). if he held onto it, as a god, his love may have once again redefined gold, and then redefined it's subjugated inverse, shadow. to "embrace the whole of it" (i.e. take power without creating disparity) would require compassion without love. in order to create an "eden"- a walled garden, a cradle humanity dwelled in before rejection. burying original sin so you can go baby mode, essentially. Miquella wants to become a "perfect" mother, where Marika was unhinged from the start

Ranni stands as the obvious parallel here- rejecting the divine, embracing the self, solving the issue of power by upending it entirely- leaving the world in it's state of disrepair, but also leaving behind nothing to trust in... it's acceptance of being out of the garden of eden, and into the cold night, without the guiding light of god, or the hand of a mother. Ymir and Miquella are going about it the wrong way, you don't need a "perfect" mother, or "perfect" roots, you just ought to grow up.

Extending the base game, Shadow of the Erdtree is """about""" being a mother, and being a child to a mother- and there's a conflation between parentage and the development of societies and cultures. The one thing miquella is incapable of divesting himself of is his lineage as "the true golden child", by leda's account, much like any culture or society can not be free of its history. Miquella will always be Marika's son (daughter maybe actually? okay "child" is the important thing here.) just as Marika carried lineage from the grandmother. Though, maybe there was a chance, roads not taken, ways in which miquella could have helped others and himself. But he abandoned all of that. Sad! A tragedy if there ever was one and such, should've gone blue mode.

...theres more things i wanted to integrate but i still have to sort things out in my head. the crucible and "normalized crucible currents" or whatever, the grandam, nanaya and midra, the erdtree and the moon as carriers of memory... but aghhh! this game is hard! as in this part of the game is hard! images fall together but finding the coherent elements from connection is. Hard. why is there no easy mode for thinking

[literary-spirit]

Lessons of Devotion

Chapter 6

Bonnie spent the next several days restoring Rollo's former keep. By the end of the fifth day, she moved in and Queen Aslaug gifted her with a new bed, a table, two chairs, and a large barrel to use for baths. Bjorn gave her bulks of silks, linen, furs, and leather material to fashion a wardrobe that would range from great hall feasts to raiding next spring. For that task, her magic did the bulk of the work. In no time, she had several dresses fashioned after wears she'd seen on the hit television shows Reign, Last Kingdom, and Merlin. She even threw in some retro fits from her time period. For her raiding gear, she went straight Valkyrie from Thor Ragnarök.

She stared down at the leather black raiding outfit she wore, frustrated she couldn't see the gear on her in its entirety. Craning her neck, she looked over her shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of her butt. "Damn, wish I had the full-length mirror from home," she mumbled to herself.

Seconds later the mirror materialized in front of her. Her bottom lip kissed the floor. Although the emergence of her mirror from thin air stunned her, the reflection which stared back at her shocked the southern fried shit out of her. Instead of her sassy twenty-seven-year-old self-staring back at her, she was staring at her scared of her own shadow eighteen-year-old senior in high school self. The self who died before she even had the chance to graduate. How? Why? She rubbed a hand over her face, unable to believe the lie her reflection attempted to tell.

A knock sounded at the door and she hurried to cover the mirror with a few bulks of stray fabric. When she turned to answer the knock, Bjorn walked in followed by Torvi and the boys. Bjorn carried a chest, while Torvi held a battle ax and a sheathed sword.

"Bonnie, you fashioned your raider's wear?" Torvi placed the weapons on the table and hurried over to spin her around. "It's made so well, you're barely able to see the stitching. Look, how the chainmail overlays the length of her arms and bosom area. Bonnie you have to make me one. Wait until Lagertha sights this."

As Torvi continued fawning over the raiding outfit, Guthrum rushed over and wound himself around one of Bonnie's legs. Hali, not to be left out, toddled over with his arms raised. Bjorn, who had since place the chest on the table next to the weapons, watched her with a complacent expression locked tight on his face. Conflict, however, incinerated his eyes until they glowed brighter and bluer than a Brazilian sky. One could only imagine the battle which waged inside his head.

"Of course, I'll make one for you," she said as she leaned down to scoop Hali into her arms.

The intensity in Bjorn's eyes doubled, when his gaze traveled over her and Hali, "You'll have to wait until after you give birth to done the garb."

"It's enough to know I'll have it when time comes," Torvi insisted, standing back to stare down the length of Bonnie once more before turning to her husband.

"Bonsie, will you come before slumber to finish the saga about the street rat, and the Jinn?" Guthrum questioned.

Bonnie squatted with Hali still in her arms pecking away at her cheek, "Yes, and if we finish early we can start on a new one."

"Alright," Bjorn said, snapping from whatever mental deliberation he wrestled with to the point of distraction, "help your mother ready the keep for Lagertha's visit on the morrow. We'll fish in the harbor once you've finished."

Torvi and Bjorn exchanged a stare that screamed a thousand words without whispering one. Torvi glanced away first to regard her with warm eyes that put cups of cocoa and comfortable furry slippers to shame, "Will we see you at second meal? Queen Aslaug does enjoy squandering a great amount of your time." She finished with an eyeroll.

"I'll be there," Bonnie smiled, handing Hali back to Torvi.

With that assurance, Torvi nodded and ushered the children from the keep. After the door to the keep closed, Bonnie's gaze moved to Bjorn. He still watched her with eyes that burned her in a place she couldn't even begin to try and soothe. "What troubles you, my protector?"

"You," he straightened from his lean on the wall. With deliberate purpose he crossed the room. "You trouble me. So does your voice that I hear even when you're not near... and your eyes that forces me to misuse time because I'm occupied staring into the trees to find their likeness in hue... but let me not misremember your mouth! For how can I misremember your mouth which tempts and mocks me just so of the point of madness...your hair, in which my hands long to fist themselves...your scent, which intoxicates and besots me until I'm no better than the village drunkard." He paused to lift her onto the table. After cupping her face in his hands he continued, "Everything about you troubles me." He dipped his head to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "And it troubles me that I'm troubled by you. It troubles me that I can't merely make you my concubine because my heart refuses to recognize you as anything other than my wife...my future queen." He kissed her again, this time slipping his tongue between her lips. The taste of him ripped a moan from the bottom of her throat. Without any real thought behind the action, her arms snaked around his neck. "Marry me, Mystical One."

In that moment all she wanted to do was drown in him. To become overwhelmed by the absolute epicness of him. And if she was just a woman and him just a man with a heart equal in measure to the demigod who stood before her, then to him she would submit. Goddess, help her, she'd become his wife and carry a minivan full of children for him. Alas, she wasn't just a woman and he wasn't just a man. They both had roles to roll with and it was too early in the game to allow emotions to get in the way of them achieving the victory history had already saw fit to deny him.

"I'm sorry, Bjorn," she leaned back from his grasp, "I can't."

Several emotions filtered across his face, but the one of pain is the one which stuck with her. "Why? I know you would be my second wife, but you have to know you'd always be first in my heart."

"There's someone else, Bjorn," she said, figuring there was no better time than the present to make Klaus' place in her life known. "There's someone I left behind, who's waiting for me back in my land."

"And he holds your affections?" He backed away from the cradle of her legs. "Even now?"

"He's my family," she said, barely above a whisper.

Bjorn scoffed, before spinning around to stalk toward the door. Opening it, he paused, "Whomever he is, he doesn't deserve you. Anyone who could misplace one as rare and precious as you, doesn't merit the treasure the gods have gifted him." With that said, he left.

Bonnie's eyes closed, and there in silence she allowed the salty liquid droplets of pain to slip freely down her face.

****

"Mother said Bjorn has spoken to her of his plans to marry, Bonnie," Hvitserk said to Ubbe's back as he followed him through the forest.

Ubbe remained silent. He already knew of his older brother's plans to marry his Mystic One. Anyone with sight could bear witness to how taken he was with the girl. Odin's eye, they all were. Her beauty and exoticness was unique to any other in Kattegat. Hel truth be heralded, anyone in all of Norway. Yet, her physical appeal only attracted one's attention, it was everything else about her which intrigued. The whole of her is what provoked many topics of conversations at the long table and had every ear trained on what she would possibly say next.

"Well, she will not have him," Ivar said, while gripping the sides of the wooden plank on which they dragged him. "She will have none of you. You all see the way she gazes upon me, hmm?"

It was true. Whenever in Ivar's presence, she couldn't keep her verdant pigmented eyes from meeting his. The strangest thing. One would think she didn't even see him as a cripple, but instead as an unbroken man who was capable of being her provider and protector.

Sigurd scoffed. "Have you ever even been with a woman, Ivar?"

"Sorry, Little Brother," Hvitserk laughed, leaning down to ruffle Ivar's hair, "Nestled between those dark thighs is my home and I do mean to return to the comforting heat of her hearth."

They reached the edge of the forest which gave way to the cove. Hvitserk was about to pull Ivar out but something with in the falls of the water snared his awareness. He raised a hand to signal for Hvitserk to halt. The shadow in the water moved into view and their collective breaths caught. There in all her bared radiance stood the matter of their debate. Her body was beyond perfection. Even through all the froth lathered over her golden bronzed skin, he could tell her tempting frame was crafted by and for Odin. For what mere mortal man would be worthy of a woman such as her?

"I don't understand?" Ivar mumbled. They turned to see there little brother gawking at the overexaggerated man stand towering in his lap. Fear glistened Ivar's already too blue gaze, "What is happening?"

"What don't you understand?" Sigurd frowned, barely tearing his eyes away from a now rinsed clean Bonnie. "Is that your first one?"

"Looks like you're not quite so boneless after all, Little Brother," Hvitserk said, reaching down to squeeze Ivar's shoulder.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Ubbe's mouth as he returned his gaze to Bonnie. She now stood on the rocks near the waterfall rubbing a liquid substance of sorts into her skin which made her rare hue glisten in the sunlight. Unable to resist her any longer, he left the cover of the trees.

"Ubbe!" he heard Hvitserk hiss.

"Where's he going?" Sigurd panicked.

"Where do you think?" Ivar answered.

****

Bonnie stood in front of the waterfall, dipping her head back. She allowed the supernaturally heated water to rinse the homemade co-wash from her head. With the pads of her fingers, she gave her scalp a deep massage. Her eyes slipped closed. Mm, she needed this after how things went down with Bjorn. No matter her feelings, she couldn't afford to lose focus.

Ansel's warning growl from the bank alerted her to be on guard. Her eyes snapped open and collided with a bottomless sky-blue gaze. Ubbe towered before her bared tanned, hard, ripped and cut the hell up with godlike precision. For a full minute they remained struck in awe of the other. Unable to take her eyes off of him, she backed away. Once she bumped into the large rock holding her belongings, she squatted to retrieve her shower scrub and a scrap of linen from her basket.

When she reclaimed her spot in front of him, she commenced to bathing him. She started with his face, and then worked her way down to his solid shoulders. There, she kneaded the rigid muscles into pliable submission. After she relieved the tension in his neck she moved on to the firm hills of his chest. With ease, she glided the rag over the dipped crevices of his abdomen. She lifted her gaze to stare in his eyes as she attempted to wrap the linen scrap around all eight inches of him. Which was no easy task since the girth of him was almost the size of her ankle in width. Once secured in her grasp, she gave him a few firm tugs that earned her a long-drawn-out moan and a couple of grunts.

"Don't marry Bjorn," he demanded in a hoarse broken whisper.

She gave him another massage infused pull, "I wasn't planning to."

"Good," He leaned down and captured her upturned mouth with his.

The kiss he rocked the hell out of her mind with was nothing like she believed him to be. Under all that arctic chill simmered a passion so fierce and wild she'd nearly missed the splashing of the water in the distance. She severed her lips from Ubbe's in time to see Sigurd and Hvitserk's glorious but naked form trotting over to them.

"Shit," she hissed, and broke away from Ubbe.

Snatching her basket from the rock, she disappeared behind the curtain of frothy falling water. Quickly, she put on white bikini bottoms and a matching wrap top, items she managed to displace from home in 2018. Once dressed she stepped back through the waterfall.

Hvitserk greeted her with one of his signature wide smiles. "Our turn." When he glanced down at her bikini bottoms, a frown battled back his previous good cheer, "What are those? Is that some strange fabric barrier to preserve chastity in this Mystic land of yours?"

"Why is your muff bare?" Sigurd questioned, fucking all over the boundaries of her personal space. "Have you not completely reached womanhood yet?"

"First, I'm not done with Ubbe yet, so you'll wait your turn." She began, addressing them both with her chin raised and hands planted on her hips. "Second, these or bikini bottoms and they're made for swimming, not preserving chastity, Hvitserk. Third, Sigurd, I'll have you know I'm all woman and the reason there is no hair down below is because I prefer a clean canvas down there. And Fourth," She looked over the three of them, "where's Ivar?"

"Back on the shore. He can't swim," Sigurd said, his tone dismissive.

She stepped closer to Hvitserk and Sigurd, palming each of their cheeks. "Will you both please get him and place him here on the rocks. This platform is large, flat, and stable. It should be safe enough for him over here." When they nodded their assent, she stood on tip toes and kissed them each on the corners of their mouths.

Once alone, Ubbe wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "I apologize for my brothers' interruption. Can I come visit you at your keep after second meal?"

"Isn't that normally when you meet Margrethe in the barn?" She asked, watching as they placed Ivar on some sort of wooden raft.

He yanked her backwards through the waterfall. When they were obscured from the view of his brothers, he allowed his hands-free reign over her body. One reached up to palm her breasts, while the other slipped into her bikini bottoms. He devoured the side of her neck with open mouth kisses. His thumb grazed over her clit in persistent brushes, provoking her overheated good-good to ooze her need all over his hand. Whimpering, she silently urged him on by further parting her legs. Instead of giving into her quiet demands he kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipple. The roughness of his touch had her grinding into the heel of his hand.

"I do not care to meet Margrethe in the barn this eve," he rasped next to her ear. "I'd rather greet the next rising in your bed. Now will you have me, Valkyrie?" He tried to press two fingers in her entrance, but her good girl being a tease refused admission. After a brief pause, he downgraded to one finger and she still refused to bloom. "Are you a-,"

"Where are you two?" Sigurd yelled from outside. "We need help getting Ivar off the raft and on the boulder."

"Do you think they're-," Hvitserk began.

"No," Ivar cut him off, "Bonnie's, girdles are not nigh as light as Margrethe's."

She broke free of Ubbe's hold and straightened her bottoms. After stepping back through the waterfall, she jumped from the rock into the water and swam over to the raft. Ivar searched her face, and then looked over her shoulder at Ubbe who'd just reappeared back through the froth of water. A smirk settled on his all too willing lips.

"As I said before," Ivar said to no one in particular, "Some girdles are light and others..." his dancing gaze moved to regard her, "not so much. Greetings, my love. My brothers tell me you requested my presence over on that boulder."

Her heartbeat tapped out a peculiar rhythm upon hearing Ivar refer to her as his love. "Yep, I wanna bathe you and wash your hair. Do you have any objections to me doing so?"

His brows leaped to his hairline as he shook his head, "N-no."

For the next couple of hours, Bonnie bathed, shampooed, and groomed the Lothbroks. They each seemed to bask in the attention. Especially, when she braided Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd hair in actual designs instead of the sloppy twists they usually wore. Since Ivar's hair wasn't yet long enough for braids, she trimmed it into a precision cut. By the time they made it back to Kattegat the second meal had already begun. She was late for dinner with Bjorn and Torvi. If she didn't hurry she'd miss it altogether.

"I'll see you guys later," her gaze darted to Ubbe first before moving over all of them, "I had fun, thanks for helping me to take my mind off things."

She turned to walk towards Bjorn's and Ivar grabbed her wrist. "What things?"

She squatted and kissed him on the lips. "It doesn't matter." With that, she stood and hurried away.

****

The next rising after first meal, Bjorn greeted his mother in the great hall. People who remembered her from long before as Ragnar's first wife waited in Kattegat's long house to welcome her. Although he was happy to see his mother, only half his heart cared she visited at all. Bonnie's refusal still pained him. Why would she choose another over him? Surely, he couldn't be the only one between them who harbored such affections.

"I said, how have you fared here since your return, my son?" Lagertha's voice, delivered him from the torture which was his thoughts.

"Distracted it would appear," Astrid, his mother's...Astrid said.

Bjorn waved off their observations. "I've fared well enough. Although, Floki has informed me that the fleet he's building for the Mediterranean won't be available until next spring."

"Oh," Lagertha reached up to rub his back, "I'm sorry, Bjorn."

He shrugged. "Just as well, Torvi's carrying again."

"Bjorn, this is wonderful news," Lagertha hugged him, her smile nearly splitting her face in two. "The gods have truly favored you and Torvi."

This time he felt his own smile creep into his eyes. "They do, in truth Bonnie has assured me this babe will be a girl."

"Bonnie?" Confusion snatched Lagertha's head to the far left.

"The dark woman he brought back from his last raid," Astrid enlightened, "The one he placed under his protection."

"Ah," Lagertha's pale brows shot up as she gave a slow nod. "I remember. How is she? Is she still a part of your household?"

"No, she now resides in Rollo's former keep," Bjorn answered, while tracking Ubbe's march into the hall.

"That's better for all," his mother exhaled, seeming somewhat relieved.

"No!" Bjorn snapped, dragging his attention from Ubbe. "I do not think it's better for all. I suffer-w-we suffer very much from her absence. The sooner she agrees to become my wife, then and only then will we all be the better for it."

"Your wife?!" Lagertha low hiss shrieked. "Did you leave your wits in the wetlands of Frankia? Bjorn, you know nothing of this woman!"

"You're wrong," he placed a palm at the center of his chest, "I know exactly who she is, and I know exactly where she belongs."

"And what of Torvi? Is she content with this usurper stealing her way into your lives and making a home of your marriage?" Lagertha questioned.

Bjorn folded his arms, weary of the entire discussion. He wasn't Ragnar, Torvi wasn't Lagertha, and Bonnie wasn't, Hel take her, Aslaug. "Torvi embraces the idea of Bonnie joining us in matrimony."

His mother's eyes flared. She scoffed in disbelief. "You've been bewitched. This woman has bewitched you, just as Ragnar was so many years before you. What is it about Lothbrok men that breeds witches?"

"Mother, it may be best if you rest," Bjorn said, leveling her with a glare that would make steel fold, but more than likely meant less than horse shit to Lagertha. "The journey from Hedeby to Kattegat can be exhausting." With that said, Bjorn turned and left the great hall.

Once Bjorn disappeared from sight Lagertha looked to Astrid. "Take care of her."

Astrid nodded her understanding.

****

Unable to stay inside any longer, Bonnie decided to take a walk along the shore of the fjord. Though they were on the brink of winter, the beauty of Kattegat was heart snatching.

In her own time when she traveled, she never even considered visiting Norway. Now that she found herself stranded there surrounded by its people and exquisiteness, she couldn't understand why this place never made the bucket list.

As she continued along the bank a cloaked figure sitting on a large rock staring out at the sea caught her attention. Loneliness wafted off of him in dejected waves. When she'd binged the series with Caroline Ivar was never one of her favorite characters. He reminded her too much of Klaus. Always hurting and terrifying others to distract from the obvious detail that he too was also hurt and terrified. Back then she had zero compassion to give to bullies who thought to offer reason behind their madness. At least not until Damon became her best friend and she fell face first in love with Klaus. Now after seasons of judgement from her something within urged her to offer Ivar the consideration she never did when she watched the show.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around herself she made her way over to him. Once at his side, she joined him in staring out at the clear waters of the fjord. For a while, neither of them said anything. They just existed together in a shared moment of peace.

A several more comfortable minutes of silence, Ivar spoke without turning to look at her. "I'll wager you're pondering what a cripple could possibly be considering as he gazes at waters he can never be minded to tread."

"You're considering how far you'll go," Her words brought his disbelieving blazing stare to hers, "But you don't have to worry because you'll go far, Ivar. You'll go further than you can ever think to dream or imagine." She reached inside his cloak and interlaced her fingers with his. Laying her head on his shoulder, she turned back to the fjord.

He rested his head on top of hers, "Why'd you kiss me, hmm?"

"Because I wanted to and I knew you wanted me to," she answered reveling and drowning in him all at the same time. "You bother me, Ivar. The last time a man bothered me I fell in love with him."

"You mustn't do something as foolish as to offer me your heart, my love," He cradled her hand in both of his. "I may do something as equally foolish and accept it."

She lifted her head from his shoulder to study his face. What she saw there was the strike of lightening she'd waited twenty-seven years to see. How did one come back from Nirvana and settle for the lack-lusterless of reality? The mundane of good enough. Was he the reason? Far away yipping of a dog snatched her from the brink.

"I have to go," she whispered.

He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright."

She pressed her mouth to his and took a minute to savor his lips. He moaned into the kiss, reluctantly she pulled away. After she gave herself a second for her world to start spinning again, she slid from the rock and darted off toward the woods. Inside the forest, Ansel barked for her to follow him. So that's what she set out to do. After a half hour of nonstop running she could no longer see Ansel. Bonnie called out to him, but only silence answered her in return. She glanced about the overhang she stood on. Everything and nothing looked familiar. Hell, she didn't know north from south. She'd do better waiting for Ansel to return for her. She walked to the edge. A view of the fjord feeding water into her cove greeted her.

A grin teased her lips. Thoughts of her bathing the boys shamed her better judgement. She would have never pulled that shit back in Mystic Falls as a senior in high school. Hell not even as a senior citizen. With thoughts of the day before still trailing across her mind she backed away from the edge. Bjorn's sacred arm ring slipped from her wrist. When she was unable to locate it among the leaves she dropped to her knees and started sifting through the brush on the ground. As soon as her hand connected with hard metal she exhaled. She didn't know what she would tell Bjorn if she'd ever loss the symbol of their vow. Quickly, she slipped the sacred arm ring back on her wrist.

When she moved to rise something hard bashed her in the head. Fingers tangled themselves in her hair as blunted nails clawed at her scalp. With unnecessary force her head was jerked backwards. A cold jagged edge of steel bit into her neck and slid from ear to ear. The sound of howling dampened her hearing as her attacker drug her by her hair to the edge of the precipice. A well-aimed kick to the center of her back sent her tumbling over the edge. Her heart stopped long before the near freezing waters of the cove embraced her.

[alexandralyman]

bedtime stories (beyond the horizon)

I missed my original posting date but it’s still October and this is my contribution for @cscocktoberfest! Another extra scene in the BtH-verse, where Princess Emma finds a very interesting (cough*dirty*cough) book on the shelf in the captain’s quarters and has some questions about some unfamiliar words that Killian is all too happy to answer ; )

Also on ff.net here

"Killian?"

"Aye, love?" he answered without looking up, grease pencil in hand as he marked a port on the map in front of him and measured the distance from their current position, doing sums in his head and somewhat distracted by a particularly tricky bit of calculation.

"What does it mean when a randy young lad is secretly polishing his knob?"

"It means...what?"

The figures he'd painstakingly laboured over for the better part of an hour all flew out of his mind and her words lodged there instead while his head jerked up and he met Emma's curious gaze across the cabin. She was sitting in her chair with a book in hand, skirts spilling over the sides and her ankles crossed, tucked away demurely underneath the seat and looking the very picture of a well-bred lady.

"After spying on the chambermaid in her bath, the randy young lad retires to his master's empty study to polish his knob with renewed vigour. I'm guessing from the context that the author did not mean the knob on the door? And when he finishes, he gives a loud groan that almost rouses the whole household and hides the evidence in a handkerchief. The evidence of what?"

Killian blinked at that, the pencil going as limp in his hand as presumably the randy young lad's knob did when he was done, slack-jawed and feeling that he probably bore more than a passing resemblance to a startled codfish at the moment. When he finally managed to find his voice it came out much higher than normal as he squeaked out, "What on earth are you reading?"

Emma held up the volume, it was slim, cloth-bound, a bit worn around the edges and entirely unassuming in appearance with no title visible on the cover or spine. She frequently read in the evenings while he updated the logbook or plotted out the ship's course for the following day, plucking one of his books from the shelves to occupy herself with as he worked. They were a jumbled lot collected piecemeal over the years, sailing lore, dry texts on navel regulations that he no longer followed but kept around for reasons he didn't think about too closely, old legends, tales, histories of lands he'd visited (and plundered, usually) and novels. He supposed Emma had chosen a novel, since he certainly didn't remember Uniform Code of the Royal Navy, Fifth Edition or Krakens, Great Squids and Whales: Hunting and Butchering Techniques to include any randy young lads polishing their knobs among the instructions for tying a cravat in the correct knot for an officer or detailing the best method for harvesting whale blubber.

"So what does it mean?" she repeated.

"It means…" Killian realized he had started to make the corresponding motion with his hand and he felt his cheeks colour, suddenly feeling more like a young lad himself than a man of almost thirty who was well-versed in the many pleasures of the flesh, both with a companion and without. Princess Emma was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for his answer. Sweet, gently-reared Princess Emma, unfamiliar with the more bawdy terms tossed about with ease in disreputable company like pirates and their usual bedmates of tavern wenches and ladies of the night. He tried to phrase it in as delicate a manner as he could, he was a pirate now but he had been a gentleman once.

"It's when a lad, or a man, um, er...gratifies himself by hand, to satisfy his lust when he doesn't have the company of a lass."

She glanced back down at the book and went, "Ah. I see." in a tone he couldn't decipher. Then she flipped the page and squinted, running a finger over something on the paper.

"There's illustrations."

Killian was up and across the room in a heartbeat, snatching the book from her hands and feeling his eyebrows rise nearly to his hair when he took his own look. There was an illustration of the scene in question that left no ambiguity as to just what type of knob the young man was polishing, although the anatomy was greatly exaggerated. It was nearly as long as the lad's thigh, for one. He recalled the first time he'd seen such a drawing, on a crude pamphlet passed around below deck and sniggered over by leering crewmen when he was just a lad who had barely sprouted whiskers and how scandalized he'd been at the sight of it when it was thrust into his hands with a knowing look by a soot-stained gunner. Scandalized...and titillated, by the smudged image of a woman with her skirts hiked to her waist and her blouse undone.

Emma was gazing up at him, her hands folded loosely in her lap and her cheeks tinged pink even in the yellow glow from the lantern. Killian glanced from the illustration in the innocuous-looking book to her face, meeting his eyes square on with one delicate blonde brow faintly arched. Perhaps princesses and pirates were not so different in some respects and she was also feeling that warmth pooling low in her belly, desire sparked by the unfamiliar words and deeds depicted in pen and ink. Somewhat unfamiliar at least, she was now rather well acquainted with his own "knob" and the thought of just how well acquainted she was with it sent a sharp throb right through his groin.

"He recalled the maid's Bountiful breasts, brown and Bonny and the very Sight of them floating atop the bathwater had nearly caused his Lust to spill right in his breeches as he crouched unseen in his Hidey-Hole behind the wall. Oh, to cup the Bouncing pair of them free of her Shift and Stays, heavy, round and full as a Wineskin, and to then Suckle upon such tender, Womanly flesh would be a Dream."

The rosy flush on her cheeks only grew deeper while he read aloud, her own breasts rising and falling against the lace-trimmed neckline of her gown in a manner that kindled Killian's lust to a burning flame. Firm, yet soft, like a ripe peach, an unimaginable luxury at sea, he could easily unlace her gown and take one in his mouth, or order the copper tub to be filled and watch at his leisure while she bathed, openly though, not hidden away in a cupboard, he was the captain, master of the ship and not a voyeuristic boot black like the lad in the story, polishing himself instead of his lordship's boots. Both were appealing prospects, but he had another idea.

"Shall we read the rest of this rather provocative tale together, Princess? So I might….clarify any other sections that you require?"

He held out his free hand and after a moment's hesitation Emma nodded and accepted it, letting him pull her to her feet. Killian brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles and gave her a cheeky wink, gentleman and scoundrel in one (and hers, his love was the prize she had taken for her own even as he'd stolen her away) and led her to his chair instead. It was wide enough for him to sit back comfortably and settle Emma on his lap, round arse nestled between his leather-clad thighs and his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back to his chest while he rested his chin on her shoulder and opened the novel back to the page he'd been reading from.

"Now," he said, clearing his throat and forgetting about his maps and charts entirely. "Where were we?"

It wasn't just the one story, the book contained several short tales all of a similar nature. After the lusty young lad spied on the entire household in various states of en déshabillé, (the cook, the laundress, the butler, the cook and the butler, and finally, his master and mistress in their splendid bedchamber) the setting changed to a bucolic farm in the countryside where the farmer's daughter held secret assignations in the hayloft with the village farrier (who wielded his own fleshy tool as deftly as his hammer and heartily plowed the daughter's ripe and eager field, seeding it deep) and then to a story of a dashing masked highwayman who waylaid a highborn lady on a deserted road and found himself drawn to much more than just her fine jewels (imagining a different sort of pearl necklace around her creamy throat) while they traded remarks laden with innuendo and circled around their growing attraction. Killian continued to read aloud, pausing as he went to explain the various euphemisms. Like knob and tool, a lot of them were other words to describe a man's cock, and his strained even more against the confines of his leathers every time Emma shifted in his lap, turning her head so that his beard brushed the curve of her jaw while he spoke low into her ear and murmured words not fit for a lady (quim, tits, swive, member) rolling his tongue around them the way he wanted to roll his tongue around her hidden pearl and feel her writhe from the pleasure he could draw with his own intimate tales writ upon her skin. In the book, the handsome highwayman bowed to his intrigued captive and proclaimed himself to be, "A Linguist most Cunning, should your Ladyship wish for a demonstration of my Prowess, you have only to ask."

"Ah," Killian said, tapping a ringed finger against the page. "Now what you see here is an old play on words, for cunnalingus is term for when a man kisses a woman not on the mouth, but somewhat, ahem, lower down. So when he calls himself a cunning linguist and offers to demonstrate, he is, in fact proposing that he-"

"Kisses her...quim?" Emma finished.

The book fell shut as a shudder ripped through him and he answered in a rough voice, "Aye."

"And is there a word like that for when a woman...kisses...a man on his...cock?"

Killian could think of many words to describe the act she meant, the act he was now picturing much more vividly in his head than any woodcut, but he chose the one that matched as neat as the sun and the moon.

"Fellatio."

Emma made a 'hmm" noise low in her throat that only served to remind him even more of how it felt to be fellated by her, golden hair tangled in his fingers and all eloquence lost to the sheer bliss of her mouth, sliding over his cock and taking him past those pink lips, matching his thrusts with the bob of her head until the sensations completely overwhelmed him, warm and wet and perfect.

"The royal tutors never taught me those words," Emma mused. "This has been very educational indeed, Captain. Shall we continue?"

He left the book on the table when he lifted her up, carrying her the few steps to the bunk with her arms around his neck and her fingers toying with the hair at his nape.

"I think we'll continue with a more practical exercise now, Princess. If you're amenable, that is. After all, there's only so much one can glean from a book. Direct, hands-on experience is always best."

His sure hands made short work of her gown, leaving her in nothing but stockings and shift while she worked the little jet buttons on his waistcoat. It came off and she rested her fingers on his belt, just above the obvious bulge in his trousers. Emma glanced at it and then up at him, curiosity creasing her lovely face. "Do you ever do that? Er, polish your knob, I mean. Like the boy in the book?"

The question made him pause for a moment. He had, in fact, touched himself several times to thoughts of her after taking her hostage from her own ship, though he'd never stooped so low as to spy on her unaware in the brig or during the times when she bathed in his quarters, before he'd bedded her and pledged his ship and his sword into her service. He was still that much of a gentleman, at least. But the query reminded him suddenly of his own youth, when he would have traded what little he had for even a glimpse of a comely lass in nought but her skin and stole away from his duties to darkened corners whenever he could to stick his hand down his trousers and relieve that ache of unsatisfied lust.

"Aye," he said with a nod. "As a young lad, when I had some spare time and could find a bit of privacy, I would. Not the easiest thing to obtain aboard even a galleon, alas. And hardly satisfying, to have to tuck myself away again and quickly return to swabbing the deck or pumping the bilges before I was missed."

He peeled the shirt from his shoulders and let the belt drop to the floor in a heavy thump of leather, not missing the way Emma was eyeing his bare chest and feeling a surge of masculine pride at the way her gaze darkened with desire. He was no lowly cabin boy or underfed deckhand anymore, he had pillaged and plundered his way across the realm and his name was spoken with fear and awe in the dockside taverns and pubs, Captain Killian Jones, master of the Jolly Roger, the finest vessel to sail the seven seas. He didn't have to make do with a bawdy drawing or chase after a serving wench, an actual princess lounged on his bed in an utterly scandalous state of undress and she was more beautiful to him than any jewel, more valuable than any prize. Emma reached for his necklace and pulled him to her by the chain, falling back against the pillows as he braced himself above her on one arm. Her other hand slipped under the waist of his leathers to graze across the wiry hairs until she found her prize, where he was hard and aching and pride quickly gave way to need while his hips jerked and he twitched in her grasp, hot and firm and eager.

"Like this?" Emma asked, tongue poking out from between her teeth as she stroked him up and down. In one pump he swelled that last little bit, fully erect and the fearsome pirate was completely at the princess's tender mercy. Killian rutted shamelessly into her hand, closing the gap between them to cover her lips with his. The book had mainly described the baser acts and there was no ode to the pleasures of kissing on the mouth as there was to the many joys of fellatio and cunnalingus both. But it was somehow more intimate to share breath itself with his lover, to sweetly nip at her bottom lip until it was as red as a ripe cherry and to taste the wine she'd drunk at dinner still lingering on her tongue while he palmed her full breast through the thin silk and rocked his hips steadily into her touch. A quick study his princess was, she'd learned exactly how he liked the be stroked and polished and he was forced to still her movements with a hand on her wrist before he utterly embarrassed himself and spilled too soon.

"Have you ever gratified yourself, my darling?"

While he was more than ready to gratify the both of them with his cock aching to find the welcoming harbour between her thighs, Killian was curious. He'd lived almost his whole life among randy sailors, he knew men did, and do so as often as they could in most cases. But a highborn lady like his princess? He would had assumed no, it was completely absurd, but that was before he met Emma.

She didn't answer immediately, not with words at least, looking down with her lashes demurely touching her cheeks and finally giving a shy little nod that made his belly flip and his voice drop to a throaty growl.

"Show me."

Her stockings were tied with ribbon garters just above her knees, revealed as the shift was slowly hitched up. The little bows did something to him, he wanted to untie them with his teeth and suck a mark into her flesh, leave love bites all over her inner thighs and make her fall apart with his tongue, but he was completely transfixed by the sight of her slim hand, inching higher and higher up her leg. The pink of her cheeks was nothing compared to the dark rose of her cunny, exposed to his avid gaze when she spread her legs fully and already glistening in the lamplight. Her fingers twitched, hesitated, but at his encouraging nod they finally slid through the damp cleft with a touch that was soft and delicate, barely making contact for several torturous, slow passes until Emma finally reached the nub at the top and began to rub and circle it with firmer strokes. Killian felt an answering throb in his groin, a faint echo of the growing pleasure he could see in the catch of her lip between her teeth and the rock of her hips up into her exploring hand.

"Does it feel good, Princess?"

"Yes."

She looked at him with a heavy-lidded gaze while her hand continued to work between her thighs and he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fingers around his shaft, pumping it in time to the movement and swiping his thumb over the swollen head whenever she touched her own sweet spot and a shudder rippled under her skin.

"Does it feel as good as when I touch you?" he asked, voice hoarse with desire.

Emma shook her head, golden hair spilling over the pillow. "No...it feels, it feels good, but when you touch me, when you're...inside me...it...it feels, it feels like nothing else ever has. I never want you to stop."

"Never," Killian promised, a dark chuckle escaping him. "You're my treasure now, my love, and I'll never stop. I could have you every night and never tire of your velvet quim, so snug and perfect around my cock when you wrap your legs around me and take me all the way to the hilt. I dreamt of it from the day you set foot on my ship, taking you to bed and touching you all over, these perfect breasts, your shapely arse, kissing your mouth and all along your white throat, down to part your thighs and sup to my heart's content on your sweetness."

He moved to kneel on the bed, between her spread legs and ducked down to kiss her, one hand braced to hold his weight and the other snaking down to grasp her wrist. "Don't stop," he warned, while she panted with her impending release and moaned quietly into his mouth. Killian placed his hand on top of her own and together they continued to stroke her towards the peak, when he sensed she was just about to fall over the edge as her free hand grasped his shoulder and her nails dug into his skin he abruptly thrust two fingers inside, curling them upwards and feeling her squeeze around them with a soft cry falling from her kiss-swollen lips. No buxom bathing beauty, nubile farmer's daughter or haughty duchess could compare to his swan princess, bright-eyed and pliant in his arms. They kissed with unhurried languor, his erection had not abated but the night was still young, there was no need for haste. It was worth it to delay his satisfaction to watch hers, as the lad in the book had watched the maid in her bath. Emma's nails trailed pleasantly through his chest hair and toyed with the charms on his necklace, thumbing over the skull and dagger.

"Does it feel as good as when I touch you?"

Her hand drifted down and brushed his flat stomach, the muscles quivering under the contact.

"Definitely not," Killian breathed, head tipping back a bit and his eyes closing. She drew nonsense patterns with her nails, moving lower down, a gentle caress that was so unlike whenever he felt the need to gratify himself and took his cock in hand. Her hand was much smaller, lacked the calluses formed from years of raising sails and playing out rope, and yet it had had him completely at her mercy from the moment he had first lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles.

"I wouldn't describe it as a knob, though," she said, sounding somewhat displeased by the term.

A ripple of mirth ran through him at that. "No?"

"Knob implies something rather squat, like a doorknob. Perhaps some men are shaped in such a manner, but you are most certainly not."

Killian had lived almost his whole life in the close quarters of ships populated almost entirely by men. Privacy was a luxury he'd not known until he became an officer, he'd seen plenty of sailors stripped down to the skin and more male appendages than he could count. Princess Emma had no such basis for comparison, and wouldn't, if he had any say in the matter.

"Is there another word you would prefer then?" he asked, propping a hand under his head and angling his hips back so that his groin was on full display for her. "Since 'knob' obviously displeases you, and we can't have that. Member? Tool?"

She shook her head with each one, thoughtfully eyeing the part of his anatomy in question. Never had a woman taken such time to peruse him so closely before the bedding, measuring him with thumb and index finger, examining his length and girth.

"Larger than I expected," she murmured, which made him smile (and feel more than a little satisfied to have exceeded her expectations thus). "I didn't see at first how it could possibly fit...and so warm to the touch. Not cold and blunt as a tool."

So he wasn't the village farrier come to plow the farmer's daughter. Just as well, straw itched something fierce. Emma traced along the shape of him with the pads of her fingers, still engrossed in her task. Killian didn't care how she decided to refer to his cock, she could call it his pecker, his phallus, his mast, anything she wanted so long as she kept doing that.

"But a fair amount of heft, when I handle it like this."

The "handling" made his eyes roll back and he thrust helplessly into her grip. "You can handle it whenever you please," he moaned, rolling them in the bunk so that he was on top. "Whatever you wish to call it, Princess."

Killian spread her thighs open with his knee and rested between them, feeling her hand guide him across that last bit of distance. He slid in with almost no resistance, just the voluptuous sensation of being wrapped in silken heat, a balls deep dive into waters uncharted to all but him. There was no word for this moment, no way to describe the feeling that seized him from head to toe as he started to move. All eloquence fled, there was only the slide of his body inside hers, the slick push and pull of the quickfire rhythm that matched the beat of his heart under where her palms lay braced on his bare chest, not to push him away, never that, but to welcome him home and home again. Whoever he was, Killian Jones, sailor, pirate, captain, he was hers, nameless in her arms, her lover, joined as they were in the most intimate of ways. The light from the lantern was am amber spill over their entwined limbs, turning her skin to honey that he tasted with his tongue, chasing her pulse as it fluttered in the hollow of her throat, rolling a pert nipple between his fingers when she arched up against him. The lines and edges were blurred in a haze of passion that left him unable to tell where he ended and she began. His downward strokes were matched by the upward tilt of her hips, a delicious drag of his rigid flesh along her inner walls that started to increase in pace as he felt the familiar tingle of impending release. Killian kissed a line down her throat and buried his face in her neck while Emma clutched at his arse, pulling him even closer with her thighs tightening around his hips. All the ways there was to describe the act that he'd ever heard from sniggering sailors, crude boasts of bedding, swiving, rogering, coupling, and the only one that came to mind now as he spilled with a groan and groped for her hand, lacing their fingers tight against the mattress, was lovemaking.

"Do you think they had a happy ending?"

The question pulled him from the lazy afterglow where they lay on the rumpled and well-used bed with Emma's head pillowed on his shoulder, still fully nude save for the single stocking that had somehow managed to cling to her leg throughout their exertions. The other was draped half on and half off the bunk while her shift lay in a tangled heap on the floor with his discarded trousers and he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Who, love?"

"The highwayman and the lady in the book. It was my favourite of all the tales and we didn't finish it. Do you think they had a happy ending?"

Killian stared up at the ceiling and felt his chest rise with a breath as he considered how to answer. He was certain that there had been a happy ending in the story of the dashing highwayman and the spirited noblewoman he waylaid on a deserted road, but not the kind that Emma probably meant….

"Do you think they did?" he asked carefully, tilting his head to look at her. He realized suddenly that perhaps there was some...similarities, in their situations, having waylaid his own noblewoman on the high seas and stolen her jewels, even though he had given them back (eventually). But the book Emma had found on his shelf was meant for titillation, fodder for a wank, a bawdy laugh and nothing more, and he very much doubted that there was any real happily ever after to be found in its salacious tales.

Her bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I don't know. We could read it tomorrow, and see for certain."

He could hear the note of hesitation in her voice and he tightened the arm he had wrapped around her while her hand spread flat on his chest, over his heart, the sea diamond resting on her finger. Gave her back her jewels and then some.

"They did," he said firmly, running his fingers over hers. "They ran off together and had all sorts of grand adventures, and they had a very happy ending."

Emma let out a pleased murmur, nose pressed to his neck. "Even though he threatened to pierce her with his dirk?" she mumbled.

"Darling, sure you know that was simply another witticism and that he wasn't actually referring to a knife."

Her hand drifted lower, resting just above where he was spent and soft against his belly. "Another word for this, then? Is that what I should call it? Your dirk? Or perhaps something a bit more...lengthy."

Killian felt his cock begin to stir as her voice turned sultry, the siren song of such words on her lips luring him in again.

"A dagger?" he offered.

"Mmm, too pointy. Not a rapier style of blade, more like a….cutlass, or your sabre. It's even curved just a tiny bit too."

Her lips curved in a smile that made his heart skip a beat even as he thought ruefully that their next sparring session was sure to result in some dreadfully tight leathers.

"More than the barest prick, I imagine."

The noblewoman of the tale had retorted to the highwayman's "threat" with a disdainful comment that she was sure to feel only the barest prick from his dirk. Killian laughed, taking Emma's hand and guiding it back down, down, down...

"Oh I think you're well aware, Princess, that when I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it."

[thetourguidebarbie]

More hogwarts founders au smut, please 😇

I finally fucking finished this and I’m so sorry it took so long. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE PRE-EXAMS!!

Part I here & Part II here.

Caroline wrinkled her nose as she carefully dragged her wand over the fabric of Klaus’s robes, which were still slightly soaked from rain and had patches of dirt in places as though he’d been on the ground. She hadn’t asked where he’d been while he was gone, but she noticed a few stains on the fabric that weren’t coming off with a scouring charm. She pressed her lips together as she poked at them, quickly realizing that they weren’t dirt at all.

“Klaus?”

He was writing what looked like a letter at his ornate oak desk with the basilisk curled by his feet, boredly nudging a dead rat with its nose.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, looking up.

“Get up,” she ordered, walking over to him. “Take your robes and tunic off.”

“Caroline, as much as I’d love to I do have to finish this–”

“Now,” she growled. “Or I’ll vanish them.”

He sighed, standing up and doing as she asked, frowning when she immediately dragged her wand along his arm, murmuring a diagnostic charm that detected abnormalities or badly-performed medical spells. “Caroline, what are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out whether you patched yourself up the right way. You’re awful at medical spells.”

“Why would I need to patch myself up?” he asked slowly, though she had a feeling that he had an inkling of what she’d found and was trying to dodge the question.

“Klaus, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. It wasn’t my blood,” he said matter-of-factly. “May I redress now, sweetheart? Or would you rather I write correspondence without a tunic? I suppose I can indulge your penchant for watching.”

She ignored his blatant attempt to redirect her with a shake of her head. “Whose blood, then?”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke, “Katerina’s parents,” he said, his tone very clearly indicating that he thought he was absolutely right but knew that she wouldn’t like it. “Slaughtered her whole village, actually. Most of them had quick deaths. Her parents suffered.”

Caroline ran a hand through her hair, sitting down on the sofa by Klaus’s desk and breathing out sharply. She knew that she should feel sick or guilty or something, but she’d also watched Katerina grow up before their eyes for five years and was just as angry about her death as Klaus was. She didn’t blame Klaus for getting all murderey (she had a few elaborate murder fantasies herself, to be honest), though she did think it might not have been the best life choice to follow through with it.

“When?”

“It took me two nights to find her village, since Bonnie was the one to originally visit, and I couldn’t exactly ask her.”

She nodded, staying silent.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked warily, searching her face for any hint of what she might feel, and she sighed, trying to come to terms with how little sympathy she had to spare for Katerina’s parents. Finally she swallowed, setting her wand down on the side table and tracing the carvings on the wooden armrest with her fingers, looking up at him.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”

“Not angry?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral, and she gave him a weak smile, patting the cushion next to her, and he sat without hesitation, snaking his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side, combing through her wet hair with his fingers. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, her eyes closing, and she felt him press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“No. I mean…I don’t endorse murder, but they kind of deserved it. Well, and…” she trailed off, trying to figure out a polite way to phrase what she wanted to say.

“And?”

“I know who I married,” she said firmly, tangling her fingers with his. “You literally keep a venomous snake that can kill you by making eye contact as a pet. This isn’t news.”

He laughed quietly, squeezing her hand and glancing at her, and she found herself snuggling even closer, cold from the drafts in the castle despite being wrapped in a set of his winter robes. She’d missed him so much the past few weeks. Waking up without him undeniably sucked. Even if she put warming charms on his side of the mattress and slept with her face buried in his pillow it wasn’t even close to the same. She’d craved his warmth and touch, the scent of his skin and the low rumble in his chest when she kissed his neck. Now that he was back, she just wanted to feel his arms around her and press herself as close to him as possible. She wasn’t satisfied with just nestling against his side, desperately needing more contact. “If you really want to make up for leaving–”

“I do.”

“Good. I want you to hold me,” she said, swinging her legs over his lap and smiling when he immediately pressed his hand to her lower back and slid his arm under her knees, shifting her over to settle her against his chest, his arms looping around her to pull her close. “I missed you,” she whispered, kind of hating the waver in her voice that she couldn’t seem to fight off.

He tightened his arms around her in response and she felt his lips press against her temple, the brush of stubble at her hairline a familiar comfort. “And I you, my love.”

She leaned back against him and tilted her chin so that she could meet his eyes. Though others often accused him of keeping a blank, cold expression, all she found when he looked at her was warmth and affection, a small smile twisting his lips that only seemed to appear for her. She reached up and ran her thumb across his cheekbone before leaning forward to catch his lips with hers.

Klaus responded immediately, one hand resting on her hip to steady her, the other tangling in her hair as he met each slow stroke of her lips with his own. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed, and he didn’t push or rush, simply allowing her to taste him, her hands slowly stroking his chest and shoulders to refamiliarize herself with his skin.

He groaned low in his throat when her fingers brushed across the tattoo of the flying birds inked on his shoulder, and she smiled as she pulled away, tracing the stem of the feather. She could hear his breath catch when she looked up at him through thick lashes, and it always felt good to know that he was as affected by her as she was by him. She let her palm skim down his bare chest to rest on the growing bulge in his trousers, gently palming him as she sat up straighter to run her tongue along his jaw, grinning at how he groaned out her name.

“I tried the pensieve trick while you were gone,” she whispered, nipping his ear.

“Did you?”

“It wasn’t as good as the real thing,” she admitted.

He laughed quietly, catching her lips again. “It never is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t left,” she pointed out, fiddling with the small stone threaded on one of the leather cords around his neck.

“True enough,” he said, gently prying her wrist from his necklaces and bringing it to his lips, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin. She felt her cheeks heat. The way he looked at her was intoxicating, the pure need almost making her melt.

Almost.

She smoothly disentangled herself from his arms, ignoring his soft grumble, and began to walk to the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder with raised eyebrows to ensure that he’d follow. She heard the creak of the sofa as she walked away followed by a low hissing that she assumed was him telling the snake to kindly fuck off for a few hours. She fiddled with the metal fastenings of the borrowed robe as she looked out the window, her breath hitching in surprise when Klaus’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his teeth scraping lightly against her ear. “I love the way you look in my clothing, sweetheart.”

“It’s warm.”

It smells like you.

He pressed a soft kiss to her neck before nimbly undoing the fastenings, letting the robe drop off her shoulders to puddle on the floor. He cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples until they puckered into stiff peaks, her head tipping to the side so that he could press sucking kisses to her neck that she knew would leave marks. “More.”

He chuckled, adding a scrape of his teeth now and then as he marked her, and she hissed out his name, rubbing her thighs together, hoping for some semblance of friction.

“Like that, sweetheart?” he murmured against her neck, and she hummed, arching into him, her eyes closing. “Spread your legs for me.”

He didn’t seem to be in the mood to tease, which was good since she wasn’t sure that she would be able to stand it if he did, and she was soon leaning on him for support as he rubbed her clit while her legs shook, her high intense after the unsatisfying week-long wait. She turned once she came down, slinging her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. “I want more,” she said between kisses. “You can make up for being an inattentive husband.”

He chuckled, his hands settling on her hips and backing her up until her legs hit the bed, though his grip was firm enough to keep her upright. She chased his lips as he pulled away, her teeth sinking into her lower lip when she caught sight of his swollen lips and dark eyes. “I missed you, my love,” he murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in an uncharacteristically tender gesture before his hands skimmed down her sides and thighs as he sunk to his knees, and her eyes widened, her breath hitching as he gently nudged her thighs apart with his hand.

Klaus often told her how much he enjoyed the sounds she made when he flicked her clit with his tongue, describing in detail how beautiful she looked with her legs spread wide on their bed her pussy soaking from anticipation. He tasted her often, soaking in her encouragements and her pleading for more. He had always preferred her on her back on their bed or sitting against the headboard, his hands burning against the backs of her thighs as he pushed them towards her chest, creating a deliciously familiar ache that lingered the next day. Occasionally he’d even lie down and hold her hips while she rode his tongue or moan as he tonguefucked her while she sucked his cock.

He’d never knelt at her feet like this.

He watched her with heated eyes as he dragged the tip of his tongue along her hipbone before scraping his teeth against her inner thigh, soothing the bite with a soft kiss. “Sit, sweetheart. Spread your legs for me,” he said softly, though she heard the note of firmness that sent an anticipatory shiver down her spine. “I want to make you come on my tongue.”

She sank down on the bed, and he guided her hips forward until she was seated on the edge of the mattress. She held eye contact with him as she slowly parted her thighs, her breathing speeding up as he bent forward to flick her clit with his tongue. She moaned as he gave her entrance a few slow, flat licks, groaning softly at her taste. Her head fell back as his movements sped up and she let out an irritated whine when he stopped. “I want you to watch me,” he said, his stubble scraping pleasurable against her slick, sensitive skin.

She made eye contact with him again and he drank in her reactions as he slipped two fingers inside of her soaking pussy, pumping them slowly in rhythm with his tongue swirling around her clit.

Her lips parted, fingers curling in the sheets as she watched his other hand wrap around his cock, stroking himself lazily, though his motions sped up once she couldn’t stifle her moans anymore, her embarrassingly loud gasps of his name and pleas for more escaping her lips.

She was already over-sensitive from coming around his fingers minutes before, and the combination of the almost too intense pleasure and the way he seemed to worship her just by watching her made her high build quickly. She moaned his name as she came on his tongue, her breathing heavy, and he lapped it up eagerly, leaning back to finish himself off, her come still wet on his lips and chin. He groaned her name as he came on his hand.

He reached for a spare piece of clothing to wipe it off, but before he could she sank to her knees as well so that they were almost nose to nose. His breath caught as she grabbed his wrists, sucking her own arousal off his fingers before licking his palm clean, moaning softly as she pulled away.

“I love you,” she breathed, wrinkling her nose when he laughed quietly. “What?”

“Do you say that to everyone who makes you come, sweetheart?” he teased, and she huffed, pushing him down to their carpet and straddling him.

“Well, since you’re the only man I’ve ever been with and I also definitely love myself, yes.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together. “And in case there was any doubt—“

She bent to kiss him softly. “Not anymore.”

[lethesomething]

What affection means to the BnHA characters

 Headcanon spree, anyone?

Here's some of the favourite ways in which the BnHA characters like to show/be given affection

 Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead):

Show: Forehead kisses (I will take this hc to the GRAVE)

Be given: Letting him sleep in their lap, maybe have his hair gently petted (actual cat man)

Yamada Hisashi (Present Mic)

S: Serenades, with or without boombox held high above his head

B: Shoulder massages (his hero gear is heavy on the neck, ok)

Yagi Toshinori (All Might)

S/B: Soothing, warm, comforting hugs. It’s alright now. (Dude is a canon hugger).

Kayama Nerumi (Midnight):

S: The Butt Grab (preferably in public)

B: Oddly enough, she's very into cutesy things like having them play with her hair

 Asui Tsuyu:

S/B: Nose boops (so pure, so innocent)

Aoyama Yuga:

S/B: Styling their hair, having joint pampering sessions including face masks and pedicures

Ashido Mina:

S/B: Full on make-out sessions

Bakugou Katsuki:

S: Reluctantly giving them advice or tutoring

B: Having them cheer him on, support him, believe in him

Midoriya Izuku:

S: Hand holding

B: He probably really wants to be kissed on the lips but he's a blushing, nervous wreck just thinking about it

Iida Tenya:

S: Tiny pecks on the cheek

B: Mild body worship. Hands innocently (or not) walking over his muscular arms, fingers appreciating his back, that sort of thing.

Uraraka Ochako:

S: Cutesy pecks on the very side of their mouth (she secretly reads shoujou, where she got the idea)

B: She really likes having them nozzle her hair because she's proud of how soft it is and how nice it smells and it makes her feel safe and warm when s/o appreciates what she thinks of as her best feature.

Ojiro Mashirao:

S: Nose kisses (this boy is adorable)

B: He kinda really likes having his tail pet (it makes him blush as all hell tho)

Kaminari Denki

S: Kabe motherf*cking don (it makes him feel cool, help this boy)

B: When they grab the front of his shirt to pull him into a kiss

Kirishima Eijirou:

S: Hugs from behind and neck kisses

B: When they jump into his arms to hug him

Hagakure Tooru:

S: Unexpected full body bear hug

B: When they snake their arm around her shoulders during walks

Shouji Mezo:

S: Really rather awkward with affection so it's super subtle. It's in the way he looks at s/o, how his voice becomes just a tad lower when talking to them.

B: He would actually love to be the little spoon

Jirou Kyouka:

S: Listening to music together, making them mix tapes/playlists B: One of these days, she wants someone to write her a song

Sero Hanta:

S: The Side Hug

B: Having them sit between his legs while watching tv or playing games

Todoroki Shouto: 

S: Soft smiles, rapt attention, laughing at their jokes

B: He loves it when his s/o is very excitedly telling him stories, even about daily goings-on. The thought that his s/o can be so normal and comfortable around him, and so enthusiastic, fills him with a sense of well-being.

Tokoyami Fumikage:

S: Rubbing his forehead on them

B: Head scratches (feathers get itchy, my bros)

Kouda Koji:

S/B: Sitting quietly, shoulders touching (he just really wants someone who can handle hanging out with him in silence, preferably even be comfortable and content doing so), baby animals are always a plus to this scenario.

Sato Rikido:

S/B: Cooking or baking together and how smoothly they can work as a team

Yaoyorozu Momo:

S: Nervous smiles and longing glances, soft arm touches

B: Hand kisses (she grew up reading and watching a lot of period dramas and it kinda messed with her expectations)

Mineta Minoru:

S: Touching their boobs

B: Letting him touch their boobs

 Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu:

S: Sparring, offering to make them stronger, undying and unwavering support

B: Those hugs where they lie on the couch together and he can rest his head on their chest and everything is warm and soft

Tamaki Amajiki:

S/B: Touching foreheads together

Togata Mirio:

S: Rubbing little circles on their thighs, gentle touches and a hand almost casually sneaking under their shirt

B: French kissing

Nejire Hado:

S: Being endlessly interested in their lives, a barrage of questions until they shut her up with a small kiss

B: Rapt attention and endless patience when she talks, until she leans in for a small kiss.

Shinsou Hitoshi:

S: Nose kisses

B: Having them card their fingers through his hair

Hatsume Mei:

S/B: Trying out her babies with them (she just really wants someone to share in her enthusiasm, engineering skills are a plus, but not a necessity)

 Bonus:

Dabi:

S/B: Burning villages together like some old timey duo of Apocalyptic horsemen / a superpowered Bonnie and Clyde

Toga Himmiko:

S/B: Matching skins! (like outfits only… you know)