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waitingformyfavoritesongs · 2 years ago

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13 March 2023 Monday 11:56 am pdt

I forgot to look at the time probably after 11:17 am pdt on the news west valley college is on lockdown Bcz of an armed intruder. They were still waiting for police to arrive I think.

this timing is too eerie to be a coincidence. This college is in Saratoga. 11:59 am pdt I wonder if the red door house is near this place in the supposed Sierra LaMar hoax message. 12 pmpdt

10:23 pmpdt unfortunately I didn’t do enough reading on the 2009 cases they connected to antolin Garcia Torres. One source said he was 17 years old & the attacks happened at night? How big was Torres at 17 years old? Is it possible the witness accounts were altered? Did they go to trial for these cases & the original witnesses identified him? Did he have an alibi? Could it have been a doppelgänger? There was once a case of mistaken identity in a crime? A n innocent doppelgänger got the blame. Where would have Torres got a stun gun? Taser? At the age of 17 years old? 10:28 pmpdt I thought I originally read one of the women was punched by a tattooed arm. Where did I read that? Does Torres have tattoos on his arms? Didn’t look like it from one video. 10:29 pmpdt

1:09 am pdt 14 March 2023 Tuesday

December 2016, I thought the incubus was trying to tell me without saying it, that he was actually “Brendan” the guy I talked to online & the phone in 2001. He messed with me all 2017 about it, but near the end of 2017 when I started to notice the pictures w/ Q like the Halloween pilot costumes, I got punished for retailiatung by posting those links. Incubus zapped me w/ lighting to probably my ovaries after behati posted the bath picture with the peach emojis, & when gio was born & she posted the baby toes they cut round feeling organs brutally dragging a sharp edge in a round shaped motion. It was so harsh it made my eyeballs roll back as he did it. For mins now it feels hot acidic sharp in my ear 1:18 am pdt I don’t believe in the incubus. What he mislead me to believe in 2022. It was quite a show, giving me that hair on the cookie container. I think the incubus miñion took it back Bcz I couldn’t find it b4 leaving the apartment & my mom won’t look at the gio video on Instagram to confirm that her eyes are brown. I think the incubus is making her afraid to look. I’m alone in this. 1:22 am pdt

1:43 am pdt nausea minute ago burned hot acid on right side back skull. There’s nothing that is going to stop him from destroying my body. One day I noticed Brendan junior’s dad wearing jeans w/ embroidered eagles on the back pockets & I recalled jeans I described to “Brendan” on the phone in 2001 also had angel wings embroidered on the back pockets. I said it out loud near the kitchen window & I think he heard me. I think I remember he changed his pants after that? Cramps stomach 1:49 am pdt I think they were maybe saying it wasn’t him. I once saw Brendan junior wearing an LA cool sweat shirt. I thought maybe it is from the incubus. 1:50 am pdt Xmas time they put Xmas lights on the balcony rails & one of the lights was in the shape “NY” as if proudly displaying New York pride. 1:52 am pdt Brendan junior’s dad’s friend parked next to our bedroom window & Brendan junior climbed (acid pain vag 1:53 am pdt) & the speakers suddenly blasted loudly “New York! [...] bright lights will expire you!” I think it was that song. 1:55 am pdt I saw Brendan junior’s dad talk to the roofer b4 the roofers removed our roof & we were roofless for a night & there was a cut out in the ceiling & I used a broom to push it open & saw the night sky so I stayed up all night to keep watch. We weren’t given warning about that part at all by anyone. 1:58 am pdt

2:01 am pdt incubus plan ahead to mess with my feelings. My sophomore year yearbook 2001 has handout lines (autocorrect) all over it w/ different patterns & colors. “Paint a picture w/ my hands” Sunday morning. Album released 2002? Hands all over maroon 5(vag acid pain 2:05 am pdt) album w/ Rosie on the cover in bed. I only realized it last year, & then the Sunday morning lyrics connection this year. 2:07 am pdt probably doesn’t change anything. I’m not married. I never gave birth to anyone. Therefore seeing is believing. & being not sick is believing. With the horrible way his parents & him probably run things , including stuff w/ dugard, & the abuse I think if incubus is not really my husband then I’m luckier that way. Bcz he seems to be a nightmare. 2:11 am pdt

2:13 am pdt I want to be dead.

2:21 am pdt I don’t know if Brendan was rich. If he wasn’t, & if he was friends or related to the incubus, & incubus had a lot of money, enough to screw up a semester of college by not attending almost the whole semester, then I guess he had money he can easily do with out. 2:24 am pdt incubus went to French woods camp probably a lot in New York. A lot of opportunities to hang out with Brendan. 2:25 am pdt what I was trying to type was maybe Brendan didn’t have time to screw around but incubus did. Doors. Slamming 2:26 am pdt

2:58 am pdt while I was in the bathroom on the toilet, incubus... it felt my inside groin maybe inside uterus got chemically burned... horrible awful feeling... the whole thing. Very cruel. Kiera knightley. Key era. Knight lay. On the ground. Ippon. (Vag acid pain 3:02 am pdt) probably means when she was born that there are no more heroes? Makes sense w/ the dugard case. I’m jinxed so I can’t mention anything else. It doesn’t matter to him that I prayed & wanted his help to intervene. He’s probably still blaming me for everything. He gives to those he wants to give & he didn’t want to help me out in that moment unfortunately. I don’t know what happened. But if he did answer my prayer he didn’t want to tell me Bcz he didn’t want me to have a life & he wanted me to condemn myself. 3:08 am pdt acid pain back mouth throat 3:09 am pdt I already condemned myself after 2002 whenever I remembered something I did. I sabotaged myself a lot I think. 3:10 am pdt it seems he wanted to raise the bar so I would really be completely consumed with doom. 3:12 am pdt

Incubus is heinous & cruel. I don’t want him & I wish to never think of him again (right shoulder pain 3:13 am vag acid pain) 3:14 am pdt

4:07 am pdt incubus is a monster. = the world will always be full of monsters.

8:26 am pdt after what the incubus did to me, I don’t believe there is any going back to believing that he is my husband or a good guy. Kick = okay I sick. The worst thing I probably did to Q was keep coming back to her Bcz I didn’t have many friends & Bcz I hoped that I would like her again. There were times I didn’t want to hang out came the day & one of us would cancel on the other. I was late sometimes Bcz I had bad time management for some reason. 8:30 am pdt the end of 2017 was probably the first time I did anything mean to Q. 8:31 am pdt somehow for some weird reason even though she had many other friends to hang out with, she told me I was her best friend. I wanted to be able to reciprocate to someone. Unfortunately I tried to fit myself through that hole that I didn’t fit that I wished I could have fit. 8:33 am pdt pain left side neck on/off for maybe 2 days? I can never believe in the incubus again. I did lie when I was a kid about the weirdest things (autocorrect? Thong. It don’t matter it’s probably another incubus lie 8:35 am pdt). I did my best to confess even though it was extremely difficult for me on many levels. Maybe I didn’t tell it perfectly but I got the biggest details close enough to the truth if it isn’t 100%, it’s probably 99% truth considering a lot of time has passed & his ability to alter memories. 8:37 am pdt incubus still called me a liar by putting acid to my tongue & every lip. 8:38 am pdt in my head he made me feel like a liar. Even I think I remember when I talked to k.o. About Scott & I wanted to stop & had difficulty stopping & decided to not hang out anymore Bcz I couldn’t control my mouth to stop talking about Scott, & I felt wrong to talk about Scott. I don’t remember what I said but I remembered it had something to do with him. 8:40 am pdt through autocorrect it looks like he’s telling me (acid pain throat 8:41 am pdt) I’m wrong even though I have very distinct memory about this without remembering the words, bcz I had an emotional reaction to myself Bcz I really wanted to change & I thought it was for the better. 8:42 am pdt but maybe it was not? I cannot determine this until I remember what exactly I said. 8:43 am pdt but now I know incubus is lying to me (acid pain throat 8:43 am pdt) & what he did is probably major damage & irreversible. 8:44 am pdt I can never go down that road again to believing in him again. Bad guy. 8:45 am pdt maybe I treated Q well enough for her to really think she can get away with lying to me like that? Or maybe she thinks she treated me well enough for her to lie like that to me? 8:47 am pdt

10:23 am pdt hypothesis: incubus does not have a dad bod Bcz he’s still hunting/ on the prowl? For younger women. Lecherous. 10:24 am pdt

12:18 pmpdt I wanted someone who would give me a chance without expecting s*x within 4 weeks of meeting each other. I wanted time to grow. I should have settled for that one guy I started seeing in late 2005, but physical attraction was an issue for me especially with my first boyfriend (vag acid pain 12:21 am pdt). There’s obviously a double standard that it’s an absolute that women must be healthy and attractive & that we don’t have to be attracted to the man. The first guy I thought I fell in love with said something to me that I shouldn’t be with someone who “has problems”? Something I thought he was talking about physical attractiveness. My dad was a little like that Bcz he liked slender women. I shouldn’t have been looking for someone to be attracted to & fall in love with. I guess Bcz if incubus it’s impossible for me & I have a curse. Cosmopolitan magazine back in 2010 wrote something about pheromones & women being attracted to those who compliment genetically their immune systems. I don’t know if it’s true or if it’s invented by incubus. (Stress trig btwn big toes & second toes he’s pushing further inward 12:28 pmpdt) with my curse it was sometimes difficult to stop an action & change course - probably a marionette thing. 12:29 pmpdt sometimes it was hard to say the right thing probably Bcz of the curse, too. 12:30 pmpdt I hope that doesn’t happen again. But knowing the incubus it’s bound to happen again. 12:31 pmpdt it feels like he’s going to continue splitting my feet until my big toe is completely off. 12:32 am pdt this world is heinous. & it’s the voice at the top. 12:33 am pdt once I had the same idea as a partner in class, I don’t remember his name. I was so stunned that we had the same idea at the same time when he told me his. As usual I had difficulty explaining myself & I fell into a big hole in communication. I hate speaking in public, infront of classes. I was usually shy & shook a lot out of being nervous to stand & speak infront of class. Also when the teacher said he would Call on random people. 12:38 pmpdt

news of cremation business stored bodies in a warehouse 😞 no resurrection. Ocean view. Hayward? 12:39 pmpdt

I thought he was psychic. Possibly I was psychic. I should have assumed that. & he told me to be the one to talk infront of class Bcz it was his idea to draw the shadows? Or something like that. & I messed up. I said it was my idea when I should have said it was his. I remember he wore thick black frame glasses. He might have been American Korean but American born from the way he sounded. He probably held a grudge against me Bcz if that. I hope he told the teacher on me so he got proper credit. My last year at UCB I had to deal with a lot of big eczema openings in my skin oozing & getting stuck to pillow cases & bedding (acid pain throat). I took oral & topical antibiotics at least 3 times probably in that year while I was there & I had difficulty getting classes on time. 12:45 pmpdt the incubus blames everything on me. After someone called my place I’m blossom hill before Valentine’s Day 2002 to say “Brendan” used the work cell phone to call many teen girls, my mom told me not to lie to her & it was difficult for me to lie to her for long time after that. Maybe it was if I had atakrn taken (12:49 pmpdt) a truth serum Bcz I felt it emotionally that I couldn’t lie to her after that. So I told her I wanted to meet derick. 12:48 pmpdt

1:39 pmpdt Christina grimmie is probably really dead. Incubus showed tears. 1:40 pmpdt he probably conned her too. Playboy games. He’s really a playboy pretending to not be pretending to be...? Did I type that correctly? I feel like I cannot smile or laugh anymore. 1:42 pmpdt

1:42 pmpdt I thought I really enjoyed talking to Derek online & we once tried thanking on the phone but I became self conscious & nervous. & then he called me a ditz very loudly. He said something like you’re a ditz! His personality at that moment seemed completely different than what I perceived it to be online. I thought we were becoming best friends. 1:45 pmpdt at first I felt like I couldn’t let him go, & then I found it in me to let him go for my mom. 1:45 pmpdt around 2011/2012-end of 2014 sometime in that period I felt like I was going to die from the feeling of loneliness. & then suddenly the feeling was replaced with contentment/happiness/fun when I was alone. The change in feelings happened within minutes. 1:48 pmpdt

1:49 pmpdt vag acid pain. He’s never going to stop. He lied to me. After all that time of working in myself to become more honest & to try to build up courage to face my past bad choices that I remembered at the time. I usually only remembered one bad choice & forgot the other stuff. I don’t know why. I feared running into this person, but I thought about kneeling on the ground begging for forgiveness & understanding if I maintained courage if I ran into her. 1:52 pmpdt in 2014 a doctor I saw seemed to intentionally stab my ear & pretend she didn’t do it intentionally. I got on one knee & begged her to do a brain scan Bcz of my past head trauma but she replied “I don’t work that way” & ran out of the room. She seemed a little ... crazy? 1:54 pmpdt I remembered when we first called the hospital after I got mediCal they seemed to already have me signed up there. I don’t know if that’s normal but the person we talked to in the phone didn’t think it was normal I think. We didn’t investigate. 1:55 pmpdt

1:56 pmpdt I think the incubus did me dirty. And immaturely. I h*te what he did to me. 1:57 pmpdt

1:58 pmpdt back then After I made a bad decision or did a bad thing I usually tried not to do it again. 1:59 pmpdt I maybe tried harder. 1:59 pmpdt in 2010 I yearned to be free among people to not feel guilt about the past, I think it was almost immediately after I stopped seeing Scott. Probably b4 the car thing. 2:01 pmpdt incubus I guess had plans to further screw me over then. 2:01 pmpdt

it was then I prayed to god for courage I think to face my past. 2:03 pmpdt in 2017? I think I saw Oprah say don’t pray to god for courage or love. I guess god did weird things to a lot of people. 2:04 pmpdt

2:05 vag acid pain. God = incubus = heinous.

2:07 pmpdt incubus took my memory away of what I as going to write now it’s back . Incubus is putting acid on my vag & roof of my mouth Bcz he does not like that I didn’t commit suicide in 2015. He thinks I lied to him. I guess he’s right. I was very scared to commit suicide but he gave me signs he wanTed me to probably since 2010. I still wanted to live but as a hermit. 2:11 pmpdt I tried to scan all my statements b4 getting rid of the paper copies & I lost all the files when I ran away, w/ my drivers license. 2:12 pmpdt & expired passport. 2:13 pmpdt & jewelry. It was stupid I packed all that stuff & took it with me. 2:13 pmpdt

2:14 pmpdt I guess now that he destroyed my organs inside my groin?/pelvis? He doesn’t need me around to pretend anymore that he’s my husband. Sometime btwn 2011-2014 (vag acid pain 2:16 pmpdt it really eats my flesh he demonstrated on my tongue & ear. 2:18 pmpdt) I was still dumb & wondered when I was going to meet my soulmate or the person god chose for me. In my head a menacing head voice spoke to me. Foreshadowing my destruction. When I talked to “Brendan” on the phone it seemed like he was reading my mind & the thought crossed my mind if he can read my mind maybe it means he’s my soulmate. I didn’t yet put it all together how it worked. How the world & relationships were set up to work. I watched too many Disney movies. I made all the wrong choices/decisions. & when it could have been right it wasn’t the right timing. 2:24 pmpdt

2:26 pmpdt “Brendan” said he had the cube? Mac/apple computer in 2001.

2:39 pmpdt b4 my aunt got married in 2001? I had a weird feeeling & imagination for a few minutes of what was funny that I never should have done. I wonder if people at school was starting to think I was crazy, or maybe it was soon after this. I think I watched too many karate kid movies & I thought that I could flip my aunt perfectly & that it would be funny. I did it & somehow I made her turn over 360 degrees & put her on her back. Maybe it was a little rough? I hope it wasn’t... but it might have been a little. She laughed! & soon after that she had a successful pregnancy. I would never do it again. The last 5 years I felt betrayed a lot by a lot of people. I feel like I don’t have anyone to defend me. I a lot of people I only met for a few minutes or hours already started hurting me physically. 2:47 pmpdt bcz I have sensitivities I feel like the whole world turned against me by putting citric acid in their products including cetaphil which is supposed to be for sensitive skin. I feel like literally they’re biting the hands that fed them. Back in 2017? 2019... I saw a counselor who said a lot of older people cannot eat citrus. So basically the whole economy turned against their aging population. 2:51 pmpdt heinous. I also couldn’t drink water, it gave me problems. When I found a water I could drink my mom betrayed me & told someone on the phone. She sounded like she did it intentionally to betray me from her tone. After that I had difficulty drinking the water & it all started tasting bitter. Fiji water around September? 2021. Also around 2016/2017 someone put a huge dent in my mom’s car door drivers side. Around the same time my sister in new York her car got the same fate: a big dent in the car door. The one in my mom’s car door is about a foot in diameter? 2:57 pmpdt vag acid pain 2:58 pmpdt the hospital punished me for retailiatung on my mom for this very big betrayal. I had trouble breathing when I drank water & started having diarrhea when I drank milk. My pee was orange. I thought she was trying to kill me with her betrayal. 3 pm the hospital bruised fruit & drenched my food with water. They seemed to like this unusual punishment even though it’s against the constitution. 3:02 pmpdt

4:54 pmpdt every one says bye to me like they’re smug & im going to die. It feels like that is what’s really going to happen. It’s awful to always be in some sort of pain, agony, loneliness, anxiety, & see:hear hints of death coming. If I cannot have any say or control in it I would rather get squashed by a gigantic asteroid in my sleep. 4:58 pmpdt god likes to put me through this Bcz he wants my bones. 4:59 pmpdt if anything is possible god should be able to cut through the asteroid with a a lazer to get to my bones. 5:01 pmpdt I need to watch more YouTube videos. Something is shocking me that I think I was blocked from remembering or understanding in 2017. Makes me think that everyone is really for themselves & or believe if something bad happened to you then you’re a bad person 😖😭🥵😤. I guess people believe that about dugard & Shannon Ruth & Sierra LaMar ? If god says so then I guess it’s true. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ my own self. Around June that summer he wanted me to think 💭 I was special & gentle & loving 🥰 even though before that he was calling me trash 🗑 & treating me like trash 🗑 my whole life & more so now. 5:07 pmpdt I m starting to believe I’m trash 🗑. Last night ? Or this morning I recalled that he said women are amazing. Maybe 🤔 he didn’t really mean women’s abilities to get pregnant 🤰, but how they make his p*nis feel. Like mvrykv_ on Instagram. The truth probably exposed. But he’s probably secretly misleading a lot of people still from what he wants me to believe without showing me. 5:11 pmpdt no one will help me but every medical 🏥 person says bye 👋 like they know I’m dying. Dying 😵5:12 pmpdt

5:21 pmpdt koit autocorrect: loot. ...

I can’t depend on the incubus to answer my prayers if he has other plans, even though it (throat acid pain 5:23 pmpdt) seemed he was paying attention to me in that particular moment & he simply chose not to help me out- Bcz knights lay - ippon? 5:24 pmpdt

5:26 pmpdt I guess he was gaslighting ⛽️ me my whole life, possessed random person to tell me I’m Jesus Christ when I was 6/7 years old literally. But I often forget about it until 2017-ish. 5:29 pmpdt I had difficulty with reading 📖 & comprehension so i didn’t start reading (burned right side 5:29 pmpdt) Bible seriously until ≈2017/2018 & 2021/2022. I still don’t know much. 5:31 pmpdt Bcz it feels that he destroyed my uterus this morning the delusion is dying off. 5:32 pmpdt all hope is dead ☠️.

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babybluebex · 3 years ago

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HI! I'm the anon who sent in about the daniel tattoo, and now that I might be getting my first tattoo in the coming weeks, **Fingers crossed that I'm fucking brave enough to go through with it**, I've always wanted to get lily of the valleys (the flower of my birth month), bluebells (a movie reference) and a carnation (because it was my late grandmothers favorite flower) BUT I also found out that the red carnation is national flower of spain (on top of it being my grandmothers favorite flower) so I think it's meant to be!

hi anon! glad to hear back about this!

i have a couple of nerd themed tattoos planned (the first is gonna be obi wan’s green lightsaber on my upper arm, the sketch was done by one of my best friends) and i was trying to decide on a zemo/daniel tattoo, and i think i landed on a line silhouette of him in his coat

something like this

but i’m glad that serendipity worked out!! wish you luck on that tat!!

#fan mail #anon

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sagamemes · 4 years ago

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goodnight moon — valley girl, part one. every single line out of this character’s mouth is golden. here and below the cut, you can find 83 lines of dialogue from the first three videos of the series—i can not emphasis how much the content of these lines vary despite the title. edited for roleplay purposes, feel free to change around whatever you feel the need to to make it fit your muse better. tw: implications and imagery of violence, clown mentions, some gore and unsanitary mentions, abuse mentions / implications.

❝ don't be embarrassed! i love girls who love to have fun. ❞

❝ nothing spookier than rotting flesh, am i right? ❞

❝ this dress goes about to right before the knee, is that cool? ❞

❝ feel free to get up to any more shenanigans you want at the party tonight. fireworks, bees, wherever the night takes you. ❞

❝ your face is so pale. ❞

❝ blood all over you scales, bones shards in your teeth—that's tacky. pearls? high class. ❞

❝ got any fireworks? ❞

❝ i would never get between a girl and her snacks. ❞

❝ maybe i've seen you on instagram or something. ❞

❝ it's honestly a little spicy when you never know if and when that someone special is gonna steal from you. always a fun little surprise. like, ooh, what's it gonna be this time? ❞

❝ i have missed seeing your pretty little face here. ❞

❝ and you have how many teeth left? like four? ❞

❝ you seem—really cool. i'm loving your energy. ❞

❝ i do get pretty passionate when it comes to [food]. ❞

❝ there's something... seductive about scurvy, you know? ❞

❝ oh, who's he? ❞

❝ i need to reconsider my look. ❞

❝ i know it sounds like an impossible challenge to make pennywise any sexier than he already is, but i can try. ❞

❝ [that girl has/you've] done far too much for me, for me to refuse [her/you] a single thing. ❞

❝ it'll be so cute, i promise. ❞

❝ they are definitely clones. sexy clones, but still clones, you know. ❞

❝ i thought tonight would be a good time to step a little out of your comfort zone. ❞

❝ pirates are so hot right now. well, they've been hot since, like, the 1700s but they have continued to be hot from /then/ to /now/. ❞

❝ i know what i'm talking about: as you can see, i look super hot, right? ❞

❝ i can help you with that. you know, i just like to see a girl look her best. ❞

❝ so is it alright if i come up close and personal, touch your face? ❞

❝ oh, there's a chocolate fountain? ❞

❝ not to like, pressure you or anything, but you have to go with this one. ❞

❝ works every time. well, three out of ten times, which is like, almost most of the time. ❞

❝ it's gonna be cold tonight. ❞

❝ that's good, it's good to be thorough and like, get a little taste of everything. ❞

❝ where's the burrito from? ❞

❝ you're not into the whole ' titties out ' kind of look for you? ❞

❝ if you would just—part your lips ever so slightly and like, pout them a little bit? like they got your order wrong at starbucks? ❞

❝ wherever the night takes you, it's cool with me. ❞

❝ my ex stole from me all the time. ❞

❝ i mean i won't be able to open the jar either, but i'll totally be here for like, emotional support. ❞

❝ these are not very comfortable, but... very cute. the sacrifice is worth it i think. ❞

❝ my job is just to make you as happy and comfortable as possible. ❞

❝ you look /so/ terrifying. and also super cute. ❞

❝ those, you know, needlepoint heels make me wanna die. ❞

❝ i think you're gonna represent my brand perfectly. ❞

❝ i selected for you a myriad—... is that a word? ...yeah, totally, a /myriad/ of things for you to try. ❞

❝ that's gonna make me look like such a baddie standing next to you. ❞

❝ you can't be glowing more than me, darling. ❞

❝ this sweater's got a vibe like, ' i'm so grungy that i totally live in a trash can ' but also ' i'm so soft and fuzzy, oh my god, hold me. ' ❞

❝ i like to call this chunky boy my dragon puke necklace. ❞

❝ can you and me be brow twinsies and both do the bitch brow every day? ❞

❝ do you have any tattoos? i thought so. ❞

❝ you look like you've been dead for three days. gorgeous. ❞

❝ sometimes i see her at pilates and i'm like, ' wow, that scrumptious smoothie came at the small price of my heart. but glad you're enjoying the strawberry-banana swirl, britney. ' ❞

❝ do you have any shenanigans planned? ❞

❝ murders and assassinations i would be all down for, are you kidding? ❞

❝ you, my dear, are all set. ❞

❝ no explosives? oh my god, why are you even going. ❞

❝ wait, dragons don't eat their treasures, do they? they just sit on it and sleep. ❞

❝ have we met before? you look so familiar it's tripping me out a little bit. ❞

❝ we're gonna go with the flow. ❞

❝ you oftentimes tend to prefer the sort of dainty, subdued style, but what if tonight we went a little more avant-garde? ❞

❝ you can fiddle with it, as a form of absent-minded entertainment, if some business-major won't stop rambling at you about mergers and acquisitions. ❞

❝ you seemed like, a little bit weirded out last time. ❞

❝ i've been living and dying for this eyeshadow palette lately. ❞

❝ let me take a moment, or two, or three... to—reacquaint myself with your lovely appearance. ❞

❝ or do you need assistance? because if there's anything i'm good at, it's /assistance/. ❞

❝ you're my last appointment of the day, i'm happy to take as much time as you need. ❞

❝ i'll give you a little tip: when you're having a chat with someone cute, you can just, casually brush a glittery clutch against them and when they get home, the glitter transfers all over their stuff—on their sheets, their clothes, their face, their dog—they'll notice it constantly, and due to the subconscious association with you and the glitter... they won't be able to stop thinking about you. they'll think that you're soulmates when really, you just gave them glitter herpes. ❞

❝ totally thought i was over that, sorry. ❞

❝ i think the red would suit you /perfectly./ ❞

❝ [this/i] will keep you nice and warm and like, ward off any dudes you don't wanna deal with. ❞

❝ i hope your blender sucks and you choke on a chunk of unpulverised peanut butter. ❞

❝ live for it, obsessed, would wear _____ like that every day if it weren't for the fact that it would make men pee their pants everywhere i go. ❞

❝ i know i can be a lot. ❞

❝ doesn't she have like seven cats? and they're all named after types of metamorphic rock. she's the best. ❞

❝ if you wanna go for that ' ugly christmas sweater ' vibe, like ' i'm so hot that i can wear whatever i want and you all can suck it ', these are perfect. ❞

❝ it would make men pee their pants everywhere i go. ...now that i think about it, that's actually a perk. ❞

❝ i would love to hear all about the party you're going to, tell me all about it. ❞

❝ it was always kinda sexy, mysterious. ❞

❝ would never do that to you, ever, no way, wouldn't dream of it. ❞

❝ [you are/it is] a clean slate, ready for clownery. ❞

❝ i saw you launch a firework through his kitchen ceiling. ❞

❝ it's a little cliché but clichés are cliché for a reason. ❞

❝ let's cuddle on the dumpster. ❞

❝ you mean to tell me you haven't even /seen/ a vegetable since, last summer? ❞

#rp meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #starters #rp starters #* sentences.#* meme.#valley girl #goodnight moon

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azure7539arts · 4 years ago

Photo

Beacon

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Blaze + Reverse a common trope

Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, possession, idiots

Summary: One day, perhaps people will forget that a Flame Alchemist has ever existed, but the same can never be said of his subordinates. And today is not that day anyway.

Or: 00Q but Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood AU

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble… And here we are. Again. If you find this intro familiar, thanks for reading Sword! If you have no idea what Sword is and just know my penchant for biting off more than I can chew, please refer to my previous post. Thanks!

Also, look, @solarmorrigan, pyrokinesis! And @opalescentgold, because you know the fandom and may appreciate some references. Damn, I have been dying for a FMA AU for. so. long. And now I’ve managed to somehow realize it into fruition. Jeez. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!

Q couldn’t stand. The rush of adrenaline and sheer agony were urging his heart into overdrive, as if in beating a punishing pace right then, it would somehow make up for the gaping hole wedged in his side.

He bit back a sharp cry, alchemy flaring as bright as the pulsing pain invading his system. In what was either an eternity or no time at all, the wound was cauterized in a fit of smoke and sizzling burnt flesh, effectively staunching the intolerable amount of blood loss in a matter of seconds. His head spun.

(For as long as he’d lived, Q had wished for a lot of things. Right then, though, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself in the confines of his mind—)

Footsteps were approaching. Q scrambled to get to his feet with whatever remaining strength he had left and snapped his fingers again. Vicious ropes of flames sprang forth like spiteful cobras, eliciting an intense wall of fire that stood guard between him and his would-be captor.

One steel arm shot out from among the blaze and seized him by the throat.

Q choked.

The rest of that body stepped through quickly enough, like an emerging monster materializing from the depths of hellfire.

“Ultimate shield, remember?”

Q clawed uselessly at the still squeezing hand around his throat. “L–Lieutenant—” he wheezed, bitter reluctance warring with his struggling will to survive. “Bond—”

“Hm?” The steel receded, and Bond looked back at him now, head tilting to the side. “What, the old owner of this body?” He tutted, visibly frustrated despite the good humor gleaming in those too sharp eyes. “I told you: He’s gone—he’s become one with the stone. I’m the one in charge now, and the name is Greed.”

He grinned, and Q’s guts twisted at the sight, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. (He could still hear the sound of Bond’s screams piercing all the way down the long corridors. The way his body had writhed and bucked in violent pain as it died and regenerated again and again, rejecting the philosopher’s stone that had been wrongfully injected into it. The way he had suddenly gone lax while Q had done his best to burn through the literal living wall of obstacles out of existence to get to him.)

He gathered all his strength to curl up his legs and kick Bond in the stomach.

No, not Bond. (But that was still his face.)

Not anymore. (Still his eyes, his voice, the low gravel of his laughter, chest-deep and oh so warm.)

Just Greed.

(What if he was still in there?)

The momentum of that kick thrusted Q out of the vice-like grip as he landed onto the ground with a dull thud. A twang of stabbing pain in his side knocked the air out of his lungs, distracting him from the stings of having steel claws dug long strips into either side of his throat.

(The thing was that: if he really was still in there…)

“Damn it,” Bond—Greed—hissed, staggering back before steadying himself with an annoyed huff of breath.

Like this, Q recognized that whoever was in front of him then, despite appearing and sounding exactly like him, didn’t have the firm stance that Bond had always maintained, edged into his bones from all the arduous training he’d put himself through.

The red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand seared into Q’s vision like a brand, as though sealing a death sentence.

(... If he really was still in there, Bond wouldn’t have willingly punched a hole straight through Q.)

Once the thought sank in, Q’s stomach plummeted.

“Could you stop being such a nuisance?” Greed clicked his tongue.

When he tried to reach out again, molten fire engulfed the room at another snap of the fingers.

And in the roaring flames, Q screamed.

He wakes with a startled gasp, cold sweat breaking all over.

It takes a moment, but the familiar ceiling of his office finally shifts into focus once more, and Q lets out a shuddered sigh. The documents he was looking at lie strewn across the littered desk surface right where he left them, and at this very moment, the phone rings, shattering the disquiet that has settled over his foggy mind.

He doesn’t notice the long overcoat that’s, apparently, been laid over his person while he slept until he reaches over to make a grab for the handset. It slides down from over his shoulders and pools in the middle of his lap with a rustling of fabric.

Q purses his lips and picks up, free hand settling over his now healed side to ease the aching phantom pain.

“Yes.”

“Brigadier General, sir,” the operator greets. “Major General Moneypenny is on the line for you.”

“Put her through.”

The line clicks after a final ‘yes, sir,’ and instantly, Eve’s voice filters through from the other side. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still there despite the atrocious hours.” It isn’t a question, and he smiles.

“Hypocrite,” he replies without heat, thumb smoothing along the raised ridges of those scars that he can still feel even through the thick layers of his uniform. “How has Briggs been welcoming you back?”

“Oh, you know, the usual warmth and sunshine,” she says, a joking lilt to her tone, and Q winces just from imagining the howling gales of a normal Briggs snowstorm that must be sweeping through the barracks even as they speak. “Now, enough of your diversion scheme. How are things on your side?”

Q thinks he’s too tired to do much of anything else and chooses the easy way out. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Eve hums, entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t point out that his answer isn’t all that she asked. She knows him too well by now to press. “Sometimes, though, I do wonder if you should’ve just retired and gone to Rush Valley to do whatever it is that you automail enthusiasts do.”

The sentiment sends a soft snort through his nose. Not that he doesn’t wish to be a simple automail mechanic from time to time, especially when the price paid doesn’t seem equivalent to subsequent results, but in life, simple wants and actual needs are two different things.

They’ve all learnt this the hard way.

Even so, Q appreciates Eve looking out for him. Thousands of miles away, she’s still one of the few people who truly know and understand him. One of the few whom he trusts with his life. “Oh, definitely—once I find someone suitable to man the post for me, that is,” he muses, only half-serious. “No promises otherwise.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Sir.”

“Come in,” he calls and straightens up, popping the crick in his neck. “Gotta go now. Send my regards to Captain Tanner, would you? God knows the length that man’s gone to to keep up with you.”

Eve laughs, and he smiles, too, just as Bond walks in and closes the door behind him.

(There’s no Ouroboros tattoo on his hand, Q notes and subconsciously relaxes.)

(He shouldn’t feel bad for it—but he does anyway. Just the same as Bond, who didn’t mean to lose control long enough for Greed to hurt Q the way he did.

Emotions are fickle things.)

Eve has gone quiet for a long second as well, probably considering her words. In a way, Q feels he already knows what they are going to be, and grim satisfaction paints his tongue when what she says next is precisely just that, “How’s First Lieutenant Bond?”

How are things between you two, goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless.

Bond is patiently waiting for him—hands tucked behind his back, perfect military posture, too proper and formal to bear—and Q squeezes the coat that remains in his lap.

(He misses the casual dynamics, easy tandem they used to have. One not laden with guilt and second-guessing.

It’s just one more hurdle for them to work through, he supposes.

Together.)

“We’re… getting there,” he replies, mildly surprised by his own honesty. “Talk to you later. Goodbye, Major General.”

He hangs up, and Bond has gotten closer, despite maintaining a minimum distance of three steps.

Q crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits, eyes expectant.

Eventually, Bond can’t but break the silence. “Was that Major General Moneypenny, sir?”

Q suppresses a sigh and nods. “Yes. Just one of her usual check-ins.” He pauses. “She did ask about you, about us, and how we were doing. And I said we were getting there—you heard.”

When Bond doesn’t reply, Q narrows his eyes, shrewd. “So, are we, Lieutenant? Getting there?” Most likely, he’s coming off much harsher than he originally planned, but Q doesn’t give a damn about that. Not right now. “You said you were following me to the top. Is this how you intend on doing it? By pretending to be a good little model soldier while keeping me at arm’s length?”

At this, Bond seems to further straighten, if that’s still physically possible. There’s steel in his eyes, but not the lost, abandoned kind given into avarice like that of Greed.

It’s all just sheer solid nerve and hardened integrity. It’s all Bond and so much more.

“I will do whatever it takes to protect and help you reach your goal—”

“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect me for damn if you’re always three steps away from me! That only means we’re no longer the team you seem to think we are.” Q’s mouth twists into a snarl. “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Bond?”

Bond turns his head away, staring out into the endless expanse of the night through the large panel of Q’s windows. Bond has never liked them, these ‘uselessly big windows that Central Command seems to prefer for their offices.’ Makes his job harder than it already is, he said.

Q tears himself away from the sudden memory.

“My only mission is to protect you,” Bond grinds out, hands that have fallen to his sides clenching into fists.

“And you have not failed.” Q’s voice has somewhat softened as he stands and clears his throat. “What happened, back then. It just means that we need to update our measures of counterattacks.”

They stare at each other now, mutual challenge shining in their eyes like a beacon to safety in the middle of a raging storm.

(“Q. I’m sorry.” Bond said, desperation ripping his voice raw and vulnerable. Q had never heard him like this. “I–I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“James, there’s nothing to forgive.”)

“We can discuss that tomorrow, then.” Bond bends down to pick up Q’s coat from the floor and gives it a few perfunctory pats before handing it back over, a tentative smirk on his lips. “Are you ready to go home for the night, sir?”

Q scoffs and takes it, not hiding his own smile. “Just about.”

It’s a long road ahead, but they’re getting there all right.

Bonus art:

#00q #teambondvillains #007 fest #007 fest 2020 #my art #my writing #my drawing

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oopsitsstella · 4 years ago

Text

Tribute

Steve Rogers x Rosabella Barnes, Steve Rogers x OC

Fandom: The Avengers

Summary: Rosie find out about one of Steve’s tattoos

Warnings: Slight angst, but mostly just fluff, like one swear word (if you count hell as a swear word)

A/N: This was written before I had fleshed out all the details of Rosies story, so this is not part of Rosies main story

This fic was inspired by an art piece by @petite-madame here on tumblr called “I’m still here, Punk.” I recommend you check them out!

It had been just over two weeks since Rosie was brought out of Cyrofreeze. Getting used to the new time was a slight struggle, but having Steve by her side made it easier. He was there to help her if she got confused, he was there when she couldn’t fall asleep at night, he was there whenever she needed him, and if she didn’t.

The clock was nearing eleven at night, the sky outside the Avengers tower dark and littered with stars. Rose was sitting on the bed, her legs covered by the blankets, while Steve was in the bathroom, finishing getting ready for bed. When Steve finally joined her in bed, Rosie got ready to properly lay down under the covers, when she saw something peeking out from the edge of Steve’s t-shirt sleeve.

Rosabella was aware of Steve’s tattoos. She had seen a few of them, it was hard not too, with them being visible with him just wearing a t-shirt, but there were a few she still hadn’t seen.

“Is this another tattoo?” She asked, running her thumb over the dark ink she could see.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve said after looking to see what Rose was implying.

“Can I look?”

“Yeah, of course.” At his consent, Rose grabbed the sleeve of the t-shirt and pulled it up, and gasped when she saw what it was.

She was greeted with an image of a smiling woman, with long, brown hair and pale blue eyes. It was her. She was surrounded by a wreath of red roses and lilies of the valley. Underneath the image were two banners, one reading ‘Rosabella Barnes’ and the other reading ‘1920-1948’.

“Steve…” She spoke softly, running her hand over the tattoo. “It’s beautiful.”

“I wanted something to remember you by, a way to always have you with me. When I started getting some tattoos, I decided I should get one for you.” Steve explained, before chuckling. “But it seems I got one of the dates wrong.”

Rosie also chuckled. 1948, the year she went into Cyrofreeze.

“1948. And yet here I am.” She said.

“Thank god for that.” Steve said, his voice turning more serious. “I still feel bad for leaving you.”

“Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“I know, I know, you keep telling me, but I can’t help it.” Steve wrapped his arm around her, bringing her into a hug. “You already lost Bucky, you didn’t deserve to lose me too. You didn’t deserve to lose either of us.”

“Steve.” She said, turning his head to face her. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. It happened, yes, but it’s in the past. And I sure as hell don’t plan on leaving.”

“I still don’t know how I got so lucky.” Steve smiled softly.

Rose returned the smile, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“As much as I would love to stay up and talk about how much I love you, can we please go to sleep?” Rosie asked, making Steve chuckle. “We can stay in bed tomorrow and talk about it then.”

“I like the sound of that.” Steve said, laying down with Rose still in his arms.

“Maybe we should do something about the dates on the tattoo.” Rosie mused after a moment.

“Oh yeah? What do you think we should do? Cross it out?” Steve asked.

“I mean… we could.” Steve laughed her words.

“Just that or do you want to add something? Could write a message.”

“What would you add?”

“I don’t know. You could remind me I’m still here. A reassurance.”

“I mean I could always do that in person.” Rosie said, nuzzling her face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “I’m still here, sweetheart.”

“You could write that.” Steve said, making Rose laugh. “Cross out 1948 and write ‘I’m still here, sweetheart’ underneath.”

“I kinda want to do that now.” Rose said, laughter still in her voice.

“I think we’ll have to think about this more tomorrow.” Steve said, tightening his arms around her. “Right now, I want to sleep, and hold you in my arms.”

“I think I could do that.”

#steve rogers x oc #captain america x oc #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #avengers x oc

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fairyshuuu · 5 years ago

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wild valley pt2 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 5.6k .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. romance, angst (smut in the future)

.warnings. mature language, sexual mentions, drug use

♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser. part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6. part 7. (m) part 8. (m)

For it being such a small room, this is probably the most calm place in the whole garage. The front desk is crowded by Baekhyun’s obnoxious presence, and the main room is always packed with the bunch of them, whether work is being done or not. But this room, hanging almost separate from the main room, feels peaceful. The windows are covered by thin, black curtains to keep out some of the heat, instead relying on the sharp brightness from the UV’s lining the ceiling.

It’s a place he’s comfortable with, having gone here enough times to know it inside out and back again. The loud buzzing of the needle is, if anything but that, the rhythm in which his blood pumps and his bones shake. Literally. Jongdae lets out a little breath as his tongue peeks out of his lips, almost finished filling in the big black area of the drawing. Chanyeol lets his eyes go around the room, glancing over the many navy filing cabinets filled with designs and drawings. The door connecting it to the garage is glass, but has blinds to cover it as well.

You can never be too careful, Chanyeol guesses. After all, having tattoos isn’t illegal, but giving them is, and though police are corrupted beyond belief, Jongdae probably doesn’t feel like doing time. Better safe than sorry. The blond moves the tattoo gun with an ease that only comes from many years of practice, on himself and on Chanyeol probably. Some of the smaller tattoos on Yeol’s lower arms are slightly faded or have spread out, proof of the practice his friend has put in to get where he is.

Though he could cover them up, the tattoos have their own memories, and so he chooses to keep them. Chanyeol pulls in a deep breath as he looks over at his bicep, able to imagine the finished piece already. At his little hiss, Jongdae looks over to check if he’s doing good, to which Chanyeol nods out of habit. “Can we take a little break, I want a smoke,” he sighs though, looking at the shine of the white lights on the polished concrete. Jongdae pulls the needle from his skin to wipe some of the blood and excess ink away, before grinning down at his friend.

“I’m ‘this’ close to finishing it, Yeol.” He holds his two index fingers about a hair apart, and shakes his head. “You really can’t sit out the rest? You have a problem.” As if he doesn’t know that himself. Chanyeol rolls his eyes and pushes himself up, before freezing mid-way.

“Ah shit, you’ll have to wrap it up then, right?” Jongdae nods with a knowing grin, the wrapping up process is annoying to say the least. With a groan, Chanyeol drops back down on the chair, running a hand through his white hair in annoyance. “Fine, finish it then. But hurry, I need to take a leak.”

Jongdae glares at him, before pushing his head back down. “I’m not gonna hurry anything, unless you want to mess it all up.” Jongdae brushes his hair out of his face, and turns the machine back on, grabbing a steady hold on his arm. “Now, quit being annoying and stop flexing.” Chanyeol grins, before relaxing into the seat, and looking back at the ceiling. A soft ring announces the new presence before he even opens the door. Chanyeol doesn’t flinch when the needle is pushed back in his skin.

The door is shoved open, revealing the older, dark haired man. “You sure took your time,” Jongdae sighs, but gratefully turning over his shoulder to smile at Junmyeon. The elder has a tray of coffees, and hands them to the others with a little nod. “Thank you.”

Chanyeol grabs onto the cup with his free hand, and immediately takes a big gulp. “If I’m not allowed to feed my one addiction, I’ll feed the other.” The guys smile at him, though Junmyeon looks at him with a little disproving frown. The brunet plops down in the chair of Jongdae’s desk, brushing some of the papers to the side. He takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the chair, before leaning closer to inspect Yeol’s arm. Said man sighs deeply. “I’ve got something to mention though, Suho.”

“What’s up?” he asks, frown now settling deeper between his brows. Maybe it’s the fact that Yeol speaks so little, that makes both of his friends worried right away. Whatever is important enough to tell, must be important enough to worry about.

“I, uh-” Chanyeol pulls in some air at a particularly painful part, before looking between the two others, “I found someone trying to break in yesterday night. When I came back from the club, while you guys stayed. I came here so I could work some more, right?” Both nod, Jongdae finishing the last few black lines covering his arm. “I didn’t recognize him, so it’s probably nothing to worry about. I scared him away, but the lock to the door needs to be changed.”

Junmyeon bites his bottom lip in thought, before giving a curt nod. “I’ll check for any new gang mentions just in case, but it doesn’t sound too dangerous.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go find Yixing, he’ll know if anything is up. Find me when you’re done here, yeah?” With Chanyeol’s nod as agreement, Junmyeon makes his way to the door, setting off the bell again. “Byun, where’s Lay at?”

Jongdae sighs deeply, and leans back. He wipes the rag over his work again, and smiles. “I think— you’re done, man. Let’s go see it in the mirror, yeah?” Jongdae grabs his hand to pull him up, and wipes his stained hands on his pants, before giving the taller a little poke. “Hey, Yeol?”

“Hm?” Chanyeol looks over to the blond, and raises an eyebrow. Jongdae is probably one of the people least concerned about the gang wars and the politics, but even he has a sharp frown lining his brow.

“You sure it’s nothing? It might not seem like much, but that’s always how it starts. I can’t help but think of Dongkyu whenever new groups of people arrive in town.”

“Don’t tell Junmyeon that,” Chanyeol says, voice lowering slightly.

Jongdae nods. “Why do you think I waited until he left? I know I shouldn’t worry, but— Just rather have you be careful, is all. I’m not planning on losing anyone else.” Chanyeol doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to for Jongdae to understand his response. Chanyeol too- has lost enough people he cared about. “Let’s go look at your newest decoration now, come on,” Jongdae brightens, shoving him towards the full-body mirror next to the desk. “If you like it we can wrap it up. And then you’ll have to come back probably in a few days to check for any patchy parts.”

Chanyeol grins at his excitement, and checks the new tattoo in the mirror, right in the center of his bicep. The skin is still red from the intrusion, but soon it’ll heal and leave another memory on his skin. This one is a deer skull, Jongdae’s design and it fits right in with his others. He gives his friend a small smile, and squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, Chen. It looks great.”

“I’m glad.”

You pull your hair out of it’s messy bun, and breathe out deeply, trying to settle your heartbeat. Your clammy hands are wiped on your pants, before push them to your sides. You’re not the most sporty person by far, but going on a run always makes you feel better. Definitely now you’ve been eating all this ice cream. You sigh and make your way to the door, ignoring the cigarette ends on the sidewalk. It really seems that everyone in this city except you and your sister smoke.

When you ring the bell, there’s no answer. You look around the street with a frown. Your sister’s car is nowhere to be seen, but that isn’t out of the ordinary. There’s barely any space to park, so she chooses to leave it around the corner most times. You huff, before walking over to the window. Your big sister always leaves the key on the top of the windowsill, a place just obvious enough for people not to try it out. The white paint of the windows are chipped, showing the wood under it in multiple places. They’re also impossibly high, and you’re stuck wondering how Yuna ever got it up there in the first place.

No matter how much you reach, you can’t get up there. You glare at the windowsill, before taking a step back. Fine, then you’ll have to resort to other measures. You bend down and kick your shoe off, before tossing it at the windowsill. It makes a loud thump when it hits, but still the stupid key doesn’t fall down. This is why you should always have a key on you. You hop over and pick up the shoe again, now using it to try and reach higher.

“Need help?” a soft voice sounds. You’re so surprised that you physically jump, turning on your heel. The man that stands on the sidewalk is tall, and at least a good five inches taller than you. He has soft features, you first notice, bright, round eyes and a cute button nose. His lips are prettily curled in a natural smile. His dark, orange hair looks surprisingly amazing on him, and is messed casually forward to hide most of his brows. You can’t help but notice the piercing in his nose, and the multiples littering his ears as they catch the sunlight.

He’s wearing a black, leather jacket with a badge on the right side, blue and red, and ripped dark jeans that fit tightly around his thighs. His shoes are worn to the point where you can’t recognize what brand they would be, but the black combat boots still look stylish on him. He’s really handsome, and so you feel immediately embarrassed being caught looking like this, sweaty and gross. He doesn’t seem to care too much though. His warm eyes glint when you don’t respond right away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I was just- uhm—” you panic, putting your shoe back down. What if he thinks you’re trying to do something illegal? Because you’re not, you’re just an idiot.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles, stepping into the dry grass and closer to you, “I know Yuna hides her key there. Let me help.” Before you can move out of the way, he’s reaching up over you for the key. This means your face is level with his chest, only covered in a dark gray shirt. You notice he smells impossibly good, like something fruit, sweet and sugary. He smiles wider when he hands you the key, before taking a few steps out of your space. When you kinda just stare at him for a moment, he flushes. “Oh, I’m— I’m a friend of Yuna’s roommate, I’ve been here quite a lot. I’m Baron.”

He hold his hand out to you, so you slowly take it, shaking just briefly. Though you want to be sceptical about this stranger, he looks genuine. “I’m Y/N, Yuna’s little sister. I moved in a couple of days ago.” He nods in understanding, before you turn to the door. “Uhm- come in.” When you unlock the door, you slip in quickly, kicking off your shoes and looking around the street. Baron follows behind politely. “Is that your car?” you point out, gesturing at the dark blue car parked across the street. You don’t know much about cars, but it’s a pretty one, and looks like it’s been taken great care of.

“Yes, it’s my baby, that one.” He smiles, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. For a second you just stand in silence, before Baron speaks up. “Oh, I came to get some of the stuff Maria left behind. She was gonna come get it herself but she had to work today. You don’t have an idea where it is, by any chance?” As you close the door, you push out your lips and shake your head.

“I don’t know, sorry. Yuna cleared everything out before I came, so I don’t know where she would have put everything. But I’m sure she didn’t just toss it out!” You squeeze past him to walk over to the door at the end of the hall and open it. “Take a seat, you can wait here for her. I don’t know where she ran off to so quickly, but I think she’ll be home soon enough.”

You open the curtains to let some of the light in, and take a deep breath. Inside, the temperature is just great. The coldness sticks to your skin, a grateful change from the suffocating warmth outside. “You’ve been here for a while, right? Is it always this hot?”

Baron laughs as he takes a seat in the sofa, and looks over at you. “Pretty much. A lot of my friends are new in town too, they’re struggling with the heat. It’s pretty much the only thing they can talk about, if I’m being honest. That it’s too warm to do anything during the day.” He gestures his face at you though. “But if you can go for a run in this weather, you must be pretty heat resistant.”

“I just forced myself to,” you giggle, “because if I keep eating ice cream like I’ve been doing, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up becoming one myself.” As he laughs, you hear the familiar sound of a car making it’s way down the street, and you press your face to the glass. Yuna’s old white car passes the window, slowing down. “Ah, there she is. I’m gonna go take a cold shower, upstairs.” You turn to him again, and give him a little wave. “It was nice meeting you, Baron.”

The young man blinks his wide eyes a few times, before nodding. “Yeah, it was nice meeting you too. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“If you come buy some ice cream of mine, sure,” you wink, before slipping through the door to open it for your sister.

It’s late, though he’s lost track of how late exactly. All he knows is that good people are asleep right now, and he’s not. Chanyeol blows out all the smoke in his lungs, and looks around his living room. There’s too much people gathered here, but for once he doesn’t mind. Tonight feels like a night he’ll call his, having modded the car Jongin won with, and though the King of the streets drives the best, it’s the teamwork that did it. Well, that’s what he thinks, at least. Junmyeon sits next to him, tossing back the amber liquid in his glass like it’s water.

Chanyeol hasn’t drank much yet, not tonight. Tonight, he hungers for something stronger. He aches for something to make his world float, and this sends him to sit up from the couch to make his way through the people. The good thing about partying in your own house, is that no one can tell you what to do, and what not to. He pulls the end of his smoke out of his lips to put it out on the stone counters as he passes them, entering into the room connected to his living room.

The kitchen has significantly less people, but has a clearer purpose. The pillows tossed in the corner are occupied by people making out, some sprawled out over the cold tiles without a care. His coffee table has been dragged over to the middle of the room, and is surrounded by people sitting on the floor. White powder is spread on the table, as someone drags clear lines to separate it. Some people are pouring new drinks, way too much vodka being poured into the glasses, not that anyone would care.

He makes his way over to the corner to search for his friend, as music blares through his speakers. But sadly, he can see only a tuft of Baekhyun’s brown hair, where he sits with a body on top of his and their faces connected. If he would try to get in there now, Byun would definitely connect his fist with Chanyeol’s nose. Fuck. He doesn’t feel like drinking so much that his head feels like it’s being squashed by gravity in the morning. He looks over at the small table, watching as a girl parts the clean lines. As he stares, the girl looks up to catch his eyes, and cocks her head to ask him over.

But Chanyeol shakes his head and pushes past some people to go for the drinks instead. Coke is only for very special days, and this isn’t one. Before he can make it there, a strong hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him back. Jongin. His purple hair is brushed sleek back, eyes free but equally as dark. He smiles at the taller, and then points through the people at what Chanyeol can only assume is where Baekhyun is making out. “I saw you try to find him, but he’s a little preoccupied right now. I thought business came before sex, but not for him, it seems.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s hard to shake habits,” Chanyeol nods, low voice barely reaching over the music. “I don’t want to disturb him when he’s like that. I’ll just get whined at, or worse.” Jongin nods and laughs, lifting his shoulders.

When Chanyeol turns to go find his spot in the couch again, Jongin pulls him back though. “Oh, Yeol. I have—” he reaches in his inner jacket pocket, and pulls something out. “I got them from Byun earlier tonight, and was gonna do them with Kyungsoo. But he’s gone off wherever the the fuck, so if you want.” The round pills in his hand are half red, half blue, small enough to loose if you’re not careful. Chanyeol takes a breath, before taking one of them and knocking his fist with the younger’s.

“Cheers. To another victory, ey.” He pops the pill in his mouth to feel in slowly dissolve, watching as Jongin does the same. “I’m gonna go join the mess in the main room, you coming?” Jongin opens and closes his eyes a few times, before nodding. As they push back through the people, Chanyeol takes off his jacket. It’s already too warm and he’ll surely get even more sweaty in half an hour. He tosses the jacket on the dining table, and makes his way over to the couch to crash down next to Chen and Suho.

Jongdae looks over at him with slightly hazy eyes when he does, lifting a brow. “You don’t look very drunk for the host of the party. You need some help there? If you mix whiskey and a shot of vodka—”

“I’m good, Dae. Don’t worry about me.” He holds his tongue out then, showing the last of the dissolving pill on his tongue. Jongdae’s eyes widen a little, most likely since Chanyeol doesn’t do this a lot. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it any less than his friends do. He lets his head fall back into the couch, and takes a deep breath. The air smells like alcohol, like smoke and weed and strangely— like memories. Maybe this is why he chooses not to throw parties in his own house anymore. When Jongdae’s hand comes around his wrist in concern, Chanyeol just smirks slightly. “What’s up? You want a kiss?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes before breaking out laughing. “Every time I’m genuinely concerned about you, you have to do something to make yourself seem like even more of an asshole, huh?” Chanyeol just smiles, and looks across the crowd of people gathered in front of his eyes. Bodies move together, swaying limply to the beat like they can’t control their limbs anymore. They most likely can’t, since he knows that no one here is sober. As he watches, tracks of magenta seem to follow the movements, his eyes heavy and light at the same time. He can vaguely make out Jongin’s face in the mix, grinding against some girl with fiery red hair.

When he looks over to his side, Jongdae’s gone. His head swirls, and when he looks up again it’s to realize that he has no idea how much time has passed since taking the pill. It could be a few seconds or an hour if him laying here, he has no idea. His body is hot, clothes clinging tightly to him. The alcohol he had earlier feels burning in his stomach, the good kind of heat. And then someone is stepping in front of his view, and before he can get annoyed she puts his hands on her hips.

Chanyeol looks up from under his lashes, and takes the girl in. It’s the girl who was pulling lines on the coffee table earlier, her hair how tied up and her eyes dark, pupils wide. She leans forward to put her hand on his shoulder as Chanyeol rights himself a bit, hovering her lips over his ear. “We don’t know each other yet.” She pulls back to brush some of his hair out of his face, and then leans in again. Her lips burn against the cold of his piercings along the shell of his ear. “I’m Hana.”

Chanyeol slides his hands down her hips to pull her on top of him on the couch, body to body on fire. “That’s easily fixed then, Hana. I’m Yeol.” The girl tilts her head back a little to smile at him with red lips and bleached hair, her eyes black. She mouths something he can’t make out, before their lips meet in a rough pull of desire. His fingers tangle in her hair, her boobs pressed against his chest and her thighs slotted over his easily.

“Take me home, Yeol,” she whispers in his ear, tugging on the soft hair at his neck. Chanyeol smiles when her lips come back over his, her moan going lost in the sea of music and people. He breathes out deeply, before standing up and holding her body up in his arms. Hana squeaks and wraps her arms around his neck.

“We won’t have to go very far, baby.” He pushes through some people he can’t really make out, and licks a strip up from her chest to her neck. At her moan, Chanyeol smiles against her skin. “Bet you’ll look so pretty spread out on my bed.”

Today has been a slow day. It’s Saturday, which you would think would bring tons of customers, but nope. Yuna warned you that everyone in this burning city goes out on fridays, or, well— that they go out all the time but most on fridays. So everyone is probably in bed with a big, fat hangover. You’d call it unfortunate, but it doesn’t change much. You peek out of the shop to look both sides of the street, but everything is empty. It’s coming up on lunch time soon, so a bit of peace is appreciated.

It’s not that you don’t want to go out or anything, but you still don’t have friends to go with. You’d feel horrible making your sister go with you, Yuna’s really not a party animal. She could be, if she wanted to, but your sister has grown out of the party fase when she was forced to move out by your parents and figure out a way to make money all on her own. You sigh, and wave some cool air in your face with a paper flyer.

Since Yuna has left you to take over the shop, she’s been looking at opening another shop, and you couldn’t be more proud. You’re really lucky having her. You turn when the machine beeps, indicating that your caramel and clove ice cream is ready. That’s probably the most fun part of working here. You get to experiment with flavours and create your own kinds. As you ungracefully plonk the heavy bowl beside the others and slot it into the free hole, a person makes their way up the street.

White hair, dark clothes— and immediately a smile makes it’s way up to your lips. The stranger from before is wearing a black t-shirt today, his overalls only half on and tied around his waist. This way you get a view of the tens of tattoos adorning his arms, too far to make out in detail but impressive to say the least. He has his signature frown on his face, looking appropriately pissed after what you guess must be a hangover.

You’d be pissed too if you had to work with the pounding between your ears. The white haired man makes his way across the street much like you remember him doing, feet dragging and cigarette between his fingers. As soon as he gets close enough, you put your paper flyer down and brush some of the strands of hair behind your ear. “Hey, you. I knew I’d see you again some day.”

He looks up from the road when you talk, and stops in his tracks. He’s still standing in the street, but doesn’t seem to care much. He just lifts an eyebrow at you, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You work on Saturdays too? Really?” Though he looks standoffish, you swear that you can see some kind of intrigue sparkle in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

“I don’t know why you say it like that, when I’m clearly not the only one.” When you cock your head at his outfit, he shakes his head and walks off the street onto the sidewalk, only a few feet away from you now. You can see the dark circles under his eyes, dark purple against his soft skin. You don’t know this man, so you shouldn’t care, but some worry settles in your stomach while you look. “Maybe you should take a day off, though, get some sleep? I’m not trying to tell you what to do but you look tired. And if I know anything, it’s that you always work better after a nap!”

The man licks both of his fingers and pressed them to the end of his smoke, putting it out that way, before he tosses it further up the sidewalk. Rude. Though he doesn’t say anything, you can see that your words work through into his mind, eyes moving from the floor to you. Eventually he sighs, and shakes his head at you, his low voice sinking even lower. “I don’t need sleep. And I’d suggest you don’t give random people on the street advice, since not everyone will appreciate your opinions as much as I do.”

As he tilts his head back a little to look at the clouds passing by, you get the opportunity to see the bruises lining both sides of his neck. These, though similar in color, are clearly not from tiredness, and suddenly you realize that you might have held him on a completely wrong level. When he looks back down, he raises his both eyebrows at your silence, before reaching into his pocket. Maybe this isn’t a person you’d make friends with, you suddenly think, looking at him more objectively now. Boys like him are the boys parents tell their daughters to stay away from, but you’ve never been one for judging others by their appearance.

As he takes out the red and white box, you notice how dirty his hands are, covered in a black, grimy oil that leaves black marks on everything he touches. The man doesn’t care, and so that probably means this isn’t a special occurrence to him. “How come you always walk here?” you decide to ask, not willing to let the conversation die down just yet, “Don’t you have a car?” This makes him snort, the sound deep and too short to fully be enjoyed, but enough to make your skin glow.

“I walk here because it’s in walking distance, and because it’s the only moment of my day where I am not surrounded by cars.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you, but as soon as it came his face smooths back to that same frown you’re getting used to. “What’s it to you?”

Shamelessly, you roll your head to the side and tap a little beat into the glass of the display, smiling. “The more I know about you, the closer I get to your heart.”

“Don’t have one,” he sighs, plopping his unlit cigarette between his lips and putting the box back in his pocket.

“I don’t believe that,” you say, just looking at him for a second. When he looks back, you giggle. He looks about ready to escape this conversation, so you pout slightly. “Knowing you won’t give me your name, I’ll go back to my first method, which is selling you something cold instead. I made new sugar & spice flavor, if you wanna try it—” you lean over the bar, ignoring the feeling of the cold metal digging into your belly.

He sighs and looks over his shoulder once, removing the black stains on his large hands with the flimsy piece of cloth he pulls out of his back pocket. The frown on his face is deep again, like he’s constantly tired of you, and maybe he is. But you decide not to care too much, since he could have walked away by now. He’s still standing here, isn’t he? “I already told you I don’t like ice cream.”

“You also told me you don’t want to talk, but here we are.” At your playful grin, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, lips flattening into a line. Once his fingers are decently clean, he gets rid of the rag and strikes his smoke with his lighter. “Oh, come on! It’s hot and you look tired, and everyone likes ice cream! You can’t just ignore me for the rest of the time I’m here.” This makes him raise one eyebrow, and pull open the door to the neighboring shop.

“Watch me,” he says, and with those deep spoken words he walks into the run-down diner, not looking back. You sigh deeply as you watch his figure disappear into the darkness of the hall, but can’t help the wide smile that comes to your lips.

As your sister chops the bell peppers, you peel the carrots, watching her over your shoulder. She looks tired, hair messily pulled in a ponytail that has chucks spilling out carelessly. Seems the heat is making everyone tired. Or maybe, not everyone has that childlike enthusiasm anymore. Most people have had it harder than you have after all. You sigh softly, before pouting. “Hey, Yun?”

“Yes, Dew,” she calls, voice smiley despite her slight frown as she puts the vegetables in a bowl. You smile a little at your childhood nickname, honeydew. It was the nickname your aunt used to call you after your favorite ice cream flavor, and somehow it stuck.

“You know a lot of the people here, right?”

Your sister hums slightly, and walks across the kitchen to grab a spatula. “Well, I wouldn’t say a lot. I know a decent amount of people, yes. Why?”

“There’s this guy that I keep seeing around. He has white hair and a bunch of tattoos, and is very handsome. And I don’t know his name but—”

Yuna freezes mid-motion at your words, before she turns. Her eyes look wide, mouth opening slightly. “Is he really tall? Kind of broody, doesn’t smile a lot?” You nod, surprised at her ability to describe him so accurately. “That’s Park Chanyeol. He’s—” she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, and frowns, “for lack of a better word, he’s trouble. Him and his friends sort of run this city, when lights go out. I’ve never had to deal with them personally, but I know that they run that car repair shop down in the city. Exo Customs.”

“Park Chanyeol,” you repeat, looking at the floor with a little frown.

“Oh, no.” Yuna points her finger at you, and shakes her head as she wipes her hands. “No, you don't. I know that look you have, it never brings anything good. You can make friends with anyone else in this town, but not the Exo guys. They— I know you see the good in everyone, but they’re not to be messed with.” She looks intently into your eyes, checking for any kind of disagreement, but she won’t find any.

You pout. “You say that as if they’d want to make friends with me anyway. This Chanyeol guy always glares at me whenever I see him.” When you turn away from her, Yuna sighs deeply, and comes over to give you a hug.

“I’ll take you to meet some of my friends tomorrow, okay? I know you’re a social, little butterfly, and all this isolation must be draining you.” When she gives you a little wink, you smile at her gratefully. She knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. “You’ll be able to make all the friends you could ever want, I mean that. Just no Exo, ‘kay?”

“No Exo,” you repeat, smiling down at the cutting board in front of you.

Oof. I hope you liked this chapter!! Having a slow start, it’s nice. For once you’re not just dropped into the shit! But if you know me, you know it won’t stay this easy. So strap in or something, because hopefully we’ll get dramatic soon. Thank you for reading, my little muffins!

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series, you can send me a message! @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop---scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell--tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @my-spot-at-the-sun

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decendingfromgrace · 5 years ago

Text

Festival of Sound

Fantasy!Bakugou x fantasy!fem!reader 18+

Warnings: violence, blood, gore, harassment (not by Katsuki), lots of fluff, sweet times and happy ending, cultural customs and world building (I have cultural traditions and some background information so that’s what I’m talking about)

Words: 8,700

King Katsuki and his beloved wife are going on a trip to reader’s homeland but there’s a reason why she left in the first place and Katsuki finds out all to well.

@lady-bakuhoe I figured out how to make header images so thank you for the help!

Artwork in header not mine, and I couldn’t find the artist, sorry.

The king of all dragon kind, the great progenitor of the ancient wyverns was not expecting his dearly beloved dragon queen to burst into their throne room raving nonsense about some kind of festival, or so he tried to gather. Her sparkling eyes, wide smile and pacing made him not only curious but also annoyed slightly, however when she shoved a flyer into his face he suddenly understood what she was excited about. The flyer was majestic and filled with fanciful words about a musical festival that would span for three days, it's famous title sprawled across the front of the worn paper flyer.

"The Festival of Sound?" The king asked with a raised blond eyebrow at his queen who grinned intoxicatingly. She nodded and settled onto the identical throne as her royal husband's and leaned over onto his shoulder.

"Once in five years, when the twin moons are full, my old town celebrates by throwing a huge festival. There's music and dancing and they serve amazing food, oh Katsuki it's simply amazing. I was thinking we could go together, we would only miss the first day but-"

"No." The queen paused her excited rambles to look at her husband’s crimson eyes which were under knitted brows. A frown brought the queen's smile down and all but shattered her joy when his set glistening gaze did not alter.

"Couldn't you think about it first?" The king shook his head and crossed his arms defiantly. If a festival of humans so much as saw the infamous dragon king, they would send for the guards and the joyful festival would turn into a bloodbath. Both rulers knew this, but that didn't stop the striking heart ache the queen felt at the flat disapproval of her beloved. She didn't need his permission to leave, but without him at her side the festival would feel empty and cold.

"I know what you're thinking, but give them a chance. We've been trying to form peace between the humans and dragons for years so why not make this into one of those chances?" She tried to persuade him with her big sparkling eyes and smile but all she was rewarded with was a curt "no" again. She signed and her shoulders hunched, the flyer limply held in her hands, and her eyes darted away as a sober feeling hallowed out her heart.

"You know I haven't visited my old home in a while, and I thought it would be nice to get away from the kingdom for a bit. The festival was just a way for me to show you a portion of my old life, before I became the "Great Empress of Flame"" His eyes sharped at her and a scowl formed over his mouth, while his eyes rolled away from her face. She looked to his face then at the armrest of the polished glittering throne, surrounded by soft furs and treasures, truly a symbol of both their royalty.

"I adore it here, and I love you. I just wanted to show you a bit of my world since you've shown me so much of yours." A full sigh was heaved from the king, his garnet stare softened. The queen rose from her golden throne and crumbled the flyer in her hands. Her striking tattoos along her shoulders and arms, jewelry of beads and dragon teeth necklaces, and her glimmering wedding ring all remained Katsuki of the leaps and bounds she had to undergo to be his other half.

"You're right, it was a dumb idea. I'll go and check on the patrol and then we can go hunting for dinner-" A warm large hand held hers and she looked to her king who was scanning her face with an understanding and loving gaze.

"This really means a lot to you, huh? ....Let me get the patrols set up for the next four days and we can head out first light tomorrow." A dazzling smile plastered onto the queen's countenance and she wrapped the king in her own bone bending hug, she kissed his cheek andsquishes his face in her palms while kissing his nose. .

"Aw Katsu! You really are a big softly under all that fuss and angry eyebrows." The king growled and gently bit the top of her ear but returned the hug nonetheless. The queen really did have a large sway over the king, whether he admitted it or not. She pulled away and kissed his forehead, eyes alight with a new found eagerness and she laughed at the disheveled looking king who was blushing fervently from his wife’s adoration.

"I'll go pack some provisions while you go take care of the patrols. This is going to be so much fun Katsuki, thank you!" She smiled and he smirked at her back as she fled to their bedroom to pack, her gate gaining a slight bounce in that special way that showed when she was filled with overwhelming joy. He rolled his eyes and stood up, she really was a handful at times but dammit if he didn't love her for it. He marched on to ready the kingdom for the absence of their rulers for the next few days.

"Dumbass, how far away is your home town? We've been flying for days now." It had only been a few hours and the king demanded that the queen would fly on the way there and back since it was her plan to go. She didn't mind, being able to spread her sienna wings and feel the air glide over her scales made the trip worth it, the clouds let small peaks of sunlight shine down on her light red, orange and gold scales. Each royal member of the dragon throne was able to transform into their primordial dragon form, the queen needed to practice for many years before mastering this ability, but her love never allowed her to give up and he suddenly thanked those long hours for he now rested comfortably on her back as she flew. Her chest rumbled at the agitated king riding on her back as she gracefully swooped under an arch made of rock and pulled up to avoid splashing into the sea below. Her hometown was a ways away still, having been founded in an old woods far off from the rest of the world made the small village secluded and practically unknown. Katsuki rolled onto his back and adjusted on the soft scales and small spines along the queen's dragon form and stared out to his right at the cliff side they were flying from, a small bundle of anxiety flared in his chest at the realization they had left their kingdom's territory and were heading farther away from their sanctuary of lush forests, mountains valleys, and their castle of smooth rock and warm stone. He didn't know what to expect to happen at this festival, but he came upon the notion that his loving queen had adapted so much of her heart, body and mind to be his queen and rule his kingdom with him, and so he figured the least he could do would be to see a portion of her old life. He sighed again and rolled into his stomach so he could look at the horns and spines of his lover who was flawlessly navigating the wind currents and ocean they were traveling over. She had come so far from being that meek sell sword that fell into his den during that human raid, to mastering the ways of the dragon kin through intense training and learning of dragon customs, then to claim and ascend onto her rightfully earned throne even after battling to the near death to keep it, her scars showed the signs of her victories. Katsuki found himself pressing himself deeper into the warm scales below him, as his wife gilded around a cascading waterfall, she made sure to wrap her wings around her love to prevent the water from soaking him.

He didn't understand the custom, he didn't understand the importance of dancing and music but the simple reason that he didn't need to know why but how to make her happy made him join his queen on her small journey. She was excited and that was enough for him, so he remained quite as she rose above a jagged portion of seaside rock and looked out on a vast new land of grasslands and spare patches of trees and a few veins of rivers that pooled into moderately sized lakes.

The day moved quickly as the sun was venturing below the horizon and the droopy feeling of night time fatigue began to seep into the mind of the two traveling lovers. A great roar of a yawn echoed from the maw of the sienna dragon ruler, her flying pattern faltered but she was quick to readjust. She shook her mighty horned head and pushed on ward as the dense forest came into view, determination forcing her to set aside her waning tenacity. A hand pressed firmly against her scales on her neck and her gaze looked to her right shoulder where Katsuki was groggily gazing at her, sleep evident in his eyes and the way his hair stood up at odd ends indicated his interrupted sleep. A small chuckle was stifled by the dragon queen.

"Hey, hon. Come on, you need rest. Make for those caves there and we can set up camp." The dragon queen shook her head again and easily moved her wings to fly faster and harder than before, even though her muscles begged her to stop. A soothing touch of the king's forehead against her neck made his intentions and words make their way into her heart and the idea of rest out weighted the idea of overworking herself. A low groan passes the dragon's jaws and she gently swooped down on powerful wings to the mountain outcropping Katsuki spotted, the stone was chilled but it was a decent shelter from praying eyes and unwanted presences. The great dragon queen crouched to allow her love to slide down from her scaled back, and then transformed back into her human form, tired and weak. The sun's light had long been gone when the queen finally was able to rest, flying over rough terrain, battering winds and unruly seas tried her immensely. In a swift moment, she became weightless as strong arms lifted her into a warm embrace. Her love's hold on her as he carried her to the back of the cave caused that sleepy feeling to multiply.

"You push yourself too far, dumbass." Katskui mumbled to (y/n) who smiled and snuggled deeper into his chest.

"Nah, you're just heavy." A loud set of giggles came from the queen as her sides were tickled until she submitted and was set down onto a soft red cape, the soft fur on the cloak's neck made a comfortable pillow. The dragon king set up the fire they needed to warm the stone around them, and with the flame that resides inside his heart, he blew the scorching heat at the bundle of logs and set it ablaze. The king brought the furs they packed and made a makeshift bed, gathered himself and his love and held her close.

"The town isn't much farther, we should make it by tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait until you hear the music, and try all the food." Katsuki pulled the women closer by the waist and silenced her by pressing her head into his heart beat.

"Right now all I want to hear are your snores, everything else can wait until morning." Small protests of how she did not snore came from the queen but her sleepy mumbles quickly silenced as her soft snoring lulled the king into his own slumber, as their limbs tangled together and their shared heat soothed the chilled stone.

Soft bird song and light morning rays awoke the sleeping queen from the cocoon of blankets and furs she was in. She felt around but found no peacefully rising chest beside her and sat up, her hair in an unruly mess as her eyes groggily opened and closed as she sat up and a massive yawn stretched her mouth. A chuckle was heard and a delightful scent of cooking food roused her.

"The Great Empress of Flame has awoken, all bask in her glorious presence." Katsuki teased as she rubbed her sleepy eyes. Her gaze fully opened and she saw her beloved husband stoking freshly caught elk on a relit fire, his bare chest and back carried the tattoos and scars of many past battles and memories, her favorite one was the ornate letter of her first name on his shoulder. She had her own battle scars and inked symbols on her shoulder resembling his but instead hers had a K. She wrapped his crimson cloak around her shoulders and scooted close towards her love, he kissed her forehead and briefly pressed his forehead to her's before handing her breakfast on a large tree leaf. She took a bite and a warm flush of smoky venison ignited her taste buds and a smile spread over her face. Katsuki's pride swelled as his wife’s contentment was caused by his care and he gladly welcomed her wanting to press into his side as they ate. She draped the cloak around his shoulder and snuggled into his side and he encircled his arm around her shoulder, her free hand passed over a large three gashed scar that resembled a dragon's claw on his back and the king shuddered. Their soft silence was met with the droplets of the morning dew falling from their perch on the overhead stone of the cave.

"We should move soon. If we make it over the valley to the west then we'll make it well in time." The strong blond beside the women swallowed the remains of his food as the queen stood to stretch her arms above her head as the cracking of her stiff joints filled the air, her hair reflected the morning sun like freshly ignited embers and her eyes caught the sun's rays in a shimmer of color.

"That maybe tough since were walking the rest of the way." The queen paused and looked at her king who was caught admiring her beauty, her blush was brushed off as her concern overcame it.

"Walk? We'll lose half the day doing that, by the time we'd make it to the town-"

"The festival will just be starting. You need to regain your strength." The king got up, cracked the stiff vertebrae of his neck, pulled his queen by the back of the neck for a kiss, and began gathering their limited supplies of a pac each.

"Come on. There's a small spring we can go and get cleaned up in. Wouldn't want those townsfolk getting a shitty first impression." The queen shorted and swung her pac over her shoulder and braced as the chilled morning breeze ruffled the cloak around her shoulders and the thick fog that hung over everything clouded her vision slightly. Her husband huffed before clasping the cloak together and pulling it right under her chin, she sneezed when the soft white fur tickled her nose. The king kissed her head before they began to move, the dew droplets on the forest grassy floor made a trail of where they parted the blades and passed under the canopy of ancient oak, the shorter female member of the band of two marveled at the way a spider web caught the glowing sunlight in the water droplets that made perfect circles.

The fog hung heavily, providing ample cover to any spying eyes that may cause threat to the two as the king pushed his pac higher onto his shoulder. He glanced at his wife who was happily watching a pair of birds snuggled into a neat nest of grass and weeds. A cold wind picked up and she shivered and then pulled the warm cloak higher on her neck and sighed at the scent it gave off, he smiled.

Upon seeing the large spring, the two began to settle their belongings under a nearby shaded oak and they parted so she could pick up a few sweet and nice smelling herbs for soap and he made a quick patrol for any threats.

Her soft humming floated to his ears and he turned to find her figure reappearing form the forest brush, a small bundle of flora and foliage in her arms. She smiled and shifted the bundle to show her successful gathering and he smirked at himself before placing his calloused hands on his bare hips which she took notice to and blushed, her gaze looking away.

She settled down at the pool's edge and called him over, he waded through the water and rested his arms and head on the stone ledge.

"Ok, I found lavender, lemon balm, mint, katsura, and chamomile." Which one do you want?" The king lazily pointed to the caramel scented katsura with a goofy smile and she nodded and went to work.

"I'll put this together and then I'll join you." He simply watched her work, studying her movements, facial expressions, and the simple sway of her hair and the twinkle in her eyes. After a bit she was done and handed him his portion of the makeshift soap and he walked back under the waterfall to wash, he felt her eyes gazing at the muscle of his back as he moved.

He was scrubbing his hair when a gasp and shriek was heard making him quickly break through the cascading water, blade drawn ready to confront any danger, yet the only thing he saw was her nude skin shivering violently under the waterfall as her eyes darted to him.

"What are you-?" Katsuki barely asked before she darted to the cave under the fall and huddled closer to herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her.

"You never said the water was this damn cold!" She shivered and a boasting laugh came from the bemused king and the queen nearly dunked him then and there. Seeing his queen's chilled figure but blazing with anger eyes, he calmed and gently picked her up unto his arms, her legs eagerly wrapped around his waist to leech off his warmth as he suspended her.

"Come on dear, it's not that cold." She huffed and grabbed a portion of his soap and began running her digits through his blonde hair as he snuggled his nose into her neck.

"Says you. Now hold still so I can properly wash your hair." He pinched her behind out of revenge for the tease but she smacked his shoulder a moment after, their shared laughs echoed off the cave walls.

"Dunk please." He tilted back into the falling stream of water to rinse the suds from his blonde head, she then followed by ruffling his hair and allowing him to begin his determined scrubbing of her locks. The sleepy camomile sent swirled around the two as he massaged her scalp and she gently ran her hands over and around his body, the rushing water behind them made a nice white sound to soothe the voiceless air. Once she rinsed her hair and allowed her lover to smooth the sweet smelling soap over her skin and she did the same for him, she went back to dry off while he stayed behind to finish up. She made it to the edge of the pool when a call of her name brought her attention to the top of the waterfall where a nude Katsuki stood in all his ridiculous glory, smirking triumphantly and puffing his chest out.

"You like the view darling?" His booming voice called down to his queen who was covering her giggles with her hand, her smile was heard in her yell of a reply.

"I wonder if I join you, I'd get a better one." She felt his newly glowing gaze travel and cover her as she strutted up the stones and met him at the top. Her lover laughed and his gaze held the acceptance of her challenge, the chill from the morning breeze made both of their skin flushed roses but the joy of such a challenge lit a delightful feeling in their hearts.

"Largest splash wins." The queen challenged and the king nodded, his signature confident and smug grin pulling his lips up to show his teeth. The queen gestured for him to proceed and with a mock battle cry, the king dives into the chilled water meters below with a decent splash. He resurfaced with a large smile and a triumphant glint in his red eyes, he laughed loudly and shook the water from his blond hair.

"Beat that hun!"

Upon her over look of old corroded stone, the queen wrapped her hands firmly around her hips and tilted her head up, the slow sun warming the world surrounding the two and the king swore she was an angel as the light danced around her. Surprisingly, she turned around and marched to the point where the grass and stone met and the path down to where the king met her feet. She braced her legs and curled her toes into the earthy soil, then took off into a sprint that hurtled her off the ledge, but before her skin hit the water's surface her dragon form was summoned and a total wave cascaded down onto the king. His sputtering was stopped when a massive warm presence easily lifted him to the dry comfort of the couples makeshift area, a prominent scowl contorting his features.

"That's cheating dumb ass!" The glare sent to the dragon in the pool waned when the dragon became a beautiful woman who was giggling and smiling widely.

"All's fair in love and war, my heart. Now accept that I won and that we need to get moving” The king snorted and bit back his retort and instead grumbled a "yes dear" before doing as she asked, a smug look twinkled in her eyes, while the king braided her wet hair.

Hiking proved to be slightly more tiring than flying to the queen, her feet ached from stepping over the recent quarry she and her lover passed through. Yet as the sun swung higher into the clear sky and stone turned to grass, she found herself enjoying the sights she long thought forgotten. Her days were spent ruling and that potent want for adventure fizzled out when she married the love of her life and decided that no adventure would amount to any satisfaction to the burn in her heart without her love beside her, through each tired step of the way. The dense trees and mountains were behind them now and vast plains of grass and open air became their new surroundings, the wind calmed as the weeds under the pair's feet were crushed. The afternoon had set in not long after their departure from the spring, and the process of changing the hour seemed to speed up more once they left the forest, however in the seemingly endless sight of rolling hills before the two time seemed to bend to its own will and stopped momentarily as the fading light of the sun spread over the hills turning them gold, each hill looked as though it were a sun dipping below its own miniature horizon. The pair stood atop one of these brilliant hills and watched the sun disappear from view fully, leaving only the blue-black shimmer of the night sky above their heads, the hills themselves seemed to sign into slumber as the winds stilled completely. The queen, tired but not undeterred, looked to her love who was silently calculating the remaining distance. She just watched him in the afterglow of the day, the way his eyes sharpened to adjust to the low light, how his jaw set when he began thinking, that tired look under his eyes. Her gaze fluttered up to the heavens and a gasp left her mouth when she saw the lights that seemed to dance across the sky in dazzling spectrums of greens, blues, whites and reds. The light gave a stunning backdrop to the king as his captivating red gaze looked hurriedly at the queen who was gazing at him with a look of love, a blush hit his face and the darker atmosphere he thanked for concealing it.

"What?" He asked.

"Look." She responded and pointed up to those twirling lights that pirouetted across the inky darkness to the starry sky. The king followed her gesture and, for a moment, became captivated in the light's glow as well, but he regained his composure.

"So? They’re just the ancestor lights, we've seen them before." His shrug was half hearted, as he tried not to stare in total rapture at the way the reflection of such a heavenly glow danced in the urethral gaze of the queen.

"Yeah, but never just with you and never this close. It's incredible." She cupped her hand in his and smiled up at him, he looked away embarrassed but returned the gentle squeeze she gave to his hand.

"Yeah....I guess they are." She began walking again, this time with her husband in tow as they made way across the hills to their final destination which lay close beyond. The king understood so much about the world he has ruled for multiple millennia, but he never understood its pure beauty in the simplicity of such small things, the lights for example until they passed through her gaze. Until she stared at the spider web, until she spoke about herbs and weeds as though they were jewels, until she said his name. All he thought were important but never beautiful, until her. In that moment, on that star scattered sky and dusk covered hills, he wished to fly high into the lights above and dance with her, but he knew that fantasy would need to be patient as the low melody of song began to float around the tree line they entered.

Paper lanterns arched between poles dug into the ground, their soft lights glowed in the night as the shapes cut into them cast animal-like shadows on the trees. The blond king glared at the lanterns, seeing the ancestral lights above and thought they provided better illumination to the surrounding wind than the human contraption. His mind shifted to focus on another new scene, the scent of a dozen strange foods flooded the king's senses and his eyes fluttered to his queen who was practically drooling, her nose up taking in all the food. She met his eyes and their glow glimmered with such excitement that he felt his chest become light and a smile broke his normal scowl. She quickly gripped his hand and tugged him through the crowds, naming off foods and pointing out traditional significances all while expertly navigating the hordes of townsfolk who murmured incessantly.

The king's ears pricked at the mention of his queen's name, the source far off to his right and in a hushed tone, but being in a village full of those who did not speak any known language to him made him hyper aware. His ruby glare hardened ten fold at the small band of women who were bunched off to the side of the crowd, all their eyes trained on him and (y/n). Her name was said again and the king let a powerful growl towards the group and they turned red and broke apart. Once he noticed his wife’s soft hand not in his, the king began to frantically push others from his path, his broad stature and strange dress of beads, cloak, and loose pants and hide boots made him stand out which earned him questioning glances. He heard his name but the words after he did not comprehend. His ears tuned into her sweet melodious voice, but the language that made her words was incomprehensible to him, yet he continued to make his way to her. He broke through the crowd and saw her hair shining, her smile bright as she began to harmonize a song with a few others, her hands held multiple bundles of food on sticks. He growled, letting her know of his presence and wanting for her at his side and her eyes snapped to see him. With a knowing look she seemed to bid farewell to the group and joined him, making sure to rub against his bare side in an ancient dragon greeting for lovers.

"Try this! I know you'll love it." She glowed and her feet rocked from the heel to ball as that shimmer of her fluorescent eye color danced in that special way he adored. The king looked at the food and then to her, the scent foreign but not unpleasant as the steam gently swirled into the night's cool touch. She clasped his hand which held the food gently and took her own bite, her soft approving groans enticing the king into taking his own hesitant morsel. A smoky, juicy taste coated his tongue, the wave of pleasurable taste did make him give an almost inaudible growl and he aggressively ate the rest, his queen was beautifully happy with his accepting nature.

"What is this?" He asked, his tongue passing over his fangs as his lover smiled wide at his approval. The soft mutterings of the crowd were all in a language he couldn't understand and the unfamiliar land made his apprehension grow, but her presence settled his aggression if only a fraction, and so he trained his attention on her to quell his anxiety.

"It's called..ah well..what would it be in dragon tongue?" Her brows furrowed as the king took the next portion of food and began to eat, a new taste of fresh tange hit his taste buds. She gave a small laugh before a humorous glint flashed in her gaze.

"The King's Boar." Katsuki's chest puffed slightly before he gripped her waist and offered her some of the food with his signature devilish smile. One member of the crowd bumped into the queen, making her flinch back and stumble, effectively ruining their playful moment. The king immediately turned angered and his red glare followed the random passer by, but her small tug stopped him and he stilled.

"Come on. I'll find us a seat somewhere quiet."

As the crowds began to disperse with full bellies, a roaring fire was fueled and rose high into the sky, many gathered close to the flames for warmth but the two dragon kin hadn't the need. The two sat close on a portion of plush festival blankets and chatted calmly about the traditions of the festival, the female royal had basically fed the king until he could not eat anymore and with his voracious appetite it was a wonder how the festival didn't run out of food. Her excited rambles on the multiple other types of food and traditions was silenced when her name was called from somewhere in the crowd. She stood and shook her head as did the violet haired male who approached her, a strange greeting Katsuki surmised. Katsuki stiffened at the sudden appearance of another male, his dragon kin blood made him extremely territorial so he couldn't help the growl that passed over his fangs. That same unfamiliar language made their conversation unknown and his anger grew twice as much, his wife and this strange new comer approached his sitting position, the king spread his legs and looked down his nose. A symbolic way to show dominance in the dragon kingdom, his wife reframed from trailing her eyes over him as she spoke. His name was said and the redhead gestured to him, his glare doubled as the violet haired man looked at him with curiosity, his gaze matching his hair's coloration.

"My love, this is Shinsou, he's a friend of mine from when I stayed here. He and I grew up before I left and found you." The powerful and intimidating king rose up and made himself look bigger, his arms and chest flexing and assertive grumbles left his jaws. His mate rubbed his arm and he stilled and stopped his dominantly assertive growls. Shinsou says something in that unknown language and then looks to the dragon kin.

"Nice to meet you bitch." Katsuki's eyes became hot flames and his fangs bared, his roars echoed, but he stopped once his queen placed a palm to his chest.

"He meant to say sir! He meant to say sir! He doesn't know dragon tongue that well." Katsuki pulled back, his hand tightly grabbing the woman's hand. The king glared but puffed dismissively, his gaze not losing its intensity and anger as the violet haired Shinsou looked down apologetically. With a roll of his eyes and an outstretch of his hand, the king waited. When nothing happened, the king glared again, but (y/n) calmly explained.

"He doesn't know our costumes dear, just as you don't know his." She turns to Shinsou and says something and his violet eyes look to the king then to his open plam, the other male balls a fist and puts it in his hand. Katsuki growls, claws threatening to slice Shinsou's knuckles. The women stepped in the middle and spoke softly to Shinsou then looked at the male ruler.

"I'm showing him what to do, he only wants to make a good impression.." She brushed her finger tips over his and slid her hand up to his forearm, automatically the king gripped her forearm and so did she to his, then he gripped the back of her neck and pressed their foreheads together, a soft rumble came from the two of them as a affirmative way to show their support.

She looks expectantly at Shinsou and says something that makes him give a nervous laugh, he steps forward. Katsuki opens his palm and Shinsou sloppily mimics the movements to show apology in the ways of the dragon, Katsuki accepts but steps faraway from the male.

"Sorry." The dragon tongue left Shinsou's mouth and Katsuki simply nodded. (Y/N) breathed a small sigh of relief before speaking to Shinsou again and they began speaking excessively about something.

"Wife, what is he saying." The way Katsuki growled "wife" in such a deep possessive way made an icy shiver sprint up the queen's spine and she looked back with hazy eyes that glinted with a new lust. Such an immediate shift in her body language made the king smirk with pride for having caused it.

"He's asking about how we met, what has life been like away from the village, where did I go before meeting you." Katsuki growled and looked away, arms crossed and gaze agitated. (Y/n) sighed and spoke to Shinsou again.

"Me hope you like festival." The broken dragon tongue made Katsuki look at a nervous Shinsou. His attempt of speaking was admirable, and once the king saw the pleading look in his queen's eyes he rolled his and held up his wrist. Shinsou smacked his wrist to the king's, a quintessential tradition between two equals in the dragon world, this such knowledge Shinsou held surprised the ruler of the kingdom of fire and scales.

"Looks like you're not completely stupid." The queen growled in warning and the king rolled his eyes again, but smacked his wrist to Shinsou's again, the ancient way of showing greeting seemed to bridge the two foreigners. Shinsou spoke to (y/n) and she turned red, pushing the violet haired guy away and frantically muttered something to him.

"What?" It was more of a threat than a question caused by the king and he came to her side instantaneously.

"He asked me if I was going to dance and I said no." A confused pinch of the king's brows brought a smile to the woman's face and she gently wrapped her hands around Katsuki's arm, he withheld the notion to flex.

"During the festival, people dance around the fire and if someone joins your dance then they are interested in you, if they match your rhythm and you like them then they can court you. It's all very traditional, something I lost interest in." She waved her hand dismissively. Katsuki growled and looked threatening at Shinsou who didn't understand the sudden threatening aura surrounding the king.

"Of course I'm already yours so I wouldn't need anyone else, but Shinsou just isn't familiar with dragon customs."

"Then teach him." The king spat through clenched teeth, the anger was not directed at the queen but more rather the violet man. The queen huffed, sudden displeasure hit her nerves and she untangled herself from Katsuki, much to his displeasure. She stepped away and muttered something to Shinsou in their common tongue. Her gaze went back to Katsuki and as she spoke it became angered.

"Then I will. We will be back later once the festival dies down." Katsuki lunged to grab her wrist, his eyes raged but behind those flames was a powerful worry. Not knowing what to say, Katsuki opted to press his forehead to her’s a way of silently communicating his worry and fear over her safety and she sighed.

"I know all this is overwhelming for you, and on top of not knowing what anyone is saying, I suddenly want to go off bu-" Katsuki could see her losing that happy glow around her, as her eyes dulled at his actions towards the festival. The king of all dragons, ruler of all scaled kind, understood that his own ego and discomfort did not trump her enjoyment, and so he cut off her apologies.

"But that doesn't mean I should make this worse for you. I promised to go with you and enjoy myself, that's what I'm going to do. Go have fun and save a dance for me, ok?" Her smile made the stars jealous as it shone so bright. A loving kiss was pressed into Katsuki's lips as she hooked her arm over his neck and pulled him down. She pulled away, her warmth leaving to, and waved back as she stepped into the crowd with Shinsou.

To say the sight of Katsuki the dragon king was not captivating would be an understatement. His broad shoulders, muscles and toned body, and cherry glowing eyes was transfixing. He sat on a high backed seat in the auditorium surrounding the "Great Blaze" or the fire lit to commence the festival, the name he learned from close observation of the other people. He found it funny how mortals worshipped fire as a god, since his own kind were the creators of such, but no matter. The song filling the air was not unpleasant and the food (y/n) filled his stomach was taking the edge off his temper, her scent was cemented in the clock he wore so when he needed her comfort he buried his nose into the fur around the collar. Katsuki was actually finding himself enjoying the evening, and in his heart he knew (y/n) was having fun as a smile graced his face.

Then a touch to his bare shoulder and the pungent reek of sour perfume flooded his nose, his happy warmth was replaced with sudden cold hostility.

"So this is the great King Bakugou. You surely surpass the legends, they do you no justice." A sweet but conniving tone of a woman pierced his ear, the dragon tongue surprising to him. He glared at the face of a black haired and brown eyed woman who's cleavage was practically popping from the thin lace lining of her dress as she leaned over the king.

"And how would you know my language?" The sentence is barely understood through his growls and snarls, but the women flashed a smile so twisted it made the king's stomach curl. She climbs onto his lap, legs straddling him and hips automatically rolling into his. He did nothing but glare, her attempts at riling him up failing miserably as her intimate movements did nothing to the king.

"Let's just day I've been in close contact with some of the rogue dragons you've been trying to deal with." She bites his neck and quickly sucks, surprising the king. The angered ruler pushed her off him, her ass hitting the ground hard and he straightened up to look down on her menacingly, but her eyes seemed to hold lust rather than fear as her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Your majesty. Please allow me to properly service you." She crawled between his knees, her head pressed onto one knee and her hands slowly moving from his ankles to his thighs. He gripped her chin, hoisted her up to be face to face with him and snarled, her eyes glowing with desire.

"Listen here whore, there is only one woman throughout the span of time that gets me and you're sure as hell not even a fraction like her. Now get the fuck away from me." He threw her away again and this time her clouded eyes turned from lust to anger and she spit on the ground near his feet and stormed off. The king wiped her saliva from his neck and felt the growing purple bruise forming, dread and fear mixing in his chest at the realization that his wife would soon see what the whore had done. He went off to find her, his nerves shot and a feeling of impurity and betrayal corroded his cool demeanor.

The prancing royal woman was practically bouncing as she and her childhood companion caught up on their current lives.

"So once I completed the final ritual I was turned into dragon kin, Katsuki and I wed and we became rulers." Shinsou nodded while downing his bubbling drink, the two were lounging next to a beverage stand. The violet eyed man marveled at his old friend who he noted had grown so much from those days of using twigs as swords and exploring the lakes and streams outside the village.

"You really have changed (y/n)." Shinsou laughed but (y/n) grew confused and furrowed her brows, her orange beverage sweet and spicy on her tongue, the spice burning her throat.

"What do you mean?" The two met eyes and he paused, his answer being woven and tossed around in his mind.

"You're just..different from the last time I saw you. I just never imagined you'd become what you are now." That statement made the queen's grip tighten, her back stiffened and her eyes became sharp.

"Well ten years can surely change people Shinsou. I never envisioned you to be a wandering researcher that hasn't gotten out of town yet." She didn't mean for her words to be so cruel, but the hurt in his eyes made her guilt twist her gut painfully.

"Shinsou Im-"

"Well if it isn't the town's flower. It's been a long time(y/n)." A sultry voice cut into the conversation as a man approached with piercing blue eyes and brown hair, his sharp jaw held a sadistic smirk. Shinsou, distraught and downplayed, excused himself, much to (y/n)’s displeasure. The man before her towered over her height, his large palms cupped his hips.

"It's been a while Marcus. How've you been?" Marcus nodded, his gaze following Shinsou before looking back to the women. His demeanor became cocky, and pompous as he swayed over to be closer to her, her personal bubble dangerously close to being popped.

"Nothing much, traveled a bit, but nothing like you. If the town gossip is reliable then it's true that you became dragon kin? That you married their ruler? Get real." (Y/n) almost snarled but recomposed herself beforehand. With a clench of her jaw and shift of her gaze, she begrudgingly answered.

"It's not like you've been in close contact for the past ten years. You wouldn't know a thing that happened to me, I'm not that naive idiot anymore." The blue gaze traveled across her body as the man circled her, like a predator to prey.

"That's right. You're not that child anymore, you're a woman and a beautiful one at that." Marcus growled and stepped closer, (y/n) stepped back, Marcus's whisper made bile rise in her throat. She moved away, he followed. This continued until the buff male cornered the queen against the backboards of one of the food stalls, his arm resting above her head as her back pressed tightly against the wooden boards.

"You're so cute when you tense up." (Y/n) held back her body's shaking and tried to push Marcus away, he only grabbed her wrist and pulled it above her head, pinning it in his grip. Marcus's gaze grew hungry as he pressed his nose to her's, drawing in her scent and licking his lips.

"God you're so addicting, like a delicious delicacy I want to feast on." (Y/n) tried to swiftly kick Marcus between his legs, but his hand dug bruises into her thigh as he pulled it up to forcibly, painfully wrapping it around his hip. His growing erection pressed disgustingly against (y/n)’s inner thigh. She pleaded for Katsuki to sense her fear, but not even a scream came from her throat. Marcus dipped a hand to grasp her butt, the mighty queen felt as tiny as a flea in this moment, her pride and power being beheaded as Marcus continued to move his hands. The final straw was when he bit hard onto the junction of her neck and shoulder, in the exact spot her bonding mark to Katsuki scarred her skin. She screamed his name for help, but Marcus stuffed three fingers in her mouth, silencing her and making her gag.

"Shut the hell up, or I'll make you mute." A single tear rolled down her pale cheek and he laughed, he had the audacity to lick it away.

"I did so love to hear you scream though, it gets me so excited." Suddenly a mighty crash cracked the wooden boards above (y/n)’s head, a figure, broad soldered and blade drawn hurtling through the flying splinters and mental latches towards Marcus. His eyes were a lit with the fires of hell themselves

"Then you'll fucking love me!" Katsuki screamed a bone chilling sound, as his chest heaved and his jaws drooled with anger. He stood posed to kill in front of his wife who trembled with relief at the sight of her love. Katsuki's eyes were pin pricks of a boiling blood color that had the power to split Marcus in two, the brunette staggered to stand before Katsuki crushed his ribs with one kick to his chest. The king straddled the man, his face inches from Marcus's and his clawed hand painfully pushed the brunette's head into the soil.

"Don't you ever touch my queen again!" The dragon king plunged his blade into the brunette's hands, blood pooling and splattering over the brown soil, Marcus's scream was muffled by the earth.

"And don't you fucking think about putting you're fucking ugly mouth on her either." The blade, serrated and made of olden dragon teeth, was placed inside Marcus's mouth, sliced the portion of the bloodied man's cheek that connected to his mouth, and Marcus screamed again. The blond, pumped up on anger and adrenaline, licks the bloodied blade and spits the mixture of spit and blood onto Marcus who is writhing while clutching his face and hands.

Turning back, Katsuki sees (y/n), huddled and holding tears back on the ground. He rushes to her side, wrapping his cloak around her and holding her head close to his chest, softly whispering soothing words. Her breathing evened out as he wiped her tears away and put loving kisses on her face. With a mighty battle cry, the queen lunches at the wounded Marcus and struck his jaw with a teeth breaking kick, his tooth flying through the air and landing in a muddy puddle. Katsuki quickly scooped her up in his arms, covering her face from prying eyes with his cloak and steadily walking out of the shadows where a small group had gathered upon hearing the scouting and seeing the now collapsed stall Katsuki broke through.

"That mess of a man assaulted my love. Deal with him, and we'll be heading home."

As his boot steps made imprints in the grass, the crowd parted like a tiger moving through weeds, their eyes never leaving the dragon king until the lantern's light was at the king's back. Rapid feet beating against the hills made Katsuki tighten his arms around his lover and whip his head around to glare, but it was only Shinsou running to the two dragon kin.

"(Y/n)...is she...good?" He panted out that broken dragon language while clutching his knees, his chest rising as the cool wilderness seemed to welcome the two dragon kin more and more.

"She's fine." Katsuki growled, but (y/n)’s hair peeled out from the cloak to see Shinsou, the wind licking her tear smeared face, and the trees swayed gently. Her soft voice sounded tired but her words, unknown to Katsuki, seemed to reassure Shinsou. They exchanged a few sentences before the violet man approached, slowly for Katsuki was in a state of protection over his love but (y/n)’s hand pressed into his chest and he allowed Shinsou to approach. The two, (y/n) and Shinsou, locked fingers and muttered something low before the violet man backed away.

"Let's go home Katsu. All I want is to just curl up in our bed with you and sleep." Katsuki rubbed his cheek against her head, the sweet decent soothing his more ferocious side as he sighed.

"I'm so sorry my love, you were so excited about the festival and I-" His entire being froze when he felt her hands press into the bruise the women left on him from not that long ago. Her body became rigid and she looked up at him with her own terrifying gaze.

"Katsuki, what is this?" He put her down gently, the clock she wore fluttering in the night breeze and he silently cursed the women for smudging her noxious perfume over him.

"Some whore unwantedly tried to seduce me. This is her attempt at a hicky, but the painful shove she revived taught her to fuck off." (Y/n)’s previous sad demeanor shattered, a red rage clouded her eyes and Katsuki saw the way her hands balled into fists.

“She what? This whole fucking night has been a disaster! Dammit, Katsuki I’m so sorry. Let’s-let’s just go home.” As quickly as it left, (y/n)’s rage returned and she ran her hands through her hair to try and soothe her temperament. Katsuki sighed, the dancing lights above the two glowed welcome ugly and seemed to share an idea with the great blond ruler. He scooped her hand into his larger calloused one, her gaze moving to him in confusion but he simply smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“You promised me a dance, (y/n).” He stated it as a fact and a sniffle escaped the queen as she let him begin to sway. Their feet moved expertly in time with the other’s, their movements fluid as Katsuki spun his wife around the rolling hills of soft grasses and illuminated star light. She giggled when he dipped her and twirled when he gently took her hand. His hands smoothed over the small of her back as her’s cupped the sides of his jaw to give him a sweet prolonged kiss, their smiles broke the sweet gesture after a moment of revelry in their touches. They stayed that way, intertwined in both bodies and hearts as the festival's noises drifted out of their realm of focus. The world became quite once more as Katsuki and (y/n) forgot their sorrows in the greatest why they knew possible, each other and they danced along with the night while the stars above gave them light

#my work #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #fluff #this was a bitch to write cause my computer and phone kept crashing #i want to start oosting longer more detailed pieces cause i have a lot #fantasykatsukibakugou #dragonkingbakugou

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years ago

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 10

Time to watch Brotherhood, the charming show where absolutely nothing bad is going to happen this episode, right?

Right?!

Starting off with [EXPLOSIONS], looks like a flashback to the Ishvalan Civil War/Genocide, troops in blue running and falling as they charge Ishvalans in a ruined town. Up until there’s a snap of fingers, and the screen turns red. And out of the smoke comes Roy, thinking about how he’ll do everything he can to protect the people he loves.

Jeez. This show’s not pulling any punches when it comes to the reality of war, is it?

In the aftermath of the attack, Roy’s explaining this philosophy of protection to Hughes, who likens it to a pyramid scheme. And the only one who really profits from such a scheme is the one at the top of the pyramid. Hey, Fuhrer! How’s the weather up there?

Roy continues to be incredibly unsubtle about his goal of becoming Fuhrer, Hughes jokes that it’ll at least be fun to watch. And maybe his “naive idealism” can do some good? But as easygoing as Bradley generally acts (this is the guy who easily cut down Mr. Freeze, moves at Homura speeds, and ordered a freaking genocide), I don’t think he’s just gonna step aside if Roy asks nicely.

Back to the present, seems Roy was remembering this as a dream, taking a nap in his office. Not much time for sleep, with all the preparation for the Central transfer.

Episode 10 - “Separate Destinations”

Well, that music’s not ominous at all!

In the hospital Ed’s recounting what happened in the Lab, complete with illustrations. Armstrong and Hughes are discussing the ouroboros tattoos and TC, and all the other mysteries surrounding the case. Of course, any answers they might have gotten are now under a ton of rubble.

...Is that really such an issue? I mean, a good portion of the cast are matter manipulators, can’t Armstrong just punch the boulders out of the way?

Hey! Stop eavesdropping, Brosh!

Ross is smart enough to not sneak a listen on her superior officers. And ooooh dear, it’s the big cheese himself.

Bradley says he’s stopped by for an informal visit. Heard that Ed was injured, thought a nice melon might cheer him up. Um. Ok?

Uh oh. Bradley picked up that Armstrong has been “checking up” on some of the senior staff. And he’s frowning now. Um.

“And now you… my revered Fullmetal Alchemist…” holy crud his voice went all gravely

“Tell me what you know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“And I hope for your sake… that you don’t know too much.”

This is bad this is really bad the Goths were bad enough but if the Government really was running that Lab then these guys just trashed a project of Bradley crap crap crap

Wait, what?

“Ha ha ha! I’m only kidding! There’s no reason for you to be so uptight!”

Hold up, what the hell was that all about?

Bradley’s saying that he knows there’s been some suspicious activity in the military lately, and something “needs to be done about it.”

...I’m still mostly convinced that you’re up to something, Bradley. But I’m not sure what.

Ooh, seems all the researchers assigned to officially study the Philosopher’s Stone have been going missing. Goth’s covering their tracks? And Bradley shows elements of being a spymaster, even with his informants he doesn’t know how much the Military’s been infiltrated, beyond “they know a lot about us.”

Now, a direct order from the Fuhrer; “To forget this matter and all that it concerns.” Since the best defense against spying is discretion, they need to keep this to themselves… up until Bradley thinks the time is right to confront them directly.

Hmm. I’m getting elements of conflicting plans here. The Goths are up to some evil involving Ed as a “sacrifice”, the leader of a genocidal government that was researching/making Philosophers’ Stones… There’s something going on here, I just can’t quite pin it down yet. Need more info.

Then all this plotting is interrupted by Bradley going out a window to escape his bodyguard. Still not seeing the Fuhrer in the best light, but you can’t deny that the character Bradley is a riot.

Winry stops by with some train tickets for Ed. Where are you off to, before you’re even healed up fully? Dublith? Play on Dublin? Oh, we finally get to meet this mysterious Teacher! Who even now has the Giant Suit of Armor shaking in his plate boots. A tough taskmaster?

Ed points out the town on a handy map, looks like it’s in the Southern Quadrant. But something shocks Winry about the trip, a town right before it?

“It’s the holy land of Automail engineering. It’s Rush Valley!” Well someone’s excited. Ooh, do we get Winry traveling with the Elrics? Also, predicting an upgrade in Ed’s future, if Winry’s that impressed with this place. What’s so special about it

Aw come on Ed, stop being such a pill. It’s not like you’re hurting for money as a SA. Maybe there’s elements of wanting to keep her out of danger (because you poor boys are trouble magnets), but you can do it! Also, moves my ship along? Please?

[Huges]: “She’ll make you a fine wife, someday.”

[Ed]: “Don’t start that again!”

Speaking of wives, Hughes is heading off to work, Elicia’s being painfully adorable, asking if Daddy can get home early that day. (!) Hughes says he’ll try to get back as soon as possible (!!), Mrs. Hughes tells him to not be late (!!!), Hughes says he’ll probably not see Winry again before she leaves (!!!!!), oh my LETO how many death flags can they wave at us?!

Damnit damnit damnit he is so dead. Why? Why do you have to kill off Hughes?! Guy’s a family man, he’s funny, he’s lighthearted. There’s enough tragedy in this world of lost limbs and genocide and soulbatteries already, you don’t have to up the ante! Uuuuugh. So annoyed at the blatant post-credits last episode, I’ve been delaying watching this one because I was so afraid of this. Gonna stop watching those from now on, too much spoilage potential.

“Oh, and tell the boys I said goodbye.” AAAAAARGH

“You just make sure to come visit us anytime you’re in Central, okay? Our home is your home too. ‘Til then… Take care of yourself.”

AAAAAAAARGH

Uuuugh, let’s try and move on. The Blond Kids are off on the train, Ed explaining that they’re off to visit Teacher for a couple of reasons, namely he’s tired of losing fights. Sadly he and Winry start squabbling about fighting, she wants them to stop. That’d be nice, Winry, but someone’s gotta stand up to the Goths. Also, they want to center themselves, boost their morale, and seeing an old teacher might help with that. As well ask her what she knows about the Stone.

Wait, what? Ooooh crap. They haven’t seen her since before the Incident, have they? So they’re gonna walk up to their Alchemy Teacher and have to explain “Yeah, I lost two limbs and my brother lost his entire body because we broke The Big Rule of Alchemy. So about some more alchemy training?” They are so dead.

Back in Central, Hughes is doing some research, going over the riots in Liore. Hey, don’t you diss Leto, random underling! Been a lot of stuff going on in the East Quadrant, as well as the North and West. Not the South? Current theory is they’re all too scared of the Elric’s Teacher to mess with her turf.

Suddenly, Hughes stands up, says he’ll be in the Archive room. Figure something out?

In the room, music’s picking up, Hughes is circling places on a map. What is- Oh. Oh my Leto. I think I just realized.

Liore, other uprisings, the Ishvalan Genocide...

The Philosopher’s Stone needs human sacrifices, and a Transmutation Circle.

We’ve already seen there can be a TC the size of a city.

Who’s to say there can’t be one the size of a country?

That’s it. That’s their plan. Craft a nation-sized Alchemy reaction. Create the True Philosopher’s Stone from the sacrifice of thousands, if not millions.

But whose plan is it? The Goths? The Government?

...but Hughes isn’t going to find out, is he? A long-haired silhouette just walked in and closed the door.

[Hughes]: “Cool tattoo you got there.”

[Lust]: “Those are your last words? Wouldn’t you rather scream?”

Leave him ALONE

Wait, he got out? He got stabbed through the shoulder but he got out? How oh HELL yes knife to your fucking forehead, you bitch! You don’t mess with

FUCK YOU NO

you got a knife to the brain you don’t get to just calmly take it out no

Receptionist starts joking then realizes that Hughes is injured, he just walks past and says he needs a private line. Yes ok need to tell Roy about his but she’s not as dead as you think she is.

Wait what Hughes why are you walking away. Oh right Military either infiltrated or in on the whole thing, can’t use a military line. Get to a phone booth, use an outside line. Holdup while Eastern receptionist follows protocol, yet another STUPID death flag as Hughes drops a picture of his family… but this took too long. There’s the sound of a gun cocking-

Wait, Ross?! What are oh nonono please just be misguided don’t be part of the conspiracy.

Oh. Right. The Goths have a shapeshifter.

Come on, Hughes. Keep stalling, the phone’s not hung up so if it’s connected then Roy can hear this and get you help. And while the knife didn’t kill Lust it did slow her down so yes you’ve got another one you can

You. God. Damned. Bastard.

Envy has taken the form of Mrs. Hughes.

A shot is fired.

Only now, when it is too late, does the call get through to Roy. And Envy hangs it up.

[Envy]: “You humans don’t make any sense to me. You throw away your lives for nothing.”

hughes comment indicates hughes Goths inhuman hughes chimeras?

“Gracia… I’m so sorry… Elicia… Remember, Daddy loves you… I’m sorry.”

And Hughes bleeds out in a phone booth.

...The Blond Kids are enjoying pie on the train. It was baked by Mrs. Hughes. As was a quiche.

Ed talks about how Hughes is annoying, stopping by his hospital room every day.

Al thinks they should figure out some way to thank him next time they’re in Central.

We’re spared the scene of Hughes being discovered. But now we bear witness to his funeral.

[Elicia]: “Mommy? Why are they putting all that dirt on Daddy?” [Gracia]: “They’re burying him, dear.” [Elicia]: “But if Daddy gets buried, then he won’t be able to do all his work.” [Gracia]: “Elicia…!” [Elicia]: “Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do! No, stop it! Stop putting dirt on him! Daddy!”

Armstrong is crying. Bradley is visibly shaking. Roy looks down.

The sun sets, as Roy chides Hughes for going and getting promoted to Brigadier General, rather than helping him climb through the ranks.

Riza walks up to the colonel. Who admits a large part of him wants to figure out human transmutation now.

[Riza]: “Are you alright, Colonel?” [Roy]: “Yeah, I’m fine. Except… It’s a terrible day for rain.” [Riza]: “What do you mean? It’s not raining.” [Roy]: “Yes. It is.” [Riza]: “Oh. So it is.”

…

Time resumes as Riza goes guns-akimbo at Scar, who dodges into the alley. The alley with Al still in there. Uh oh. And oh my Leto Roy, don’t you dare complain at the lady who just saved your life. “Useless on rainy days” indeed.

…

Roy’s investigating the events of Hughes’ death now, looking into the Archive Room. A trail of blood went to the phone room, and the receptionist reports that he came in, but then left without dialing a number. Roy identifies the code Hughes used as one used only for military emergencies. But he doesn’t know why.

Riza brings Armstrong, who says they have a list of suspects, but can’t determine their identities. And when Roy presses for details, Armstrong has to refuse. Right, the order from Bradley, he can’t talk about the Goths. But he does get a workaround, saying the Elrics were in town for a few days.

From all that, Roy’s able to determine a group is suspected of the murder, an officer above Armstrong ordered him to keep quiet, and the events involve the singular goal of the Elric Brothers: The Philosopher's Stone. Roy’s clued into the conspiracy now. So, in order to solve the mystery and get vengeance for Hughes, he’s going after the senior staff. With Riza at his side.

And so the episode ends, with Roy on a manhunt in the military, and the unknowing Blond Kids cheerfully laughing as their train heads south.

#yup it's that episode #wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 10

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zweiginator · 6 years ago

Text

Good Company- Part Nine

Summary: With Queen’s first tour starting soon, you and Brian have to part ways.

Word Count: 5.5k+

Warnings: Angst, (very) light smut

Author’s Note: Again, sorry this chapter took so long!! I’ve been super busy with school, and sadly these last two chapters have been filler chapters to get to the good stuff, so I’ve been working extra hard to make sure they’re actually entertaining. Thanks for reading and I love you all endlessly!! xoxo- em (p.s. i apologize that it’s a bit short :// and p.p.s (or is it two s’s....idk... but i finished this very late so i didn’t edit it oopsie) )

“Tour? Of where?” You asked, rubbing a shaky thumb over Brian’s knuckles. They were cold and white--numb from the nipping wind outside, one that seemed to tattoo a healthy glow upon Brian’s face. But maybe that was from your desperate kisses; you couldn’t be sure.

Brian chewed the inside of his cheek, tentative to tell you, although proud of his accomplishment; Queen had been recording for ages--waking up at two in the morning just to shimmy their way into a grueling session. Brian couldn’t remember the last time his eyes felt clear, that the usually milky whites of them weren’t feathered pink from being so bloodshot. His fingers had a perpetual ache that almost acted as a token, reminding him of how much he had done for this band. He had forfeited the once heaping, golden mass of respect his parents had for him, all for his band. And usually Brian’s cheeks would be pulled up tautly by the sheer force of this pride, this wistful triumph. But standing on the creaky floors of your flat, his hands limp and lifeless in your own, he felt ashamed. Stupid. Like he had done something wrong.

“Here--at first.” He began, his hands finally jolting awake, as if sparked by a jarring jolt of electricity, powered solely by the paradoxical look of proud disappointment etched upon your plaintive face. “But we go to America too. A little bit of everywhere, really.”

You ran a fingernail over the protruding tendons in his hand, watching them quiver under your touch. His wrist was fragile, delicate, and beating under the ridges of your fingertips; his pulse was racing, jittering under skin that was still shedding color from the forever ago afterglow of the summer. “America? I--wow, Brian.” You were surprised. Not that you ever doubted Queen’s talent; in fact you envied the undiluted passion and skill that each member was endowed with, as if it were a gilded gift from God himself. But you had always had them there. You guessed you weren’t surprised that they had made it, but rather that they would actually have to go. For over a year, the four of them had been a constant in your life, unwavering and consistently there. You had always seen them tipsy in pubs and had them to call when your heat broke in the dead of winter. You had always had them, and they had always had you. And realizing now that the ruthless and crooked yet painstakingly straight-across path of time would separate you from them--from Brian--instead of cracked pavement and a few flights of terribly uneven stairs--was almost too much to fathom. You held your breath for a few seconds, counting in tandem with the calculated ticks of the clock hung crookedly on the wall. Maybe a brain devoid of oxygen would convince you this wasn’t real.

“Yeah--it’s quite daunting. A lot of gigs all packed into a few months. That’s the good thing--right? Only a couple of months?” He wasn’t convinced; his own question was a rhetoric to himself, persuading himself that it was, in fact, a good thing when it was starting to feel anything but.

You gripped Brian’s hand tighter, your nails digging into the skin enough for you to mutter a hushed apology. Sliding off the waxy countertop, you pressed the edge of your nail into the fingernail on his thumb, gliding it across the freshly chipped polish. “How will that work?” You mumbled, your thumb finding a haven in the divot of his knuckles. “Being with Roger 24/7? And us? What about--” You paused, not wanting to sound so blatantly selfish. But it was the question rooted upon your heads, its sticky tendrils snaking down your cheeks and pushing them down to form sullen frowns. What would happen with you and him? You both were used to everything being stationary, etched and recorded and familiar. You always knew to take two rights and a left to get to his flat; if you wanted to call him your fingers knew their rightful path. Everything had been so natural and innate. But now, you wouldn’t know where Brian was, not exactly at least. You could look at the creased copy of the tentatively planned tour dates and guess that maybe Brian was cruising through Scotland or riding over the lush green valleys of western America. But what about the in-between days? What about when his head was resting on the shaky window on a plane, his thighs squished in the seat and more akin to a bird--unreachable and transient--than your Brian.

Brian trudged to your couch and lifted his sock-covered feet onto your coffee table, tentatively tapping the cushioned spot next to him with a tensely flexed hand. He sighed, scratching his chin, where he had cut himself shaving; but he kept picking at the scarlet red scab and it left a tiny pink scar blotched over his tan skin. “That’s--a good question. I don’t know, to be quite frank with you.” He scooted a bit to the side as you sat down next to him, his fingertips tracing secret messages into your shoulders. He hoped you could feel them, that they would seep beneath your skin and course through the high road of your nervous system and reach the most primitive parts of you-- and you would know--know that he was sorry for leaving. That he didn’t really want to--but also that he wanted nothing more than to get out. “I guess we’ll have to make up eventually; I don’t see the band breaking up anytime soon.”

You tilted Brian’s chin towards you, your finger running over the fresh stubble budding upon his face. His eyes peered down at you almost apologetically, his irises a clearer brown, so clear you wanted nothing more than to stare into them forever. But your time limit was formidable, and you had to look away; you didn’t want to get so lost within him that his absence left you completely misguided, feeling like you were just somebody completely surface-level. There needed to be something underneath, too. You rested your head on his shoulder and sighed, a small scoff choking out. “Really? Seems like you’ve come close.”

Brian shrugged, opting to tuck his almost numb feet under his thighs. “We’re both much too stubborn to let the other get what they want.” Brian said, yawning. He rubbed the top of his hands in a desperate attempt to channel some warmth under the taut skin , dotted with faded freckles. “But I guess you’ve seen that firsthand.” Shuddering, Brian tilted his head down and rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling himself into the warm crook of your neck. “Jesus, it’s so cold in here. It’s February, you know that, right?”

His voice was small and muffled, absorbed by the thick couch cushions his face was buried in. “It’s not cold. I set the thermostat to 21. Last time you slept over you woke up kicking off the covers saying it was too hot when it was about 3 degrees colder.”

Brian wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pushing his feet under your butt a little. “What?” He wiggled his toes and smiled cheekily. “It’s warm under here, I’ll have you know. Plus, that was after a gig. My body never knows how to maintain homeostasis after shows and my body temperature goes crazy every time.”

You stood up easily, leaving Brian curled up in the corner of the couch, shivering, his hands rubbing his goose-bumped forearms desperately. The tip of his nose was a pronounced red like the uneven blotches upon his cheeks. “Want a blanket, Brian? The really fluffy one is clean.” You held a light blue plush blanket from a small woven basket by the front door. Brian’s clogs sat askew on the floor, teetering on their sides as you walked over the cold wooden floors.

“Yes, please. I don’t know why I’m so cold. My teeth are literally chattering.” He tensed his jaw slack and rolled his shoulders back, enough so his collarbones sunk into his creamy skin as you shuffled back over to the couch, the blanket tucked in hand.

You plopped down next to him and draped the blanket over his shoulders, watching the soft fabric slide over his hair, bouncing some extra-defined curls of his that fell upon his sloped shoulders. “I guess you’re always a bit cold.” You reasoned, pulling the ends of the blanket closed so he was in his own little cocoon, sitting cross-legged on your couch peppered with permanent streaks of cigarette ashes, the constant remnants of your and Roger’s relationship weaved into the very heart of your home, inescapable and almost unbearable. But Brian was there now. Just for now. And you didn’t want Roger to taint and scratch the cloudy shell of your hourglass; you could already hear the sand tinkling through the narrow middle.

___

You and Brian had fallen asleep on the couch midday; you remember your eyelids fluttering closed, your cheek pressed against Brian’s steady heartbeat that slowed as he drifted into a comfortable slumber, his own cheek smashed against the textured cushion underneath him. That was at about three in the afternoon, and now, waking up, you noticed how the yellow shower of the late winter sun was long gone, replaced with the bright sliver of a crescent moon, glowing between the pulled blinds and projecting over Brian’s peaceful features. You rested your chin on his chest, effortlessly relaxed by his breathing that was lulling you into a hazy in-between state of being asleep and awake. His mouth was parted, his cheeks patterned with marks from the couch that ambled into more shallow indentations around his eyes, closed loosely. His feathery eyelashes laid against the very tops of his cheekbones, flitting across the delicate skin as his eyes moved rapidly beneath silky eyelids, sheathed in a pastel shade of lilac from the tiny capillaries, just below the paper-thin epidermis.

Brian shifted beneath your touch as you traced your shaky fingertip over the slope of his nose, admiring how the light shone across the smooth skin and highlighted the angular bridge that complemented his face so flawlessly. Your finger ran over his cupids bow, tracing over a fine patch of stubble that was germinating above his upper lip. It was rough, dark, hair that matched the beginnings of some facial hair peppered around his prominent jaw. He looked beautiful like this--completely ethereal and tranquil--like all that mattered were his breaths, warm and fanning over your chin. Like he wasn’t worried in the slightest bit, not about leaving or plane rides or fights with Roger. In that moment, he was just Brian. There were no obligations, arguments, or meaningless bouts of un-vowed silence. There were many moments within your and his ever-budding relationship where you didn’t know what to say to make it right, didn’t know what to do to take back something you wished would have remained unsaid. There seemed to always be a trail of eggshells wherever your relationship with Brian went, and watching him sleep beneath you, his hair fanned out on the velvety pillow that was halfway off the couch, reminded you of why those eggshells, although fragile and monumentally inconvenient, were important. Were worth it. There was something rewarding about being with Brian, knowing how much it had taken to be his, all the fateful stepping stones floating upon the riverbed of reality that assured to you both that maybe it was meant to be.

Brian’s eyes opened slowly, his eyelids lifting and falling almost in sync with his shallow breaths. The glint of the moon left little moons of his own pooled in his pupils, reflected in the puddles of honey that were his irises, drenched in a hue on the cusp of hazel. The reflections rippled as his cheeks lifted into a small smile, his canines poking into his lip as he stretched his arms out.

“G’morning.” He rasped, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm. He extended his legs a little and groaned as he stretched the muscles, tingly from laying in such an awkward position for hours on end.

“Good middle-of-the-night.” You kissed his sternum lazily, ruffling his hair as he yawned, blinking the excess sleepiness away from his eyes.

“God--how long have we been out?” He asked, sitting up slowly, holding the blanket to him to keep warm; he was still cold despite his many layers, a blanket, and a very warm girl laying on top of him.

“About twelve hours.” You turned a small analog clock towards him; you kept one on the couch for the many fleeting guests you and your roommates always seemed to have.

Brian squinted, his eyes still adjusting to the blackness of the night, faded a deep grey by the moonlight. Sure enough, the tiny slivers of the clock were ticking timely to three in the morning. “Well shit, what are we gonna do? I’m not tired at all--I’m the opposite of tired.” He rested on his elbows, his jaw twitching as he yawned again.

“So you’re awake? That’s what that means.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, running your thumb over his cheek. “But I know what you mean. I am the opposite of tired too. Mega-awake if you will.”

“Mega-awake..that’s a good way to put it. But another thing.” Brian swallowed holding a hand up and smacking his lips together dramatically. “I’m mega-hungry too. My stomach is eating itself alive.”

“Oh no,” You retorted, pulling a small curl by his ear as he sits up all the way, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling, stained with splotches of water that fed into one another, lined by a thin brown rim that differentiated the aged stains from fresher ones. “What do you want to eat, bub?”

“It’s a little late--or early--to get food.” Brian clutched his stomach, opting to lean forward to soothe the sharp pangs in his gut.

“I mean, we’re in London, we can find something.” You reminded him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. He sighed, tilting his head back to grant you access to the elongated column of his throat. “Someone wants kisses.” You mumbled against his jaw, your arms snaking around his neck. He moaned feebly as your tongue dragged over his bottom lip with concentrated langour. His kisses were sleepy and slow; his tongue hurried and uncoordinated from the sleepiness stagnant in his veins, but he was fueled by passion--by knowing you and him wouldn’t be together for much longer. That you couldn’t be together. Brian remembered this mid-kiss and grabbed your shoulders, pulling away slightly, although you had a firm hold on his hoodie, your thumb cooled by the metal ring near the hood.

“Shouldn’t we--talk? About tour?” Brian’s hands rubbed over his pants nervously, and he tried to focus on the texture of the thinning denim on his palms instead of the saline tears pooling in his eyes. He was right--it was the quite significant elephant in the room, seemingly perched upon your laps, and oddly, it was your close proximity with Brian that was making the topic fester in your minds, despite how easy it would be to speak up, to say what was begging to be said. “Do you have any questions? Are you as scared as I am? Because I’m terrified to leave, and you’re being--”

“Strangely calm?” You interjected, cocking an eyebrow as you smoothed Brian’s hair down; it was amazingly messy and frizzy from his position on the couch, and a few curls stood up haphazardly on his head. “I guess I’ve been avoiding it ‘cause I don’t want to admit you’ll be gone in--” You paused, realizing you hadn’t been attentive enough to ask when he was leaving, or when the tour started.

Brian sensed what you were getting at, his eyes averting to the canary yellow clock still ticking away on the coffee table. It was now a bit past three, and Brian wanted nothing more than to stop it altogether--to plead with the Gods, with whatever higher power was forcing the world to move forward when he wanted so badly for it to just stand still. He clasped a hand over his sternum and let out a shaky sigh. “Three days. The first show is on the first of March.”

“The first of March?” You confirmed, running your pointer finger down the middle of Brian’s soft palm, tracing the length of his long middle finger. “You’re leaving in three days?”

“Yeah--it was very last minute. Mott The Hoople needed someone; I guess their other opening act backed out a few days ago.”

You paused, furrowing your eyebrows as you scooted closer to Brian, squeezing his hand as your fingernails traced over his own painted ones. You watched a layer of the white polish cling to the couch. “So you leave in, what, 72 hours, and you haven’t packed at all?”

Brian gasped dramatically and fluttered his eyelashes, his fingers splayed over his warm chest. “You’re supposed to be crying because I’m leaving, not helping me go.” He huffed facetiously and turned away from you, pulling the blanket from your lap in the process.

“Okay, drama queen. Well you need to pack, and we’re going to do that, right now.” You yanked the blanket from Brian and he pulled back on it so you fell onto his lap snugly.

“If we wake those sleeping monsters up they’ll break our bones and spit on us.” Brian cautioned, biting nervously on his thumbnail.

“Fine.” you offered. “But later I’m helping you pack so you’re not miserable during our last few days together.”

___

“How cold could it possibly be there in spring?” Brian inquired, his chin angled downwards awkwardly, so he could hold a wire hanger up as his arms gathered a plethora of t-shirts, hoodies, button-ups and stage costumes--as many as he could possibly shove into his charcoal suitcase, laid open on his bed. Socks and boxers lined the bottom of the case, rippled over the metal columns of the handle that fed into the suitcase like a makeshift spine.

You were picking through his jackets and coats, thumbing over fur and suede material as the haloed rays of the afternoon sun began to shimmer over Brian’s curls. “In America? Well, I’m sure they have cold days too. You do know you’ll be visiting different regions, right?”

“I suppose you’re right.” He stuck his nose up, waddling to the bed and opening his arms, letting the sea of clothes in his arms tumble into the suitcase.

“I know I’m right. And you’re the one who’s been shivering since last night; you should be thanking me for thinking of future Brian, I’m sure he’ll thank me when you’re nice and warm in New York.” You quipped, shoving some shirts back into Brian’s arms as you folded a few crisp button-ups and smoothed them over one another.

“I don’t wanna think about future Brian ‘cause he’ll be gone.” Brian said, sitting on a nest of velvet trousers and long, navy blue jeans.

Standing up, you kicked a loose hanger across the floor and sunk your knees on the bed, straddling Brian, coaxing him to lay down, as his hands found your hips instinctively. “Then let’s focus on present Brian.” You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs from beneath the t-shirt he was donning, a white ringer with a carmine red around the sleeves and collars. Your thumbs traced over his collarbones as your lips found his throat, sucking and kissing along the tender skin near his bobbing adams apple

“This isn’t packing.” Brian gasped out, holding the back of your head, guiding your kisses upwards until your tongue dragged over his protruded bottom lip, a bit chapped and tasting of overripe grapefruit. You ground against him a bit, pulling his arms from your waist to hold them above his head, where a small bag of his toiletries laid, the plastic bottles clicking against each other as Brian’s head turned to the side.

“Then should I stop?” You teased, peppering soft kisses on his mouth. Brian rolled his eyes and puckered his lips, poking his tongue out to lick the tip of your nose playfully as you leaned forward.

“Now I never said that.” He breathed, pulling his arms from your grasp and returning them to their rightful place on your hips, and then down over the curve of your ass. “But just know that Roger could walk in at any second, and he would probably kill us--just with his words.”

You pulled away from kissing him and sat up slowly, lifting an eyebrow at Brian as your fingers fumbled with the brassy button of his jeans. “You don’t seem too apprehensive.”

Lifting his hips to aid your undressing him, he scoffed. “I’m not worried about that anymore. Plus I learned how to lock my door.”

You slid his jeans off his legs, palming his cock through his briefs. You felt a tingle course through your veins as you watched Brian’s head fall back as his mouth opened, a deep moan reverberating from the hollow of his throat. “Consider this my parting gift to you.” You spat in your hand as Brian quickly rid himself of his underwear, throwing them into the mass of clothes spilling from his closet door, barely ajar. You slowly slid your wet palm down his shaft, tightening your grip and allowing your other hand to fondle his balls attentively. Your palm rubbed over the head of his cock and he sighed pleasurably, a lazy smile forming on his peachy lips. “Yeah? That feel good?” You cooed, grinding yourself along his outstretched, shaky thigh as you twisted your hand around his cock leisurely, watching his pre-cum leak from his slit.

“Mmhm. Christ--I love you.” Brian moaned breathily, his hips thrusting upwards as you pumped him in your hand, his lip tugged tight between his teeth. “‘M gonna miss you, baby.” He groaned from deep in his throat, his hips beginning to buck up with every turn of your wrist.

“I love you, Brian. I’m gonna miss you so much.” Tears trembled through soaked lashes as you watched him come undone. Running your thumb along his weeping slit you choked out a cry, but Brian’s eyes were screwed shut as he desperately fucked into your hand.

“You’re so--good. I love you so much--” The sheets rippled as his fingers pulled at the airy linen, his chin angled upwards from the position of his head, thrown back from rushing fits of pleasure. Hearing your muffled cries, Brian’s eyes opened, his hand enveloping over your own, splayed on his upper thigh. “Are you okay?” He followed a strand of your hair, still drying from the downpour outside; you still heard the rain veiling cold windows over the rustling of the sheets.

“Yeah, yeah.” You assured. “It’s finally real. That you’re leaving.” You added, your hand still pumping slowly at Brian’s cock. Flushed a healthy rose, Brian’s jaw stretched, his lips a brimful of lust-blood, kept wet under a thin coat of his saliva.

Brian’s eyes kept contact with your own, even through his erratic blinking; his eyelids felt burdened, impossible to keep lifted. “Just for a few months. Just remember that it’s only for a bit.”

“A bit?” You ogled. Over three months couldn’t be labeled as anything remotely close to ‘a bit’. Loosening your grip on Brian’s cock completely, you squeezed his upper thigh gingerly, feeling the peach-fuzz run over your fingertips. “Sorry I ruined the mood.”

Brian denied your apology, shifting to rest on his elbows. “You didn’t ruin anything. You don’t owe me anything, angel.” He held the middle of your forearm, the callus on his middle finger thrumming over your skin. You watched the remainders of his arousal migrate down his neck in the form of a scarlet flush.

Your own fingers followed the crown of his head, threading through deep chocolate tendrils of hair before following the curve of his jaw. You felt bad you had stopped touching him, but his features looked plenty blissed-out, just laying with you atop his messy bed. It was cold from a persistent lack of use, but Brian’s presence seemed to light his bedspread aglow with a sustained comfort that lulled you both into slumber, one that enabled the repression of the longings manifested on the tip of your tongues, still doused in one another.

Two days later, the wilted poppies on Brian’s front stoop seemed tired of the winter’s oppressing toll on their pride; they stood tall, almost well-postured although their petals crackled in the wind, their natural red dulled into an oxidized rust that matched the rims on the van parked in the alleyway just around the corner. Brian sat with you on the curb, his back hunched as his neck craned downwards, almost shamefully.

Feeling the edge of his collarbone protruding from his shoulder, you broke the tangible silence between you. Really, everyone was silent; Roger, Freddie, Deaky and a few roadies who looked much too young to be leaving home--were leaning against the exposed brick, the outside wall of where so many memories were formed. Where your concept of love molded itself and proved to be so effortlessly malleable from your switch from Roger to Brian. The others watched you and Brian intently, almost looking for confirmation that you both were breathing.

“Are you going to be safe?” You asked. “And not stupid?”

Brian rolled his eyes but the playful nature was overridden by a few tears spilling over his cheekbones. “Of course I’ll be safe.” His voice cracked, his thumb following the expanse of skin from your wrist to your own thumb, quivering under his touch. Rain began to patter over shackled roofs and you could feel the space between you widening, even as he pulled you to his half-exposed chest. Time was fizzling in your ears, a sand falling through abysmal gaps between your fingers, still intertwined. Cupping your cheek, he sighed, his thumb rolling over your ear as his lips parted, his tongue searching for yours desperately, as if to make sure you were still there. You tasted salt as a tear tumbled over his top lip.

“I love you,” You whispered, over the chimes chirping over your heads. “I’ll see you soon.”

A flock of pigeons squawked overhead. “I love you more.” He said. “See you soon.”

Brian laid across the backseat of the van, half-awake from the uneven gravel roads Roger was driving across; he had erratic intervals of driving at a plausible speed, and then he’d bend his foot forward on the gas until they all inevitably lurched from their seats as he slammed on the faulty brakes.

“Do you think you’re over her?” Deaky asked, bracing a hand on the dashboard, squished between Roger and Freddie, who was resting his feet over the leather of the tattered armrest.

The wind combed Roger’s waved hair as he puffed on a cigarette, burnt almost to the butt. “You know, I think I am. I--I love her still. You know?” Roger ashed his cigarette in a foggy glass tray in the cupholder.

Deaky nodded, stifling a yawn. His legs hurt from being folded underneath him for the past few hours, and he loathed Brian for getting the backseat to stretch his legs out. Plus, they figured he would need the first few days on the road for the purpose of sulking. “I understand that, Rog. It hasn’t been all too long.”

The conversation was bleak; they had been on the road for a little over four hours, and hadn’t seen anything more substantial than spotted horses roaming freshly thawed fields, the occasional chipped red barn. Brian wasn’t asleep anymore; truthfully, he had never faded into slumber, not even the hazy, rolling car-sleep he could usually get on the road.

“It’s about time.” Freddie added, picking at a black nail, chipping around the edges. “Did you see that goodbye? They’re the real deal, I’m afraid.”

Nervously lighting yet another cigarette, Roger bit his top lip, tasting a tinge of metal, the taste of stale smoke. “You think so? Or do you just think he’s better for her?” Freddie turned away for a second, contemplating. It was true--Freddie did believe Brian was a much better fit for you, that it just worked between you two. That there was something natural about the way your conversations flowed from the chambers of your synchronized hearts and not the forces of the environment around you. Roger sort of agreed.

“Of course I think he’s better for her.” Freddie scoffed. “I love you Rog, but you cheated on her. Full-on cheated--not even, like, a little hazy cheating.”

“God, I know. Maybe that was for the best. Brian’s happy right?” Roger asked, genuinely. For the first time in months, acceptance was in his realm of possibilities. “I mean, shit, not now, but in general?” Brian hid a smile behind his sleeve as Deaky fiddled with the dials of the radio. Freddie slapped his hand away when The Beatles came on.

“I think he is.” Deaky nodded, folding his hands over his lap. “Christ, he was fine with the idea of having a kid with her.”

Roger shuddered. “Yeah, fuck that. I love that girl to death but no fuckin’ way.”

Finally, their weary eyes began to see grey marinas, darkened by the fading glow of dusk. City lights shone through windows cloaked in acid rain, and Roger turned the radio up, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Brian felt well-rested as he slung his guitar over his body, his fingers stroking over the leather strap flush against his collarbones. The angelic stage costume he had grown accustomed to was much itchier than he remembered it, and he scratched mindlessly at his neck, where a silver chain sat over the protruding tendons. The second gig of the tour was set to start at eight, but that time had long passed, and he knew the thirty minute delay was just show business. For some reason, this delay was symbolic of success; no longer did the foursome have to haul their instruments in their own cars and spend entire days assembling drum kits just to pull them apart a couple of hours later--except with a few drinks in their over-aroused systems.

“Do you think the crowd is about the same as last night?” Freddie, despite his eccentric and commanding stage performance--was nervous. He had been since they had left a couple of days before; he knew this would aid in their big break he had been envisioning for them since he sketched the Queen logo in a coffee shop two blocks away from their apartment, now abandoned.

“I’d say a bit less,” Deaky said. “But Aylesbury is a smaller town; so pretty similar proportionally.”

“Thank god for your nerdy interjections.” Roger quipped, his third cigarette of the hour dangling from his lips. He didn’t voice it, but he was nervous too. They all were; the crowds seemed utterly enraptured by them but also completely confused. Freddie insisted they didn’t understand the music, Roger uncaringly added how everyone probably just thought they were gay.

Ken, a roadie, peeked his head around a corner, untangling some amp cords that had been severed from so many people stepping over the once durable lines. “Okay, they fixed the light fixtures and the bass amp is all good. Break a leg, kids.” He winked, his fingers tapping along the cracked drywall where his hand was splayed.

“Kenny, you’re barely older than Deaky.” Roger leaned forward, aiming his ashes over an opened guitar case stuffed with broken wires and busted amps.

“Your guitar tuned, Bri?” Deaky mentioned, recalling how some of his notes were sharp in rehearsals. Brian was a perfectionist, and one wrong note would hover over him for the entirety of the tour. And sensing how much he was longing for you, he thought it would be for the best to remind him.

Brian nodded, giving John a tense thumbs-up. “All good. I figured out a string was a bit thin.”

And then, as quick as they could take their next breath, tainted with heavy cigarette smoke and the suffocating, pungent adrenaline wafting through the air, they were on. Green lights faded into blues and back again as they played. To the outside eye, Queen was perfect--the embodiment and professional manifestation of hundreds and hundreds of hours of fluid practice. Inside, they looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders and hoping their glittery makeup would make clear their intentions of making a statement. Looking outwards, Brian looked good, well-practiced, handsome, and effortlessly so. Even he noticed a gaggle of girls batting their heavy black eyelashes at his alluring figure. But on the inside, Brian felt light. Lightheaded and dizzy, his fingers felt a part of a another man, a man who looked much like him. He hoped his detached fingers were falling over the right places on his guitar; all he could hear was his heartbeat becoming irregular, the blood in his body melting downwards and pooling under his feet. He saw Freddie give him a nod; it was his solo. He swallowed the discomfort and buried it in his twisting, pulsing intestines, hoping his mind could convince him that he was okay--that he felt fine.

taglist:

@dannydelay @baebee35 @rogerinascigarette @zvzxs @mercurys-bike@alexfayer @ledger-kaos @ma-ntequilla @discodeakky @richiethotzierz@thisloveisreal1 @heartsarecompatible @thelondondreamer5 @brian-may-brian-may @okqueenie @gailymlee @trickster-may @bubblypenguin123@queensdarlingg @soloosunflower @dvndermifflinassociate @fredthelegend@miez-lakatz @arrowswithwifi @mouse507 @mespetitestortues@yourstateofdreaming @pamoreno @helenathe3rd @allie-of-asgard @deacytits@hystericallyqueen @missqueeniewrites @paper-queer-plane @silvver-rose @crazylittlethingcalleddub-step @blushy-monkey @ladycataztrophe@myfairybrian @ladylannisterxo @70sthetic @herewegoagainniall @mazzelloh@dreamer821 @man-johnnie @attatchment-issues @headlongedmaggiemay@wonderless-screwup @fixedonroger @gogogolilqueenie @bleuoystercult@wonderless-screwup @josephmozzerllaswife @loveofmychips (message me if you want to be added!!)

(i can’t believe i forgot the whole ass taglist last night... oops)

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may fanfic #Queen #bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor #John Deacon #freddie mercury

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azvolrien · 5 years ago

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Seal Story

Roan does, in fact, have a backstory; she just tends not to talk about it very much.

Asta wasn’t going to let that stand for long.

~~~

When spring arrived at Dun Ardech, it did so with a vengeance. The trees burst into leaf over the course of just a few days, while the bleak winter hills turned yellow and green with flowering gorse. Down on the rocks, the water horses were foaling; the newborns were painfully cute, but neither the mares nor Riabhach would tolerate either Roan or Asta coming close just yet.

It wasn’t exactly warm, however, and there were still chores to be done. Asta rolled up her sleeves and knelt to weed the vegetable patch, while Roan took a long-handled axe from her workshop and went to chop some more firewood for the hearth.

Asta finished her task before Roan did and wandered up to the outer wall, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. Though it wasn’t her first spring in the Sea Lochs, it was her first at Dun Ardech, and the breeze coming off the sea was much colder than it was in the city at the far end of Loch Gorm. It didn’t seem to bother Roan, but then nothing short of a blizzard could even make her wear sleeves. Asta watched her from the top of the wall for a few minutes before climbing back down and walking out to join her at the chopping block over by the bathhouse.

“That’s the weeds dealt with for now,” said Asta. “It should be ready for the next round of planting soon.”

Roan wiped her brow with the back of one hand and positioned another log on the block. “Good. I thought I might try growing some onions this year – add a bit of a different flavour to things.”

“Oh, that would be good…” Asta sat down on a rock, safely out of axe range as Roan hefted it up and split the log in two in one blow. “Roan?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Can I… talk to you?”

“Always,” said Roan. She repositioned the pieces and further split the log into quarters.

Asta spent a few seconds staring at Roan’s bare arms, the muscle glistening with sweat despite the chill wind, her tattoos appearing to shimmer in the morning light, and briefly forgot what she was going to say. She shook her head and cleared her throat, looking up at the less distracting sky.

“I’ve been living out here for some four months now, five if you count that very first month back then.”

“You certainly have,” said Roan, placing another log on the block. “Personally, I do – and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, other than those very upsetting days at the end of the first month.”

“But last night I realised… I don’t really know who you are.”

Roan lowered the axe head to the ground, leant on the handle, and looked at Asta. Something appeared in her eyes that Asta had never seen there before; it took her a moment to recognise it as fear. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

“No, that was the wrong way to word it,” Asta said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that made it sound like I’m working up to saying I’m leaving you. I’m not, and I don’t plan to. I think I’ll stay with you forever if you let me.” The fear vanished; Roan smiled and swung the axe again. The second log fell into two pieces. “I know the important things. I know that you’re brave, kind and the most capable person I’ve ever met. That you helped me when I was scared, hurt and alone. I know you don’t like crowds, and that you’re such a good cook you can make half a trout feel like a Midsummer feast. I know that you sing to yourself when you think I can’t hear you. I know that… there is something in your blood, whether it’s a blessing from a god or just a condition you were born with, that can turn you into an unstoppable killing machine, and that despite that I have not once felt at all unsafe with you, which is more than I can say for many people I’ve met who weren’t berserkers. I know that you love me.

“But I don’t know where you came from, other than a couple of little things you’ve let slip like going to university in Duncraig. I don’t know how you came to be out here.” Asta swept an arm out to indicate Dun Ardech in general. “I don’t know what your family is like, or if you even have one. And I’d like to. If you’ll tell me. I mean, you know everything of note about me.”

Roan didn’t answer immediately. She split a final log into quarters, tied a carrying strap to the axe, and hung it across her back. “Can you help me carry these back to the broch?” she asked, picking up more than half of the freshly-cut firewood and nudging the remainder with her toe. Asta nodded and crouched to pick up the rest. “You’re right,” Roan went on as they walked back to the broch. “I haven’t been as open with you as you deserve. I suppose… I got out of the habit of talking about myself long ago.” They entered the courtyard and Roan shouldered the broch door open. “Give me a while to get my thoughts in order,” she said, kneeling to stack the firewood on the pile by one wall, within easy reach of the central hearth. Asta handed her the rest one by one. “But… Tonight. Over dinner, or after it. I’ll tell you everything then.”

Asta nodded, squeezed her shoulder, and leant in to kiss her cheek. “I can wait that long.”

Roan kept her promise. That evening, after a filling helping of fish-and-parsnip soup, she set her empty bowl aside and sat back in the warm dark of the broch, linking her fingers over her belly and gazing at the fire. Asta finished her own bowl and settled down beside her, hugging her arm and resting her head on her shoulder.

“You know what my surname is,” began Roan.

Asta nodded. “Captain Steel mentioned it. NicBruide.”

“Yes – except that it’s not really a surname. It’s a patronymic, or a grand-patronymic in my case. I was raised by my grandfather, Bruide MacDovran. Dovran being the name of his father. ‘Nic’ is the feminine equivalent of ‘Mac’ – means ‘daughter of’, or ‘granddaughter of’ in my case. It’s not common these days to keep using patronymics, not here at least, but my family kept the tradition.”

Roan smiled, still looking at the fire, and went on. “You would have liked him. Very, very tough old man, but the best Granda a little girl could hope for. You think my tattoos are impressive? He was almost covered in them from the waist up. He said his hair was red like mine once, but it was long since grey by the time I came along. He told such amazing stories about his adventures when he was young. Taking a boat all the way downriver from Kiraan to Stonemouth. Riding with a tribe of thuru-hunters on the Hawk Steppes. Travelling deep into the mountains and seeing a dragon flying in the distance.”

“Roan, dragons have been extinct for centuries,” said Asta, smiling.

“There hasn’t been a confirmed sighting in centuries,” Roan corrected. “The Dragon’s Teeth are vast – who knows what’s hiding out there somewhere? I couldn’t tell you what he really saw, but until the day he died he swore up and down that he’d seen a dragon.” She paused for a moment, sighing. “My parents and his wife were never in the picture, at least not that I could remember. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, so I never learned the details of exactly what happened, but when he felt I was old enough to understand he told me that when he was away one day, the… stronghold? No, not exactly, more of a fortified steading. Anyway, his home. It was in a valley somewhere to the north, but I don’t remember it at all – I was too young. He was away, and it was attacked. He never said who by. Bandits, marauders, maybe just someone trying to settle a score. It probably doesn’t matter now. They put the whole place to the torch. Somehow I survived when no one else did, and he pulled little baby me from the wreckage.

“He couldn’t bear to stay there after that, so he packed whatever he could salvage and took it – and me – down to a wee house by the sea. It’s not there any more either, but it was a fair distance up the coast from here, away to the north where the rocks give way to dunes.” She went quiet again. Asta silently took her hand and interlaced their fingers. “He gave me his name. I suppose using my father’s – his son’s – or my mother’s was too painful for him.”

“What was your father’s name?” said Asta. “Or did he never tell you?”

“Oh, it wasn’t so painful he couldn’t do that. It was Euan. My mother was Lorna; my grandmother was Morag. But it’s true, he very rarely spoke about any of them. We lived in that little house for twelve years. He taught me himself back then; my numbers and letters, of course, how to read and write, but also how to set a trap for a rabbit, how to clean a fish and sail a boat, all kinds of other things. How to fight.” She lifted her free hand and tapped a knuckle against her forehead. “He was a berserker as well; in his youth he’d been the kind of warrior people told stories about, fierce and lethal but only in service of the right reasons. He realised I carried the madness as well – we’d gone into a village on market day, and I’d got into a fight some other children – and taught me how to channel and focus it rather than letting it control me when it rose. I owe him a lot.” She freed her arm from Asta’s hold and laid it around her shoulders instead, hugging her in against her side.

“When I was twelve, he decided I needed to start going to school, so we abandoned the cottage and moved to Inverbeg, away from the sea on the bank of Loch Dubh – the next one north of Loch Gorm,” she added when Asta frowned in geographical uncertainty. “Not a big town, so not too overwhelming for me, who’d grown up mostly away from people, but big enough to have a high school. He found work at the harbour while I concentrated on my studies. He wouldn’t hear of me dropping out to help him.

“But, see… he’d always had this cough, an old infection that had never completely left, and as he got older it got worse. He saw a healer regularly to keep it at bay, but even so he couldn’t work as hard as he used to. And I decided that after everything he’d done for me, the least I could do was to make sure he could be comfortable in his old age. So I applied to the University of Duncraig and asked to study finance; it seemed like it would be a good way to make money, or at least get better at saving it for him. I’d always been good with numbers.” Roan sighed again and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

“I think he knew full well it wasn’t what I really wanted, but he was still so proud of me for getting in, telling all his friends at the pub about his clever granddaughter. He’d never gone to uni, you see. He asked what I wanted in celebration; I wanted my first tattoo. This one, if you’re curious.” She tapped a symbol on her left arm, one Asta always thought looked a bit like a shield crossed by a lightning bolt. “He paid for it, but that was the only one he paid for. The rest, those were all me. It got to be a sort of tradition. Every birthday, every festival, every exam I aced, I got another tattoo. Got to be on fairly close terms with the tattooist, actually.”

“You must have done very well in your exams,” murmured Asta, tracing a fingertip along the adder basking on Roan’s right forearm.

“I did, since you noticed,” said Roan, grinning. The smile disappeared. “And then… he… passed away, a few months before I finished university. I got this one in his honour.” She pulled her hair back to show the tattoo on her forehead, a crescent crossed by a broken arrow. “He had one similar, though the exact patterning on the crescent was different. Like I said, he was a very heavily tattooed man.” The smile came back, though the beginnings of tears showed in her eyes. “I buried him at the ruins of the old cottage, down by the sea. He’d been happier there than he ever was in town. The last few months were… hard, but I graduated with a decent mark and found a job in a bank in Duncraig. I don’t think they expected someone with quite so many tattoos, though, so they stashed me in a back room to do my bookkeeping.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” said Asta.

“It wasn’t,” agreed Roan. “It was suffocating, but I stuck it out for a while. I waited until exactly a year after I started and handed in my resignation. The seal I have on my back? That was a reclamation of sorts. They’d… politely requested that I not get any more while I was working for them.”

“So you got the biggest tattoo you have the second you left?”

Roan nodded. “City life wasn’t for me anyway. You said it earlier – I don’t like crowds. So I was out on the street pondering what to do with my newfound freedom, and just thought… I have to go home. Back to the sea. Granda had left everything to me; I took what I could carry – the head of my spear was his, though I mounted it on a new haft – and sold the rest, including the house in Inverbeg. I came out to Dun Ardech and set to work on making it liveable again after however many years, decades, centuries it had been abandoned. It didn’t even have floors or a roof when I got here, just walls. When I’d finished, I took one last trip back to see my tattooist and got these two.” She indicated the water horses inked below her cheekbones. “I’ve been out here by myself ever since. Until you came along, of course.”

“Do you have any other relatives?” asked Asta quietly.

“Maybe, somewhere,” said Roan. “Granda never knew about my mother’s people; all he ever said was that ‘she came from the sea’ and never spoke about her own family. I might have a whole army of cousins out there on her side, but they’ve never got in touch if I do.” She gave Asta an affectionate jostle. “So for all intents and purposes, we have that in common; both alone in the world, you and I.”

Asta lifted her head from Roan’s shoulder and pressed a kiss against her lips. “Not any more,” she said, taking Roan’s head between her hands and giving it a little shake as if chiding a mischievous puppy.

“No, I suppose not,” said Roan, touching her forehead to Asta’s and sliding her other arm around her waist. “Well, Asta-my-love, congratulations; you now know more about me than anyone else alive.”

“I’m glad you told me.” Asta trailed her hand down Roan’s braid and lifted the end to tickle under her chin. Roan grimaced playfully and batted it away. “You… Well, you make sense now.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Roan. “But I’m glad I told you too.”

~~~

Roan’s mother was one of the Sea People (remember them?); she stole a boat and defected in her mid-teens, disillusioned with the culture, but was caught in a storm en route to the mainland and washed up on the shore where Bruide and Morag took her in. As Roan says, she never spoke about her life before that, so her new family knew nothing of it.

#az writes stories

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tibalt-the-fineblooded · 5 years ago

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Tibalt’s Fanwalkers: Listed

In preparation for upcoming and eventual Fanwalker Fridays (or general asks and buffoonery), I am making this list of my Fanwalkers in order of creation. Short Descriptions will be followed by a longer Bio under a cut. Short and Sweet: 1. Ceral Redd (RBU) He/Him, Storm Mage Human from Kaldheim, has a pet kaladeshi dragon whelp named Raz 2.Laan Dovar (GR) He/Him, Geomancer/Size Manipulator Half-Kor/Half-Elf from Zendikar 3. Except (WGU) She/Her/They/Them, Healer Elf Simic Mimic from Ravnica with no memories of being from Ravnica, Old Walker 4. Y’lona (WB) She/Her, Cursed/Blessed Leonin from Theros 5. Zoya (R) She/Her, Blacksmith Vulshok from Mirrodin New Phyrexia 6. Atlan (WRU) He/Him, Jeskai Monk Djinn from Khans Tarkir 7. Sturn Dregg (BU) He/Him, ‘Skeleton’ Pirate ‘Pseudo Lich’ Death Mage Human from Ixalan 8. Samuel Dusken (WBU) He/Him, Elf Vampire Spirit Summoner from Innistrad, feeds on spirits not blood, Old Walker 9. Kitai Skalto (W) She/Her, Benalish Knight/Glass Mage Human from Dominaria 10. Aseri Kalot (WGR) She/Her, Saytr Beast Summoner from Theros, uses blood-ink tattoos to summon monsters whose blood is in the tattoos 11. Cas Anova (WR) He/Him, Reinforcement Magic/Pyromancer Cowboy Human from Unnamed Plane (wherever Angrath is from)

Bio’s under the cut (sorry mobile users)

Here’s the collection of bio’s for my fanwalkers. This will contain an overall what’s up and some base physical traits. I’ll try to keep it reasonable in length so that I don't clog up your dashes for too long!

1. Ceral Redd, 5′10, glowing purple eyes

Currently a resident of Kaladesh, Ceral has shifted from his previously violent ways to a more focused lifestyle. He spends much of his time traveling from plane to plane chasing legends and rumors, and studying weather patterns in hopes of getting strong enough to tame the storm that ravages his home. He wields the magics of what he hopes to calm, lightning and fire to ice and wind. Having spent several years on Kaladesh, and having worked within the Izzet League, Ceral picked up on how to work with artifice and uses his skills to improve the two red mana batteries he keeps on his person. Ceral has spent much of his time in recent months raising his dragon whelp Raz.

2. Laan Dovar, 6′2, light green eyes

Hoping to set an example, Laan helps those he comes across in his travels. He spends mush of his time traveling the more dangerous areas he finds, fond of high cliffs and deep valleys. While he's born of two cultures, he takes pride in both. His magic is just as mixed; with a skill in geomancy that allows him to control not only rock and earth, but also sand and even lava. His size manipulaton only allows him to change his own body in a range of passing for a giant to his own height, he can not shrink any smaller than that. While his Kor father has been dead for several years, Laan still returns to visit his Elf mother on Zendikar and catch her up on his travels.

3. Except, 5′4, brown eyes

A simple healer on the outskirts of a Leonin village, Except is anything but. Having spent over one hundred years on Theros as a six armed human with a Leonin tail, Satyr horns and the crest of a Merfolk, she is a respected member of their community. The villagers come to her for injures and illnesses that they cannot treat and the young enjoy playing with someone who can take any form they ask. She was once from Ravnica but lost any memories of that time when she first sparked, believing she is from Theros. Her shapeshifting abilites stem from her being a Simic Combine expirement to create a mimic from a non-mimic being. Except now uses her abilities to take on the hurts of her patients to learn how best to treat them. She only recently started planeswalking again when her adopted Leonin daughter Y'lona sparked.

4. Y’lona, 5′6, dark brown eyes

Only recently a planeswalker, Y'lona is still adjusting to all that there is to learn about it. She is also adjusting to the oddities that are her new planeswalking mentors; the long time patients of Except, her adoptive mother, Ceral Redd and Laan Dovar. The main task the three older walkers have agreed upon is that Y'lona needs to bring her newfound powers under some semblance of control. She had managed, in a state of terrror and confusion, to agree to the biddings of both an Innistradi Demon and Angel. One a curse to harm, the other a blessing to heal; Y'lona can't do one without doing the other. Neither contract was completed, which prevents her from choosing one and she will be stuck with both.

5. Zoya, 6′4, gold eyes

Having accepted her home of Mirrodin as a lost cause, Zoya has found some peace in focusing in her craft. A blacksmith by nature, she joined the Boros Legion after landing on Ravnica and is very happy to take any style of order. Due to this, she is very aware that others like her come from all over to get custom pieces and parts of weapons and armor made. Zoya has long since been able to tell who can and can't travel off of the plane, aware that even other members of the Legion aren't what they seem. She doesn't mind and has no plans to out any one of a shared secret. When she isnt doing work for orders, Zoya falls into old practices as a way of mourning for friends and family lost on her old home.

6. Atlan, 8′2, pale blue eyes

A follower of the Way and trapped in a time he never could have dreamed of, Atlan has to hold this secret close to protect himself. When he stepped into a different timeline, Atlan lost everyone he had ever known and his sorrow and confusion threw him even further to land on Kamigawa. Making his way back to Tarkir, he found that he was supposed to be missing and has been leading a double life ever since. His goal is to master ghostfire, but he knows he must first master the types of fire he's already learned. Atlan is also working on improving more than his physical and magical abilites, having taken up various games of wordplay, strategy and puzzles.

7. Sturn Dregg, 5′8, deep blue eyes

Stowaway turned sailor turned captain, Sturn has spent most of his life sailing the seas of Ixalan. His ship, the Hangman’s Orchard, and crew currently reside at the bottom of those seas while Sturn works on repaying the survivors of the Hours on Amonkhet. After sparking, he landed on the desert plane grievously injured and was saved from death. Once this debt is repaid, he planes on returning to Ixalan to raise the Orchard once more. Sturn is unsure of whether he wishes to travel the multitude of worlds available to him or if he will remain with his skeleton crew, haunting the seas of his home.

8. Samuel Dusken, 5′9, silver eyes

One of the last scions of the House Dusken on Innistrad, Samuel is also one of the planes last elves. After the ritual which turned the houses into vampires, Samuel took to researching a way to give his family an edge over all the others. Freedom from the need for blood while retaining the powers already gained. He took a self imposed exile until he successfully removed the thirst for blood, changed instead to a thirst for the essence of the lingering souls that haunted every corner of the multiverse. However, during his absence, Samuel's house had fallen from power in a war with House Maurer and scattered across the plane. He spends his time searching for a way to recreate his success with his now limited power and tracking down his scattered family.

9. Kitai Skalto, 5′10, green eyes

As both a Benalish Knight and a Glass Mage, Kitai has very little free time to pursue her interests across the multiverse. What time she does have is spent learning various fighting styles from friends she's made on previous trips from her home. Her magic allows her to create various things out of glas, from swords and shields to wings she can fly with. Kitai longs for adventure but is faithful to her duties, knowing that the only way to pursue her desires would be to embark upon a pilgrimage by herself. She wishes to prove herself before hand and thus returns to Benalia for her duties without fail.

10. Aseri Kalot, 4′11, brown eyes

Never in one place for too long, Aseri can always find somewhere to keep her entertained. She is spending her time traveling the multiverse to share the beauty of Nyx with any and all. Her unique style of summoning allows her to bring forth beasts that she has tattooed onto her own skin, with ink mixed with the beasts' blood. When summoned, these beasts take on the aspect of the Theros sky and resemble the Nyxborn of Aseri's home. Her favorite places to visit are Ixalan and Naya, and she has several tattoos from both. Despite her love of the starfield, Aseri doesn't visit her home very often.

11. Cas Anova, 6′, light brown eyes

A lone ranger kind of guy, Cas does what he can to try and make things better. He refuses to leave any place he's visited without solving a problem or two, even if it's only helping to repair a stable or going out to help deal with a few bandits. His pyromancy isnt the strongest but it allows him to fire small flames from his finger tips that explode on contact. Cas balances out his less than powerful offensive magic with reinforcement magics that can protect him from harm or make him slightly stronger. Having left behind his parents and younger siblings to help make the multiverse a slightly better place, Cas visits whenever he feels homesick.

Thank you for reading to the end! I’m hoping that my crew will entertain you in the future. My current goal is to get art for everyone and, hopefully, keep the list at 11. My asks are also open for more than Fanwalker Fridays and I’m always willing to answer questions!

#Fanwalkers #Ceral Redd #Laan Dovar #Except #Y'lona #Zoya #Atlan #Sturn Dregg #Samuel Dusken #Kitai Skalto #Aseri Kalot #Cas Anova #This is the second posting because this awful website ate the first version #tibalt the fire

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tysonrunningfox · 6 years ago

Text

Open Flames: Part 17

Ok, this is an insane roller coaster of a weird ass chapter and I think I love it and also, it has the funniest slapstick I’ve ever written and I don’t even care, that is correct, objectively.

(<5 days until I see httyd3......probs need to write like 20k to finish this.....I’m going to try, we. shall. see.).

Masterpost | AO3 (AO3 is better, it’s organized, sorry)

I can't say traveling with Arvid is just like old times, because I don't think we ever had a multi-day trip just the two of us with no real danger hanging overhead, but it's like I wish old times had been. We sleep a few hours in the afternoon and fly mostly at night, because campfires are easier to avoid than people hidden in dense pine forest. On the morning of our third day, pine gives way to ice and occasional brush land and Arvid signals that we're getting close. I don't know how he knows, considering the only other time he came here it was by boat, but after only a couple false starts and wrong turns, he zeroes in on a tiny village at the mouth of a river alongside an icy bay.

We land on a nearby hill where a small copse of trees can at least mostly hide the dragons and he points at a shallow valley behind the village.

"Dad disappeared that direction for a while last time we were getting tattooed, said he had to pay some respects and because no relatives came to meet me, I assume that's where the tombs are." His tone is somber in a way I struggle to place, until I remember what else was going on in our lives the last time he was here. Mom had just married the chief. He wasn't talking to me because I'd jumped him for insulting Mom.

Maybe this adventure can heal that too, or at least smooth out some of the scar tissue that might be left.

"Alright, let's get to it."

"Wait a second," he stops me and points at the Berk insignia holding my furs on. "I grabbed some of Dad's old clothes."

"Good plan." Even if all of the clothes aren't from here, most of them aren't from Berk either. They're covered in patterns I only vaguely recognize and none of them are that distinctive Berk green or red or blue that so much of our clothing is dyed. Everything seems to be more of a natural wool, and my hair stands out like fire against it. I pull up a furry hood and tuck as much back as possible, but there's no helping the beard.

What I don't expect is for the clothes to almost fit. Sure, they're baggy, and I almost don't mind that because it'll be easier to slip a sword underneath, but I would have expected to be swimming in Dad's clothes. Arvid must notice the same thing, because he looks at me strangely as he yanks at a jacket that's a little tight on him.

It makes me feel older, somehow, more ready for what I'm about to do, both here and back home. I wonder if Mom is freaking out yet, but I'm sure Fuse is handling it fine. I miss her, of course, but the fact that I won't have to for much longer makes it easier, like I'm racing towards a finish line after months or years spinning out in the last leg of the race.

"Trade?" I offer my own borrowed layer and he nods. The switch is a bit better on both of us, and I think I still have room for a modest armory of a single ceremonial sword. Arvid looks bigger somehow, foreign in a way he doesn't feel anymore and I nod. "I hope the runes look the same, because that's the only way we're finding the tomb."

"We'll just open them all until we see a family resemblance," he jokes and I snort.

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over well." I hadn't truly thought through the implication of showing up outside another village and rooting through their grave sites, but it's too late to think about that now. Or it won't help anything. I just need to get the sword. "Let's go."

We briefly skirt the edge of the village, and Arvid risks a nod at a few almost familiar faces as I pull my hood down further over my face. They wave back and I shake my head at him when we're clear of the last few houses. He shrugs, that easy grin that's the perfect accompaniment to Aurelia's easy diplomatic lies stretching across his face.

The first tombs aren't very far from the village but they're old, the runes on the small plaques in the hill face worn almost smooth. It's more like they were placed far away hundreds of years ago and in the centuries since, the village has slowly crept closer. The newer tombs are a little harder to see, placed more creatively around rocks and set into shallow caves. Arvid is curious, tracing over names and with a gloved hand, but I feel very strongly like I'm not supposed to be here, like I'm being watched. I don't see what I'm looking for so much as I feel it, around a small corner that heavy forbidden feeling relaxes. I look almost directly at a carved stone half hidden by some dry branches.

It's my name. The runes a little different, angles less sharp, words underneath it spelled so that I don't quite recognize them, but my name is clear. Nothing after it.

"Over here," I wave at Arvid, crunching through the knee high snow and breaking the branches off to get at the age-sealed edge of the stone. It feels weird to do this in the middle of the day, on Berk it's always the night before the wedding, and I wish I had a torch for ambiance or something.

"Let's hope Eret wasn't as common of a name a few decades ago," Arvid jokes, the edge he lost on the flight up here reappearing for a brief second as he hands me a sturdy branch to pry with. I wedge it against the edge of the stone and it takes a couple angles until it shifts. Then it moves too fast, falling on the ground and cracking a wedge off of the corner. "Sorry grandpa," Arvid mutters to himself, taking the branch back and carefully picking up the plaque.

The skeleton in the tomb is covered in mostly disintegrated cloth and I touch it with a careful hand before looking over my shoulder. The tombs on Berk are opened from the top or they're large enough to enter, I'm not sure how to get at what is inside of this one. Arvid shrugs and I look back at the half rotted away boot on a skeleton foot before sighing.

"I'm just going to stick my head in and see if there's a sword." For the first time ever, I miss my previous scrawniness as I edge carefully into the tomb beside the bones, leaning hard on my elbow and trying to ignore the pull of nearly healed stitches in my arm. There's a glint, barely visible and blocked when I move my head just wrong, but a definite glint. I reach for it, wincing when I wobble and accidentally grab a long dried arm bone for balance.

Thank you, namesake. Grandpa doesn't make sense without context, but I appreciate the support all the same.

"Eret," Arvid hisses, smacking my hip as my feet lift slightly off of the ground in my attempt to reach for the sword.

"Just a second, I've almost got it." I barely avoid planting my face into a ribcage covered in stringy, cold preserved leather, "and don't jostle me when I'm snuggled up against a dead guy."

He says something else but I don't quite hear it because my arm is against my ear as I stretch to grab...a blade. Yes. I've got it. I pull it carefully towards myself, ancient fabric tearing around a worn and battered blade. It's corroded in the middle, pockmarked with rust that makes it feel more historic as I carefully slide it into the collar of my coat, tucking the point into a seal skin lined pocket by my waist.

"Ok, you can pull me out--"

Arvid takes the suggestion with unnecessary force, yanking me by my leg and throwing me face down into the snow. He lands on top of me, straddling my waist and gathering my wrists in his hand behind my back. The sword in my coat digs into my layers of shirts and if it were sharper, it would be cutting where I don't want to be cut. As it is, it's just bruising me, making it hard to breathe where it digs into my ribs. Was he this jealous about Dad's sword? I don't think so, especially because I handed it over.

"Got him!" He announces to someone else before leaning down and whispering in my ear, "did you get it?"

"Yes, if you're going to steal it you'd have to roll me over." I kick at him but all the heavy clothes are in the way and he's securely seated, one hand on the back of my neck, pressing my face into the snow.

"Keep it hidden, we got caught, play along."

"Is it playing along if I tell you to stop crushing me?" I wheeze, trying to kick him again and getting a mouthful of snow for the trouble.

"Hey, don't worry, I've got him." Arvid announces, standing up and yanking me to my feet with his grip on my wrists. It's tight but nothing I couldn't break out of and I resist the urge to do exactly that. I should trust him, plus, if I tried anything, the sword might fall out of my furs and get abandoned if we had to flee. I have to blink a few times to see the group of men approaching us clearly through the ice encrusted on my eyelashes. There's eight or nine of them, maybe and they're holding spears in our direction, but they lower slightly when they see Arvid, his tattoos almost matching some of the group's. "Trying to hide in my grandfather's grave after I chased him down here."

"Your grandfather?" One of the men raises their spear, "I don't recognize you."

"I do," another frowns and scratches under his chin with a short sword, its craftsmanship familiar to the one under my coat that's currently cold on the bruise it made. I think my cheek might be scraped too, from stone or ice I'm not sure, and I'm going to personally make Arvid explain himself to Fuse.

"My father, Eret son of Eret brought me here a few years ago," Arvid lets go of my wrists with one hand to point at his chin and I almost throw him again. He seems to sense my plan and tightens his grip, giving me a warning look.

"What are you doing here now?" The guy in front with the largest spear, presumably the leader, asks and Arvid stands up straighter, flaunting the inches he has on the man.

"You're asking me what I'm doing here when I just caught a thief in my grandfather's grave?" He says it with such conviction that apparently none of them think to press the issue further, which is a relief for all of a couple minutes of frozen marching, until it becomes obvious where they're marching me to.

"That looks like a dragon cage turned jail cell," I hiss at him, tugging experimentally on his grip. I don't want to break it if he doesn't want me to, because then my other captors might tie my hands with something more serious.

"Just play along," he whispers, "I promised Thorston I'd get you home un-injured, and I don't think that's going to happen if we take on eight men without our dragons."

"So you're going to lock me up?"

"If I have to," he pushes me forward a little harder than necessary, just to make me trip, and I catch the men looking at us. I struggle for a moment, just for show, and Arvid yanks me back upright with a hand on my shoulder. "I'll grab the keys and get you later. Keep the sword hidden and don't do anything stupid until then."

"Stupid? When am I stupid?" I elbow him, probably harder than I need to for show, and he coughs before handing me over to two of the guys who try to be rougher than he was. They half succeed, mostly they just grab handfuls of layers of Dad's old clothes as they toss me into the cage. I'm glad I'm wearing so much now because the room has a hard rocky floor and the late fall sun isn't anywhere near as high as I'd like it to be.

The front door of the converted jail slams shut behind the group, Arvid included, and I sigh, hitting my head on the bars in frustration and aiming to hit the lock before realizing how wide the warped, rusty metal would split my knuckles. Fuse doesn't make exceptions.

Even if this is going to be a long, cold night.

00000

The first and only time Aurelia got kidnapped, I found her in a dragon cage on some asshole trapper's boat. Everyone else thought it was the crony we'd been dealing with, dancing around in the non-fatal chief style for months, but I had a hunch things were escalating. Well, it wasn't so much a hunch as it was the fact that Arvid was inconsolable and liable to get himself killed if he stepped up the chain of command, so I did it.

That was the first day I realized that only some people will talk. Some people just aren't made for compromise, and when I was alone on a boat with one such person who was in command of about twenty who might listen to reason, my decision to...end discussions came more easily than I would have thought it could.

Aurelia threw up, I still think it's why she dove so stubbornly into diplomacy. If she talks fast enough, she doesn't have to see inside of anyone's lung, theoretically.

Anyway, the reason that this stupid stony jail cell has me thinking about that day is I remember so clearly being irritated when I landed that Aurelia was still in the cage. It was built for Nadders or maybe Gronckles, and the bars were practically as far apart as her shoulders were wide. She could have turned sideways and gotten out at literally any time, but I had to explain that to her while she dry heaved and tried not to look at the bloody puddle that used to be the biggest up and coming dragon trapper in the archipelago.

She later explained that she stayed in the cage because the trappers couldn't get in, and she didn't have a weapon or a dragon so there was no point in escaping, but I don't have either of those concerns now. I have Dad's dad's old corroded sword, which probably couldn't cut anything, but it's heavy enough to bludgeon with, and if I could just get outside, I could call Bang. Even if I couldn't, we didn't leave him that far away, I could make a run for it.

But I don't fit.

The bars look far apart. I didn't even wait until nightfall to try at first, pressing my shoulder against a gap and expecting the layers of clothes to compress and bunch and ultimately let me through, but I had no luck. Now, it's finally late enough that I don't think anyone is dropping by to give the poor prisoner some dinner, so I start taking off layers, folding them carefully to hide the sword and shivering as I get down to my undershirt. I push my shoulder again against the space between two bars and get a little further, arm slipping through past my armpit until the cold, rusted metal introduces itself to my collarbone and back, not quite at my spine.

I turn my head and press my face between the bars to push harder. My head fits, barely, but it does. My chest doesn't move, though, and the rust bites into my collarbone, scraping enough that my shirt starts to tear and I yank my arm back. There's no blood in the hole, just a little reddened skin I won't have to explain to Fuse, and I sit down on my pile of clothes with a huff.

Picking the lock with the sword is a no go and I can't get enough of a running start to bust the gate open, as rusty as the lock is. I get excited for a second when I find Fuse's gifted smoke bombs in a deep pocket of my original clothes, but I think they've gone bad or something because the color is different. I still try and light them, first by sparking the sword against the wall and then by ripping off a piece of my sleeve and laboriously getting it to light, then holding the fire to the unraveling wicks. They fizzle out almost immediately with a rotten smell but no smoke and I throw one at the wall in frustration. It sparks, uselessly, the place it impacted chipping off to reveal a red clay color underneath, which I take to be the definite sign of a bomb gone bad.

Sleeping isn't an option. Not only am I not tired, but there's nothing remotely comfortable in this cell. The couple of slices of bread that a sullen kid drops off at first light could be a pillow, I guess, because the moldy crust prevents them from being food. Maybe I’m spoiled from living in the chief’s house, but I’m not keen on a moldy bed either.

Mostly I have too much time to think. About Fuse and the fact that we're engaged and the fact that for the first time in a long time, there's a future that I want to get back to. About the chief's advice and going after what I want and how horribly it is currently going for me. Except I also wouldn't be where I am without it, there wouldn't be a house and a future on the horizon and...well, it's a vortex I can sink some thought into. Approximately two days of thought, judging by the volume of my stomach's growls when I assess each morning's moldy bread as I watch a tiny square of sun make its way across the floor, even though the light makes me feel colder.

Where is Arvid with the fucking keys?

Briefly, on the third morning, I wonder if he left without me, especially with the sword and the tackling. Nothing in the last four years would lead me to that conclusion, but the last four days? Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe I don't count on anyone but Fuse to be bedrock during changing times, but she's understandably not up to it so I'm drifting. I want to be wrong.

I jump up when the door slams open, rattling rust off the bars over the tiny window.

"I didn't do it!" Arvid shouts as the same kid who brings my bread shoves him through the makeshift prison door, his hands bound with thick rope, his eye swelling a shiny pink.

"Tell that to my dad," the kid grumbles under his breath as he gives me a wary look, one hand flitting to the keys on his belt.

Arvid could get out of that hold, but he doesn't. I hope it's part of a plan and hold my hands up in silent surrender, taking a step back from the gate. I could dash out, but I don't think I could take the kid with how easy it would be to use Arvid as a shield. I can also hear voices outside, and as much as my clearing out the Thorston pantry and then sleeping a solid day in Fuse's bed perked me up, the last few days without food or sleep are catching up to me.

My brother's stumble isn't necessarily exaggerated when the kid pushes him into the cell and locks the door behind him, but I freeze until we’re alone and the voices outside go silent.

"Moldy bread?" I gesture to one of the plates still by the gate and my stomach growls. So helpful.

"I'm good, thanks."

"No keys, I take it."

He blinks, "I'll pull them out of my ass if you untie me."

I laugh at that, the tension half-melting. It's not quite the bottom or top half though, it's one of the sides and obviously asymmetrical, because the atmosphere teeters and finds a new upright.

"These knots are...a mess," I struggle with the rope, pulling a little too hard and flinching as Arvid's vaguely blue thumb jolts. He was struggling as they tied him up, apparently, "I'd cut it loose but we might need the rope."

"Planning a grand escape?"

"Always," I sigh, "looks like a rope-less one though." The corroded sword cuts a surprisingly effortless path through the rope and the shreds fall to the floor as Arvid flexes his hand. Honestly, the pile is a more appealing pillow than the bread and I almost contemplate it for a second. "Better?"

"Not really," Arvid half smiles, exhausted as he turns away to press his swelling face against the hard stone wall, "almost as good as ice, right?"

"I guess," I lean by back against the wall next to his face, glancing casually at him. I'm mostly glad for someone to talk to, but I'm also really glad that it's him, weird tension aside. "Who did that?"

"Jailer's wife made a move," he snorts and I roll my eyes. "I'm serious, I was trying to get the keys and she offered a deal. Apparently, I'm still pretty good looking by Dad's hometown standards." There's that jealous look again, but it's hollow. Not even tired, just...expired, like a log that's too charred to keep burning.

"Did you do it?" I ask even though I already know the answer and it's his turn to dismiss me, standing up to carefully poke at his swelling eye.

"She told her husband I did because I didn't, so...no luck with the keys, do you have a plan?"

"Time travel about five years into the past and fit through the bars," I shrug, "I tried a few times, but no luck. Maybe another week avoiding moldy bread and cutting off an ear would do it, but Fuse would never forgive me." It's meant to get a laugh but Arvid deflates instead, slumping down against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

"It's really hard to be pissed at someone so clueless, you know?"

"I don't," I shove cold hands into my pockets, fiddling with Fuse's ruined smoke bombs. "I'm usually the most clueless."

"You and Mom," he sighs, "you two trade off."

"How hard did you get hit?" I laugh.

He looks at me seriously, exhausted, and I recognize some version of Aurelia's most cutting, honest face. The one that only comes out when she's too preoccupied to unpack my nonsense in to neat piles. Arvid's version is more mallot than dagger though and I steel myself.

"You know, sacrificing yourself isn't without casualties."

"Aren't you the one who tackled me and lied about your involvement in my scheme and it led to me being here?" I raise an eyebrow but he doesn't notice or more likely, doesn't care. "What's your problem? You've been weird ever since Dad gave me his sword. Am I facing another coup, because if so, you need to starve and not sleep for a couple days before I'm willing to call anything even--"

"I know my place," Arvid cuts me off, sharp and definite, "trust me--"

"Sorry if you ordering me to trust you doesn't have the desired effect--"

"It's not an order," he sighs, probing the swelling under his eye, "it's just hard watching you get everything, alright? I'm over it--I mean, I'm dealing with it." He swallows hard and shrugs a broad shoulder, "badly."

"Watching me get everything?" I snort, gesturing to the cell, "right, a dank, freezing jail, everything I've ever wanted."

"Before you go back to your life and your family and your future marriage to the woman you love," he hits his head against the wall and sighs like it's the last ounce of deflation. “And your job that’s neatly waiting for you, all responsibilities listed out.”

Oh.

"That wasn't umm, what I was expecting," I sit down next to him, back against the same wall, one leg extended with my hands folded over my knee. I don't feel as casual as I'm trying to look and I clear my throat, "do you want to talk about it?"

"About your future chiefdom?" His lip curls and the muscle under his eye twitches, which brings him right back to sad. That's going to be a nasty bruise and I passively worry how big the jailer is.

"I talk about that enough," I shrug, bumping his shoulder with mine, "whine about it, mostly. So much that I forgot to ask if you were upset about anything, apparently."

"You do that."

I think about Fuse and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, "yeah. I'm working on it."

"It's not that you do everything wrong," Arvid thumps a heavy hand on my shoulder, "it's that somehow, I do everything right and it doesn't seem to matter."

"What are you talking about?" I laugh, "you're the only one of us that Mom trusts to be an actual adult."

"Is it trust?" He doesn’t want an answer and I don’t nod, “or was Mom just the first one to forget where I fit?”

"She trusts you," it comes out flat and Arvid sees right through me to what I haven't fully verbalized yet.

“It doesn’t matter.” He sounds like Fuse, and I hate that I’ve become someone that people are scared to lean on. “Not—it’s good that she trusts me, it makes it easier. For you.” He laughs, “which is what matters, I know—”

“From where I sit, nothing seems very easy,” I gesture at the wall in front of us, the sun dipping below the small, dingy windowsill and shepherding in another long, cold night. ��It’s funny though that you say you don’t know where you fit, because I just told Fuse that you’re co-chief’s wife, because she’s nervous about that, apparently.”

“I’ll be a Thorston-Mom translator,” he snorts, miserable but at least talking, “that sounds like a full time job.”

“It’s yours whether you want it or not.” I follow his lead and relax a little bit, “you’re already kicking ass at managing all of us, which is basically Mom’s job aside from being married to the chief, and unless there’s something you need to tell me about your feelings…” I joke, gesturing to myself and he sighs.

“I hate that Dad gave you his sword.”

It’s better than another confession but it still hits me like a physical blow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…uh, do you want to talk about it?” I prod, trying not to look at the empty sheath where Dad’s sword was. I saw him leave it with Wingspark before I got captured and I’m assuming it’s still there, but it’s absence is like a presence in and of itself.

“Not really,” Arvid scoots closer to me, notching his shoulder over mine against the wall. “I’m tired, it’s cold.”

“You aren’t too mad to huddle for warmth, that’s a good sign.” I’m more relieved than I let on when I scoot closer, the bubble between us where Dad’s sword should be the only warm patch I’ve felt in days.

“I’m not mad,” he shuts his eyes, obviously not asleep but not daring me to call him out either, “there’s no one to be mad at.”

“I get that feeling.” The place I used to use to deflect everything at the chief is as empty as Arvid’s belt and I let my eyes close, at least for a few hours.

00000

I dream about cribs in a prison cell while Dad’s sword glows red hot from a fire I can’t see, emanating from my side where Arvid hit me all those years ago. When I wake up, Arvid is slumped over my lap, arms too tight around my legs as he uses my thighs as a pillow. My nose is numb from cold and my toes are numb from my brother’s massively heavy head and I try to shake him loose, my breath foggy in the gray morning light.

“Arvid.”

“Mmph,” he presses his face into my leg, “five more minutes.”

I shake his shoulder and he looks up with a sleepy squint, staring at me for a second before remembering where he is and frowning. He sits up a little too quickly, brushing dust from his front and trying to straighten his hair. The bruise around his eye is fully black in the corner and blue-purple around the edges and it makes him look younger the way his sheepish expression does, like he’s been caught after picking a bad fight.

“I would have let you sleep, but chances of keeping all my toes are already less than ideal, considering what serves for a blade right now,” I joke, awkwardly standing up and pacing to get warm. Arvid examines Eret the Original’s sword pensively, tracing a battle-faded inscription along the flat of the blade.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want this one too,” he says when he catches me staring.

“I wasn’t worried,” I shrug, “that one, I’ve definitely earned.”

“You chose it,” he sets it down, “you could have had any Hofferson or Haddock sword on Berk, but you chose Dad.” His smile is sad and pensive, and a little sheepish still, daring me to cut him off. “And as always, he chose you.”

“Well,” I swallow, gesturing at him and seeing nothing more than a young version of Dad, less heroic in reality than he would be in the story when he retold it later. Or not less heroic, just more real, more alive instead of a living legend. “He doesn’t have to choose you, it’s obvious.”

He shrugs.

We both look so much like our dads that sometimes, when I look at him, all I see is Mom. I hope he feels the same.

“I guess I know what obvious feels like, and I’m not a fan of it either.” I sigh, running my hand back through my tangled mess of hair. Somehow, needing a bath is what makes me miss home. Or maybe it’s the feeling of being assumed, and I’m a hypocrite for missing it right when Arvid is explaining how he doesn’t have it. Mostly though, I suddenly miss Fuse, everything I’ve held off due to necessity threatening to knock me back. “I’m sorry—”

“And then there’s the house,” he smiles, “which is ironic, because I’m the one responsible for spoiling you there.”

“The house? What’s up with the house?” I cock my head, “does it have an interior hot spring or a never ending bread cabinet or something? Axe storage for twenty?”

“It’s not going to feel empty,” he shakes his head, the last of the tension melting into a miserable fog around him, hovering above the frozen ground. “Four years with two people in a house meant for six starts to get a little quiet.”

All of the sleep and time to think has meant something, because the concept clicks immediately.

“The babies.”

“Right? Plural. Two of them.” He sighs, “it’s not that you do everything wrong, but when you do, it always turns out so right for you.”

“And you do everything right.”

“Well, I don’t think there’s a wrong way to do that.”

“What do you—oh Gods, no, I’m trying to have a heart to heart with you and—”

“I had to,” he tosses a pebble at me and it bounces off of my forehead, “you should see your face.”

“I don’t need to, I’m betting it’s projecting horror and disgust and I just meant you got betrothed and then married in that order, not—can you throw up after not eating for however many days? Because I might try—”

“Who else am I going to talk to about this stuff? Rolf?” He’s a little pleading, a little joking, and I can’t deny that I owe him after apparently rubbing something like this in his face, even if I didn’t know. “He’d give me a pamphlet in Latin or something.”

“You could try Ingrid, she’d give you…I don’t know, a map to nearly abandoned boats with free babies on them.” I sit back down next to him, doing my best fake placid and hoping it’ll translate inward eventually. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Finn didn’t help things,” he scuffs his toe on the ground, “how is it that Ingrid rejects absolutely everything she’s supposed to do and somehow, she’s happy with Smitelout and a two year old?”

“Because she’s Ingrid,” I laugh, “you talk about me getting everything.”

“True, she’s the real favorite.” He lacks the weight of his secret, “I hate to break it to you but I think she’s even the chief’s favorite. Well, and Snotlout’s.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I laugh, “I kept wondering if Snotlout would take in another unconventional duo just so that Fuse and I could sleep in the same bed. And I bet if I threw in grandpa bragging rights, he would have done it.”

“Aurelia says we have time.” Arvid’s voice carries a dismal hint of sarcasm that’s more mine than anyone else’s and I remember my own conversation with Aurelia, offering her my kids if I start messing them up too bad. “Maybe this will change her mind, at any minute I could be locked up for life and she’ll want someone to remember me by.”

“Uh, I know that we’re having brother time right now and pretending you didn’t remind me that you’re married to my sister—”

“I’m not pretending.” He teases and I shake my head.

“No, I—that’s something you need to talk to her about—”

“What did she tell you?” Arvid’s reaction makes my heart throb for Fuse, because it’s the same obsessive worry I feel whenever I let myself think about her. It’s the same pull, the one that makes the prison bars look like rusted matchsticks. “She talked to you? About kids?”

“We share issues.”

“What did she say? Is she ok? Why isn’t she telling me?” The pain is familiar too, the shame-tinted grief I felt when I learned Fuse hadn’t been telling me everything.

I shake my head, “that’s all I should tell you, it’s not—you know, as much as my history surrounding Aurelia still perturbs me,” I tread lightly, “mostly it seems really messed up for me to moderate relationship talk as both your siblings.”

He doesn’t hear me, not in any way that would matter, because he’s on his feet, rattling the bars with force that makes the rust flake to the floor.

“Have you tried to pick the lock?” He takes the ceremonial sword and gouges the tip trying to shove it into the lock.

“Hey, be careful with that.” I try to take it back but he drops it on the floor, narrowing his eyes at the gate.

“I could bust that open.”

“I tried that, yes, after picking the lock didn’t work—“

“Youtried it, alright,” he plants his foot against the wall to build up more speed as he takes two running steps and slams his shoulder into the rusty gate. It clangs like an orchestral sentry, the lock taking the high notes as the tumblers inside clatter around.

“That’s really loud.”

“Well, I hit it really hard,” he rolls his shoulder and sets up to try it again.

“Whoa there,” I put a hand on his shoulder and he nudges it off, a little too hard, “hey!”

“You might be content to let Stoick claim your kids while you—fuck!” He cuts himself off, “I don’t mean that, I just—”

“You’re worried, it’s fine,” I kick a plate of moldy bread and it skids harmlessly under the bars, clattering against the door, “thinking about Fuse is killing my appetite as much as the potential food poisoning. We need to get out of here, I just think doing it without drawing the attention of multiple people massive enough to do that,” I gesture at his eye, “is probably a good idea.”

His jaw flexes and he glares at the door a second before nodding, “you said you tried to fit.”

“I did, I don’t fit,” I assure him and he cocks his head.

“I bet I could make you fit.”

“I…don’t know if I like the sound of that,” I stare at him for a second before starting to take off layers. “But I don’t see any other options at the moment.”

“Take off the sweater,” he holds his hands out to take my clothes, tossing them on the floor to cover the ceremonial sword. Fuse’s ruined smoke bombs fall out of my inner pocket and roll to the back corner. “Wait! Those are Thorston’s, you had them the whole time?”

“I’ve had them for months, they’ve been soaked about half a dozen times,” he grabs my arm when I don’t move fast enough, maneuvering me against two of the wider set bars. It’s different than where I tried and maybe a few days without food will matter. “You think bombs wouldn’t be the first thing I’d try if I had them?”

“I never know with you,” he laughs, waiting for me to get my foot against the base. My feet aren’t going to be the problem and I can kick off my boots as need be, but the first squeeze I feel mid-foot still makes me nervous.

“If I say stop—“

“I’ll stop,” he pushes gently when the gap introduces itself to my collarbone again, “it’s so close.”

“Yeah, how close is close if I leave my nose behind and Fuse kills both of us?” I squawk when he shoves on the back of my head, “bad angle, that’s not gonna—ouch!”

“You’re being louder than the gate,” he grunts, knee against my hip and the gap pinches my pelvis where I don’t want to be pinched. I squeak and kick backwards at him.

“If you want nieces and nephews—”

“I’ll already have a spare,” he eases up when he jokes but it makes me laugh anyway and my chest expands into the gap, pinching my stomach. I squeak again. “Exhale—”

“That won’t get my ribs out of the way, fuck—”

The door opens and the jailer’s son drops a plate of moderately more moldy bread than usual on the floor, teenage face wide eyed in shock.

“Uhh,” I cough, “I don’t fit.”

“Yeah,” Arvid yanks me back with a tug that feels like it scrapes all the hair off of half of the front of my body and I yelp. “He’s been bulking up on the bread.”

“Yeah,” I wheeze, “it’s dense. Nutritious.”

The kid slams the door behind him as he presumably runs to get bigger guards.

“Well, they know now,” Arvid says quietly before flinging himself against the gate again. It breaks partway free of the roof, along with the whole strip of wall. “Help me,” he tosses me my coat for padding and I shrug into it, counting to three with him and throwing my own shoulder against the wall near the corner, where it’s stubbornly holding on.

Once. Twice. Three times makes my whole arm sing, my no bruises rule falling away as I remember the stitches I haven’t dealt with as they yank and sting.

Arvid beats me to four by a half a second and the bars fall down, Arvid crashing onto them with me following a second behind, clutching my arm. Two things happen at once. First, the door starts to open, a single spearhead poking its way through the gap. Second, the wall of bars falls against the door entirely and bends under my brother and my combined weight, folding in a neat corner against the floor and jamming the door shut.

Guards start pounding at the door but I roll onto my back, head uncomfortable against the bars as I rub my shoulder. Arvid jumps up and starts pacing like a caged Rumblehorn.

“Hey, it’s ok, they can’t get in.”

“And we can’t get out,” he kicks the bars holding the door shut and I sit up slowly, “what are we going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” I might imagine the dragon sounds outside. Bang’s warble, Wingspark’s frantic squeal at the sight of weapons in the hands of people she doesn’t know. I don’t imagine the weapons against the door, clanging dully as unfamiliar voices rise into a familiar angry wave.

“How? The window?” He points at the tiny window, “Gods, I wish Aurelia were here. For so many reasons.” He tugs at his hair and my stomach hurts with how much I feel the same.

“I wish Fuse were here.”

“She couldn’t fit through there,” he snorts, gesturing at the bars, “not now, at least—”

“No, I mean I wish Fuse were here with some firepower.”

I definitely hear Bang now, his blast making the air in the cell blur in familiar rings of compression and speed. I see Fuse’s smoke bombs in slow motion, rolling with the blast to the corner of the room and leaking odd red smoke that I don’t recognize.

“What the—”

“Get down!” I shout at Arvid, clapping my hands over my ears as Bang blasts again.

The bombs slam into the wall and everything is loud and white and dust.

#open flames #eret iii #festerverse #arvid hofferson #feret #arvelia #two boys on a road trip without their brain cell #am I gonna make it before httyd3 #with some self loathing and lack of sleep just maybe #maybe just maybe #I'm very close

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trinuviel · 7 years ago

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When the Land is Cursed - Catastrophe and Magical Pollution in “A Song of Ice and Fire”. Part 2: Asshai-by-the-Shadow

(Asshai by the Shadow. Art by René Aigner)

In my previous post about the Doom of Valyria, I framed the blighted lands of the Valyrian peninsula and the surrounding Lands of the Long Summer in terms of magical pollution. I argued that it is possible that magic was partially the cause of the Doom in some form - possibly related to spells that the Valyrians used to make mining active volcanoes a feasible project. The Valyrians had a tendency to meddle magically with the natural order of things and in that sense, the Doom is framed textually as the punishment for such hubris.

What I found particularly interesting is the fact that the Doom not only shattered the Valyrian peninsula and turned it into a smattering of islands in a new sea - but that it also left the land blighted far beyond the the peninsula itself. I’m specifically thinking about the city of Mantarys where children often are born severely deformed, in a way that is eerily reminiscient of the effects radiation damage in the wake of nuclear disasters in our world.

However, the ruins of Old Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer are not the only places in the world of ASoIaF that suffers from magical pollution.

There is at least one other place that is magically polluted in a similar manner but perhaps to an even larger degree.

I am speaking of that mysterious place at the end of the known world: Asshai-by-the-Shadow. It lies in the far eastern reaches of Essos where the Jade Sea meets the Saffron Straits. It is just north of an unexplored landmass called Ulthos. It is about as far from Westeros as you can come.

THE CITY OF ASSHAI

Asshai is a mysterious place - its origins are lost in the mists of time and even the Asshai’i don’t know who built this city. It is a forbidding place:

Few places in the known world are as remote as Asshai, and fewer are as forbidding. Travelers tell us that the city is built entirely of black stone: halls, hovels, temples, palaces, streets, walls, bazaars, all. Some say as well that the stone of Asshai has a greasy, unpleasant feel to it, that it seems to drink the light, dimming tapers and torches and hearth fires alike. The nights are very black in Asshai, all agree, and even the brightest days of summer are somehow grey and gloomy. Asshai is a large city, sprawling out for leagues on both banks of the black river Ash. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)

This description of the gloomy cityscape of Asshai also brings to mind the trope of Foreboding Architecture.

Some of the statues were so lovely they took her breath away, others so misshapen and terrible that Dany could scarcely bear to look at them. Those, Ser Jorah said, had likely come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. (On Vaes Dothrak, AGoT, Daenerys IV)

This trope is mainly associated with video- and computer games but I do think that it is relevant in this context. Another trope that seems to come into play is Evil Is Not Well-Lit, which corresponds perfectly with the rather sinister reputation that Asshai has when it comes to magic:

The dark city by the Shadow is a city steeped in sorcery. Warlocks, wizards, alchemists, moonsingers, red priests, black alchemists, necromancers, aeromancers, pyromancers, bloodmages, torturers, inquisitors, poisoners, godswives, night-walkers, shapechangers, worshippers of the Black Goat and the Pale Child and the Lion of Night, all find welcome in Asshai-by-the-Shadow, where nothing is forbidden. Here they are free to practice their spells without restraint or censure, conduct their obscene rites, and fornicate with demons if that is their desire. Most sinister of all the sorcerers of Asshai are the shadowbinders, whose lacquered masks hide their faces from the eyes of gods and men. They alone dare to go upriver past the walls of Asshai, into the heart of darkness. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)

Several of the most powerful, mysterious and somewhat sinister magic practitioners that we meet in the novels have all spent time in Asshai: Mirri Maz Duur, Melisandre of Asshai and Quaite of the Shadow. Even a maester of the Citadel, Marwyn the Mage, travelled to Asshai to study magic.

(Asshai. Art by Marco Iozzi)

One curious aspect is that Asshai is a HUGE city. It has enormous land walls and it covers enough ground to contain Volantis, Qarth, King’s Land and Oldtown. However, despite its size it has rather few inhabitants. Its population roughly corresponds to a good-sized market town, which probably means that it has a couple of thousand inhabitants. This, of course, raises the question of what happened to the original population. Thus, Asshai is a variation upon the trope of the Ghost City:

A Ghost City is the larger version of a Ghost Town, and is used in visual media as shorthand for 'something terrible has happened'. A city typically contains millions of people, and the viewer knows that only the hugest of disasters could completely clear it of its inhabitants. [...] Usually there is one person, or possibly a few people, left to contrast the vast emptiness. (TVTropes)

However, Asshai is a thriving trade port despite its forbidding aspect as it is known for gold, gems and esoteric knowledge. Strange treasures can be found in the black bazars of Asshai - and ships travels from all parts of the world to partake in its riches.

THE SHADOW LANDS

Asshai is situated at the tip of a mysterious area called the Shadow Lands. It is a landscape of mountains and rivers, of which the most prominent is the river Ash that runs through a deep and narrow valley called the Vale of Shadows.

Though the landscape is harsh, the Shadow Lands are not entirely unpopulated. Certain areas are inhabited by the so-called Shadow Men. Not much is known about these natives of the Shadow, other than that they cover their bodies in tattoos and wear red laquered wooden masks. They are also known for piracy and reaving.

(Shadow Men. art by HBO)

Many stories exist about the Shadowlands but a common denominator is that these lands are home to twisted and monstrous creatures - demons, dragons and worse.

Some legends claim that the dragons originated in the Shadow:

She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. (AGoT, Daenerys III)

There might just be some truth to this legend as the three petrified dragon eggs that Daenerys Targaryen receives as a wedding present came from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. Furthermore, during Bran’s first vision when he lies unconcious after his fall from the Broken Tower he sees this:

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise. (AGoT, Bran III)

That is an interesting little tidbit of information and I wonder if it will play a part in the story to come novels. Some fans believe that GRRM initially planned to have Dany visit Asshai but that he ultimately dropped that plot (x). I’m not so sure about that because the story has set Dany up with a narrative arc as a failed saviour from the very beginning.

However, from a Doylist perspective, Dany’s proposed solution to the problem of the raped women becomes part of a pattern in her narrative arc where she attempts to save people from something (rape, slavery), only to end up with solutions that are very similar to the conditions she wanted to save people from. She wanted to save the Lhazareen women from wartime rape by putting them in a situation where they would be subject to marital rape. She wants to save people from slavery but end up using unpaid labour as well as profiting from people selling themselves into slavery. (x)

It is true that the shadowbinder Quaithe wants Dany to visit Asshai:

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow." Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. "Will the Asshai'i give me an army?" she demanded. "Will there be gold for me in Asshai? Will there be ships? What is there in Asshai that I will not find in Qarth?" "Truth," said the woman in the mask. And bowing, she faded back into the crowd. (ACoK, Daenerys III)

By not going to Asshai, Daenerys may have been set up by the narrative to fail as a saviour for the third and most important time - because she doesn’t learn whatever truth that Quaithe wants her to learn. The Rule of Three dominates Dany’s narrative and after ultimately failing to save the Lhazareen women from rape and after failing to definitely end slavery in Meereen, I fear Daenerys is set up a third and final time as the saviour of mankind.

GRRM has said that if Asshai appears in the novels it will be through flashbacks. If that is the case, then we may learn the truth that Quaithe alludes to and I think it is very possible that this truth relates to dragons. It is worth noting that there’s dragonglass in Asshai, just like there is on Dragonstone. It is, apparently, one of their important export goods.

STYGAI - THE CORPSE CITY

Asshai is not the only city in the Shadow Lands. In the Vale of Shadows lies the ruined city of Stygai, also called the City of the Night because it only sees sunlight for a brief period of time each day.

On its way from the Mountains of the Morn to the sea, the Ash runs howling through a narrow cleft in the mountains, between towering cliffs so steep and close that the river is perpetually in shadow, save for a few moments at midday when the sun is at its zenith. In the caves that pockmark the cliffs, demons and dragons and worse make their lairs. The farther from the city one goes, the more hideous and twisted these creatures become...until at last one stands before the doors of the Stygai, the corpse city at the Shadow's heart, where even the shadowbinders fear to tread. Or so the stories say. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)

Stygai is yet another example of the trope of the Ghost City but unlike Asshai, Stygai is completely abandoned - and a place of fear, even among the shadowbinders.

The name itself is interesting. Some fans believe that Stygai is an intertextual nod to the story “Shadows in the Moonlight” by Robert E. Howard (x). That is certainly possible but it is also worth remembering that in the English language “stygian” is used as a synonym for “extremely dark, gloomy or forbidding”, which certainly fits the description of a ruined city in the heart of the Shadow Lands. In the literal sense, “stygian” means something like “of or relating to the river Styx”. In classical Greek mythology, Styx was one of the rivers that constituted the border between the Earth and the Underworld (Hades), the realm of the Dead - and that definition is certainly also pertinent to the city of Stygai, which borders the black waters of the river Ash.

THE LAND IS STERILE

One curious feature of Asshai and its environs is, in my opinion, extremely important: the land is completely sterile! Outside the city nothing but the inedible ghost grass grows:

Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horseback with stalks as pale as milkglass. It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the damned. (Jorah Mormon to Daenerys Targaryen, AGoT, Daenerys III)

In fact, the Asshai’i are entirely dependant imported food and fresh water as the waters of the river Ash are blighted and unhealthy.

The waters of the Ash glisten black beneath the noonday sun and glimmer with a pale green phosphorescence by night, and such fish as swim in the river are blind and twisted, so deformed and hideous to look upon that only fools and shadowbinders will eat of their flesh. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)

Incidentally, this little detail about the fish living in the Ash sounds eerily reminiscent of wildlife affected by nuclear fallout or extreme chemical pollution. The very climate is unhealthy:

There are no horses in Asshai, no elephants, no mules, no donkeys, no zorses, no camels, no dogs. Such beasts, when brought there by ship, soon die. The malign influence of the Ash and its polluted waters have been implicated, as it is well understood from Harmon's On Miasmas that animals are more sensitive to the foulness exuded by such waters, even without drinking them. Septon Barth's writings speculate more wildly, referring to the higher mysteries with little evidence. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)

The mention of Septon Barth here is an interesting and possibly important bit of information. I have previously written about Septon Barth and his writings on magic and unnatural creature. There are Doylist reasons for believing that his writings may contain clues to the magical mysteries of A Song of Ice and Fire. Furthermore, Samwell Tarly has in his possession the possibly only surviving copy of Barth’s Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History.

He [Maester Aemon] asked Sam to read for him from a book by Septon Barth, whose writings had been burned during the reign of Baelor the Blessed. (AFfC, Samwell IV)

This book is a Chekov’s Gun waiting to go off at some point in the story.

There’s another important detail about Asshai where the water is undrinkable, where livestock die and where no edible plants grow:

There are no children in Asshai!!!

Asshai is so polluted that its inhabitants can’t even reproduce! They have to import food and water - and they cannot have children. Thus, there are plenty of signs that Asshai is a severely polluted place - but is the pollution of a magical nature?

She was stronger at the Wall, stronger even than in Asshai. Her every word and gesture was more potent, and she could do things that she had never done before. (ADwD, Melisandre I)

In this quote we should pay special attention to this sentence: “stronger even than in Asshai”. The implication being that Melisandre’s magic is stronger in Asshai than in other places (except for the Wall). There’s a reason that so many practitioners of magic travel to Asshai - there is of course the existence of ancient texts but it also appears as though the place itself enhances spellwork. The combination of the Ghost City trope and all the signs of pollution indicate that some kind of magical cataclysm once took place in the Shadow Lands and I suspect that Stygai was Ground Zero for this catastrophe, which turned Asshai-by-the-Shadow into the most polluted place in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.

ASSHAI AND THE GREAT EMPIRE OF THE DAWN

As previously stated, the origins of Asshai are lost in the mists of time. So who, exactly, built this incredibly large city? On r/eddit the user u/sangeli has posted an elaborate and well-argued theory that Asshai was built by the Great Empire of the Dawn (GEotD).

In ancient days, the god-emperors of Yi Ti were as powerful as any ruler on earth, with wealth that exceeded even that of Valyria at its height and armies of almost unimaginable size. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Yi-Ti)

u/sangeli argues that the GEotD is the only real candidate as the founder of Asshai in terms of the time period, the geographical location and its power. The GEotD was ruled by the gemstone emperors (Pearl, Jade, Tourmaline, Onyx, Topaz, Opal, Amethyst and Bloodstone). u/sangeli argues that the GEotD had dragons, which isn’t impossible since there are hints in the novels that there are, or once were, dragons in the Shadow.

According to legend the GEotD didn’t survive the Long Night and u/sangeli argues that Valyria could be the product of an Asshai’i diaspora - and a fragment of Septon Barth’s lost book Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History seems to suggest something of this kind:

In Asshai, the tales are many and confused, but certain texts—all impossibly ancient—claim that dragons first came from the Shadow, a place where all of our learning fails us. These Asshai'i histories say that a people so ancient they had no name first tamed dragons in the Shadow and brought them to Valyria, teaching the Valyrians their arts before departing from the annals. (TWoIaF, Ancient History: The Rise of Valyria)

I’ve previously mentioned that it is always worth paying attention to what Barth says when it comes to the history of the world, magic and dragons. Furthermore, this particular quote comes from the companion book The World of Ice and Fire where it is emphasized by the lay-out by being separated from the main text by a sidebar. There are Doylist reasons for taking the text in this sidebar seriously as GRRM himself has written the text in the sidebars of the book whereas his co-authors are responsible for the main text (x). Furthermore, u/sangeli argues that there is at least one clue in the novels that support this theory - the fever dream that Dany has when she miscarries during Mirri Maz Durr’s sorcerous ritual:

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. "Faster," they cried, "faster, faster." She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. "Faster!" the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew. (AGoT, Daenerys IX)

The ghost kings of Daenerys’ dream all have the silver-gold hair of the Valyrians but their eyes are described as gemstones, more specifically the gemstones that the emperors of the GEotD were named after. I have to say that this is a pretty compelling clue and though I don’t agree with everything in their comprehensive theory, I do find their argument that Asshai was the centre of the GEotD and that Valyria may have been founded by an Asshai’i diaspora after the Long night compelling.

THE LONG NIGHT

If it is indeed correct that Asshai was the centre of the Great Empire of the Dawn, then the stories of this legendary civilzation may hold the clue to the kind of cataclysm that left Asshai, Stygai and their environs permanently polluted to the degree that the very land is sterile. According to myth, the end of the GEotD came when the Bloodstone Emperor usurped his older sister the Amethyst Empress:

When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself the Bloodstone Emperor and beginning a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky. (Many scholars count the Bloodstone Emperor as the first High Priest of the sinister Church of Starry Wisdom, which persists to this day in many port cities throughout the known world). In the annals of the Further East, it was the Blood Betrayal, as his usurpation is named, that ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night. Despairing of the evil that had been unleashed on earth, the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back upon the world, and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth to punish the wickedness of men. (TWoIaF, The Bones and Beyond: Yi-Ti)

I don’t think that it was the act of usurpation itself that caused the Long Night. It is much more likely that it was the Bloodstone Emperor’s practice of magic (such as the dark arts of necromancy) that ushered in the Long Night. I think that only a magical catastrophe of extreme proportions can explain why Asshai and the Shadow Lands are so severely polluted that nothing is fertile in this particular region. Exactly what caused the Long Night remains a mystery - so far - but it is possible that Stygai was the Ground Zero of this catastrophe since this city is completely abandoned and even shadowbinders fear to enter it.

ON THE DANGERS OF MAGIC

GRRM has hinted that the Others work as a kind of analogy of climate change in his story:

I mean, we have things going on in our world right now like climate change, that’s, you know, ultimately a threat to the entire world. But people are using it as a political football instead of, you know … You’d think everybody would get together. This is something that can wipe out possibly the human race. So I wanted to do an analogue not specifically to the modern-day thing but as a general thing with the structure of the book. (GRRM)

Thus, I don’t find it impossible to think that an improper use of magic can function as an analogue to pollution within the narrative. After all, the text itself warns against the use of magic on more than one occasion:

“Take a lesson, Bran. The man who trusts in spells is dueling with a glass sword. As the children did. Here, let me show you something.” He stood abruptly, crossed the room, and returned with a green jar in his good hand. “Have a look at these,” he said as he pulled the stopper and shook out a handful of shiny black arrowheads. (Maester Luwin to Bran, AGoT Bran VII)

“We free folk know things you kneelers have forgotten. Sometimes the short road is not the safest, Jon Snow. The Horned Lord once said that sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it.” (Dalla to Jon Snow - ASoS, Jon X)

There’s no safe way to use magic and it is dangerous to meddle with nature through the means of sorcery.

(Sadly, I haven’t been able to source all the art work)

#asoaif #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #meta #asshai #asshai-by-the-shadow #the shadow lands #stygai #dragons #the great empire of the dawn #the bloodstone emperor #the long night #valyria #magical pollution

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