#head empty just the forbidden oasis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

takemealivelh · 4 years ago

Text

midnight city || gang!luke

gang!luke, rival gangs, mentions of drugs, alcohol and violence. smut. 2k. part 1.

feedback is appreciated

he wiped the blood off his knuckles. the feeling of beating the shit out of someone is a rush of adrenaline. it’s like getting high on coke, but he doesn’t deal with that shit. he’s known many people who do hard drugs and then end up in trouble, or dead. he appreciates his life so much. luke likes being the leader of the diamond forsaken. a mafia that dedicates its time to drug transactions and occasionally prostitution. luke doesn’t fuck with that either, at least not recently. he met this girl in a bar and he’s been thinking about her for over a month. they’ve been on a few dates, and the sex has been great. she has a great sense of humor and he can tell she’s got street smarts, which he likes. he couldn’t fathom the idea of being with someone who gets scared about his job.

“you good, bro?” ashton, luke’s right-hand man, looks over at the bruises and leans against the sink of the bathroom, lighting a joint. their day is done and it’s time to go party. luke beat the shit out of a dude who didn’t give them their money and he threatened to go to the police. there was no way they would let him leave the storage unit without a warning. luke choked the man and broke a few ribs. he’s used to the job. it’s not like he was always like this. he used to have big dreams about forming a band and become a good musician. but he fell into the wrong crowds, and now here he is. dealing drugs and other sketchy businesses. everyone in la who knows about their mafia, knows not to fuck with them. they would end up dead. the police don’t do anything, they know how dangerous they are.

luke dries his hands with a paper towel and runs his fingers through his golden locks. “yeah,” he says. he’s never walked out of a fight with anything more than a few bruises. he does boxing on his free time, so he knows how to throw a lethal punch, and knows how to avoid poor kicks.

“i heard the grey lilies will be there tonight. i swear to fucking god those girls... i would bang every single one of them, but... you know...”

the grey lilies were a girl gang. they dealt drugs, too. that’s why they were a rival to the diamond forsaken. they never got into a physical fight, but there were many times they were about to. having the best clients was a problem for the male gang, but at least they had more people wanting their goods. but still, luke was pissed that they had a quality over quantity problem. he’d grown accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle. a good place to live, the most delicious takeout, and fancy cars.

“for real?” luke looks over at his friend. he hides his excitement. sure, the grey lilies were trouble. but their top dealer, jackie, was the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen. their dates had been fun, exciting, thrilling. the idea of a secret hookup with their enemy was another rush of adrenaline. one that he actually preferred, if he was being honest.

it’d all started at one of the parties. luke knew jackie, or at least he knew her face and what she did for a living. he was jealous she did so good with clients. she was charming as fuck. they didn’t mean to show up at the same place at the same time, but sometimes the gangs coincided. “did you get the dresnners?” she’d asked him as she took a seat on the stool next to him. her caramel-colored hair was in a ponytail and her eyeshadow was pastel blue. she wore ripped jeans, an oversized white t shirt, and high-heeled boots. the look suited her. she looked like the vocalist of an 80s inspired punk band.

luke scoffed. he knew what she meant. they had been fighting over the dressners for weeks and they decided to go with the grey lilies. that night, the diamond forsaken got blackout drunk. “no, but you did.” he finally said, looking down at the glass of vodka in his hand.

“yeah,” she chuckled and ordered a beer. luke had always thought jackie was pretty interesting, but they’d never talked. not much, at least. just a few words here and there, mostly passive-aggressive shit. but the bickering was also part of the job. that night, though, that night neither felt like fighting. they were already buzzed. jackie took a swig of her beer and looked at him. “you wanna go outside? i got a joint. it’s legit shit, this.” she smiled.

it’s not like he frowned, but something among those lines happened. but fuck it, he thought. “sure. lead the way.”

they went to the terrace of the bar and lit up the joint. luke coughed a little and she laughed. “i told you it was legit.”

luke and ashton walk into the club like the kings they are. everyone stops to look at them. but shortly, they resume their activities. which mostly consists of getting drunk and high. the two men make their way towards their usual booth. michael and calum are already there. calum’s with his girl. a black beauty who gives incredible head, his words. luke takes a seat and drinks the beer in front of him, swiftly drifting off the conversation to look around. he hasn’t seen the grey lilies, but he hopes they get here soon. bathroom sex sounds good right now.

“how was the guy?” michael asks as he throws a couple of fries into his mouth. ashton tells him that luke did a good job in silencing the motherfucker. “three ribs? man, that’s dark. but cool.” he laughs.

everyone seems to stop talking again, and luke shifts his gaze towards the door. the grey lilies have arrived. they look like a grunge band. their leader, lea, wears combat boots and net tights. but his eyes are focused on the girl whose moans keeps him up at night. she looks gorgeous in that oversized that jacket that seems to swallow her whole, but still barely covers her ass. he wonders if he looks okay, sexy. he didn’t have time to change, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. his motorcycle jacket has a few stains, but at least they’re not blood.

jackie finds him staring and she puts on a smirk. she pats the pocket of her jacket to let him know that she’s got weed on her. they rarely ever not get high together. that makes her wonder if this, this between luke and her, is just a side effect of the drug. but she doubts it. she actually likes him, even if she despises his friends. they all seem idiotic to her. luke notices the action of her hand and he immediately looks down at his drink. “imma go to the bathroom.” he announces, even though no one is hearing. they’re too into the story about the miami trip calum and his girl took last weekend.

luke stands up from the booth and snakes through the crowd. he catches a glimpse of jackie, who’s making her way towards her regular booth. “meet me outside in five,” he texts her. he watches her check her phone and smile down at the screen.

“they’re gonna kill us if they see us together,” jackie says as she pulls out the joint from her pocket. she knows the grey lilies hate the diamond forsaken. they think the other gang are all egocentric assholes. she used to think that, too. but she met luke. and he’s actually a sweet guy. he’s really smart, too. the strategy they use to get more clients astounds her. but it’s nice to know that the grey lilies have the better clients.

luke watches her light up the joint and he leans against the wall outside of the club. it’s dark outside and the air is cold. there aren’t many people in the terrace, but he doubts anyone will say anything about them being together. getting high together. “then we’re just gonna have to keep it a secret.” his smile is shy, and jackie thinks he’s the most adorable man. even if he has bruises on his knuckles from probably beating up some shady guy. she passes the joint and luke takes a drag. “you wanna come to my place later? i got some cds i wanna show you.” they’re both big music nerds, and he loves that. they sit on the floor of his room, high out of their minds, and they listen to oasis, jane’s addiction and red hot chili peppers.

“i don’t know. lea wants to do some kind of after party tonight. and i kinda want to be there.”

luke nods his head, he’s sort of disappointed, but it is what it is. he knows the gangs come first. it’s all about loyalty. that’s why he’d be fucked if anyone of the diamond forsaken members came out right now. but he knows they don’t smoke, except for calum occasionally -rarely, actually. so he’s not worried.

“come here,” jackie smiles as she plays with the zipper of his jacket. they’re incredibly close and she can feel the smoke coming out from luke’s mouth. she kisses him softly, licking his bottom lip. with eyes closed, luke feels stars bursting inside his lungs. he really likes her. “give me that,” she orders and he hands her the joint.

they keep smoking until there’s nothing left and they stare into each other’s eyes. jackie isn’t one to maintain eye contact, but she feels safe with luke. even if he’s forbidden fruit.

the men's bathroom is empty. they had to sneak in so the others couldn’t see them. luke made an excuse about going to the bar to get more drinks even if the counter was crammed. jackie said she was going out for a smoke. it’s all hands and sloppy kisses as they lock the door of one of the stalls. luke bites his lower lip as his back is pressed to the white door and jackie drops to her knees. “you gonna make me feel good?”

“imma make you feel so good, baby,” she grins and unzips his pants. he’s already hard from all the making out in the terrace. so it’s not surprise that his cock springs up as soon as his briefs are pulled down to his thighs. jackie licks the tip and he shudders. he’s gotten a fair amount of blowjobs in his life. the first one from one girl that attended his school and she thought he was going to be a musician one day. but nothing compares to jackie’s mouth. her tongue slides down his length and he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. she’s ecstatic that she can make him squirm in front of her. she likes being in control, even if it doesn’t always happen. luke can be pretty dominant in the bedroom. taking her from behind roughly and choking her. jackie puts his cock in her mouth and she starts bobbing her head to the rhythm of the loud bass coming from the other side of the bathroom door. luke appreciates the little detail. his senses are heightened and it feels like she’s one more instrument adding to the song.

“fuck,” he curses under his breath as he feels the tip of his dick hit her throat. she takes him in so good. she’s an angel. luke looks down and he sees her eyes staring up at him, a subtle smirk on her lips. “you’re- you’re-” he’s trying to say something but his brain doesn’t work. the pleasure is too intense. he hits his head against the door and closes his eyes once again. he’s about to cum. exactly at the same time he hears someone come into the bathroom. fuck. “stop, stop,” he whispers to jackie and cups her face to get her off his dick. she looks through the slit of the door and sees someone she recognizes washing their hands.

“shit,” she mouths. “michael.”

if you wanna be added to my tag list pls let me know!

TAG LIST

@brown-eyedshell @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @myloverboyash @hopeless-renassianceluke @dukesnumber1@rip-lukes-balsamic @angelbabylu @cal-pal-cuddles @ashtons-favorite @1dthewantedlove @problematicprincessa@heartbreak-5sos @bloodmoonashton @lilacsos @irwinkitten @singt0mecalum @sublimehood @sugarcoated-pain @5sosnsfw @cal-puddies @lashtoncurls @dweebluke @rosecoloredash @@hotmessmichael @calumspeachy@ashtonsunshine @wonderland-irwin @ashtonandcalslefthand @post-traumatic-mess @damselindistressanu @c-dizzle-swizzlex @mycollectionofnuts @calteahood @rainingcal @o0idk0o @cals-eyebrows @kingxnichole @placeoftime @tirednotflirting @stylesofhemmings @sunshinelukee

#luke hemmings #luke5sos #5sos #5sos fic #luke hemmings fic #5sos smut #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings imagine

84 notes · View notes

hankwritten · 4 years ago

Text

Keep in a Cool Dry Place

Demoman/Soldier, 3k

A couple of old, past their prime mercs live out their days, but at least they’re slowly breaking down together.

Oftentimes, Jane would go out onto the deck to find Tavish fixed in place, chin tilted skywards, soaking up the stars for all they were worth. He could be like that, sometimes for hours, eye glossy against the Milky Way as he stood so still he could make a statue proud.

“You’re up awful late,” he said to Jane, unmoving. Probably had realized Jane had been watching for a while now.

“Could say the same to you,” Jane said, pulling himself into a deck chair with a great cascade of air from his smoker’s lungs, the grunt of an old man he always thought was an exaggerated affectation until it started happening to him.

“I don’t get up at five in the morning,” Tavish reminded him.

“You could. Good for the health, Tavish.”

“I don’t think anything’s good for the health these days. Just bad, and slightly worse.” He drummed his fingers on the deck’s railing. “C’mere, look at this.”

“I can see the damn stars just fine from here,” Jane sniffed.

Tavish broke from his surveying to shoot a grin Jane’s way, features cut sharp in the porch light. “Come on you old fart, get over here.”

Jane grumbled, pushing out of the chair with more effort than he would have liked to admit. He made his way to Tavish, joining him at the railing, their shoulders brushing just briefly until Tavish swung an arm around Jane’s waist.

His voice took on a fading quality all of the sudden, as though far away winds were dragging him skyward. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jane watched him. In the past few years his good eye had grown white in the center, a fuzzy film growing out from the pupil that would one day take the whole cornea. It was irreversible, Tavish had explained, years of buildup from stromnium or strotenium or something like that, Jane could never remember. Tavish wasn’t surprised, had told Jane that he was shocked he’d still had the thing this long, but that didn’t mean there was no mourning within the man. It was just different than how most people would have gone about it.

“Sure is,” Jane said. “Real beautiful.”

“Aye. And you ‘n me, we’re not seeing the half of it. Those telescopes, the ones the size of whole buildings, all they have is a bunch of different magnifying glasses and yet when they put ‘em all together you can see whole galaxies that weren’t there before. Same sky, just some folks can see it, some folks can’t.”

“You can still see it,” Jane reminded him, a gentle bump to the shoulder.

“For now,” Tavish agreed. He turned, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, a testament that was gone before Jane could fully appreciate how much he loved the small, sad ways he chose to be happy. A hand came up to brush the side of Jane’s cheek. “I just keep thinking about how one of these days will be the last day I see you.”

Their foreheads came together. Jane’s hand rose to cover the one across his cheek, thumb rubbing the small band of gold on Tavish’s finger. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this; despite the decades, despite the promises made on cold desert nights, despite watching the grey hairs spring in Tavish’s beard and knowing the same was happening to him, it was still hard to fathom that someone had chosen to spend the rest of their life with him. Even though the years with Tavish came close to outnumbering the years without, that time in Jane’s life of infinite loneliness, of stubborn self sufficiency, made him question how he was ever lucky enough that someone had hung on their sense and decided he was worth it.

Jane pulled Tavish closer. “Yeah. Well. If you’re going to keep a last image of me in your head, I really wish it was back when I was still handsome.”

Tavish laughed, swaying them both slightly in the unusually still air. Normally winds rattled the badlands, stirring up loose sand and seething through plants too hardy to notice. It felt like, for once, the world had chosen to be kind this night, just for them.

“You get handsomer every day Jane,” Tavish said, and hidden behind the words were each day I love you more. “I just…miss.”

“Miss how things used to be?”

“More than that. I’ve got the ‘ole yearning, I suppose, the eater of men.” Tavish chewed his words, looking up at the sky again. “I miss places. I miss how everything used to feel, even if it wasn’t terribly good.”

“Not talking about going back to your home planet, are you?” Jane joked, jerking his thumb at the now witnessed stars.

“No,” Tavish snorted. “Not exactly. But I…” He trailed off.

Now it was Jane’s turn to bring his hands to the sides of Tavish’s face, his own ring warm from where he’d been cradling it inside his fist. “What is it, Tav? You can tell me.”

Tavish looked not at the stars nor the horizon, but the ground, kicking the wooden deck neither of them had ever gotten around to re-staining. “I feel…I feel the hills always calling out to me. Like there’s something in my bones that just wants to rest, to go back where it’s green, to where it isn’t so bloody dry. Every time we visit I think ‘is this the last time I’ll ever see it? The very last time? Am I going to be too old or too tired the next time around, and never feel like I’m home again?’”

Jane watched the worry lines in Tavish’s forehead. “You want to go back to Scotland.”

“I dunno. Just the more my eye goes the more I…I dunno.”

They hung in silence for a while longer, just breathing. Jane hadn’t felt the need to wear his helmet for a long time, not at home, not at this mansion that was their private oasis from the rest of the world. Were money made their problems—if not vanish—then kept far back beyond the fence where they never had to think about them unless they ventured beyond. Where, even with BLU’s protection no longer keeping the various chapters of local and federal law enforcement trying to wrangle some comeuppance out of the soldier for sins past, he still had a place of refuge.

“Let’s go,” Jane said.

Tavish looked away. “I don’t mean for a visit Jane, I mean…”

“I know,” Jane insisted. Tavish’s milky eye fixed him with disbelief. “You want to go home. I get it. We should go.”

Tavish stared at him, still uncomprehending. “Jane you know that would mean…”

“I know,” Jane repeated.

A warm, subtle smile filled Tavish’s face, and neither of them had to say any more. Tavish drew Jane in closer, and the two of them rocked in the wind that had just picked up again.

***

“Jane,” Tavish frowned as he examined the box Jane had dropped thunderously at the bottom of the stairs, “do you really need to bring all of these?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you get rid of your treasured possessions,” Jane pointed out, depositing a second box filled entirely with Guns & Haircuts net to the first.

“We’re not going to have space for these,” Tavish retorted. “It’s going to be a tiny little thing, remember? They don’t build mansions in Ullapool.”

Moving had left the New Mexico mansion barren and faded where pictures had hung on the wall since Tavish had first moved in. Now they were all gone, sold off as their attempts to downsize left only what was necessary and a few DeGroot family heirlooms.

It twisted something in Jane to see their home of three decades slowly dismantled into carpet scuffs and cardboard boxes. This had been his dwelling longer than any other, a turning point from when the Gravel Wars had folded in on themselves and left Jane with an odd freedom he had no idea if he was allowed to act on. Even before that, when Tavish’s mother had still been alive and the halls were filled with her vigor, this place was safe haven for Jane, where he’d come to meet with his forbidden friend and get wasted in his living room.

Now it was mostly empty. Ready for the last goodbyes.

“These are important,” Jane declared of the boxes.

“You haven’t read them in ages,” Tavish pointed out.

“So? They are valuable. Scout sold his whole Bonk! Boy collection for a fortune, and I’ve got twice as many as that little squirt does!” Jane cleared his throat suddenly. “Did.”

It was hard to remember sometimes. He thought his old teammates would want nothing to do with him after the end, but to his surprise they actually kept in contact better than when they’d actually worked together. Maybe owing to the fact he now had an actual address they could send letters to.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had ever actually retired, and over time the tepid, passably courteous correspondences with Sniper had stopped a few years after Spy disappeared entirely. Jane assumed something similar had happened to them both. Occupational hazard.

Engie had complications with his diabetes. The remaining team had shown up for the funeral, except for Pyro, who everyone politely wouldn’t mention, even when Jane asked.

The one person Jane hadn’t expected to outlive was Scout. Scout didn’t write, but he could talk anyone’s ear off, and when coming home from the second funeral in as many years it hit Jane hard that he’d never hear the kitchen phone ringing off its holder again, practically trembling as the other line was just dying to tell him about whatever exactly Scout was so wound up about today.

Tavish noticed Jane’s slipup, and kindly ignored it. Nearly ten years, and Jane still found himself forgetting. “That’s because they were comics,” Tavish explained. “They were collectors items. The only person collecting Guns & Haircuts is you.”

“And don’t I know it!”

Tavish sighed. “Are you even planning on selling them, or are you just going to do the same thing you’ve done with them here and leave them in a big box to gather dust?”

“Of course I’m going to leave them in a big box!” Jane huffed proudly. “What other purpose is there in life other than to gather material objects and then have them accumulate in piles in your living room? You do not see me complaining about the giant, wall mounted family crest, do you?”

Tavish rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed as an old argument became even older. “Ach, fine. I suppose we’ll fine the space.” When he opened his eye, he saw the third giant box Jane was hauling out for the movers. “Jane! We don’t need to be taking that.”

“Yes we do, sonny!” Jane said, slapping a hand on the trumpet of the old record player he hadn’t been able to properly fit in the box. “I do not trust those cassette tapes! The snakes that live in them always try to come out and strangle me!”

“We’ve got some CDs now-” Tavish tried.

“Even worse!” Jane declared. “Australian mind control devices!”

Tavish could see he wasn’t winning, which was just fine by Jane. The magazines were one thing, but the record player he wasn’t leaving without.

“Well,” Tavish said, looking around their house, stripped bare. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Jane couldn’t find a reason to object. He glanced around, looking for one last missing detail, one more reason to stall, but found none. Gently, he took Tavish’s hand and squeezed. “Everything we need.”

***

Scotland was even wetter than the last time they’d visited.

Mud, the most distantly remembered and ancient of substances, clung to Jane’s pant leg all the way up to the knee as they made their way down hundred-year old paths someone really should’ve figured out how to weather-proof by now. But, where Jane was grumbling, Tavish looked about as happy as a clam in water. (Or, Jane supposed was more fitting, a pig in mud.)

“Aha! Look, there it is,” Tavish said, tugging on Jane’s arm and pointing at the glimpse of water creeping around the bend. “Still there.”

“I don’t think they would have up and moved a whole lake while you were gone,” Jane mumbled, but Tavish didn’t seem to hear as he moved with surprising speed down the hill. It was times like this Jane actually envied the cane.

When he finally caught up, Tavish was breathing in the thick air, his chest rising and then collapsing with a satisfied sigh. “Used to play down here as lad. Sometimes there’s a beach, far as the eye can see.”

“Thought you were done with sand,” Jane said, stomping up next to him on damp boots.

Tavish just breamed broadly at him, drinking in the sweep of the land and the crash of the lake. Jane could remember the stories, ones from Tavish’s childhood much better than his own, told and retold so many times that he could flip open the memories like a scrapbook and find exactly where every place in Ullapool fit. An old pub, a crumbling church. The house where the DeGroots used to live, the field where Merasmus’s castle had once briefly towered. So vivid were they, they superimposed themselves over Jane’s (admittedly more insubstantial) memories until he felt he had lived here himself.

“…Gettin’ dark, Tav,” Jane pointed out.

Tavish frowned, and squinted at the horizon. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Think the movers are done?” Jane didn’t approve of hiring other people to life heavy things when lifting heavy things had once been one of Jane’s favorite pastimes, but Tavish convinced him that if he threw out his back again, it’d be a lot harder to get him to a doctor.

“Probably,” Tavish nodded. “Let’s go see.”

“Do you think they dropped my magazines?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, love.”

They made the long, much more slippery journey back to their new home. It overlooked Ullapool and the coast, but was nevertheless removed enough that Jane could revel in the privacy he had grown used to. Privacy was not on Tavish’s mind when they’d walked through town that first time, however, as he’d greeted nearly everyone who came their way. It had shocked Jane how many people knew him, or at least recognized the DeGroot name, and greeted Tavish as familiarly as they would have had he been gone for only a few weeks rather than years.

It was good, to see Tavish like this. Even now, as they climbed slowly back up the hill, Jane watched him out the corner of his eye, smiling at the look of serenity that hadn’t been on his husband’s face so naturally in years.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Tavish said lovingly as they crossed the threshold of their new home.

That it was. Jane had worried he had grown soft living in luxury, that his years of being rich and retied would make him forgot that he’d once loved his little apartment, had cherished the security its simplicity had given him. But now that he was back inside four walls, surrounded by the items that had come to mean things beyond their purpose, a swell of pleasant familiarity welled up in him. The curtains blocked out the last of the fading light through soft yellow. There was a fireplace (modern and gas powered) but one ready to fill the house with a warm glow.

Tavish made the motions to begin unpacking, but Jane’s pretense of rooting though the boxes had a different goal in mind. Preoccupied, Tavish didn’t turn around until Jane finally slipped the record into place.

Perking, Tavish looked over his shoulder to see Jane offering his hand as the music bubbled slowly to life. “Been a long time since we danced,” Jane said.

Tavish’s smile fit well in this homey, quiet room. He took Jane’s hand, and let Jane pull him up off his knees until they were chest to chest, resting his chin on Jane’s shoulder.

“Too long,” he agreed.

They began sway rhythmlessly to music in the middle of the tiny living room, caring little where they put their feet as long as it wasn’t one top of one another. Jane loved the record player, needed it more these days, as it was one of the only things that made the horrid, incessant ringing in his ears quiet for just a short while. Leaving the fan on at night might help him get to sleep, but the was no denying the scratching notes out of the player were a world more enjoyable.

It was piano piece, one he’d heard Tavish play now and again. There was no space for a grand piano here in this little cottage on the hill, but maybe they could get a smaller one, and Tavish could try teaching him again. Like he’d promised so long ago.

So many promises that’d slipped through the cracks, both to each other and themselves. Things they simply couldn’t do anymore. Ever since the scare with Jane’s lung cancer, they had tried to do better, had realized what they had built meant something and they couldn’t go piddling away with their complacent recklessness. Jane had quit smoking, Tavish had quit drinking as part of the deal.

But still, there were other things, other mistakes that had compounded over the years. Jane always kept thinking he should have been over it by now, that for how many gentle touches Tavish had placed against him, he should forget the violence those same hands had once brought him. The times they’d shoved a sword into Jane’s gut. The bombs from nowhere. The individual atrocities. It was duller now, the years had been good enough to do that, but if Tavish’s memories were anything like Jane’s, he understood why the ex-demoman sometimes woke screaming in the middle of the night, needing to be reminded—soothed, assured, sometimes begged—that the Jane beside him wasn’t the monster from his dreams.

That was the real tragedy of the War. Officially, all they had been paid to do was kill each other—the horrors they chose to inflict on one another had been their own doing, their own wills brought to fruition. RED had never asked Tavish to shove Jane’s shovel down its owner's throat, laughing vengefully all the while. Jane was sure he’d done equally as cruel things to Tavish during those hell times, but had trouble recalling exactly what. It’s much easier to remember the sins committed against you, than those you have unleashed yourself.

Those hands, those bloodstained, gentle, perfect hands, rubbed circles and Jane’s back, and he sighed. He’d listened to this record enough to know it was getting to the end of this side, but he found he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep standing here, swaying with the man he loved in their home in the mountains, remembering that they had earned this.

“I cherish these moments we spend together,” he said resolutely into Tavish’s chest.

“Every one of them,” Tavish agreed.

Eventually they would lay down, rest their old bones in their new bed, but for now they held each other in the slowly encroaching night, the sound of rain playing its first patter on the roof.

#tf2 fanfiction #demosolly #boots n bombs

23 notes · View notes

reinerispretty · 4 years ago

Text

beneath the moon. (sokka x f!reader) pt5

thank u so much for reading and for all of your wonderful feedback :) i hope ur having a great day!

pt1

pt4

pt6

“You guys go ahead,” (Y/N) said. “I’m going to stay and help the other waterbenders.”

“Are you sure?” Sokka asked. “You were knocked out pretty bad.”

“I’ll be fine,” She insisted. Katara nodded and went over to Appa to climb into his saddle. Slowly, Yue backed away from her sister and walked over to Katara. Sokka was the only one who remained. He stared at her for a moment.

“Um, stay safe,” He said.

“You too.”

(Y/N) stood patiently in the Spirit World Oasis. Most everyone was forbidden from spending too much time here, for fear that someone would damage it, but it was definitely her favorite place in the entire North Pole. She remembered begging her father numerous times to let her bring her paints and easel in here, but he refused. It was a closely guarded Northern Water Tribe secret, but for what reason, she wasn’t sure.

Yue had brought her, Katara, and Aang here in an effort to get Aang to connect with the Spirit World. Aang sat on the grass with his legs folded. She and Yue both let out a gasp as his tattoos began to light up.

“Is he okay?” (Y/N) asked Katara. She nodded, a smile on her face.

“Don’t worry, he just crossed over into the Spirit World. He should be fine as long as we don’t move his body.”

Yue looked around the oasis nervously. (Y/N’s) own hair rose on the back of her neck. She felt like something was wrong. “Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested. Katara shook her head.

“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him.”

“Well aren’t you a big girl,” A voice that (Y/N) didn’t recognize chuckled. She watched as Katara’s entire body tensed. All three girls turned around to see a boy standing there. He could be no older than sixteen, with a scar on his left eye. His entire presence struck fear into (Y/N’s) heart, but she wouldn’t let him see it. “Hand him over and I won’t have to hurt you.”

(Y/N) moved first, since his eyes were trained on Katara. She wasn’t sure who this boy was, but she knew his presence was a threat to Aang. She gathered water from the oasis and shot it toward him. He dodged her attack but Katara hit him with another blast of water. He kicked his legs into the air and shot a stripe of fire at both of them. (Y/N) ducked just in time to not be burned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Yue run for help. (Y/N’s) heart felt like it would pound out of her chest. This was her first real fight and she was scared out of her mind, but the rush of power she felt from the moon kept her steady. Both girls quenched his fire with their own water blasts. With Katara’s help, they captured the boy in a ball of water and froze him in ice. He quickly melted out of it and ran toward Aang, grabbing him by the collar.

With a yell, (Y/N) raised a large wave and shot it at him, sending him backward. Katara froze the water once more to keep him imprisoned. (Y/N) bent over out of breath, exhausted from how much of her own power she had just used.

Her eyes widened as (Y/N) watched the sun rise above them. Quickly she turned to the boy, raising her hands to fight him once more, but it was too late. He broke free from the ice and the blast sent both her and Katara flying backward.

Katara landed against the gate of the oasis and slumped over unconscious. (Y/N) had been thrown back into the wall. She lay on the ground, coughing and groaning in pain. She watched as the boy picked up Aang and dragged him out of the oasis. She tried to crawl her way toward them but every inch of her body groaned in pain. Eventually, she succumbed to darkness.

---

When (Y/N) awoke, she was staring into two bright blue eyes. Her first thought was that they were beautiful, but once she realized they were Sokka’s, she pushed him away. “Yep, she’s fine,” Sokka grumbled as he helped (Y/N) rise to her feet.

Yue let out a sigh of relief before taking her sister into her arms. (Y/N) groaned, holding her head as her eyes searched their location. “Is Katara okay?”

“I’m fine,” Katara assured her. “We made a pretty good team.”

“Not good enough,” (Y/N) sighed, staring at the empty spot where Aang once sat. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

“Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation,” Sokka said bitterly. “He’s been hunting Aang since we met him.”

“Seems like a pleasure to be around,” (Y/N) said sarcastically.

“I can’t believe I lost him,” Katara’s eyes welled with tears.

“It’s not your fault,” Sokka reassured her. “You both did all you could. Come on, Zuko couldn’t have gotten far.”

“You guys go ahead,” (Y/N) said. “I’m going to stay and help the other waterbenders.”

“Are you sure?” Sokka asked. “You were knocked out pretty bad.”

“Um, stay safe,” He said.

“You too.” He ran to the others, hopping onto Appa’s back and sending them soaring into the air. (Y/N) watched as they left the oasis, Appa growing smaller and smaller as they flew away. She put her jacket back on and buttoned it up.

She ran back into her city to find it being overcome by Fire Nation soldiers. Their tanks ran over the ice, breaking the intricate sculptures and decorations that had been there for centuries. Her people were doing a good job of fighting them off by freezing their tanks and sending the soldiers back over the wall with plumes of water.

(Y/N) walked through the city, trying to find anywhere that she could help. As she looked around, a Fire Nation soldier grasped her harshly by the arm. She shouted in pain, trying to wrench herself free from his grasp. “You’re coming with me,” He said, his voice warped from behind his mask.

With her free hand, (Y/N) lifted the water from the canals and doused the soldier in it. He released her from the initial shock and (Y/N) grabbed him by the uniform, using all of her force to send him over the railing of the bridge and into the canal. The corner of her mouth tilted up just a bit as she watched him try to swim to safety.

While she wasn’t a master waterbender by any means, (Y/N) still utilized the skills Katara and Aang had taught her to defend her home from the Fire Nation. She shot icicles at them from high above, either knocking them unconscious or pinning their uniforms to the ground. She shot blasts of water to knock them off of her feet, and the other waterbenders in her tribe froze them in place. They stared at her, surprised to see one of the princesses utilizing her waterbending talents to fight, but she just gave them a shrug and continued along her way.

As she raised a wave to fight another Fire Nation soldier, the water fell to the ground, splashing at both of their feet. (Y/N) looked up at the sky to find that the moon had turned red. She tried once more to send a whip of water at the soldier, but nothing happened. Her face contorted in shock.

“Nice try,” The soldier said, grasping her by the hood of her coat. She stomped on his foot with her heavy boots and he shouted in pain, releasing her. (Y/N) ran away as fast as she could, back to the Spirit World Oasis. She reached her destination just as Sokka, Yue, and Katara were arriving.

“Where’s Aang?” (Y/N) asked.

“Inside!” Katara informed her. They crossed through the gates and watched as Aang stood face-to-face with Admiral Zhao. The man held a bag that writhed and twisted.

“Don’t do it, Zhao,” Aang demanded. “Destroying the moon won't hurt just the Water Tribe. It will hurt everyone, including you. Without the moon, everything would fall out of balance. You have no idea what kind of chaos that would unleash on the world.”

(Y/N) inhaled a sharp breath as she realized what exactly Zhao was holding in the sack. The fish within the oasis weren’t regular fish: they were the spirits of the moon and ocean. They were the ones who had given her the gift of waterbending. They were the ones who had saved Yue’s life when she was just a baby.

“He’s right, Zhao,” An old man said.

“General Iroh, why am I not surprised of your treachery?”

“This is no treachery,” Iroh said firmly. “The Fire Nation needs the moon just as much as the Water Tribe. We need balance. Whatever you do to that spirit I'll unleash on you ten-fold. Let it go, now!“

Zhao hesitated for a moment and (Y/N) watched as slowly, he let the Moon back into the oasis. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. But suddenly, Zhao released a loud shout and sent a column of fire down on the Moon spirit.

They all watched in horror as all of the color and life of the world dissipated. Everything around them was now black and white. (Y/N) lifted her hands to her mouth in horror.

“There’s no hope now,” Yue cried. “It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” Aang said, but it didn’t sound like his voice. It sounded like the voice of thousands of people. (Y/N) and the others watched as Aang’s tattoos and eyes began to glow the same brilliant blue hue that she had seen earlier.

The water within the oasis began glowing the same color. Aang entered the water and it formed around him, lifting him up into a giant blob that resembled the ocean spirit. It traveled through the water that led out of the oasis and into the city.

(Y/N) and Yue rushed over to the pond where the koi fish had once swam. The fish of the Moon spirit lay floating at the top, a deep red burn etched into its skin. The old man that had stood up to Zhao, Iroh, held the fish in his hands before placing it back in the water.

“Maybe...maybe I can heal it,” (Y/N) said hopefully, but her voice wavered despite herself. She reached her hands toward it, but Katara grabbed her wrists.

“It’s too late,” Katara whispered sadly. “It’s dead.”

Iroh turned to look at Yue, noticing how her eyes remained blue despite the world losing its color. “You...you’ve been touched by the Moon spirit. Some of its life is still in you.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Yue said, her face turning the most serious (Y/N) had ever seen it. “Maybe I can give it back.”

“No, absolutely not,” (Y/N) said, just as Sokka said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s my duty,” She told them both. (Y/N) shook her head furiously.

“Your father told me to protect you,” Sokka pleaded.

“I have to do this.” Yue said decisively. (Y/N) grabbed onto her sister’s hands, shaking her head. Her eyes welled with tears that spilled over one by one.

“Please, Yue, no,” She begged. “It-It can take me instead. Please, you can’t do this. Please, Yue, I can’t lose you!” (Y/N) had spent her entire life looking after Yue. She had tried her best to protect her. But in this moment, she felt absolutely helpless.

Yue held her younger sister’s face between her hands, forcing her to stare into her eyes. Yue’s own eyes filled with tears. “You promised you’d support me, no matter what,” Yue said. Her voice did not waver once. “You have to let me do this.”

(Y/N’s) lips quivered, her body shaking with sobs. “I can’t, I can’t let you go. I don’t want to.”

“I love you,” Yue whispered, kissing her sister’s forehead. “You have no idea how much I love you.” Yue turned away, placing both of her hands onto the koi fish. (Y/N) reached to pull her away, but by the time her hands landed on Yue, it was too late. The koi glowed with a bright white light and Yue collapsed into Sokka’s arms.

“She’s gone,” He said quietly. “She’s gone.”

(Y/N)’s first memory of Yue was when she was four years old. She had sat in her bed in the middle of the night, crying and crying over a scary dream she had had. It had been a reoccurring experience and the elders had assured her parents that if they did not succumb to her cries, her nightmares would pass.

She remembered her door opening just a bit, the light of the moon shining onto her bedroom floor. Five year old Yue poked her head into the bedroom, clutching her blanket. (Y/N’s) cries had calmed into shaky breaths and sporadic tears as she watched Yue crawl into bed with her. “It’s alright,” Yue had whispered to her as she wiped away her tears. “I’m here now. I’ll always be here.”

The pond of the oasis glowed with a bright white light and from it came a ball of glowing energy. It formed into the shape of Yue, adorned in a beautiful white dress. She leaned forward and held (Y/N’s) cheek in her hand. “I’ll always be with you,” She said with a smile. She turned to Sokka and whispered something in his ear. “Goodbye, Sokka,” She said to him, before pressing her lips to his. When they pulled apart, she rose into the air and the bright white light of the moon returned to the earth. It showered them in its light, like Yue was smiling down on them.

(Y/N) pulled her knees into her chest and sobbed into them. Katara wrapped her arms around her friend, resting her chin on her head as the girl cried and cried.

---

Tag List!!

@aangsupremacy , @treestarrrrrrrr , @beifongsss , @mdgrdians , @aroyaldarknessblr , @musicalkeys , @aimee1602 , @plxstic-rose , @davnwillcome @squeamishdionysus , @clowninfortodoroki @thia-aep , @jinxed-tea @sara5208 @valiantprincessthea @alrightazula , @awesomelupe , @itsivyberry , @thebluelcdy , @samsmultifandomblogs , @loganrwebb , @minifruity , @cuddlykoala101 , @dionnaea , @alive-ahahah-fuck , @pipsqeak1326 , @krxliesdexd , @wastelandbbyg , @milk-n-cheese , @the-firebender-girl , @zukosvice , @justab-eautifulmess , @awkwardnesshabitat , @tomshollandz , @mmmidek-blog , @lavendercrystals , @dailytrashypanda , @bigbuckyenergy , @honey-ruel , @jackbamexpress , @astralsaf , @thebluelcdy

#atla #the last airbender #sokka x reader #zuko x reader #aang x reader #katara #sokka #aang #toph #zuko #azula #iroh #momo #appa #suki #writing #fanfiction

320 notes · View notes

itsgrishaverse · 4 years ago

Text

SINS.

♧. A thing for vampyre!Michael, this was one of my first writing and I’ve seen I never really posted it here!

♧. Summary: Michael is shown his past or future, an inevitable death laced with a romance he hadn’t met yet.

♧. Word count: 2169.

♧. warnings. blood and death.

drvgonspells.

There were tragedies disguised as dreams and dreams that tasted of heaven in the form of tragedies. An oasis for the starving soul, that one man who dared to look for the forbidden fruit, greedy enough to keep it for himself. Doomed by, it was told that he was the walking sun. Rumors referred to the golden long curls which, remarkably, complimented his pale features. Others dared to be blind to such expectations of a striking beauty and swore it had nothing to do with it, but his corrupt soul. Someone who burnt their surroundings without a second blink. An intelligent and vital serpent, one of them exclaimed with wide eyes and one hand clung to his heavy chest, after leaving the mansion that belonged to Langdon. Claiming he’d prefer to meet death than dealing with such a man again. The guests laughed it off, believing his thoughts were clouded by jealousy or a possible rejection coming from the man himself, it wasn’t a secret that Michael took a certain liking for men as much as they did for ladies. After all, it was Langdon's name that was spoken with respect and admiration, not theirs.

Three days later, he was found dead by the lake, blood drained. No one else kept laughing.

Death respected no youth or innocence, but it had a certain liking for its son. Michael Langdon was not only favored by occultism, but people that followed him, looking forward to their approval by the smallest of things. It was the attention he bathed in, superficially. In the presence of ladies or gentlemen, he wore a bright smile as if painted by the sun itself. A glint within eyes and the eye contact which he, desperately, held to others. Often coming as intimidating. His manners were often shown, having a particular liking for the guest’s pleasure. If they were pleased so was he. In every sense.

And how deeply he relished in the feeling.

“Mr. Langdon. Pardon my boldness, but this is the first time I have seen someone,” The young lady, dressed in a silk white dress, held the wine bottle closer to the bathtub. Until emptied inside. It was the last one after awhile, and now a reddish liquid filled it. “Someone taking a bath with no water, but wine.”

As if a joke itself, her response was a gentle yet deep in tone chuckle from the standing male in front of the mirror. Amused blues didn’t bother to look at her, but her gaze didn’t bother to look away from him either.

There was something about him that made such a common thing as unbuttoning the ends of sleeves, interesting. Perhaps alluring to keep looking — for sight of skin. For sight of all of him.

Thoughts read. Langdon’s gaze lifted from his hands, gazing at her through the crystal. The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

“I do it because no one else does.” He answered with a lighter tone. Obvious from its own perspective. As soon as his white shirt was discarded, he turned to face her. A not-so-true answer, with hints of a lie. “But you’re not here to see me bathing, are you? Your gaze speaks of curiosity.”

She shook her head, rising to her feet. Once again he had found a way to get in her thoughts.

“I’ve heard things.” Added shortly after. “About you, Mr. Langdon.”

“Where would be the fun if people didn’t speak my name? That’s what they were made for, after all. To be spoken.”

He knew where this conversation would lead, neither did he have the mood or time to unleash all the questions that came with it. In other circumstances, Michael would’ve found himself bothering to go with this process alone, but this wasn’t it. He was stuck in a long mirror which held surrow and confusion. Something that began as a feeling a couple of weeks ago. Out of nowhere. At the beginning assumptions that it would leave made him not pay attention to it, but it didn’t happen. It became worse. Such an odd feeling that would send an certain shiver through his spine was soon followed by mornings without sleep. It was clinging. Clutching. Digging inside in pain. It felt as if mourning, but there was no face or name he could make sense of. There was no one he would care enough about other than himself.

And so with the uncertainty of what would happen after he attempted to do a reserved spell in an attempt to look for answers, the odds of being lost in time or inside his mind crossed his thoughts. The spell was destined to only see and live the past— not the future. The past was no use to be unburied, but the future was promising.

However, the feeling was heavily known. It was a loss. Langdon’s heart was mourning and he didn’t know why. Not yet. Tonight the decision to look for unknown answers was made.

“And you haven’t denied them either.” Her voice brought him back to reality, blinking from himself ( how did he get inside the tub without noticing, lost in thought? ) upon the female, now sitting in the nearest chair. One long deserved minute was taken to stare, tracing the curve of her body, complemented by silk. He noticed it was shorter — and in fact, she has rolled up the ends of it, folding it into her lap. Allowing him the sight of inner thighs. “Is it true about the things you make us do?”

He shouldn’t have allowed himself this distraction and yet there he was, with a tilt of head ( long blond curls falling over one shoulder ) daring her to continue. “Why don’t you find out by yourself, if you’re so interested?”

“Even those rumors. That you encourage them to do questioning ways to please you?”

The glint shown without oceans of blue, clouded by either lust or warning made her swallow. One hand had already reached out for her top buttons, unbuttoning one by one. There was no shame in revealing herself to him, for she already felt bare before him long ago. He undressed her in his mind or so that’s what he wanted her to believe.

“I never make them do anything they don’t want to.” An inner mocking gesture. The young male took another minute to admire her figure. “Close your eyes for me, will you?” Upon noticing the confusion on her face, he added. “I will not touch you until you do it yourself. You want me to crave you, but nothing will make me crave it more than a woman who knows how to please herself. Show me that you don’t actually need me to do such a thing for you, that you just want me to.”

Anything else would make her believe he was playing around, wasn’t so everyone? A gentle squeeze was given to her left breast by herself, it was small enough to fit perfectly into the palm of her hand as the tracing of her free hand lowered to her bare core. Was it a little pleasant show he desired? The thought made her release a low breath, legs spreading for him. Intimate and bare before him, like a delicate petal, yearning to be touched and admired. Fluttered closed eyes allowed to picture herself laying on the silk white blankets, with dim light shadows above her. Figures in the dark when she’d take the time to spoil, love and touch herself like no other man did. There was no shame in it, why would she feel sorry for the lack of others? Fingertips, slowly, circled around her folds. Finding that pleasure spot easily. It was the deep gaze that Mr. Langdon often had on her that encouraged that tingling feeling inside, hips raising to chase and seek her own bliss. By then lips had parted, soft whimpers followed.

How sensible they felt.

“Use your fingers.” His huskier voice didn’t make it less pleasant. It felt close enough to her ear, breathing in her neck— but she knew that was not the case. He remained inside, leaning back against the material of the cold marble. Two delicate fingers slid in, pleasing his sight. “Come on, love. How do my fingers feel inside you?”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip, preventing any further noise. The female’s body kept on seeking her reach, clouded by arousal. “It feels —“ It gave her chills. The form of his name came out in the sweetest of low moans, mind attempting to settle as a wave of satisfaction greeted her. There was no time to recover by the moment someone else’s steps walking in the bathroom were heard, startling her. Her eyes opened to meet Langdon’s gaze. He wore a grin. As satisfied as she felt.

“Well?” He inquired. Unbothered by third one in the room.

“Satisfying.”

Only then, his attention turned to the male around his thirties, who didn’t seem phased by such an event before his eyes. His strong accent arose with short words. “It’s time.” And it was indeed time to know the truth. Part of him wanted to, the other part just wanted to ignore it all and move on.

“Very well. You have been entertained enough. Why don’t you lead the way towards the lady’s room?”

It was spoken towards the male with stubble, who was interrupted by the female as soon as she arose, already dressed. “I know my way, as every night. Thank you, Michael.” These little games they often played between them ( often initiated by her ) whenever she’d feel herself unsatisfied by others. Michael never touched her himself, but he made it easier for her to feel as if he had. Neither side complained. Instead of taking steps towards the main door, she did the expected for him. Finding herself by the side of the bathtub, she brought her wrist close to his lips. An invitation. His gaze spoke of amusement and yet, desire wrapped up as one. Sharp teeth dug into the skin yet before he could find himself attached to it, she withdrew. Holding her hand out; drops of blood fell onto the man’s bare chest. As a response, a sound of pleasure came from him. His head tilted backwards; waiting. Tasting on his tongue now the blood tainting his lips.

A moment that was shared simply by glances and deep thoughts. When the room was left alone, except for himself, he took a deep breath. The little games between them would perk his interest, but not tonight. He couldn’t stop thinking. Assuming. Overthinking. If the truth was known, where would it lead him?

Both hands gripped both sides of the bathtub. The moonlight through curtains bathed most of the room, making the reddish liquid seem darker. Matched with dilated pupils. Once someone asked “Is it blood or wine?”

He never answered it.

“Father. May I arise with your guidance, your wisdom. Open my eyes to the unknown, let me see what has been hidden from me.”

The self made cut along the palm of his hand through praying made him release a brief grunt, his own blood dripping into the darker water.

He sank.

[ ... ]

It felt like a blurry dream, only that he was allowed to take his own path. Surrounded by nothing, but blackness, Michael found himself stepping forward. Aimlessly. It wasn’t the sight that would lead him, but the feeling inside his chest. One hand held up, slightly, as if attempting to prevent himself from bumping into something — nothing. It was the brief yet remarkable sound of a whimper that caught his attention seconds later. From behind. Turning on his heels, he was caught off guard by the sight of himself on his knees, holding a smaller body on his lap. The other boy in agony choked on his own blood.

Walking around the scene, he caught the glimpse of the boy’s face. A younger-looking Michael Langdon laid out, being chased by death. The current Langdon, watching both versions of himself, found himself confused. Shown in the way his eyebrows furrowed.

“Take me.” A lighter tone, drowning in pain. Blues widened almost innocent-alike. It wasn’t innocence, but fear in the younger one. “to the house. With you. Forever.”

The view changed within the blink of an eye, and he was struck by the same pain in its fullest. Worse than the pain which didn’t let him sleep at mornings or had his paranoia carrying along. It was surrow, in its truest nature, blooming with loss. Taken caught off guard, the older Langdon fell to his knees, mimicking the sight before him.

This time, it was him in the vision who found himself crying. Another Michael. Just the same way he looked currently, dressed with the same silk clothes. He held another body in his arms. It was no longer another young verse of himself, but a stranger. Something blocked out the sight of their face, no matter how hard he attempted to focus, he was only allowed to see their hair. Such a person gripped the other Michael’s clothes, a small gesture. They were bleeding out, also chased by death itself.

He rolled fingers into a fist against his chest as if it would erase the pain he felt and yet didn’t understand. It didn’t. That other Michael loved whoever they were and they mourned, cried in surrow. Shared pain which was interrupted by a softer tone reaching his ears, it came from the stranger. Barely a whisper. Feminine, young, lovingly. No words were caught. Another blink made him notice the vision of him was bleeding as well — and that they weren’t clinging to his clothes. It was the stranger’s hand burying a dagger into his chest.

Everything else faded.

[...]

“Michael.”

An known voice echoed in the room, but the young male found himself too occupied catching his breath to acknowledge it, leaning against the side of the bathtub. His friend hunched down, worry in his tone within the same second he helped him out. “What did you see?”

He wasn’t certain about it.

“Someone’s death.” Langdon spoke between breaths, the effect of the spell had forced his true nature out, dilated eyes cast by darkness, highlighted veins beneath, scars that erased the sight of a youthful beauty. “And mine.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #cody fern #michael langdon imagine #duncan shepherd #ahs fandom #michael langdon x you #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #writing #duncan shepherd imagine #michael langdon fic

75 notes · View notes

virlath · 4 years ago

Text

The demon underneath Minrathous

After all the theory crafting drabble I wrote yesterday on Minrathous/Arlathan, I realised I forgot to mention a few more things ...😆

In The Streets of Minrathous, eight clay seals were used to bind a demon underneath the city. These seals feature an image of a four-winged dragon:

The clay seal fit in the palm of my hand and was seated in a polished black shell attached to a gold chain. A long, thin dragon with four wings was etched on the front, rising from a dark sea. I’d run into the Venatori before, but never seen anything like this.

The demon is described as a ‘formless’ shadow, possibly hinting at it being the last Forbidden one. We’ve already encountered a forbidden one in each dragon age game so it makes sense that we’ll see the formless one in DA4.

Below the obelisk, a shadow moved at odds with the lights that cast it. Looking at it caused the buzz in my head to grow louder. Whatever I was looking at, it was the edge of something deeper. If this was a demon at all, it was older and larger and more nameless than any demon I’d ever heard of and so much worse besides. If that thing rose, there wouldn’t be a Minrathous left.

If it is a forbidden one, it certainly seems like it’s way more powerful than the other three forbidden ones we’ve encountered.

“Minrathous has defeated demons before,” I said.

“Not like this,” Flavian said. “I’m not even sure demon’s the right word. It’s something only a god could summon.”

According to Dalish legend, Solas was supposedly allies with both the forgotten ones and the creators. Curiously, Solas doesn’t mention the forgotten ones at all but groups all the elven leaders under the term evanuris. Sooo...what happened to the forgotten ones?

Based on various codex entries and the entire forbidden oasis area, I have a feeling the forbidden ones and forgotten ones can be collectively grouped together.

If that is the case and the formless one is a four winged dragon... what if Solas actually wants the demon to be freed, to further aid his plans?

Because honestly, I am already quite suspicious of the fact the Venatori and Solas’ plans have aligned so closely so far. It does make me think their end-goals are similar, which is why Solas gave his orb to the Venatori in the first place.

The other thing that makes me suspicious is that Felassan, Solas’ agent, allowed Imshael to go free so the eluvian network could be activated in the Masked Empire. It makes me wonder, does Solas want the demon under Minrathous free so it can unlock a way into the Black City?

The Venatori seek to restore the Imperium of old and reconquer what was lost. It turned out the Venatori were trying to summon the demon under Minrathous based on Corypheus’ original plans. I have to wonder if Corypheus’ knowledge and plans for ‘restoration’ were originally obtained from Solas’ orb. We already know from DAI that Corypheus was acting on knowledge from it based on Samson’s notes:

Corypheus says the elves call themselves "Sentinels." We were going over the plan for the final assault on their temple, and he told me the elves we're fighting are the last "true" priests of their Old Gods. Before I could stop myself, I asked how he knew. I felt like a damn fool the moment the words left my mouth, but the Master just looked at me, then opened his hand. A second later, that magic orb was floating over it.

The other interesting thing about the demon is that it emits a buzzing sound, thick with a feeling I couldn’t understand and an expansive need for emptiness. This totally reminds me of the void which has been described as a place of nothing, and makes me wonder if these demons are powerful because of void magic.

Interestingly the seal also depicts the four winged dragon rising from a dark sea.

The sea theme seems to be a pretty big part of DA4- we already have the executors, Ghilan’nain, Mythal, and Andraste associated to the sea, the blight, and briney, emerald waters.

I think there is definitely a lot to explore when it comes to the “sea”, something I may go over in a separate post.

“Minrathous has forgotten its way,” Aelia said. “It falls to us to put it right. To make it rise.”

#dragon age #da4 #da speculation #tevinter nights #tevinter nights spoilers #the formless one #four winged dragon #I may be talking about this all week I have so much theory drabble to write down

28 notes · View notes

raendown · 4 years ago

Link

For the @madatobiweek prompts generation swap au and fairytale au.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 9590 Rated: T+ Summary: Tobirama doesn't have much in life, just a younger brother to protect and a job that doesn't pay enough to feed them. He knows that hunting in the king's forest is forbidden but for Hashirama he would risk everything. In the forest he finds meat to put on the table for the last living member of his family.

And in the forest he finds a tower, a boy imprisoned, and a future he could have never dreamed of.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

I Never Asked For My Pedestal

If one asked the local authorities they would say that Tobirama had no good intentions in the forest that day. Hunting in the royal forests was expressly forbidden, an edict passed with no explanation only a year or two after Tobirama was born, but for the families as poor as his there was often little choice but to take that risk. It was the thought of seeing his younger brother going hungry that drove him in to the trees week after week in search of a meal he could not legally afford on his own.

Once Tobirama had been the third son of four, had reveled in the guiding love of his older siblings, happily joined in the doting when another was born and he wasn’t the youngest anymore. Then sickness had swept through their village and while the lords and ladies locked themselves away safely in the castle Kawarama and Itama, his two beloved elder siblings, took themselves away to die quietly in the forest where they would not infect the others. And from that day Tobirama was left with nothing but his own two hands to work and feed his baby brother Hashirama.

Like so many other days in the years since they had been alone, Tobirama’s job working for one of the local farmers couldn’t quite pay enough to feed them both. Hashirama, wonderful smiling Hashirama, was an innocent young lad who lived with his head constantly lost in daydreams and greeted his brother at the end of each day with a hug and a hundred questions. Were they situated anywhere else he would have been forced to find work himself no matter Tobirama’s urges to baby him but with the forest behind them and the guards growing lax in their patrols it had become almost routine to find dinner through other means.

Not, of course, that such conditions had ever convinced him to grow inattentive himself.

Tobirama was only moments from loosing an arrow to take down a buck which would have kept them well fed for several weeks when he heard the sound of hooves. He cursed himself for a fool as he lowered his arms and cast about for somewhere to take cover. It made sense to hunt in a different place each time he came here. Even a skilled woodsman like himself left some traces of his passing and traversing the same paths over and over could only make it easier for someone to catch him in his lawbreaking. But he should have known better than to come here so far beyond the woods and fields that he’d spent the last decade mapping out in his mind. This area was largely unknown to him. Promises of new and unsuspecting game had drawn him farther from home; now he was paying the price for answering that siren call as he realized that he’d forgotten in his hunger to scout an escape route first.

Desperate for any way to return safely to his brother at the end of the day, Tobirama leapt for the first place he saw that looked as though it could conceal his over-average height. The boulder was tall, if not very wide, and the small pocket of space behind it could really only be seen if one walked right up to the cliff it sat at the base of. With his heart in his throat he threw himself behind the rock.

He was immediately forced to bite his tongue to keep from crying out in surprise when he fell through the screen of ivy he’d thought was covering solid stone.

As soon as he figured out which way was up Tobirama did what he could to resettle the ivy so it hung still, less evidence of his presence. Then he turned to stare down the cavernous emptiness of what looked to be a passageway carved through the mountain. Since there really were only two options, forwards or back out in to the open, he hurried on in to the darkness. It wasn’t entirely dark, actually, some kind of light was clear at the other end, but with the ivy blocking out any light from this end made the passageway feel twice as long as he was forced to feel each step out before setting his weight down. Even using such caution he nearly rolled his ankle several times.

By the time he reached the other end Tobirama was close to cursing out loud. His eyes had only just finished adjusting to the darkness when he finally stepped out in to the light again, squinting with his chin tucked down to make the readjustment easier. When it felt less like tiny knives digging in to his eyeballs he gave a few experimental blinks then raised his chin.

Only to drop his jaw and let it hang loose as he took in the sight before him.

What he had taken as a pathway underneath the mountain was in fact the entrance to a hidden oasis in the very center, a field hidden on all sides by the cliff that Tobirama had always believed to be just one solid peak. Crystal blue water sparkled in a small lake, untouched grass grew lush and green, yet all he could see was the massive white stone tower that rose from the very center of the clearing. So tall it would have been visible from the outside with only a few more feet, the structure was made entirely of pale granulite and stood alone with no other buildings nearby. At the base he could see where there had once been an entrance but it had since filled in with stones and boulders. Who, he wondered, would build such a graceful monument to loneliness only to seal it up in such a manner?

He very much intended to find out. The bricks were pretty but their cut looked rough and uneven, perfect for a man in good fitness to scale his way to the top. He had only just shifted his weight to step forward when movement caught his attention and sent him scrambling back in to the safety of the dark passage.

Not a moment too soon, it turned out. As he watched, a woman stood from where she had been crouched next to the lake, hair white as his own and a sweeping robe to match blending in with the shine of sunlight on water. Her face was severe enough to make him grateful he hadn’t accidentally caught her attention but instead was able to observe from afar the way she floated across the field and stopped at the base of the white tower. There she tilted her head back to look up at the very top.

“Madara,” she called, a melodic voice that for some reason turned his stomach. “Let down your hair.”

Before he could wonder what the hell that even meant Tobirama bore witness to the single most baffling sight he had ever seen. A face came to the window high up in the sealed tower, man or woman he couldn’t tell from this distance, and struggled to lift something over the wooden sill. Then coil upon coil of hair the color of the darkest night came spilling down, down, down until the very end of the impossibly massive braid jerked to the end of its length just an inch or so before it would have brushed the ground. Seemingly unimpressed with this incredible phenomenon, the woman took hold of the braid with both hands and called out above once more. Then she was rising in to the sky as ostensibly whoever had thrown her the pseudo rope was now reeling it all back up as well with her weight added on.

Tobirama waited but neither the woman nor the other figure appeared at the window again and before long he realized that he didn’t truly want either of them to catch him there where he was so clearly not supposed to be. And besides that he had a brother waiting at home with an empty belly. None of this was any of his business. With one last long glance at this new mystery Tobirama told himself to forget what he had seen and turned to head back in to the forest, hoping against hope that whoever had sent him scurrying in to the unknown had moved on as well.

He did what he could to put the oasis and its wonders out of his mind in the days that followed. Seeing the light in his brother’s eyes when he came home with the deer he’d finally managed to take down was enough to keep him content for a day or so but the morning beyond that he found his thoughts wandering. Who was that at the top of the tower? How did they come to be in such a place? With the bottom sealed up it was obvious that the figure with such fantastically long hair would have no way down. Tobirama couldn’t help but wonder if they had chosen to shut themselves away from the world or if that sickeningly beautiful face were perhaps more sinister even than he’d first imagined.

There was only one way to find out.

For nearly a week he managed to resist before the pull of the unknown drew him in just the same as the thick tomes he studied in the public library whenever he had a chance. Strictly speaking it would be at least a few more weeks until he needed to hunt again; after salting and curing most of the prime cuts they could rely on venison whenever there wasn’t money for other foods. But the mountains in the distance called to him, whispering the secrets that only he knew of, and Tobirama could only resist for so long before he found himself asking Hashirama to be safe while he was gone and heading in to the trees once more.

It felt strange to traverse these fields and forests with no bow upon his back, although he supposed that it was nice not to worry for once about leaving tracks. There was nothing illegal about walking in the King’s woods. Without the need for his usual caution he was able to make the journey in about half the time it might have taken him on any other day, the sun barely at its zenith by the time he crested a small hill and began to look around for the sheet of vine concealing the entrance he’d fallen through before.

Were he any less alert his future might have gone very differently from that moment – or perhaps been deleted entirely. Only his sharp reflexes sent him whirling behind the closest tree when he spotted a flash of white from the corner of one eye. He was out of sight not a moment too soon as the woman he had seen calling up to the tower emerged from the hidden passageway and set off through the forest with a rather annoyed looking expression. In one hand she carried an empty basket that Tobirama would have bet his last penny she intended to fill by either foraging through the woods or making the journey in to the village. Whatever the case, she would likely be gone for several hours.

Oh how the fates had smiled upon him. Now was the perfect time to sate his curiosity. Feeling almost gleeful for his good luck, Tobirama forced himself to remain still for several minutes past when the woman was out of sight just to be sure and then dashed towards the ivy. In his enthusiasm he very nearly forgot to step carefully along the dark uneven ground but there was at least no one around to watch him wobble and stumble as he hurried along until finally he was stepping back in to the bright midday sun. Somehow the massive white tower was only more impressive at a second glance yet he wasted very little time in admiration, moving forwards until he had reached the base where stones and mortar sealed what would have been the easiest way in. After a quick circuit around the whole thing he concluded that his first guess had been correct. He would have to climb.

Luckily he had come prepared for just such an activity. He stomped both feet to settle them in his sturdiest shoes and shook his hands out to loosen the muscles, wary of a cramp at just the wrong time. Then he paused the moment he laid his hands on the rough hewn bricks. Head tilting back, eyes squinting above, Tobirama considered the call he had heard before.

There was no one here, he reasoned with himself again. If he looked a fool then there was no one to carry the tale of it. With that in mind he cleared his throat and firmly reminded his voice that now was not the time for nervous cracks.

“Madara,” he called loudly in a false soprano, “let down your hair!”

Even as he winced at how terrible his impression had been there came a movement at the window above. Then suddenly coil upon coil of midnight hair came tumbling down towards him only to snap taut just before the ground. For a moment he could only stare. It was hard to believe that had actually worked. Then he paused a moment longer to wonder if his weight might hurt the scalp on the other end of this incredible length. Only when the pseudo rope gave an impatient ripple did he suck in a deep breath, reach out with both hands, and begin to scale the tower at a much quicker pace than he’d been expecting to.

With his feet walking up the side to keep him straight and arms strong from years of hard labor Tobirama was scrambling over a wooden windowsill almost in no time, taking in the petulant figure several feet away, hair anchored and knotted around a hook so as not to pull on his head and arms crossed over his chest while he pouted towards the floor.

“You sound like you swallowed a frog,” the man growled. “What’s the matter, hit yourself with one of your own curses, witch?”

Tobirama could only stare, unsure of what to say. In a word the man was gorgeous. Skin china pale without the sun’s rays, broad shoulders thick with muscles from dragging around the weight of so much hair, and a face with almost delicate features that still somehow screamed of masculinity. He was a masterpiece. When his pout deepened the expression only served to make him look more adorable in the sort of way that made Tobirama’s heart flutter traitorously in his chest.

“Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it finally shriveled up and fell out from all the acid lies you spit.”

Such antagonism could only mean that his residence here was not a happy one, though it still remained to be seen whether or not he was being held against his will. Clearly he wasn’t the biggest fan of the woman he was expecting to come up to him.

“Real mature, giving me the silent treatment. Didn’t you just leave? Thought I’d have the whole afternoon without your evil stench. I hope you didn’t come all the way back up just because you forgot something, I could have thrown it down. At your head.” With a snort and a faintly vicious smirk as he presumably imagined throwing something at the woman’s head, at last the strange man looked up – then gasped and attempted to reel backwards with fright in his eyes. “Who–!?” Before he could even finish his startled exclamation the anchored hair jerked him to a stop and he froze in place, trembling from head to toe.

“I apologize, I did not mean to frighten you,” Tobirama murmured. His voice, if possible, seemed to startle the man even further.

“You’re not the witch! You’re…like me. A boy!”

Considering he was well in to his second decade Tobirama gave some thought to correcting that. He was a man, not so much of a boy anymore. Now was hardly the time for semantics, though, so he let that go in favor of inching a single step forward just to test the waters. When the other man trembled again he angled his body to make it as clear as possible that he was heading towards the hook built in to the floor.

“My name is Tobirama,” he said as non-threateningly as he could. “What’s yours?” He already knew that, of course, obvious from the words that gained him entry to this tower. It was just polite to ask really.

“None of your business!”

“I see.” He hadn’t really expected politeness in return.

The closer he got the more worried the man looked until with carefully projected movements he bent down and freed the massive braid from the hook trapping its owner in place. As soon as he was free the man scrambled backwards, though Tobirama noted that the worry was colored now with a sort of curiosity he knew all too well.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Tobirama admitted truthfully. “I stumbled upon this place a few days ago and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There was a woman – is that the one you call a witch? – she called for you to let down your hair and I wanted to know what sort of person could have such impossible locks. They’re impressive. What’s your name? You know mine, it’s only polite to share.”

For a moment the man hesitated. Then he asked very quietly, “Is it? I wouldn’t know. Will you do anything bad with my name?”

“Anything bad?” Tobirama repeated, baffled.

“Well I don’t know! I’ve never met anyone else before!”

“Never!?”

Sticking out his bottom lip in another pout only brought this fascinating stranger back to be cute. “I’ve spent my whole life here in the tower. Well, I suppose I wasn’t born here. That old hag certainly isn’t my mother but she did explain to me once how babies are made so I suppose I must have been somewhere else once.” He considered his very first visitor with deep gravity. “My name is Madara.”

It was a good name, strong, the sort of name that wouldn’t be common in the lower classes. For whatever reason it sounded almost familiar but Tobirama couldn’t quite put his finger on why and he was hardly going to waste his time digging through memories just now. Trying to remember the manners classes he’d taken as a youth from a friendly neighbor, a poor imitation of the gentrification proper noblemen were raised with just in case he somehow encountered one of the royal family, he tucked in one arm and spread the other wide in a clumsy bow.

“Your acquaintance is my pleasure to make,” he said. The words felt too large and fancy in his mouth and halfway through the sentence he realized he’d said it all wrong. Madara didn’t seem to mind.

“What now?”

“How do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to know who was up here and now you do. So what will you do next?” The straightening of his spine spelled confidence but the way he reached out to take a solid grip on his heavy braid just in case was more obvious than he probably thought. Someone who spent all their time away from other people probably hadn’t had many lessons in being sneaky.

For the first time Tobirama allowed his eyes to slide away from the figure he’d gone to so much effort to meet, gazing around the room to take in all he could. Basic furniture and sparse entertainment options made the place look even more like a prison than the sealed exit at the bottom. He noted there seemed to be no exit from here either. However one was meant to travel down the tower when it was built, the way appeared to have been cleverly hidden from view now. For Madara there truly was no way out. He could have climbed his own hair, of course, but doing so would have left him stranded at the bottom with no one to unhook him from the anchor.

All of this combined with the way he spoke of ‘the witch’ left Tobirama with only one choice, a stupid choice, a choice that would surely put him in to danger.

“I could take you away from here,” he said. Phrasing it like a suggestion felt safer for the psyche of a man who had never left his prison but in his heart he knew that he couldn’t leave Madara to his fate, not now that he knew of the situation. Stolen away as a child so young he remembered nothing but the tower that caged him? It might not be Tobirama’s responsibility but he would never sleep again if he walked away now.

Clearly Madara was not well versed in the art of kindness judging by the startled look on his face. Not a big surprise there.

“A-away?” he asked.

“You’re clearly not here of your own free will. I intend to come back and, if you wish, free you from this place.”

“Free…” Brows furrowed, Madara worried at the loops of his makeshift weapon. “Isn’t it…isn’t it terribly dangerous outside of the tower? When I was young I used to plan how I would run away from here but I never did – and lucky for that! The world is so dangerous! All of my books have stories to tell about bandits and people with bad magic; there’s just too many people who would try to steal me away!”

Tobirama cocked his head to the side. “I assume you believe they would steal you for the same reason the witch keeps you here, whatever that may be?”

He almost regretted his words immediately as Madara's eyes narrowed in suspicion. It only became obvious that the man had slowly begun to relax when he tensed up again at the idea of giving away what must be some sort of secret. Knowing he needed to tread carefully if he wanted to build any sort of trust, Tobirama very carefully did not react to that expression and did his best to give the impression he wasn’t interested himself in this secret.

“I believe I can keep you safe from anyone who might want to hurt you,” he declared instead. He might not have been the most refined peasant but his skill with a blade could rival that of the royal guards themselves. Or so he’d been told him once by an uncle who served in the palace until an injury left him unable to carry the buckets for cleaning or fetch the arrows for lords too lazy to walk across a field and fetch their own. Unless they encountered a magician of some sort he truly was confident he could protect this man. And since the only magician he’d ever seen round these parts was the wizened old woman who performed tricks for the court the odds felt pretty low on that happening.

“What’s it like?” Madara asked. “The world?”

“Very big. Full of different things. Scary at times but if you use your head you can usually think your way out of things.” That was how he’d gotten through life, anyway.

“That sounds terrifying and wonderful all at once.”

Clearly he was considering it but it was just as clear from the wary hesitation in his eyes that Madara had no intentions of following through on the offer. After spending his entire life locked in the same tiny space Tobirama couldn’t really blame him for that, either. He would have been frustrated if he hadn’t already expected that answer, planning ahead in his mind for when he could make the trip out here again.

“I can ask as many times as it takes for you to be brave,” he promised.

A promise rashly made but it was one that he kept. Though he could not stay for long that day Tobirama was in the woods and calling for Madara to let down his hair only a few days after. Hashirama, the understanding brother that he was, simply waved from the doorway and told him to enjoy whichever adventure had captured his attention so.

Their visits were all quite the same at first. Before he left the first time Tobirama instructed Madara to hang something in the window whenever the witch was gone so he would know it was safe to call up. Each time he scaled the tower and crawled over the sill Tobirama then happily spent however many hours he could spare answering all of Madara's questions about the outside world, asking his own questions in turn about life here alone. He was pleasantly surprised to know that his new friend had been provided books on mathematics and spent quite a lot of his time rereading the few novels he was allowed to have. Stifled as it was by isolation, it was obvious Madara possessed a mind just waiting to flourish.

Watching confidence grow in his friend week by week was a special sort of joy that Tobirama would almost liken to how it had felt to raise Hashirama on his own – except he’d never been struck by the beauty of Hashirama's face in a beam of sunlight or listened rapturously to the rolling timber of his brother’s voice.

Falling in love was, perhaps, not of his smartest ideas. Of all the people he might have taken an interest in Madara was the most dangerous. Not because he thought the younger man could hurt him but because at the moment he was the only person who had ever been kind to Madara and it would only be too easy for such affections to be misplaced. The last thing he wanted would be to take advantage of someone who had put so much trust in him.

With caution in mind Tobirama came back to Madara knowing that he himself was growing only more and more attached with each visit yet also knowing that he could not in good conscience abandon anyone stuck in this situation no matter how it all ended. There was no doubt in his mind that eventually it would be his own heart that came away with a wound but to know that Madara would find a better life than the one he had so far led, well, he couldn’t say that didn’t make this all worth it. Even if he had despised Madara to the bone he would still have come back to help. No one deserved to be kept locked away and never feel the kiss of freedom.

Even destitute as they were, Tobirama appreciated the freedoms he and his brother enjoyed now more than ever.

It took until the first time that Madara very nearly worked up the courage to follow him out of the tower for the man to trust him with the secret of his servitude. For all the many times they had spoken for hours upon end it had been difficult for Tobirama to bottle his curiosity, to allow such a sensitive subject to come to light on its own, and his patience was rewarded at last on the day Madara hung his feet out the window and stared at the ground so far below them.

“How would you get down?” he asked as though it had only just occurred to him. Their plan had been for Tobirama to remain behind and free the long hair from its anchor once the other had reached the bottom.

“Don’t worry about me,” Tobirama soothed him. “When I first came upon the tower I had planned to climb up with just my hands. I’m sure I could just as easily climb down.”

“All that way!?”

“It isn’t so far. When I’m out on a hunt I’ve scaled cliffs twice that height with half as many good handholds.”

Trusting Madara with the knowledge that most of his food came from illegal poaching in the royal forest had been an easy choice. Not because he doubted the man would ever truly work up the nerve to escape but because he believed in the seeds of loyalty that grew and flourished with every day their friendship strengthened.

“You know…I used to dream about the world when I was younger, about making some daring escape on my own. I would have done it back then for sure. Too innocent, too ignorant of all the darkness that’s out there. But even if I had known about bandits and knights and all the ways I could hurt myself without anyone there to help, the one thing that held me back was…myself.” Madara reached up to play with the shorter hairs growing around his face. “She stole me for the power that I was born with and I hate her but she’s never tried to hurt me as long as I stay. What if I ran and got caught again by someone who didn’t treat me as well?”

“Keeping you locked in a tower doesn’t really strike me as treating you well,” Tobirama murmured under his breath. When Madara flashed him a grin he knew he’d been heard.

“Of course that’s the part that you would comment on. You’re a good person. From what I know of people, anyway.”

As careful as he had ever been, Tobirama took a step forward to bring them closer. “In what way?”

“Don’t play coy, we both know you’re curious as hell about why that witch keeps me here. I mentioned flat out that I have some kind of power and you still don’t ask. You’re always so careful about making me feel safe.” Madara's lips twisted in a wry expression as though acknowledging his own vulnerabilities.

“Your secrets cannot be my own unless you choose to entrust me with them.” There was really no point in denying that he was curious but even as he realized that he hadn’t been quite as subtle as he imagined Tobirama hoped to impress that he had no intentions of forcing anything the other didn’t want to tell him. He had learned a long time ago that trust was something earned, not asked for.

His efforts were clearly appreciated. Swinging back from the window, Madara set his feet on the floor and smiled warmly. The expression suited him probably more than he’d ever been told.

“I trust you with my life,” he declared.

“Poor taste,” Tobirama couldn’t help but tease. He smiled to himself when Madara roared with laughter.

“Maybe. But they’re my secrets and I’ll give them to whoever I please, so there!”

Just hearing those words sent the heart in Tobirama’s chest galloping double time and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward on to the balls of his feet as the mystery he had turned over in his mind a thousand times unfurled itself before him.

“You might have noticed that my hair is just a little long,” Madara began with a touch of sarcasm. “She won’t let me cut it. I don’t know how or why, she’s never bothered to explain, but my hair has some kind of magical properties – healing properties – and the longer it is the more potent the magic becomes. If I cut it short I would be able to heal small cuts and scrapes. With it long as it is now the power is so strong that my healing reverses the signs of aging.”

“Sweet flame…”

“It’s why she keeps me trapped here. She might look young but that witch is ancient, old enough to be my great grandmother. But with the power I have in me she can stay young and beautiful. Or at least she thinks she’s beautiful.” He snorted in obvious disagreement.

Completely unsure of how to respond, all Tobirama could think to say was, “She’s not my type.”

Madara blinked. Blinked again. Then his head tilted back and once again he roared with unfettered laughter. It was far from attractive, brash and quite similar to the bray of a donkey, and Tobirama admitted with the solemn taste of defeat on his tongue that he had never been more in love. It was a laugh that had never been taught shame or self-consciousness, beautiful in its innocence.

“Good to know that you have no plans to use me as bait,” Madara declared when he was able to draw breath again.

“Setting aside the vomit I can feel rising in my throat at the very thought, I would never use someone in such a deceitful manner.” Reaching up to tug at a lock of his own hair, Tobirama eyed the dark braid so long it could loop several times around the entire room. “So. Magic hair. I really should have been expecting that and yet somehow I was not.”

“I guess it’s nice to be the one with new and interesting information for once.”

The two of them shared a look and from that moment on something very subtle changed between them.

Meat had never been so plentiful in their home as the days now with Tobirama making the journey through the forest every chance he had between working for the farmer who paid him so little. It didn’t occur to him how deeply he’d buried his head in the clouds until Hashirama greeted him home one night and asked with a grin if he would ever get to meet the one who had captured his aniki’s heart. Tobirama had made a point of holding off on another visit the next day just to spend some time with his sibling. Sweet Hashirama was such a good little brother. It was hard to believe he had ever done anything to deserve a love like the one they shared.

Over the months that followed Madara very nearly followed him away from the tower on three different occasions. Though he never quite made it past his own balcony Tobirama could see the way his gaze lingered on the snow drifts with curiosity and wonder, how he traced the shapes of spring with naked longing in dark eyes.

“What’s really holding you back?” he asked one day when he had stayed perhaps a little later than he usually would have.

“Her,” Madara whispered. “I want to leave and never come back but…what if she follows? What if she finds me?” He paused and looked away with something like pain etched in to his features. “What if she hurts you? After everything you’ve done for me I can’t imagine repaying your kindness by leading her straight to you.”

“I can protect myself,” Tobirama reminded his friend, daring to step close enough for their arms to brush together. Small touches were all he ever allowed himself.

The minutes passed but he held his silence, allowing the other to follow whatever paths his thoughts had led him down. When their eyes met again he was surprised to see that all gravity had faded and instead a mischievous grin was looking back at him.

“Can you protect yourself from this?” Madara demanded, both hands raised as though to give a solid shove.

He was frozen halfway through the motion by a voice calling out from below.

“Madara, let down your hair!” Both of them looked at each other in panic even as Madara slid off the windowsill and moved towards the anchor on muscle memory alone.

“She’s supposed to be gone for hours!” he hissed. “What do we do?”

“Don’t keep her waiting. Keep her attention away from the window once she’s up here so that I can slip out. I’ve told you before I can climb down on my own, don’t worry.” Tobirama make shooing motions with both hands to hurry the other along. Only when Madara finally leaned down to begin looping the end of his hair around the metal ring did Tobirama turn and madly search for a place to hide.

There wasn’t much, even less that was close enough to the window that he could sneak out undetected. For once in his life he cursed his own tall stature as he discarded a standing mirror that would have been perfect were it not two heads shorter than him and too thin to crouch behind. To the other side of the window there lay a sizable storage chest he might have fit in but the noise he would have made climbing out vetoed that option even before he checked whether there was enough room inside. A frantic noise from behind sent Tobirama scrambling in to the only viable hiding spot he was able to see.

Usually it was children who hid themselves behind the drapery and thought themselves concealed. He could only pray that the witch didn’t think to look down at her own feet lest she spy his.

Forcing himself to keep still as he listened to the sounds of the witch he’d heard so much about clambering in to the dungeon she had created was probably the hardest thing Tobirama had ever done. Her weight made less noise than the voluminous robes he had once seen her in, silk and satin whispering as they dragged across the wooden frame. Her shadow fell over him and for a single heartbeat he felt the very blood in his veins go cold thinking that she’d seen him. Then it moved away and Madara's voice captured her attention, his only opening.

“You said you’d be gone longer,” his friend snarled.

“It isn’t for you to wonder at my comings and goings.” Her voice was melodic in the way Tobirama had always imagined an evil witch’s might be, honeyed and soft to draw you in until the frost hidden in her words bit and snapped, striking just at the moment one was foolish enough to trust her.

“Hmph, I’ll wonder at whatever I please.”

Praying that his friend wouldn’t go overboard in his attempts to keep drawing attention, Tobirama peeked around the curtain and barely held in a sigh of relief to see that the coast was clear. He wasted no time slipping over to the window and sliding on to it, movements as fast as he dared to make them without allowing his clothing to give him away with their rustling. Madara's eyes flicked over to meet his own in farewell but it was only a moment. As he turned himself around to descend feet first he could hear the other man give vent to a loud grumble.

“And how many new babies did you kidnap while you were away today? None? Ah, I suppose you stopped and gobbled them up for your lunch then. Is that why you’re back so soon? Too full from your snac-!”

His voice cut off with the ringing sound of a slap and Tobirama went still just out of sight, eyes wide, glaring at the stone between him and the woman he so desperately wished did not exist.

“Do not forget that I hold your life in my hands,” the woman’s voice hissed, all softness forgotten. “It is only by my mercy that you aren’t chained to the walls with only bread and butter to soothe the aching emptiness in your belly – or would you rather a taste of such a life to remind you of your place?”

“No,” Madara surrendered. Even without being able to see him anymore Tobirama could hear the defeat in his tone. Fingers clenching against the bricks until they scraped and bled, he clung to the side of the tower and wished death upon the evil within it. Never had he hated another person so much. He wasn’t even sure she truly qualified as a person, barely human in his eyes after all the things he’d heard of her, and that opinion was only solidified as he bent all of his willpower in to convincing himself not to climb back inside and give her a taste of his bloodied fists.

Only the knowledge that doing so would make things worse for the one he wished to protect held him back.

“Say my name,” the witch purred. “Go on, answer me properly this time. Would you like a taste of what you truly deserve, my little magic boy?”

“No, Kaguya-sama.”

“Ah, I do so love the sweet music of obedience when you say my name. Go. Begone to your room. You may count yourself lucky if I see fit to bring you your dinner after such offensive behavior.”

Though he waited Tobirama heard nothing more after the sound of Madara freeing his hair and dragging it all with him to one of the walled off areas that Tobirama had never asked to see. Bedrooms were private places and for someone afforded so little privacy he’d never seen fit to invade Madara's.

Climbing down was as arduous yet uneventful as he imagined it would be. By the time he reached the bottom his arms were nearly ready to fall off and his fingers had all gone entirely numb. After shaking out his limbs and resting until the sensation came back Tobirama considered whether he should wait a little longer until darkness fell, dark skies offering what little protection they could against wandering eyes that might look out the window at just the wrong time. In the end he decided that it would be just as easy to spot him then as it would now and someone who just returned home was less likely to be gazing out at the world than someone settled in for the evening. His heart hammered in his throat as he took off across the hidden grove like a rabbit fleeing from a wolf’s jaws.

Hashirama greeted him with a smile when he came home, stumbling through the front door with no memory of his journey back through the woods. Worry replaced his usual cheer as soon as he took in the expression on his brother’s face.

“I’ve just made tea!” he said. “Come, sit! What on earth is wrong?”

Like a little mother hen the younger man fluttered around their modest kitchen, cups rattling together when he pulled out too many for just the pair of them, lips pursed anxiously until he finally made it back to the table with the promised tea. With all his running around it had probably gone half cold but Tobirama found he didn’t mind. It was nice to be cared for, even in the moments like now when he felt a little guilty about it. He should have been the one taking care of Hashirama as the older sibling.

“You look like you’ve been summoned before the royal court!”

“Worse than that.” Tobirama gratefully accepted the tea that slid across the table towards him. “I just came face to face with the urge to take the life of another human being. And I know that I would have felt no guilt for it.”

“Oh my…” Hashirama swallowed but – bless his soul – there was no judgement on his face.

Unable to look away from the dark liquid steaming before him, Tobirama drew in a breath and let it back out slowly. “I should have been honest with you a long time ago. Will you listen to my story?”

“Always. You’re allowed your secrets Anija!” His brother’s voice was so full of love and understanding that it made him ache. “If you trust me with them I would love to hear what you have to say.” When he finally looked up Hashirama was beaming as though to share things between them was a great gift rather than simply the way it should have been from the very start.

So Tobirama told him the truth about where he had been disappearing to over the past year. He told Hashirama about the young man he had met locked away in a tower, though he did not reveal why. That was not his secret to tell. He described the witch who kept his friend locked away and admitted that he hadn’t the faintest idea of what her true powers really were. When he had said all the words that he could force along his tongue he fell silent and waited to hear the verdict, the opinion, of one who thought so differently than himself.

He was startled by the hand that reached across to take his own.

“You love him,” was the first thing his brother said.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Tobirama murmured. “How you just look at someone and see how they feel even when they don’t say it.”

“Well of course you never have to say anything, Anija, I always know what’s in your heart!”

Hashirama squeezed his fingers a little tighter and Tobirama the sensation deep inside his chest.

“This world does not deserve you, Otouto. I…you’re right. There might be some feelings on my part. But you understand why I can’t say anything to him?” He was both glad and disheartened to see the other nod.

“Do you have a plan?” Hashirama asked.

“Yes.” Tobirama chewed his bottom lip with thought. “I knew the moment I heard his story that I wanted to help him escape but of course he’ll need somewhere to go. I want to bring him here. My hunting can keep us all fed and if I’m not traipsing through the forest so often I’ll have time to see about picking up extra work somewhere else. You would like him. And if there’s anyone that would be a good friend for someone in his situation it would be you.”

“I can’t wait to meet him!”

Chest spasming with the clenching of his heart, Tobirama bowed his head. “You’re okay with this?”

“Of course! Goodness, I can’t believe you haven’t spirited him away already and hidden him under your bed!” While Hashirama's mouth turned up with a little giggle Tobirama felt his cheeks grow warm. Just imagining such a scenario had him forcibly moving his thoughts elsewhere. He didn’t want to think about how much he would enjoy Madara in any sort of context concerning his bedroom. Not with his little brother right there.

Knowing that he had Hashirama's blessing was a weight off his chest that he hadn’t acknowledged was even there until it was gone. The two of them had always been close enough that keeping any sort of secret felt wrong no matter what the younger said. Freeing himself of that guilt made each step lighter as he disappeared in to the woods the next time he was able to slip away, mumbling promises to himself under his breath that the next time he entered these trees it would be in search of food and nothing more.

With his head so lost in thoughts of the future and all the many ways it could play out his trip to the hidden oasis flew by almost without notice. His feet tread along the familiar path on muscle memory alone while he tried to imagine what expression Madara would wear the first time his feet touched grass, how quickly his body would tire when travelling long distances for the first time, what expression he might wear to see the hustle and bustle of a real village after a lifetime of quiet solitude. It was hardly the first time he had fantasized about such things but they had never had such an immediate taste of anticipation before.

It was only when he had made his way through the passage and looked up to see a familiar blue strip of silk hanging in the window that he realized how lucky he’d been with his timing, how carelessly he had crashed through the forest in his rush to get here. All it would take would be one unexpected meeting with the witch and everything would be ruined. Neither he nor Madara knew where she went during the times she left him alone in the tower but neither truly cared to know. She was gone. That was all that mattered.

“Madara,” he called up, excitement tight in his voice. “Let down your hair!”

He only needed to wait half a minute before coil after impossible coil came flowing down to brush the earth, a scant few inches longer than it had been the day he first made this climb. After the amount of times it had been since then Tobirama’s arms were stronger than ever and he pulled himself up the side of the tower with a speed that would have impressed himself but a few months before.

Full of hope and happiness after speaking with his brother, it felt like nothing less than a cold knife in the heart when Tobirama crawled over the windowsill to be confronted with the sight of a purpling bruise on Madara's cheek. His friend stood tall and proud in the face of his stare, undoubtedly aware of why, refusing to be ashamed of his own situation. It wasn’t the first time Tobirama had seen a mark like that on the other man but it was the first time he’d understood that it wasn’t a result of clumsiness or any sort of accident. Just the sight of it had his blood boiling with rage all over again.

“I know what you’re going to say–” Madara began. Tobirama cut him off.

“Come with me.”

His words gave the other pause. “Okay, so I didn’t know you were going to say that. I should have, you’ve said it before, but I thought…”

“You don’t need me to tell you that how she treats you is wrong, you’re not stupid.”

“Damn right!”

“Please,” stepping forward, Tobirama dared to be so bold as to take his friend’s hand. “Come with me. My brother has already agreed that you can stay with us. I can show you anything you want to see and teach you anything you want to learn. Come with me. Let me take you away from here.”

To his great surprise Madara did not pull away, only turned his head to look out the window with a familiar distant gaze. He wanted to, that much was obvious, wanted to know what it was to be entirely in control of his own destiny.

“I would stay with you?” he murmured.

“For as long as you want to.”

“You don’t think you’d get tired of me pointing out when you’re being a boor?” Madara's grin was sharp and yet so very fragile, steel encasing glass so ready to shatter.

“I could never tire of you in any way,” Tobirama admitted. It was perhaps a bit too honest but if it got him the results he’d been trying to achieve for an entire year then it was worth the pain of laying his heart bare. Madara's freedom was worth everything he had to give and more.

Much to his pleasure he was not met with disgust or dismay or even the sort of hesitance that comes before rejection. Instead he was blessed with the sight of a warm pink spreading over Madara's pale cheeks, chin ducking in to his wide collar almost shyly and then immediately jerking upright in defiance of his own emotions. Watching him navigate the roller coaster of his heart would always be a pleasure and an amusement both.

Breathing deeply with determination in his eyes Madara took a single step forward, bringing them closer than they ever had been before, close enough to feel the heat of each other’s bodies, sharing air as their gazes locked.

“Ask me one more time,” he demanded.

“Come with me.”

“Okay.”

Unlike all the other times they had spoken these exact same words there was something different in him now, a straightness in his spine, a steadiness in his voice. Tobirama felt almost as though his heart were fluttering in his throat. Difficult as it was he managed somehow not to float straight off the ground as a pink tongue flicked out to wet Madara's lips and then his friend was leaning forward, closer than close, brushing their mouths together with all the innocence of one who knew nothing of the world but the feelings he carried in his heart.

“You’re sure?” Tobirama whispered.

“Of you? Yes.”

While he was still trying to breathe past the thunder in his ears he found himself rather pleasantly distracted by the touch of lips against his own once more and this time he had enough wits about him to respond in kind, drinking in the sweet sounds that followed like fine wine. He had only kissed one boy before. Puberty had left him restless, curious, all too aware of the way some of the eyes of others near his age had followed him around. His explorations then had been chaste and unsatisfying enough that he turned his attention away from any sort of intimate pursuits – that is, until the day he realized exactly how attached he had become to the boy in the tower.

He was still flying high with his head in the clouds when they parted, Madara's hand tightening where they were still linked between them. Nothing in his life so far had ever quite compared to the joy he felt when he saw his friend, his most precious hidden treasure, move to anchor his hair in its usual place. When he secured it through the ring bolted to the floor he did so at the opposite end from his own head to allow himself a rope with which to climb down.

“You’ll follow after?” he asked, already moving to the window.

“Always,” Tobirama promised. “Wherever you go, so long as you’ll have me, I will follow.”

“Here’s hoping you enjoy the view from behind then.” Filled with the wild energy of escape, Madara sent him a wink before clambering up and over the sill. He waited just long enough to look back and make sure that Tobirama had taken the ends of his hair to lower him down with.

Then he took a tight grip with both hands, closed his eyes, and with a smile unlike anything Tobirama had ever seen before he put his trust in to another’s hands along with his weight. Watching his head disappear from sight was sweet. Hearing his voice give a triumphant crow only moments later was even sweeter. The strain on his muscles was next to nothing as Tobirama fed the massive braid of magic hair downward bit by bit; strangely he found the most difficult part was convincing himself not to cry. An odd feeling. He’d never been the type to get overwhelmed by his emotions like that.

It took several minutes longer than his own descent would have for Madara to reach the bottom. Tobirama made sure the journey downward remained slow and steady to make him as comfortable and unafraid as possible. Only when he felt the line go slack did he allow his stance to waver and his arms to relax and the second he was sure the other had reached the ground he was dashing over to the window to look down.

Madara's neck craned back to look up at him, on hand cupped around his mouth while the other waved madly through the air.

“Tobirama,” he called, “let down my hair!” Then he looked down at his own feet and even from so far above his voice could be heard crying out with excitement. “It tickles! The grass tickles! This is amazing!”

No matter how quickly he was able to tear his eyes away Tobirama was doomed. There was no denying the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes any longer, though he consoled himself that they were at least tears of joy. Tears for the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. In this moment he could not imagine anything else that he could possibly wish for.

He should have known the universe would prove him wrong. After freeing the hair from its anchor for what he hoped would be the very last time it was only one quick-as-possible climb down familiar stones before he too was standing in the lush grass and admiring the wonder on Madara's beautiful face, laughing at the way dark hair dragged along the earth unattended. Though he knew that they should hurry away from this place he couldn’t quite bring himself to break the moment until finally the other’s eyes returned to him and pale hands reached for his own.

This, this was the moment in which he could ask for nothing more, he realized. With Madara's fingers between his own he had everything he could ever need.

“I did it.” Words whispered thick with disbelief, sharp with joy, lighter than the air they breathed.

“Welcome to the world,” Tobirama whispered back.

“Take me away from here,” Madara demanded. “Take…take me home. I’ve never had a home before.”

“You can have one with me.”

Where the witch had gone they did not know. How she would react to finding her captive missing they had no idea. Tobirama knew only one thing for sure as he slipped off his shoes to offer the other and led them towards the passageway in to the rest of the world.

He would protect this man no matter what. Whatever the future held he would fight to protect this precious treasure that he had found, that he had freed, that he had fallen in love with and never looked back.

#rae writes #madatobiweek2020 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #fairy tale au

34 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

Text

A Bitter Oasis (Fate/Zero)

Once and only once Kariya dreams of the true nature of his mad Servant. Neither of them enjoys the experience.

(Content Warning: It’s tame for being about Kariya and Berserker, but it’s still about Kariya and Berserker, so expect some references to wormy body horror and a bit of handsy violence.)

Kariya dreams.

His life is a dream, an extended nightmare. He shambles through liminal corridors—visions of the past mixed with aims on the future, his days hazed and indistinct, his nights black and endless. His body swings between chewing misery and livewire agony. He feels forever observed by figures with scornful eyes—everyday Fuyuki crowds, yes, Zouken and that bastard Tokiomi. But sometimes stranger figures, too, armored men who whisper in a language Kariya knows is not Japanese, nor any language that’s been spoken outside of historical reenactment in centuries.

He dreams of madness, of Berserker’s teeth buried in his neck, hot breath and trembling weakness, of existence always on the verge of collapse. He dreams of grief, paralytic and enervating, of unshed tears as hot in his throat as fresh blood. He dreams of helplessness, of Sakura’s empty eyes and Aoi’s empty smile and his own empty hands.

He dreams (once, only once, and that perhaps worse than never at all) of a lake, placid and still, but with an edge of something other in the air that raises the hair on the back of his neck. In the gray half-light of dawn, it seems like a photograph he could only touch the surface of, or perhaps a projected image he could reach for only to fall through. Beautiful, but apart from him.

He sighs—feels the sigh in his chest, a chest far too broad to be his own, a tension in muscles that move with a poised, practiced grace completely foreign to Kariya’s stumbling infirmity. He looks down at the arms crossing over his chest and finds, rather than the sleeves of his stained and reeking hoodie, plate armor gauntlets that gleam the muted dove gray of clouds after a storm.

“Why did you dream me this way?” asks a voice. Not his voice, and not his language, either. It’s harsher, with more fricatives in the consonants, but intoned with a low resonance that belongs to the mist and the lakeshore as echoes belong to a sea cave. Not his voice, but the words roll off of Kariya’s tongue all the same.

When no one answers him—Kariya tries to take control of that stately murmur to as much effect as trying to climb sheet glass—the man sighs again. He moves towards the lake as within him Kariya fights back tears of purest envy for the man's even paces and sure movement, the sound of his armor a hushed, melodic rhythm. Dark hair slides over his shoulders in loose, finely-combed waves as he looks down at the misty surface of the water and the indistinct shape reflected there.

He blinks once, twice, slow and considered. Without even a sense of disorientation, Kariya is, suddenly, huddled beside him at the water’s edge, frail and bowed, and it takes only standing in the man’s presence to name him.

“Berserker.” The title twists his lips—twists the other’s lips, too, a mirroring bitterness.

“Not here,” his Servant answers, “though I would have preferred it so.” He lifts his head, exposing the white line of his throat, the noble line of his profile, and looks upon the lake with grief rippling somewhere deep beneath the surface of his eyes. His lips part again, then close. Purposefully, he turns away, as if he can’t bear to speak the words out over the waters.

“I came to you because you called me forth as a madman,” he says at last. “So I ask you again—why must you now dream of me thus?”

Kariya swallows, feeling shrunken and resentful beneath that hard, cool gaze. His own companions, the worms burrowing in his flesh and nesting in his sinew, feel distant here, but only that—a tugging at the far end of a tether that holds him bound and collared, though it has at present decided to let him wander afield.

“I can’t control what I dream about.” He answers in a voice of sand and grit to Berserker’s polished iron. “It’s just the Servant bond. Normally I dream about you attacking me.”

Berserker absorbs the words, unmoving, unmoved. “Your dreams are violent. As are your needs.”

“What do you know about my needs? All you do when we’re awake is try to murder whoever’s in front of you, including me!” The anger kindles—stupid, stupid, it’s just a dream, it won’t make a difference when I wake back up. But the remote, aloof sorrow in Berserker’s eyes reminds him too much of Sakura’s distant stare, of Tokiomi’s—of mage society’s—egotism that masquerades itself as wisdom.

“I know you seek vengeance,” the knight pronounces. “Salvation—for yourself and for another. I know your desire to tear down he whom you cannot be.”

“He who I,” Kariya stammers as the image looms behind his eyes, Tokiomi with his arm around Aoi’s shoulders, Aoi smiling up at him, serene and at peace. “Shut up—”

“You called me with a relic of mine, but it would not be enough if I did not see a likeness of myself in you. You—”

“Shut up!” Kariya snarls. “You’re not here to lecture me about my wish! Just—just concentrate on winning!”

“When I take the field, I think of nothing else,” Berserker responds, face solemn. “You would do better to go mad as well, my Master. You will find things much simpler.”

“I don’t need to be—to be divorced from reality like you!”

“We are happier in separation, reality and I.” The knight smiles, a rueful curve of his lips, though the melancholy still hangs on his eyes.

Without warning, he turns away on a wince. He sighs—the sound of it rattles at the end, a sword in a scabbard begging to be released. With a jolt of fear, Kariya sees the way his armor is darkening, ink spreading over the brushed silver, the cape pinned over his pauldrons aging and rotting and falling away. The knight of the lake is once more becoming the black knight, the Mad Enhancement of his summoning reasserting itself.

“You are waking,” he says. His teeth grit, discoloring and sharpening into a jagged, inhuman line even as Kariya staggers back from him. “Go.”

Pain winds back its grip on Kariya’s leash, choking him, driving him to his knees. Berserker looks down on him, his lips drawn back, breath shuddering in his chest. His violet eyes burn red, the flames within climbing higher by the second as the mist on the lake roils, smoke-dark.

“Go. Forget this,” he growls. He stoops down, wrapping his hand around the back of Kariya’s neck to draw him close. Terror swells in Kariya’s throat, croaking, keening, but Berserker only presses a whisper to his forehead, sour and hot. “I do not wish to be remembered.”

A beat, a thrumming silence, and Kariya’s heart hammers against his ribs as Berserker’s hair falls across him like a shroud. The knight’s breath pants against his throat. His teeth, his teeth—

“I am sorry for the ways I will hurt you,” he rasps, and then those hands coil taut in Kariya’s sleeves and hurl him sideways into the lake.

The waters close over him like a throat. Black and cold, they swallow him down, and there at the bottom of the lake’s gullet, he finds his pain waiting.

— — —

This was written for the Banned Together Bingo square "Happy Divorce." It's a reach, I know, but it put me in mind of the Livejournal purges, where whole communities were banned for the terrible crime of having too many words in common with The Forbidden Topic, regardless of those communities' actual activities or purpose. I can imagine this fic being caught in a similar sweep for "anything that talks positively about divorce." Algorithms don't make good censors, kids!

Anyway, I always wished I'd written more on these two back when I was in my big F/Z phase, so it was a pleasure to take them out for another spin.

#fate zero #fate whatever #matou kariya #kariya matou #berserker (fate zero)#lancelot (fate)#my writing #bannedtogether2020 #do i still have f/z followers? saa...#ficcing

4 notes · View notes

jawsandbones · 6 years ago

Note

alexi/cullen sparring leads to sexy times?? eyes plssss

NSFW under cut

“You still lack confidence in your blocks,” he says, easily knocking away the staff. Alexi steps back, holding the staff tighter in his hands. Cullen steps back as well, turning the practice sword in his hands. “You are getting better. You just need to have that certainty as well.”

“Shall we go again?” Alexi asks. They’ve set up in one of the abandoned rooms of Skyhold. Far away from prying eyes, where others might see how terrible their Inquisitor is at close range combat. They’re well aware of Alexi’s other skills: healing unmatched, unbreakable magical defenses. Still, they prepare for the worst.

Cullen doesn’t want to admit exactly how much he enjoys these sessions. It’s time uninterrupted, far away from a crowded desk and piling reports. Not all of it is sparring – most of it is talking, discussing things not of the Inquisition. Alexi tells him about the food in Val Royeaux, the differences between it and something found in Redcliffe. He details the cool sands of the Hissing Wastes, the warmer water in the Forbidden Oasis. They spend so much time apart.

“What if I can’t use my echo?” Alexi asks as wooden staff meets wooden sword, “what if I’m silenced?” The blows resound in the room, empty but for the rugs laid across the floor. It’s the echo that allowed Alexi to see – a spread of magic, blanketed over object and person, the barest whisper of the vision he once had.

“It won’t come to that,” Cullen says as he strikes forward, to Alexi’s left. He turns swiftly on his heel, meets the sword, and abruptly turns it, forcing Cullen to rethink his positioning. Especially when the other end of the staff comes towards his face. Catching it with his hand, directing it towards the floor, striking with the sword once again. It’s caught at the tip, by a net made of magic.

“Why not? How do you know?”

“I’ll be there to protect you,” Cullen says as he bounces the sword back, catching it by the ‘blade’, swinging it round for the guard to gently bounce against Alexi’s shoulder. He expects Alexi to step back, as he always does when he’s caught. Instead, he steps forward. Using his height to his advantage, pressing down on his staff, bringing his foot underneath Cullen’s leg. He sweeps him from his feet, and Cullen lands heavy on the floor.

“Are you alright?” The staff falls immediately from his hands as he crouches down, reaching for Cullen, putting his hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t see the smile on Cullen’s face, but he feels his hand on his arm, the sudden turn, the press, suddenly caught underneath him. Cullen keeps his wrists pinned beneath his hands, shifting his weight.

“That was a good move,” Cullen tells him. His voice is near to him, his breath warm at his cheek. Cullen leans down low, his mouth at Alexi’s ear. Kissing the space between his jaw and his earlobe, and he braces himself against the floor with his elbow. His other hand is moving down Alexi’s arm, over his chest. He pulls the scarf from his neck, parts his robe. Alexi’s breath hitches as teeth gently bite against his neck, as Cullen’s hand moves over him. Ever down, finding the hem of his sweater, the shirt underneath, until fingertips brush against bare skin.

“I have missed you,” Cullen says, his voice hoarse, cracking, breaking with desperation as his hand flattens against his belly. Peppering his neck in kisses, making his way upwards, against Alexi’s mouth. Weeks away, closing rifts and investigating leads. Only the occasional letter, some scouting report, to know that he is safe. An impossibility for Alexi to write letters of his own, needing someone else to read out Cullen’s letters. So they cannot speak the words they most want to say, want to tell each other.

Nose brushes against nose as they adjust, Alexi reaching upwards, a hand on the nape of Cullen’s neck. Holding him close while the other fists into his tunic, at his shoulder. Opening his mouth to him, pressing tongue against tongue. Wet and warm, they breathe each other in. An urgent desire to claim, to keep, to make up for time lost. “They’re going to send me away again soon,” Alexi murmurs, breathless between kisses, “I don’t want to go.”

Cullen’s hand traces the curve of him. Steady as he moves up Alexi’s waist, to his ribs. He always melts, underneath his touch. Comes undone, only for Cullen to put the pieces back together. There’s such a warmth to him, which burns so brightly, just there, flame beneath his palm. He would do anything to burn with him. Cullen leans back, and Alexi adjusts himself, allowing him to slip the robe from his shoulders. The sweater, off his head. The shirt, so loose against him, comes off easily. Alexi is moving his legs, from underneath Cullen, to wrap around him.

He puts his hands at Alexi’s hips, pulls him in close, as he bends over him once again. Those gentle bites at his neck, the harsher kisses over them. “I’ll find some way,” he sighs, “to keep you here longer.” Cullen will never forget their first night together. Memorizing every freckle, every birthmark, telling Alexi about his own body. He doesn’t speak it now, but he still flutters touch over every mark. A reminder that Cullen still knows him, wants him, thinks of him always.

He kisses his way down the bridge of his chest. Alexi is soft, softer than anything Cullen’s ever felt in his life. Watching the rise and fall of his breathing, quickening and Cullen kisses lower, against his belly. He marks a path across skin, the faint scent of soap, the salt of sweat from their sparring. The lacings of his trousers are easily undone, and Alexi turns his head, bites a knuckle, and breathes hard and heavy as Cullen’s fingertips trace the outline of his cock. Cullen is sitting back, on his knees, one of Alexi’s legs on either side of him.

The lacings fall against his belly, opened just enough to see the thin undergarments underneath. His thighs squeeze against him, as Cullen palms his cock. Moving lightly over top the undergarments, slipped inside the lacings. Alexi squirms at the touch, not quite the touch he wants. “Cullen,” he says, putting hands over his face, “I was hoping this would happen.” Cullen thinks his heart skips a beat at the sound of those words, knows what they mean.

A boot, another. One leg after the other, and trousers are tossed to the side. The undergarments come next, and Alexi’s hands clench into the discard robe beneath him, as Cullen wraps his hand around the base. Stroking Alexi’s cock, watches as pre-cum pearls at the top. His thumb moves over the slit of him, smearing pre-cum down the underside. A steady rhythm, until Alexi reaches out to him. Cullen leans forward, obliges the kiss he wants. Alexi’s hands fumble at Cullen’s trousers, distracted by the attention paid to him.

Cullen’s cock falls hard and heavy into his hand, already full of want. “Do you have –” a half asked question, and an answer given. Alexi takes one of his hands into his. Creation magic has always been fascinating to him, and it finds a use here that it might not have been meant for. Grease pooling in his palm, and Cullen reaches between them, touches at Alexi’s backside. A finger at his entrance, circling it lightly with the slick he’s made with his magic. Alexi bites his bottom lip.

“What if someone comes to check on us?” He asks.

“They won’t,” Cullen says, the first finger slipping inside him. His back arches, a hand wrapping around Cullen’s wrist as he continues to stroke his cock. Alexi’s heels press into the rug, his face turning. Cullen leans forward, nudges his face back, so that he can see him. He casts the barest beat of his echo. Enough to see the waves of blue that drift away from Cullen, wrap around him. Swallowing him up in his ocean, drowning him in their depths. Bringing him to the bottom, filling him up with new air. A kiss pressed against his lips, muffling the sound of his groan as Cullen adds a second finger.

Gently moving in and out of him, rocking back and forth, as his other hand still moves at his cock. It’s overwhelming, all of it, Cullen bent over practically in two so that he can press kisses against his chest. “Cullen.” The grip he keeps around his wrist tightens. A third finger, stretching him as best he can. No matter how prepared Alexi makes himself, Cullen always takes the most careful care never to hurt him. “Cullen.”

Cullen’s hands move to Alexi’s hips. Alexi’s own hands curl near his face, and the echo, again, wanting so desperately to know what face Cullen might be making. Cullen takes himself in hand, lines himself up with Alexi’s entrance. Pressing against him slowly, pushing inside with a groan. Stretching out over him, and Alexi’s hands move to Cullen’s face. His lips, parted. His eyes, closed, eyelashes fluttering. Breath hot against his palm, a kiss that follows as he buries himself inside to the hilt. “Alexi,” he exhales, one hand still at his hip, the other elbow bracing him against the floor, his hand brushing against Alexi’s hair.

He begins to move slowly, and Alexi links his feet behind him. Still wearing that tunic, his trousers slipping halfway down his ass. Alexi curls underneath him, pulls him closer, closes his eyes and presses his mouth against his shoulder. Cullen’s fingers are moving in his hair, against his head, a comforting touch as his other hand bruises against his hip. He keeps the rhythm steady, that slick in and out. Filling him up completely, connecting them together. Cullen trails a line of kisses against his jaw, breathes hard and heavy. “I love you,” he says, and Alexi isn’t sure if Cullen even realizes that he’s saying it. “I love you, I love you.”

Alexi hugs him closer, holds him tightly. They rock together, Alexi’s toes curling as Cullen reaches between them. Wrapping his hand back around Alexi’s cock, matching each thrust. Alexi mumbles, murmurs something unintelligible, his hands trembling, and toes curling. Spilling against himself, and Cullen’s hand moves slowly down his cock, drawing out the last drop. “Where should I-?” Cullen asks it lowly, and Alexi keeps his legs locked around him, the wordless answer.

Alexi’s hands move to his face once again. Palms against his cheeks, the stubble underneath them, brushing thumbs against his cheekbones. Cullen’s heart pounds so loudly, he’s sure he might even hear it echo in the room. A low groan, his jaw clenching, eyes squeezing together and Alexi sees him. In his touch, that deep ocean. Cumming inside of him, dropping down to his elbows, laying over Alexi. Alexi slowly threads hands through his hair. “I love you,” Cullen says again, clearly this time.

“I love you too,” Alexi says, before his words are swallowed up by the kiss. Cullen is leaning back once again, and he can hear Cullen taking off his shirt. After that, small dabs at his belly, cleaning up the mess they’ve made. Alexi laughs slightly.

“I think what I need to do will take more than your shirt. And now what are you going to do? Walk through Skyhold without a shirt?” he asks.

“I’ll just wear your sweater,” he says, clearly not having thought ahead. It only makes Alexi laugh harder, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Well it’s not like all of Skyhold doesn’t already know about us,” he says.

#cullen #inquisitor #cullevelyan #dragon age #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x m!inquisitor #trevelyan #m!trevelyan #cullen x trevelyan #cullen x m!trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dai #writing #mine #Alexi Trevelyan #Cullexi #I love themmmmmmmm #thank you for the prompt #justbooker

85 notes · View notes

lupitabadu · 6 years ago

Text

Oasis

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blood: The Last Vampire or Blood+ characters/storylines or any affiliated merchandise. All of the previous are owned by Production I.G. and Sony. Even if they're out of character... Further Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Naruto or Naruto Shippuden characters/storylines or affiliated merchandise. All of the previous are owned by Viz Media and Masashi Kishimoto. "Here we go." Diva spole while cutting her hand for the last time. Saya did likewise. They stood still for a moment; not even them knowing if they were just letting the blood run down their blades or if it was giving a second for each of them to prepate for this. But when the moment ended they ran forward and stabbed at each other all the same... Neither one of them was afraid to die now. Saya's whole mission in life was to exterminate every last Chiropteran so that they could never hurt humans again. And she herself was a chiropteran, Diva, who had until recently only cared about herself, now only cared about her babies. And if she killed Saya with her blood she knew that Nathan could take care of them for her. Neither of them was afraid to die, and were perfectly willing to let the other kill them, so long as both of them died. But the seemingly inevitable finish to this age-old battle suddenly ground to a screeching halt when they say something drop right in front of them on the stage. It was some kind of plate with a ripple pattern on it. Both sisters took tentative steps towards--suddenly--the whole room was engulfed in a blazing hot white light, blanking minds and erasing all that had existed. ~~~~

The first time he heard it, he had thought that he was hearing something. His ears were ringing with the sound that he just couldn't seem to get out of his head. It would start off light, then gradually grow louder; yet, it was seemed descirnable. However, he seemed to be the only one able to hear it. And whenever he looked for the source of that song, he'd almost end up in the middle of nowhere and no noise. So, Naruto made it his goal to locate the song. He started the first day of the week. The song seemed to be coming from a far away place almost outside of the village. He couldn't go that far. So he would wait. He'd find a comfortable place in the woods to concentrate, ease his mind, and go blank so that he would never have any distractions when hearing the eerie soft song. Naruto still had not found the voice. On day two, he skipped school to locate the voice. Just who were they? By day three Naruto had grown down right desperate. He couldn't sleep, eat, or function. Just where was the source of that song? Who was singing it? He thought he had almost succeeded, but came up at a dead end. The song had stopped entirely for the past four days. It had made Naruto disheartened. He wouldn't be able to hear the song for another week. And he made sure he got up good and early to find the stranger. Thirty minutes into class Naruto left, having had heard the ringing in his ears from the first time he heard the voice. He had almost made it until a rough hand clasped on his shoulder. It was one of the teachers from the academy, a stocky male with a goattee and dark eyes. "Naruto, where exactly are you going?" He demanded in a rough voice. Naruto decided he'd tell a half-truth or a half-lie. He didn't have to explain himself despite only being a kid. He wrenched himself from the teacher's grasp, eyes right bored into the teacher's.

"There's someone singing. They sound sad and I wanted to go see them." "Someone singing?" The teacher turned up his nose at the kid, cocking his hear to the side. "I don't hear anything," he replied flatly. "You're not listening! Listen! There it goes again!" "How about you get inside? You've missed out on several days of---" Naruto was adamant. "I don't care!" With that outburst, he was gone. This time, the song appeared to be growing louder and getting closer. Leap bounding from tree to tree, dodging large rocks and vines; Naruto felt the song vibrate through his heart. That only made him more determined. He'd skipped meals, training, even sleep just to hear the airy singing voice. Suddenly, he tripped over some marsh coming from a large tree. Picking himself up, Naruto dusted his clothes. He looked up and nearly gasped. In the middle of the forest, there stood a tall and thick tree with numeroud branches spouting from it. It's thick branches at the bottom spread wide, rooting itself deep into the Earth's core. Thick vines wrapped around its massive trunk and were the only things that were bare over the gigantic moss covered tree. But the most important thing of all was that Naruto could hear the song coming from the hollowed hole in the tree. He closed his eyes, listening to the music that flowed from the top of the tree. A song. It was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard. The song stopped abruptly. "I like your voice..." said Naruto, stepping closer. A pregnant pause hung in the air. Then it happened, the voice spoke back to him. Thank you and I like yours. Naruto wasn't aware that the voice was telepathic instead of spoken out loud. It was female. Naruto smiled sweetly. She sounded beautiful. What was she doing up in a tree?Naruto found himself a spot to sit down to get comfortable, all the while getting up. "I heard you singing..." How did...you find me? Naruto put his arms above his head. "It was pretty easy. I followed the sound of your voice." Did anyone follow you out here? Naruto shook his head. "It's just us. What's your name?" he asked, wanting to change the subject. Maybe he could get her out of the depressing forest. She sounded like she didn't want to be up in the tree anymore. "How long have you been there?" A long silence hung heavy in the air. Naruto thought he had asked a forbidden taboo, but was relieved when the girl spoke up again. I'm not sure. It's been a pretty long time since I've been out... Naruto's heart dropped to the soles of his feet. Was someone keeping her hostage here? I just woke up not too long ago. I never thought anyone would hear me all the way out here. But you did. Do you have some kind of ability? "No." He said simply. "I heard you singing over the course of several days, but always I'd end up empty. I tried my best to..." But you found me...out here in almost the middle of nowhere. You have no idea how much that means to me. Will you tell me your name? Naruto nodded, a huge smile tugging at his lips. "Naruto! Naruto Uzumaki..." Naruto. I like that name. "Do you want to be friends?" Naruto asked sheepishly. "I mean if you want to, you don't have to! We hardly know each oth--" Naruto was cut off when something landed in his hand from above. It was a single beautiful rose with no thorns. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It's nice to meet you, Naruto. You may call me Diva.

#naruto #oasis #fanfiction #vampire #crossover #lupita writes #diva #blood plus #chiropteran #story

3 notes · View notes

jo-shanerome18 · 5 years ago

Text

Appia Antica & Saint Cecilia’s Basilica

16/05/2018: Today Shane and the boys intended to walk down Via Apia Antica or if possible, hiring a bike, the better option. The road was built during 312 B.C. and is lined with mausoleums and tombs of ancient Rome's dead as they were not permitted to be buried within the walls of the city. The Appia Antica was Rome's first gateway to the east connecting Rome with Capua, and eventually to Brindisi on Italy's south eastern coast where Roman ships would set sail for Egypt and Greece. During this time Jo and Cecilia planned to revisit the Trastevere district and visit Saint Cecilia's Basilica. The boys left a bit after eight, headed past the Coliseum to Circus Maximus, turned left into Viale delle Terme di Caracalla, and past the ruins of the Baths of Caracalla. The road from the chariot fields was three wide lanes wide and quite busy. As much as the central road was busy and clear of traffic, the two outside roads provided safer access and local traffic only, both lined with cars parked with a little more consideration than in the middle of the city.

Hippies

At the end of Viale delle Terme di Caracalla, the road hit a major intersection, but they kept on straight ahead, keeping to the right hand side of a fork in the road. They ended up along Via di Porta San Sebastiano, had they have veered to the left they would have been in Via di Porta Latina, two ancient roads that bound Parco degli Scipioni, a park created by the joining of the first century AD columbarium of Pomponius Hylas and the tomb of the famous Scipioni family. The tomb was constructed around 280 B.C. by Lucius Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, great grandfather of Scipio Africanus, the great general who defeated Hannibal and his elephants at the Battle of Zama eighty years later.

Sepolcro delgi Scipioni

A few hundred metres further on we finally passed through the Arch of Drusus and Porta San Sebastiano. We were effectively outside of the walls of Rome.

The so-called Arch of Drusus was an ancient arch that was utilised when Caracalla built the Aqua Antoniniana to supply water to his baths.

After passing through the gates they encountered a very busy cross road and from this point on, Via Appia Antica was also very busy. Walking along the side of the road, there was occasionally no room for pedestrians and also a bit hairy, but as the road got further along it widened out to where they could avoid the traffic, eventually reaching the bike shop that Shane and Isaac hired a couple of bikes from a few years earlier. Nothing had changed so they headed in and hired three bikes and a lock so they could look around as well.

Affitto Biciclette Rent-a-Bike on Appia Antica

With a licence holding the security on the bikes and five euro each per hour, the lady behind the counter handed over a good map of the road with recommended sites, advising that access to the catacombs of San Callisto and entire area were closed as it was Wednesday. Not only had they missed out on the catacombs but if they could battle the hill at the entrance, it was a safe passage avoiding more of the hairy parts of the main road. The gates were locked so they rode along the hairy part.

While the boys did their thing with the bikes, the girls made plans to go back to the Travestere district to check out Saint Cecilia Basilica. As Cec's back was still playing up from the fall at Trevi Fountain, they planned to take a taxi rather than attempt the three and a half kilometre walk. Upon finding a taxi at the rank across from the apartment, the driver told them it would cost them fifteen euro. Cecilia's response was priceless. "What! To drive us three kilometres! You've got to be kidding mate!" She then said "Come on Joey, we will walk and find someone else. We're not getting ripped off by this bastard." Jo wondered if the taxi driver knew he just copped an Aussie spray.

After entering their destination for walking into the phone, Google Maps had them walking toward the Basilica. By the time that they found more taxis, there was still two kilometres to go. They kept walking though as those taxi drivers still wanted fifteen euro for the remaining distance. Their walk took them past the Forum, hooked a left around Altare della Patria (colloquially known as the Wedding Cake) and the small unobtrusive ruins of Comune di Roma alongside and eventually across the Tiber again.

One of the few remaining examples of how most Romans used to live. This Capitoline insula dates to around the year 110. Effectively a block of flats. Shops (tabernae) were on the ground floor with a few floors of apartments above. The shops are now nine metres below street level. Unlike these days the cheapest rents were the top floors as when a fire broke out, the top floor tenants were the ones more than likely getting burnt.

Just after passing the catacombs of San Callista on Apia Antica, the boys struck the catacombs of San Sebastiano with not many people around, so they headed in and asked about tickets. The English tour started in fifteen minutes for eleven euro each so after paying up they waited, taking interest in the displays in the foyer and the inside of the basilica.

Basilica di San Sebastiano

Located between the second and third mile of the Appian Way, the current basilica was built during the seventeenth century on top of whatever was left of Emperor Constantine's Basilica Apostolorum built some thirteen centuries earlier. Basilica Apostolorum was built in honour of apostles Peter and Paul. Below Constantine's Basilica was ad catacumbas, the Christian catacombs that utilised the pozzolana quarry that the Romans had dug for their concrete. The three levels of catacombs held thousands of tombs ranging from the simple burial niche, and there were plenty of those, to Arcosoli and Cubicoli. The bodies were interred in the niches, wrapped in a shroud and covered with quicklime in order to promote the decomposition process and disinfect the tomb. The niche was then sealed.

When it was the boys turn, an American or Canadian guide escorted them to the inside of the Basilica an told of the history of the church and the story of Saint Sebastian. No tall stories here. No sticking his head under his arm and going home like Saint Miniato.

The guide also warned before heading into the catacombs that they were quite welcome to take photographs everywhere except in the catacombs. He explained that the church had no issues with taking pictures but the Vatican owned the catacombs and taking photos was strictly forbidden. Only one thing to do, hang around the back of the group. They were taken beneath the basilica via a steep set of steps within the foyer area and were immediately negotiating narrow cavities with side passages that were full of small empty tombs. Apparently, according to our guide, Romans were rather small people.

Underground tombs all empty

They kept moving through the narrow corridors, all along behind the group and snapping away. As they reached the underground burial area of San Sebastiano himself, they had another guide right up their clacker escorting a private German group, with the agility of Erwin Rommel. "No photos" came the continual yell as people around them had the same idea. Timed correctly, they still managed get a few more, but not of the excellent family ones which were directly below the basilica floor. The brick piers of the floor were founded on the rock that the crypts were carved into.

Originally a Roman soldier during the late third century, San Sebastiano got himself into some hot water with Emperor Diocletian for persistently converting the pagans to Christians. Now Diocletian, stabiliser of Rome and Christian persecutor, thought he would sort Sebastiano out by making him target practice for his archers, ordering him to be tied to a stake or tree, depending on which painting you believe and filling him with arrows to the point where he apparently resembled a sea urchin. The archers, thinking he was dead, left the scene allowing Irene of Rome to drag him away and nurse him back to health so Diocletian could have another go. This time San Sebastiano was beaten to death and thrown into the sewers, only to be removed and buried in the catacombs below Rome. The double martyr and gay icon was eventually reburied beneath the Basilica.

One of the characters that San Sebastiano converted, a woman named Zoe, had apparently been a mute for a few years and as soon as she converted to Christianity, her speech returned to her. A bit like Brian jumping on top of the hermit. The hermit hadn't said a word for eighteen years until Brian came along. A miracle.

After exiting the bowels of the basilica via a staircase back into the nave, the relationship between the memorial to San Sebastiano and his burial site became more apparent. They were directly above and below each other.

Tomb of San Sebastian below the Basilica

Memorial to San "I'm not dead yet" Sebastiano straight above. An arrow to the guts

The next stop was a quick one at the Mausoleum of Cecilia Metella, a large masonry structure with an imposing cylindrical tomb as its centre piece. Built between 30BC and 20BC, the mausoleum holds, or used to hold the remains of Cecilia Metella, the daughter of Roman Consul, Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus, and daughter-in-law of quaestor, Marcus Licinius Crassus who served under Julius Caesar. The family must have been well off for such a memorial. It only cost five Euro to get in but there wasn't much there. Still interesting though. The ticket seller told them that the ticket also allowed entry into a villa complex further down the road which was much more interesting.

The Mausoleum of Cecilia Metella

CAECILI-AE

Q·CRETICI·F

METELLAE·CRASSI

After the ride up the hill to get to the mausoleum dad needed a rest, his muscles were jelly. History dictated that an oasis was just over the hill, at just over the three mile mark, so riding a short distance to the Appia Antica Caffe, they managed to put their feet up and have a feed and a beer (and a couple of Crème Broulee's for Thomas). Heading off after the rest, they took on the bumpy surface (at times very bumpy) of Via Appia Antica.

Via Appia Antica. A bit bumpy but this was the smooth bit

The next stop was beyond the fifth mile and prompted by a sign on the roadside and an interesting building behind the trees. An inkling of interest took everyone down a gravel lane and to the recently acquired Santa Maria Nova complex which once belonged to the Olivetan monks and the latest addition to the Parco Archeologico dell'Appia Antica albeit acquired over ten years ago and linked via Appia Antica to the Villa dei Quintili which fronted via Appia Nuova. The farmhouse was renovated during the eighteen hundreds and complimented the medieval watchtower. We couldn't get around the building again as the place was under another reno while we were there. Nearby excavated ruins included a bathhouse with very degraded but still impressive mosaic floors depicting a gladiator with net and trident doing who knows what since the rest was missing and a few circus horses. A walk through the paddocks then led to the Villa dei Quintili, an ancient Roman villa which included an extensive thermal system fed by its own aqueduct as well as a hippodrome from the fourth century.

Checking out the mosaics of the hot rooms near Santa Maria Nova

A long walk was then ahead as meandering from rock pile to ruin and ruin back to rock pile seemed to be the go. A quick look into the tanks or such halfway along what was once the northern portico and then onto the main complex. This was an extensive build, remnants still very high and expansive, easily accessed via well placed ramps and walkways. Signs and explanations of the workings of the joint alluded to the opulence that permeated through the place in its heyday.

The Villa was once a substantial complex, one that was one of the most lavish of the large Roman residences. Originally built by a couple of consuls of Greek origin, the complex was expanded upon once Emperor Commodus took over and made the villa imperial property. He liked the place so much that he had Sesto Quintilio Condiano and Sesto Quintilio Valerio Massimo murdered to make the deal possible. Villa dei Quintili consisted of main rooms, two large termes of the caldarium and the frigidarium. Large windows and marble everywhere. All overlooking the fields and Roman countryside.

Looking across the once arcaded courtyard toward the frigidarium (cold baths) and tepidarium (warm baths)

It was time to return as the walk back would take time. All roads not only led to Rome but in this instance back past Appia Antica Caffe for more well deserved refreshments. A second beer pulled everyone up and it was then decided to take the apparent safe way back, down Via di Cecilia Matella and through to the nearby country road which, by the way, was never found. There was so much traffic on Via Appia Pignatella that it was difficult to cross and quite dangerous. The road was narrow with plenty of cars, but it was the wrong road as access to the bush was back at the intersection where another couple on bikes were stopped and looking around. Riding past them, up and over the mound that obscured the correct route would have turned into a dirt track, passing more ruins, cisterns and mausoleums as well as plenty of sheep and onto Via della Caffarella for a safe if not inclined journey back. But there was no turning back and the busy Via Appia Pignatella was the quickest way back. Some prayers and hope that the passing traffic, many sounding their horns, would manage to keep a safe distance when passing. After a nervy ten to fifteen minute ride, Via Appia Antica reappeared and a few minutes later the bike shop also reappeared. After a chat to the lady and obtaining more handy advice, a few Euro for bike hire was handed over a ticket on the 118 back to the Coliseum was purchased. The bus stop was located just across from the shop and after twenty minutes the bus appeared. The walk back to the apartment was keenly avoided.

Locking up again for a beer

Heading back towards Porta San Sebastiano and the Aurelian Walls

Back at, and not long after arriving in Trasevere, Jo and Cec found a nice little restaurant, Trattoria Da Teo, that was full of locals and wine only came by the litre. Pizza for Cec and gnocchi for Jo. After lunch they wandered on to Saint Cecilia Basilica but it was closed. They took plenty of photos and checked out the local area before cabbing it back to the apartment.

Cec at Cecilias

After a brief recovery period we all retreated to the restaurant downstairs for a meal, a few refreshments and more recovery.

Homa making us a few drinks

Tomorrow Pompei and Herculaneum.

1 note · View note

asrastiddies-blog · 8 years ago

Note

7, 18, 22, 25, 27 inquisitor ask !

It’s an inquisitor ask thing, so I put both my possible inquis in. And Rayen for good measure. And I because I love her to tiny bits and she doesn’t get enough attention.

7. Who is your inquisitors best friend?

Asharis

Literally everyone. But if she had to pick only one it would be Cole. They’ve already declared themselves siblings and have pretty much the same mindset. Except that Ash is even more pacifistic than Cole.

Tolia

Tolia would be stuck between Alistair and Leliana. She counts a lot more people as her best friends, like Morrigan, Zevran, Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, etc., but those two are the closest to her heart and she could never choose only one.

Rayen

Probably Varric or Iron Bull. Although “best friend“ might be too big of a term for their relationship, it’s hard to find a soul that even wants to be around her or that she would want to be around. The fact that she pushes people away the more affection she feels for them doesn’t make this easier.

18. Upon first meeting Cole, were they afraid of him?

Asharis

They pretty much became friends instantly. She didn’t mind what he was at all, she finally found someone who understood her a “spiritual” level.

Tolia

Tolia was just baffled that something like him could exist at first and wasn’t sure how to treat him, but when she saw what he was all about it quickly turned into, “If you want to harm my innocent spirit son you have to get past the entire Inquisition first.”

Rayen

It was less fear of Cole himself, since he made pretty clear that he had no intention to hurt anybody, it was more the fear of what he was capable of in case he changed his mind. Ray was possessed for a long time and freed only a short time ago, she’s all over the place and has no idea who or what she is now and would rather not have anything or anyone burrow through the mess that is her head and lay her flaws and conflicts out to her and everyone else, thanks.

22. What is their favorite weapon?

Asharis

Love and patience!

Tolia

Magic and greatswords!

Rayen

Daggers and smoke bombs!

24. What is their opinion on blood magic? Would they ever use it, if given the chance?

Asharis

It’s like any other kind of magic, it depends on the mage. She wouldn’t use it herself though, since it does nothing but hurt everyone involved. It may be useful or necessary for some people and she respects that, but it just goes against everything she believes in.

Tolia

Tolia actually does use blood magic already. But strictly against dark spawn wich is why she’s specialized in tainted blood. It’s still frowned upon, so she keeps it a secret and a secret weapon for emergencies. Whenever one of her friends gets skeptical about it she just grabs the next ogre and plays “Stop hitting yourself” with it. Always works.

Rayen

To Ray it would sound fun – if she could be at the better end of it. She doesn’t mind with people she trusts, but otherwise she has the constant fear of being possessed again in the back of her head and it haunts her for the rest of the day.

25. What is their favorite place within the playable regions?

Asharis

The Emerald Graves. The giant-free part. It’s very homey and peaceful to Ash and if it’s actually peaceful for once she even dares to leave the camp on her own to take a walk sometimes.

Tolia

The Arbor Wilds and the Frostback Basin. Both are colorful and beautiful and also filled with things and people and that practically begging for a fireball to the face. But the Forbidden Oasis is a great place for her too. It’s rocky and full of cliffs and a lot of other stuff she can climb, it has a beautiful oasis full of life right in the middle and a mysterious, magical temple in the back that needs so many keys that she always has an excuse to come back. It’s everything her little adventurer heart ever asked for.

(!!!TRIGGER WARNING!!!)

Rayen

Nowhere. Just leave her in Skyhold in peace. If you absolutely have to though, she doesn’t have a specific place she likes and will go where the action and the alcohol are. That’s what she would tell you. What she won’t tell you is that she is in a constant state of emotional and mental exhaustion and existential crisis, combined with suicidal thoughts and self-hatred. She won’t complain if you bring her somewhere quiet and empty where she can think to herself and quietly walk along with the party while listening to their lighthearted banter for a while. The Hissing Wastes for example.

(Now you’re safe again.)

27. As a whole, how do they feel about Tevinter + The Imperium?

Asharis

Asharis was born there, but she barely saw a few buildings and some other people there, so she basically doesn’t know more than the average southerner who learned from frightening tales and the things she learned from Dorian. But she knows better than to judge before she hasn’t experienced the place for herself, there are always people who are different and stand out from the norm. Be it positively or negatively. She’s intimidated and scared, but not so much that she wouldn’t go there or see it as a lost cause. With Dorian fighting for change there now, she believes even more that it can’t be that bad.

Tolia

It’s just like Ferelden or Orlais – But upside down. Mages are free and in power but everyone else gets oppressed. In the end, both things are bad. Tevinter might look worse to everyone because it’s the exact opposite of their world and laws, but they’re all equally flawed need a few kicks in the right places to change it.

Rayen

Oh boohoo, the big, bad Tevinter did a thing again. They should all fix their own broken countries and dirty little secrets before they have the right to whine about other peoples politics and attitudes. Wich also suck. Everyone tries to sit on the highest horse and refuses to see that they’re all sitting in equally deep shitholes.

#uriellactaea #ask #tolia surana #asharis nahanni melethin #rayen lavellan #thanks for asking uri <3 #trigger #trigger warning

2 notes · View notes

plaguejournal · 5 years ago

Text

Dispatch from the UK - Always Lent and Never Easter

I locked up my church this week ‘until further notice.’ I didn’t think it was going to be so hard. After all, as a priest I’m regularly reminding people that ‘the church is the people, not the building.’ ‘The church is the servant of the wider community, not an exclusive club with nice premises.’

And yet, as I packed up bags full of resources needed to create a makeshift chapel in my home, and to plan and deliver services online, I cried. I cried because the gift of an oasis of open, quiet space amidst frenetic, inner-city London, is no longer something we can offer. I cried because the windowsill in my home office is not where I imagined setting up an altar, and it looks like shit compared to the modernist simplicity of our sanctuary. I cried because I know that I’ll keep going back to church to collect food donations and give them out to the increasing numbers of people impoverished or trapped indoors because of this virus. I cried because, to paraphrase C. S. Lewis in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, this year feels like it is going to be “always Lent, and never Easter.”

I haven’t cried since then — maybe I just needed to get it out. Maybe it was part of the grieving-and-girding-up process for everything that lies ahead.

The streets are quiet. The government has urged all who can stay at home to do so, going out only for absolutely essential work, food shopping, one form of daily exercise, or medical necessity. Yesterday I went on a run through the empty city streets and the air was cleaner than I’ve ever seen it here. I gave up running in Central London years ago, moving instead to large city parks or canal towpaths. Yesterday, I ran past the Barbican, St Paul’s Cathedral, Tate Modern, the Globe, and Tower Bridge. I could breathe the air; it was 60 degrees and sunny. I ran a 10k with energy to spare and felt guilty for how much I enjoyed it. I hope that such runs do not become forbidden.

—

On Thursday night, people stepped out of their front doors, or stuck their heads out of windows, and began to applaud, to hoot and holler and blow vuvuzelas and clang pots and pans together. A viral picture had made its way around the internet, an initiative started by a Dutch resident of London, encouraging the nation to ‘clap for the NHS’ [National Health Service] and show appreciation for all those on the front lines of this crisis. The sound was moving, if also troubling; political policies to ensure our health service is…well…healthy are needed, not just goodhearted appreciation.

I’m getting both better at and weary of Zoom meetings, Zoom prayers, Zoom 1-2-1s, Zoom birthday parties. Tonight, friends from Berlin and I will have a Zoom Kneipe — a pub — where we’ll drink beer and make jokes and talk earnestly in the way that Germans do so well. Tomorrow, Sunday, I will turn on Zoom in the morning to celebrate the eucharist and invite those joining from afar to ‘make an act of spiritual communion’ from home. Tomorrow’s Gospel reading is about Lazarus being raised from the dead. I can’t help but feel like most of us feel we’re shut up in that tomb with him, behind a heavy stone.

—

I’m worried about my beloved ones in America.

Mostly, I wish I had a puppy.

- E. M. Clark

#plague journal #coronavirus #london #socialnotemotionaldistancing #submission

0 notes

thekimmiandjackieshow · 8 years ago

Text

Easter at Oscar’s

My new goal while at Walt Disney World was to work “around the World”. The official rules of the goal were pretty simple.

- Work at least once in all four parks - Work at least once in Disney Springs - Work in at least one resort/hotel

I had navigated through Disney Springs and Magic Kingdom twice, so it was time to move on to another park. Hollywood Studios made me really nervous because I couldn’t imagine how backstage worked. The park itself is a really odd shape, so I didn’t understand if there was really a system backstage at all. Animal Kingdom could be somewhat confusing but in general it was just a giant circle around the outskirts of the park. EPCOT was similar in that regard (at least World Showcase was). Magic Kingdom obviously has the underground tunnels that are fairly easy to navigate. Hollywood Studios just seemed like a jumbled mess to me. I had actually been backstage there before when I picked up a shift for a Cast Member party, but it was all a really guided experience and I honestly was so focused on following the crowd that I didn’t really get my bearings of where we were backstage.

Then along came a shift at Oscar’s, the stroller location for Hollywood Studios. Getting there from the cast lot seemed super easy because the cast lot was at the front of the park and Oscar’s was part of the main entrance area. So, I picked it up on Easter Sunday.

I usually wait until the day of to get my costume for my shift, but because it was an opening shift, costuming wasn’t even going to be open early enough for me to go. This was decidedly a good thing, because I wanted to be sure I knew where I was going anyway. On a Saturday afternoon, I pulled up to the Hollywood Studios parking entrance and stayed to the left, following the signs for Cast Parking. I showed my Blue ID and stayed within the lines until I got to the lot. It was really just a continuation of the guest parking lot, much like Animal Kingdom but with an easier entrance. I found parking pretty easily and walked up to Cast Services, the very first building Cast Members have to walk to in order to get from the cast lot to backstage. So far, it was the simplest layout of any of the parks. The front of Cast Services had zoom gates so I had to scan my ID just to get into the building. That seemed weird to me because DAK’s Cast Services building is SO far backstage that you would have had to scan your ID long before you even saw the building.

In any case, I walked into the building. To the side was a room for costuming. Instead of having their own costuming building, it was an extension of Cast Services. I imagined that if that was available for DAK Cast, I would’ve opted to return my costume far more often.

Oscar’s costume is notoriously awful. I’d be lying though if I didn’t admit I was a little excited. Before getting to Walt Disney World, one of the things I was most excited for was outrageous costumes. I wanted flat out ugly costumes to rock. My wish came true when I was placed at DAK Strollers, but I was excited for more. Oscar’s gave me more. While completely fitting for the car service theme they were going for, the oddly colored striped overalls did no favors for anybody.

This fancy getup also came in a shorts option that was 100% no dice for me. If you think the pants version looks bad, you don’t even want to begin to imagine the shorts. Some people rock it. I’m not one of those people.

The good news was that the costume was comfy as heck. I’m the type of girl who lives in jeans, so anytime I wear pants that are softer than jeans, they might as well be pajama pants. That’s what these felt like to me. Big, fat, striped, pajamas. I honestly couldn’t wait to show my roommates.

After trying on a thousand and one pairs of overalls (I had gotten pretty good at guessing sizes but these things were a nightmare) I finally headed home. It was absolutely pouring rain outside and the bus stop for CP’s was starting to flood. My older sister worked at Hollywood Studios during her college program and relied solely on the bus transportation system to get her to and from work. She had told stories of being trapped in the rain waiting for the bus, and I finally understood just how bad it was. Hollywood Studios has the worst bus stop for CP’s. While conveniently located in front of Cast Services, it has no real overhang for CP’s to wait under. Most of the CP’s were hanging out in Cast Services, and then just made a mad dash for the bus when it finally got there.

I ran to my car in the rain with my new striped overalls. I couldn’t wait for the next morning.

When the morning came I was feeling pretty confident. I knew how to get to the cast parking lot and I knew how to get to Oscar’s from Cast Services. Before Hollywood Studios opened, I drove my car up to the parking lot entrance and showed my blue ID. Moments later I was waved by parking lot attendants to take a different route, behind Lights, Motors, Action, and to a random parking structure behind the park. I followed the line of cars and parked in the structure, apparently a rarity saved just for those few folks who opened the park. And, just like every other time I picked up a shift somewhere new, I found myself lost backstage.

I followed a group of people who seemed to really know where they were going out of the structure. I walked past buildings I had never seen before, nor knew existed. I walked past what I imagined would be where my older sister took breaks back when she did her college program in 2011. And then all of a sudden, I was on stage. I had managed to walk around Star Wars Launch Bay and right on stage without even realizing. Honestly, I can’t even imagine how many guests accidentally end up backstage in that area. A security guard on a bike was there and I asked for directions to Oscar’s. I was hoping for backstage directions because I definitely knew how to get there if I just walked on stage. The security guard though, insisted that I just walk on stage because it was easier and the park wasn’t open yet anyway. So, in my hideously striped overalls, I walked on over to Oscar’s through an empty Hollywood Studios.

Everybody was in a pretty good mood for having to be there on Easter morning. There were plastic Easter eggs in everybody’s lockers and everybody was making Easter buttons to put on the strollers so that everyone who got a stroller got a “Celebrating Easter” button. Even we were allowed to wear them. At my location, that would’ve been 100% forbidden. I really got intense about scrutinizing my location after working at Oscar’s because the biggest excuse my leaders gave for not having themed assignments or more magical moments was that strollers operations were significantly more complex than other merchandise locations. After working at Oscar’s, I truly believe my location had no excuse.

All assignments were centered around the idea that we worked at a car service location. Instead of pulling an assignment “Stack/Unstack” (stacking the strollers upon return and unstacking/cleaning strollers to prep them for pick up), it was themed to seem like you were servicing vehicles. Even “Tag/Receiver” (giving strollers to guests after they purchase them and retrieving them from guests when they’re done) had a themed name. It’s been over a year so I can’t really remember the specifics, but I remember being impressed.

I also learned how differently they operated. Their set up was slightly different which made for a more efficient opening shift, something I suggested to Animal Kingdom but was ultimately ignored. Their return process of ECV’s was also different and something I had to learn. What was most interesting to me though, was that they didn’t care I was “EHH” (extra hours). They were prepared to give me a brief training on renting out strollers, stacking strollers, renting out ECV’s, etc. I had assumed the only reason I was able to pick up the shift was because I was mobility trained, but it turns out that Animal Kingdom’s stroller location is incredibly more strict than the other stroller locations on property. At Animal Kingdom, if you’re EHH and you aren’t mobility trained, you’re placed at the shops, no questions asked. You can’t even rent out lockers for crying out loud. At Hollywood Studios they don’t really have a choice because the shops associated with Main Entrance have different costumes, so it’s not part of one huge rotation. But they could absolutely make it so that only those who are mobility trained pick up the shifts. Instead, they don’t care. Anybody who picks up a shift can learn how to clean and stack a stroller.

When I went on my break (another themed break), everybody was sitting at one small picnic table outside. They didn’t have an actual break room, and because I was back in Osceola County, it was back to 15 minute breaks. I actually didn’t mind the short break because the table was getting crowded and I didn’t want to just stand around.

My favorite place to work at Oscar’s was at Crossroads, which was the locker rental. Crossroads is the circular shop in the middle of Hollywood Studios, so when only one person was in there, you were managing two different sides. It was merchandise and locker rentals, which made it more fun than just selling lockers. Because of the central location, guests also treated it as the one-stop-shop for park information. So many people stopped for directions, recommendations, etc. This happens at any main entrance location but what I noticed was because most of the guests automatically went to Crossroads, the stroller location wasn’t bombarded with these questions and they could focus primarily on selling strollers. The other thing is that because of the nature of the booth, guests actually STOPPED to talk to you. I can’t tell you how many times guests at Animal Kingdom would just shout from across the Oasis, “SAFARIS??” as they were running, and you would have to yell the general directions back. It made the guest interactions so much more pleasant.

I truly loved spending Easter at Oscar’s. In most cases, if you have to work on a holiday, I’d recommend spending it with your work family. But this was a nice change of pace and I feel like they celebrated the holiday more than my home location would have. It turns out, I was right about that. When I got back, I heard that they hadn’t really done anything special. And even though the costume was terrible, I had a great time. With the Disney costumes, you have to learn how to laugh at yourself. I did, and it made for a fantastic shift.

#easter #oscars #hollywoodstudios #hollywoodstudiosstrollers #lifeasanehhcastmember #dhs #dcp #disneycollegeprogram #disneyprograms #disney #dcpalumni #merchandisecm #merchandisecp #castmember #wdw #waltdisneyworld #disneycostumes

0 notes