#it's wonderful food for thought. great game but those warnings are NOT TO BE HEED LIGHTLY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

505 notes · View notes

nomadicauthor287 · 3 years

Text

The Ghost AU

The Bad Batch leaves the orphanage in a hurry after finding out a terrible truth. When they flee they leave one of their own behinds. They find an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.

The children in the orphanage are being sold off as child soldiers to the highest bidder after being implanted with inhibitor chips

So the Headmaster enlists some supernatural help to retrieve their most valued subject. Omega is the experiment of the Head Doctor who was obsessed with supernatural abilities. She is an empath, she’s able to understand the emotions of others and creatures. A hunter enlists the help of the demons and otherworldly creatures to track them down. The demon of the house in the middle of the woods agrees to a deal with the Hunter. In exchange for the capture of Omega, the demon gets the souls of Bad Batch.

Once settled into the house, Omega meets a kid named Boba while wandering the forest. He tells her the house she now lives in is haunted by ghosts and demons of those who went missing in the woods. They bond over exploring the forest to find a well at the end of a cliff.

When she returns only Tech is home working on his computer. She recounts to him how she nearly fell down a well but he doesn’t really pay attention. Then she finds a doll wrapped in newspaper that looks exactly like her. She pays no mind to it while she explores the house. As she explores the house she discovers a tiny door and asks Tech to help her open it but Tech passes the task to Echo.

Echo finds the key and opens the door for Omega. But the door was all bricked up until that night.

That night Omega is awoken by a white rat taking her beloved doll to the tiny door in the living room. When she passed through the door she found the room to be brighter and homey. Then there was the delicious scent coming from the kitchen

Omega finds Hunter cooking in the kitchen but when she turns around she sees he has buttons for eyes. The Other Hunter tells her that he’s the Other Hunter, the “Better” Hunter. Then he tells her to go retrieve the Other Crosshair in the study. She doesn’t think twice about it and runs to the study.

When she goes into the study she finds the Other Crosshair playing the piano. He turned around to reveal that he too, had buttons for eyes. The Other Crosshair sings a song to her which makes her happy. But she didn’t know it was meant as a warning.

After the song, he gives her a piggyback ride back to the kitchen where a delicious dinner was waiting for them. From chicken to mashed potatoes, all the food she couldn’t have at the orphanage. For dessert, there was a cake just for her that said “Welcome Home”

She was confused until the Other Hunter tells her that they have been waiting for her to return. Before she could question it the Other Crosshair cut the cake and served them

By the time that dessert was done Omega felt tired so the Other Crosshair carried her to bed. He tucked her in and read her a story. To her, the normal Crosshair wouldn’t do that.

When she woke in the morning everything was back to normal. The same dreary house she started living in. She tried to convince the others that it wasn’t a dream but they put it off as a childish fantasy.

That day she tried to get Wrecker to help her start a garden but he tells her he has to help fix the van with Tech while the others go to town for food. This leaves her to her own devices with her doll which leads her to the attic.

In the attic, she finds an old projector and decides to fix it up. After fixing it up she sees a film of two brothers flying in the air like trapeze artists. It reminds her of all the stories Echo told her of his twin brother Fives.

She spots another white rat and it leads her back to the little door in the living room. Before she could go in she’s startled by a black cat named Tup. Boba greets her and asks her to go slug hunting with them. They have a great time hunting slugs until Boba is called home by a bell.

By this point, the others have returned and are making dinner which is basically some really bad casserole made by Hunter. She eats it to make Hunter happy but doesn’t eat much.

That night after Tech attempts to read a story normally but ends up overanalyzing the story she sets a trap for the rats. The trap will alert her if they take the bait.

The trap works and soon Omega finds herself back in the other world. This time the Other Hunter cooked her breakfast for dinner. But the Other Hunter tells her to go fetch the Other Wrecker from the garden. Before she could protest about them not having a garden, the Other Hunter gives her some waffles to eat on her way to the garden.

When she gets outside she sees Wrecker riding a giant grasshopper that he uses to help plow the fields and gardens. He shows her that the garden is actually shaped to look like her.

After dinner with breakfast food, the Other Hunter tells her the Other Tech wants to take Omega to a show. She asks what kind of show it is but they tell her it’s a secret.

When the Other Tech arrives she sees that he too has button eyes with a zipper mouth. The Other Hunter assures her that it didn’t hurt him. The Other Tech gestures it doesn’t hurt and has her open his mouth. When he speaks he speaks in plain English. The Other Tech leads her to the basement which turns out to be a theatre

The show they watched was actually a trapeze act with Echo and Fives. The twins pull Omega into their act. She has the time of her life but the Other Tech is uneasy

When the Other Tech was returning Omega she was met up with the Other Hunter and Crosshair. The Other Crosshair brigns Omega to bed but the Other Hunter turns to the Other Tech and makes a gesture for him to smile. In this world the Other Tech is less sassy and a bit more timid.

The next day she gets frustrated with the others when they lock the door because they found rat crap and things going bump in the night. This makes her lash out at them. She tells them that the little door is the best thing that has happened to her in a while. They took away her fun and “everything” she liked.

“I WISH I NEVER LEFT THE OTHER WORLD! THEY TREAT ME BETTER THERE AND ACTUALLY SPEND TIME WITH ME! THEY ACTUALLY CARED FOR ME UNLIKE YOU! AND THEY DIDN’T LEAVE CROSSHAIR BEHIND!

2.) She runs away to a treehouse where she finds another door to the other world. She breaks the lock and goes through it. Boba finds the treehouse and launches a rescue mission by himself.

lil-medic

During all this Echo tells Hunter that Omega needs space. Wrecker suggests they look through the door and they get kidnapped and put into a jail cell in the Other World.

Omega wakes up in the other world in her room but with 3 new plushies in her room

A T-rex, hyena, and a wolf with a bow on its ear

“Why the hell am I wearing a tutu and bow on my ear?” Wolffe growls angrily

They try to talk her into going back to the real world. The world that she is in is a lie and that her real family is in danger.

Before she could question them more the dinner bell rings and she runs downstairs excited.

The trio groans and tries to follow her but ends up falling off the bed.

Omega runs downstairs and accidentally falls down the stairs in front of the Other Crosshair. He rushes to her aid and gently takes care of her. He gives her warm hugs and is more affectionate of her than the real Crosshair according to her.

Eventually, he takes her to go see a circus in the attic with his rats. He gives an outfit for her to wear to the performance while he goes and gets the rats ready.

The plushie trio tells her that their names are Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor. They’re friends of Hunter and try to warn her that she is walking straight into a trap. They tell her that they are just like her but their abilities came from great pain.

She doesn’t heed their warning and instead takes them with her to the attic for the show.

Turns out the show is a rat circus with Crosshair as the ringleader. They did little tricks for her and pulled her into the act with her.

After the show Crosshair brought her to dinner where the whole Other family was waiting for her. There was a lavish meal set out for her.

They ask her if she likes this world and she says yes and wants to stay forever. With that answer, they hand her a box that contains buttons with needles and thread.

A chill ran down her spine but she thought about her life in the other world, the real world. Right as she was about to say yes to the buttons Boba rushes in to save her while the trio of dolls cause a distraction

Omega gets mad at Boba while he drags her through the door to the real world.

Then he explains to her that there was a demon trying to capture her. She asks him how he knows that and he says Tup told him.

She is skeptical until Tup jumps onto the two and explains the whole ordeal.

Tup tells the two that the house demon is a spider demon that traps its prey with illusions. Then he tells Omega that the demon has taken her brothers. Tup pulls the dolls of the Bad Batch out.

Omega finally believes him and asks the others to help her save her real family

When they return to the other world Omega asks to play a game with the Other Hunter. In each of the wonders made for Omega, there is a treasure that belonged to her real family. For every treasure, she finds she, in turn, saves her family’s soul.

Tech and Echo’s treasures are found in the basement theatre and upon finding their treasures they have to fight the Other Echo who is conjoined at the hip with the Other Fives. Meanwhile, the Other Tech lures Omega away and hands her a note saying how sorry he is, and hands her the real Tech’s glasses. After their defeat, the Other Tech and Echo+Fives are reduced to dust.

The real Tech and Echo are released from their prisons within the treasure.

Boba gives the two a rundown of what happened so far and immediately the two hug and checks the kids over for injuries.

The next person they go after is the Other Wrecker and he fights hard. It takes all of them to take him out in order to retrieve Lula from the giant grasshopper.

In the end, they retrieve Lula and Wrecker is returned

The next person they go after is the Other Crosshair in the attic but when they get there he begs Omega not to fight. He tells her that the real Crosshair is not there and that he is just rats. The real Crosshair is back at the orphanage waiting for them to save him

The Other Crosshair tells them that the last of their family is being held by the Other Hunter.

The Other Hunter only allows Omega to come in and play one final game for the soul of the Real Hunter

Now the Other Hunter looked more grotesque now. His skin was cracking and stitches were showing now. He challenges to a game of hiding and seeks with him as the seeker and Omega as the hider.

The others are spectating except for Tup. He helps Omega find where Hunter’s bandana is but the demon doesn’t let her escape.

Omega rallies the souls of those who died to attack the demon for revenge to give her and her family a chance to escape

As they escape the house falls apart on itself. Hunter is in a daze as they escape the house. When they hit the woods Boba leads them back to his home.

Boba lives alone after his father died. The Bad Batch decide to take him with them after the whole ghostly demon ordeal

Then they hatch a plan to go after Crosshair after they find books that Boba was keeping. It was a book about the supernatural. From there they learn everything they can from the supernatural in order to save their brother.

@itsjml @dreamy-day-daze @agentmarymargaretskitz @kratosfan6632466 @eyecandyeoz @echoy-naak @zaffrefox @soundwavetherav

#clone trooper crosshair #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper tech #clone trooper echo #clone trooper wrecker #star wars omega #Ghost au #i did a thing

24 notes · View notes

nightowlfandom · 5 years

Text

Vampire! Kim Namjoon- A Little Game: Chapter 2

Hey guys, this is your reminder to please heed the warnings and stay indoors as much as you can. You are in my prayers and i hope this can make someone’s day.

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Leggo

...

Sleeping all day and staying up all night was a dramatic difference for you. Namjoon had suggested you train to do so if you were to survive as a regular everyday vampire. You were still a newborn fledging with no experience in this world, your mind was still human. You had yet to come to terms with everything. You didn’t want this. Yet here it was.

“ Here is your room.” one of the maids, Mona showed you to a bedroom. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

The walls were painted an ivory white colored with gold trimmings around the windows and foyer. The rug was a red velvety color that contrastsed with the charcoal black canopy style bed frame. A mini fireplace was on the far left side of the room, the obvious source of the warmth in the air..

“Wow.” you crossed your arms, rocking back and forth shyly. “Didn’t have to go all out like this just for me.”

“It was Master Namjoon’s orders.”

You noticed she didn’t have any strange symbol on her like you did. You just had to ask.“Are you human?”

“Yes.” was her reply. “I have no interest in becoming one if that’s your question.”

“Oh no!” you quickly shook your head. “I was just wondering- and like…fuck I’m sorry. I probably sound like an asshole.”

“It’s quite alright.” she smiled. “I’m married with beautiful my 5 year old twins. I wouldn’t give that up for immortality at all. Not that I’m implying you wanted to give up your humanity. I don’t think any human truely does.”

You took a good look at Mona. She had very long, honey brown hair secured in a long braid that hung down her back. She had bright green eyes, that looked almost artificial like a glass bottle.

“I’ll be honest, I kinda wish it would have ended for me there. Can’t imagine how much shit I’m gonna have to go through for the next…forever.” you shook your head.

“Well if it’s any consolation. You are very blessed to have Namjoon as your sire. He is a great man. Be patient with him. If you need anything else, simply find me and I’ll be more than happy to assist.”

"Oh, thank you…"

"Since you seem to be one of Namjoon's more promising fledglings, I'll let you in on a little secret." She smiled warmly. "Beware of one of Namjoon's acquaintances. Roseline Petras."

"What about her?" you raised an eyebrow.

"…Let's just say she's the reason I have twins instead of triplets." she replied, her face falling significantly. "and the reason vampire laws have changed in the last one thousand years…and why Master Namjoon vowed to never mentor a fledging for as long as he lived…until now for some odd reason."

“What do you me-”

Without another word, she exited the room, leaving you to your own devices. You watched as she left, in shock. You sat at the edge of the bed, timidly looking around the room. Namjoon would soon summon you to meet him. What did Mona mean by that? Who was this Petra lady? It took just that little information to know that you already didn't like her or what she stood for…whatever the hell it was she stood for. You looked around the room, taking in your new surroundings. It had only been a few days, and yet it felt like the first day over and over again.

Before you could really relax, another maid, Maria appeared in the doorway. She had a mousy high voice, dyed pink hair and eyes so black they almost looked like Marbles. The epitome of a living doll. "Master Namjoon is ready for you now. I can take you to him if you'd like."

"Oh…thank you." you smiled, standing to your feet. You followed Maria out in the halls following her down the brightly lit hallways. "How long have you been living here?"

"Since birth. I work in the kitchens with my father. Master Namjoon was gracious enough to let us all live with him, even if we have to sleep during the say to fit his schedule. He is a gracious man. The world isn't so accepting like he is."

"Yeah…I believe it." You trailed off. "So all of you are human?"

"Not all of us…" she replied. "It's hard to explain just how many of us are so different. My father is one of the many Gods Of Destruction, but he gave up that life. He now comes up with vampire safe versions of human foods and spends his free time gardening."

"Where was he when I was drinking cold and most-likely expired blood!?" you asked, making the young girl laugh. Though she passed it as a joke, you were absolutely dead serious. Worst day of your life...so far.

You both soon stopped at a pair of large wooden doors. "You're free to go in. No knocking required." she said without another word. She pranced away, leaving you by yourself.

"Alright…Here I go." you sighed. You grabbed onto the aged antique door handle and pushed the door open. You were welcomed by a room full of strangers. The only one you could recognize was Namjoon, who was casually flipping boredly through the pages of a book. You noticed the others around the room, they were all studying you…except for a woman who was staring out the window into space. Either that or she didn't acknowledge you right away.

The room looked like an old library archive, full of bookshelves full of old worn hardback copies of many different selections.

"Y/N…glad to see you made it here in one piece." Namjoon looked up and threw the book down. "Come in, and close the door behind you please."

You did as you were told, but you could only stand there. Something told you to stay put. Don't make any moves…just stay right where you are and if you need to make a quick getaway you could.

"These are the friends I told you about." he motioned around the room. You took note of the seven other males and three women that stood before you. "They will be your teachers for the next few months."

"That's a lot of names I have to remember." you tried to joke, mainly to calm yourself down. The girl who was staring out the window must have snapped back to reality because she gasped the minute she heard your voice. You were surprised to see milky white eyes stare in your direction.

"There she goes…psycho." one of the women who had been sitting down mumbled. She had long blonde hair and sit poised in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other.

This white haired, white eyed woman didn't seem to care for other girls remarks because she quite literally floated towards you. Her feet lifted of the ground, hair fanning all over the place as she crossed the room. No one else seemed f

"Blessed be, little fledging. A new life has been brought to our world." she grabbed your hand. "How joyous of days!”

"Blissa, I think you're scaring her." Namjoon laughed, seeing you look at him for some sort of help. "Y/N It's okay, you can trust these people. I trust them with my life."

"Well…most of us at least." a male who had been sitting at a piano corrected him. He was dressed all in white, like an angel. "Can't say the same for some of us."

This didn't seem to faze this Blissa character, so she must have not been the one to be weary of. You suddenly remember what Mona said earlier…a woman named Roseline Petras. Suddenly, your eyes darted to blonde, sitting with her chin rested in her palm as if she was bored.

Not her a voice in your head said. The one next to her they whispered.

Blissa's smile fell…but only for a second. You probably wouldn't have caught onto it had you not been paying attention. You raised an eyebrow in confusion. You didn’t want to speak up, but something told you she was the one who put that voice in your head.

"Is something wrong my child?" she smiled, tilted her head to the side. You noticed her moving her eyes to the right, as if silently telling you to follow the direction of where she was looking. Her milky colored irises, dart once more before you understood. You finally caught on and followed her gaze to a short, jet black haired girl, typing away on her phone.

Yes, that one, that's Roseline.

Blissa left your side and began making haste back towards the window.

Best not to tell anyone I can speak to you just yet.

"Elva! Roseline!…don't be rude." Namjoon snapped to blonde.

"…Alright alright, sorry!" the blonde sighed, standing to her feet. The other one just didn’t look up, instead she leaned back in her head. The blonde strode up to you, almost in slow motion. "I'm Elvalina. You can call me Elva, most of my friends do…no offense but…are those the only clothes you have?"

"…Uh yeah," you answered awkwardly. You had realized you had been wearing the same shirt and jeans for about 4 days. Not the best way to make a first impression now that you thought about it.

"…I have so much to teach you." she put a hand on your shoulder. "When I'm finished with you, you'll be the hottest fledging anyone's ever seen. "

"Hey! Let some of us meet her first before you claim her as your bestie!"

"SHUT UP HOSEOK!" she glared at the guy who was casually flicking a light on and off. "She's the first girl I've seen around you guys in a while, don't ruin this for me!"

"Nice to meet you all." you bowed respectfully. You had no idea how this fledgling thing worked, so you used human decency instead. "I'm sorry in advanced if I take a while to learn."

"This one…I like her." Elva wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Politeness...I dig it!”

……

"Is it always this cold outside?" you stood outside with Seokjin.

"No, our senses pick up on temperatures a lot differently than humans. You'll eventually get used to to it." He replied. "Now, what do you see?"

You tried to look around the forest, but it was pitch black outside. You couldn't see a thing. "It's too dark to see. You could barely make out your own shoes on the ground." you sighed with defeat. "Maybe I just can't do it." you looked down sheepishly.

"Hey." he reached out to touch your shoulder. "It's hard at first, yeah. But you can't beat yourself up, you're a newborn fledgling. It's normal for you." he comforted. "Here, close your eyes."

"You aren't gonna scare me are you?" you asked suspiciously. Every time someone told you to close your eyes, it ended with you almost peeing yourself.

"Trust me."

"Alright, alright." you closed your eyes as he instructed. "Now what?"

"Picture the space around you as if it were daytime."

"What? How do I do that?"

"Just try."

With another sigh, you tried to recreate the image in your head, only with the sun rays peeking out from the sky. You attempted to recreate the dirt path with dead leaves and wet logs from the morning dew sticking. You pictured the warmth from the damp air against your skin, despite being cold.

"Do you have it?" came Seokjin's voice.

"I think so." you responded. You opened your eyes only to be welcomed to a crystal clear view before you. The shadows casted from the tall trees were no longer shadows, but giant pine trees. The previously bleak sky had turned into a cloudless, star speckled painting and most importantly, the moon which had previously been nothing more than a standard crescent, was the focal point of everything you could see. It was exactly like a photograph. "Woah."

"You did it didn't you? Can you see it?" you turned to Seokjin who wore a smile. "Everything's so clear isn't it." he asked. "It always it once you complete the change."

Even as a human in the day time, the forest didn't look this clear. Nothing did.

"Now…what do you hear?"

Upon hearing him ask you, you were welcomed by all sorts of sounds, so many at one time. "Everything." you replied. "It's kind of overwhelming."

"Good, you're making process. Namjoon will be pleased." he replied. "You're learning quickly."

"Good to know." you said awkwardly.

"….I know this isn't going to be the most helpful or assuring, but Namjoon is the most trustworthy man I know. I've known him for many years, longer than your great great great grandparents have been alive. Maybe even longer."

"Yeah and I'm blessed to have him as my sire? I got this talk already." you crossed your arms. "I'm just…not ready for this yet." you sighed. "I don't know how long it'll take me to get used to this."

"For some it takes all their lives. Lucky for us we have forever." he winked. "You don't have to go through this alone. If anything happens, call Old Man Seokjin." he winked.

"I'll remember that." you replied.

… (The next Night)

To say you were surprised to see Elva and Blissa standing over you.

"OH MY-" you rolled out of bed, falling on your back. "OOF-" you grunted, even though you felt no pain. "Where did you guys come from!?"

"We were here the whole time. You're a heavy sleeper. Did you know that?" Blissa smiled.

" I do now." you heaved yourself off the floor. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you guys, but what are you doing here?"

"It's just about to be dark and we have loads to do. So get cha' ass up, fix your hair and put this on." a shopping back was hauled in your direction, courtesy of Elva.

"What exactly are we doing?"

"Seduce and glamour." Blissa said. "Not exactly on the lesson plan but fun to know nonetheless, wouldn't you agree?"

“And what better way to test these abilities then a night on the town. Trust me, you’ll be one hundred percent safe with us.”

"….Sure." you trailed off. "Let's go I guess."

....

(How are you guys dealing with this social distancing thing? Let’s talk about it! Feel free to send me a message.)

38 notes · View notes

erethesilverking-blog · 5 years

Text

End Haven - Chapter 4

And here it is! Guess what? It’s even longer, because I don’t know when to stop! But I had lots of fun, and I’d appreciate feedback and criticism.

Make sure, that when you read this, you have enough time to do so!

Word Count: 5,223

WARNING: If YOU are disturbed by themes of death, isolation, war, or child soldiers, please read at your own peril. If you are unsure, then please read in the proximity of someone who’d be willing to comfort you. Thank you.

Chapter 4

Pieter Is Ready To Die; Everyone Is Surprised

There was a dilemma growing. It stepped closer to the front of Pieter’s mind every minute of his walk, but he refused to acknowledge it, much less put into word. To speak about it would be to accept the truth of it, but so forward was it that he was afraid to dismiss it. It seemed important, and was dangerous.

Pieter strode forward, keeping himself ahead of those dangerous thoughts. Every step he took, however, was matched by those dark thoughts, those light thoughts. But he’d continue, refusing to falter in pace. Toes would again catch on roots, but he’d pay them no heed; He would simply lift his foot a little higher and push it forward again, and slam his heel into the loam and moss. His arms came up to his side with every stride and appeared in the peripheral, revealing fingers clenched to the palm, neatly tied down with a trembling thumb. Somewhere during his hearty hike, Pieter had gotten enraged at the very notion of…

The thing about anger, of course, is that it is very tiring. An infant will wail and become red in the face; It will slap its hands on the ground and refuse to even stand when it has been denied some triviality, but eventually it will exhaust itself and curl into a ball to sleep. An adult man will screw up his face and squint his eyes, then leap into the air and shake his fists. Curses will issue forth, calling for the destruction of the object of the displeasure, and will stamp his foot upon the ground. But soon the man will wear himself out and have to sit down, huffing and puffing and fanning his face.

And if someone of Pieter’s temperament were to get angry?

In any case, Pieter soon found himself on the ground, leaning against a tree. His eyes were glazed, staring upward at the shape made by the dancing upper reaches of the trees. He watched the black silhouettes dance against the sun, and occasionally winced when a pushy breeze allowed the Sun to peek around the leaves for a moment and look back at him.

He was now, without a doubt, trapped. He could no longer move to escape and was too sated by berries to be absent-minded. The thoughts could now catch up to him.

He could hear them, stepping over the branches on the ground. They rustled the leaves and ferns, then rapped on the bark of the tree that Pieter now laid against. They crouched and stroked his chin, murmuring to him. For a moment, Pieter leaned into them, and looked into his thoughts, which appeared before him as a young woman.

Her eyes were green, and her lips were a gentle brown. They lay slightly open and, as Pieter watched, they pulled back into to relaxed grim. From their they moved in soundless whispers that made perfect sense, and were beyond comprehension. Those lips called for the man to go away, go and find what he already had.

The thoughts picked their other hand off the ground and raised it. As it rose, Pieter could hear its path be paved as it drifted up the woman’s warm, hazel-skinned body, never touching. It traveled past the bent, slender legs, past the bared breasts, and slowed at the sternum; It joined its twin and held Pieter captive, holding on with only the fingertips and holding all of his attention. It was an impersonal touch, but kind all the same. It asked a question.

“Stop,” muttered Pieter, tugging his face away. “It wouldn’t be fair… Elaine said goodbye… and Checkers is already long gone. I cannot make it back and I wouldn’t want to even if I could. I am,” He struggled forward, hoping to get his feet under him. “A man… of… great… tenacity!” He stood suddenly, throwing away the temptations. “I will die in the wilderness, and fade back into the earth. There is no question.”

“But,” The woman, his thoughts, hummed, “you’ve already lived for so much, struggled so far, and you’ll give up now? What would they say, I wonder…”

Pieter stiffened and cried out in despair. “Let the dead lie! They would want me to do as I pleased, and this is what that is!”

“But, what did they say then?”

~~~

War, in all senses, was chaos. Not hell.

In hell, the sinners go to be thrust into fiery punishment, to be shown due for their transgressions. That was ordered because it could be understood.

But in the heat of battle, with mud flying up and sweat pouring down, and blood going every way? There was no order there. There was chaos. It was a whirlwind. There was no reason, no good reason for the death of any particular man.

Zahir was a senior corporeal, legally, as his own had been given a knife an hour previously, in somewhat of a bad way. The promotion had little effect on the boy in the heat of battle.

Because still, he continued onward as he had been taught. He was to pick up the cartridge and tear it open with his teeth, then pour the some of the powder into the pan. Then, he had to pour the rest, as well as the ball, down the muzzle. Stuff the paper in the mouth, level the musket. Search for the ones wearing the red hats, or the blue, or the yellow, or any color that wasn’t their own; Follow what the sergeant said and shoot! Aim and fire.

Zahir no longer felt a twitch of despair when he shot at another human because he’d learned to not look whether he hit or not. He refused to wonder at their fate, and to keep his mind from wandering, he’d stolen a swallow from Corporal Dante’s flask. He’d never been told what liquid was kept in the silver-grey metal, but he saw the way Dante’s eyes glazed over after taking a swing, which was enough for Zahir.

When Dante had been mysteriously thrown back and had stopped moving, like he was asleep (In the middle of a firefight, no less), Zahir took the opportunity to reach into the man’s jacket. Pulling out the flask and wiping away the blood that his hand had mysteriously gotten covered in, he unscrewed the lid with his fingers and sniffed at the opening. It smelled bitter and scramble into his nose and burrow deep. So Zahir pinched his nostrils and took a swing, just as Dante had done.

The taste was horrible and comforting. It reminded him of the time, many years ago, when they had no money for oils to cook with. So his mother had went to the soldiers’ camp, making sure they never saw her, and gotten a can of diesel oil. She fried up seed cakes with it and fed them to her children. Zahir hated the taste, but loved the feeling of having food in his stomach. He grew very sick after, and his brother died, but then there was more food for him. The taste of the liquid in the flask reminded him of the seed cakes, and he loved the feeling it gave him.

He placed the flask into his own jacket, mine at last, and grabbed at another cartridge. The gray paper was slippery under his fingers as he brought it to his mouth. Biting down on it, he pulled it away, but it slipped and the powder spilled out everywhere. Zahir’s choice words pulled the glaze that was beginning to film over his eyes. He spat, though none of the black dust mingled with his saliva, but spat to clear the taste from his mouth. As he wiped his mouth and reached for another cartridge.

Zahir was never told what was used to grease them, but the taste was almost totally unfamiliar. They smelled of the bird meats that his father used to bring home, before he was recruited and killed, that his mother would grill in the noon sun. But it smelled heavier and more fatty. Gunner Emile had complained about it some months ago to Dante, saying that it was unholy. Zahir had perked up to listen as Emile demanded that they call up the chain of command and get different cartridges, but Dante’s response was too low to be heard. Emile had leaned (and Zahir did as well) and whispered a suggestion to Dante.

The Corporal had immediately stood and called for two other soldiers. They’d came, touting muskets, and grabbed Emile by the arms, trapping him. As he was pulled away and toward the doors, Dante called out.

“If I hear of any men even mentioning the ammunition, then I will personally deal with them.” His gaze drifted across the watching recruits. One man, a mustached man with sun bleached skin, flinched. Somewhere outside, a voice had called for muskets to be leveled “And if anyone… anyone complains to my superior without my knowledge, we will all be dealt with. Against walls,”

A shot, gunfire, sounded throughout the barracks. Every man froze.

“And with lead.” Dante reached into his jacket to calm his nerves, and took a sip of his comfort.

Zahir never saw Emile again, but his share of rice that night was less frugal than it had been for weeks.

And after months of listless waiting, training for a war that he was too young to fight in, Zahir was called to take up arms against the Enemy, against Them. He was never told who They were, but he doubted he’d understand. Every night, the older men would shake their heads and say “Why do we fight in this war? It is Their war!” If those ancient men of thirty, thirty years, didn’t understand, then how could Zahir, who was less than half of that.

War was senseless. War was chaos. No amount of training and drills could prepare Zahir for War.

War was blood flying into the air. War was bones falling to the ground, it was muscle being torn to shreds by ball and blade, was moments of death and unexpected life and death during the celebration.

It was men trudging through the dust and sometimes the black mud, then through the red mud when they were caught by surprise. Running and diving without any game, and, if you were lucky, wrestling over something, not because it is a ball for sport, but because it is a tool for blood-sport. It is a knife or pistol, or a pipe, and whoever got to it first got to play again, until they lost.

War was setting down nearby for when They came to check on their friends and comrades, expecting to see some sign of a glorious victory. It was tearing them into a red mist when Commander told you to STAND, LEVEL, FIRE. It was rising out of the grass and watching your hands do those very things when you don’t want to, because maybe They aren’t so bad and everyone can just play a game together.

It was realizing that there was murder in the eyes of those who remained and it was turned on you, and you had no time to shoot again. And diving on the ground, and hitting it hard. War was having a stone cut your chin open, and your brow and your cheek.

It was sitting there and watching the red mist descends, but not being angry because it wasn’t anger, the red mist was Gabriel. It was pushing off the mutilated remains of the man who had given you an extra pat of rice and encouraged you to keep going.

It was standing up and grabbing your weapon and leveling it and charging and getting to Them first because they couldn’t see you when you were so low in the grass.

It was letting the blood run down the knife and see them, the men who were boys, ask you with there eyes why you did that.

It was stealing Dante’s flask when he wasn’t looking and letting the diesel take over and take away feelings. And settling back into the march, knowing that you were too young to be doing so.

War was all of that, and War was chaos.

Zahir took another swing, and fired, and reloaded, and took another swing, and fired. He always shut his eyes when he fired, but he didn’t think it made a difference. The world was swimming too much for him to have shot at anyone.

And eventually, when he had to raise the flask above his head to shake out the very last, sludgy drops, Zahir’s last thought was thought.

Oh, it’s empty, no more. Zahir blacked out.

But somewhere, somewhere, like it was a great distance, Zahir heard the commands that had been drilled into him for hundreds of burning noons, noons when he should have been playing football with other children. But all the other children were dead or gone, and Zahir followed the commands.

He pulled back the hammer. He grabbed a cartridge, tore off the end with his teeth. He poured some powder into the pan, and the rest down the muzzle of his musket. The ball soon followed, and was sealed inside by the white paper that had held them, stuffed into the mouth of the gun. Now the ball would not fall out if the muzzle was angled down.

He placed the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, then STAND! He stood up out of the ditch that he’d been ducking in for protection. Zahir looked down the sights of the gun and waited for the order to fire on the line of men that had followed the calls of their commander, the Them who Zahir had listened to, the Them who now looked down their sights at him.

Sobering up was the worst thing that happened to the boy. He came to in time to feel the lead slamming into his chest, and tearing it open. It threw him back, and he fell, fell down, down like Emile had, fell like his father had, fell like his mother had when she wouldn’t give her child to the soldiers. He fell, and hit the dirt.

War was chaos. But chaos could be straightened out, he thought, so why couldn’t I do that? Maybe he’d understand when he was older.

Zahir felt tired. Maybe he needed some food; but Dante was asleep and he didn’t give more food than was the ration. Maybe Gabriel would share, and if he couldn’t, then his mother could make him some seed cakes, or grill some of the bird meat that his father would bring home. And they would all eat together and Zahir could apologize for making his brother eat the cakes when he didn’t want to. He would be happy then.

But he was tired now. Zahir dropped his head to the side and he looked at the little boy who sat next to him, peering into the wide brown eyes. He must have been half of Zahir’s age, and he looked it; his soldiering uniform looked comically large on him and was bunched up at the sleeves and ankles. The bagginess of his clothing could almost disguise the thin body beneath, as well as the shakes that he got before each battle. At that, Zahir would click his tongue, just like the older men, and chide the boy.

“You must stand tall, with your chin up! Have some spine and try to look like a real soldier. Here, fine, you can follow me, stay behind me, I’ll keep you safe.”

So when Zahir watched Emile be dragged away, the boy was peering over his thigh. When Zahir was handed the extra rice, he gave it to his shadow. When Zahir fell to the ground, the child fell beside him and clambered to follow the charge. And when Zahir dove into the dirty ditch to hide from enemy fire, the little soldier tumbled in after.

So Zahir smiled at the boy, who was shaking again, and tearing at the eyes. Zahir tried to reach up and ruffle the boy’s curly hair, but found that his arm was apparently too tired as well. So he just winked.

But the urge to rest was getting to much for him; he couldn’t even hear his heart beat anymore. So he tried next to tell the boy that he was going to take a break.

I’m going to “lie… down…” because I’m tired. Make sure to “be… quiet...“ so I can sleep. I’m a heavy sleeper, but if you can’t wake me, “don’t… give… up…” Run along now.

But Zahir’s tongue seemed to be ignoring half of his words! He frowned and tried to repeat himself, but now only one word came out.

“Run…” Oh well. That would have to do. Zahir was too sleepy to try again, so he buried his chin into his shoulder and closed his eyes. And before he drifted off, he felt the familiar weight warmth of the boy settle down next to him. He must be tired as well, the soldier thought, and then Zahir died.

~~~

“And there you laid, Pieter, for hours and hours. When the Enemy finally found you, they decided not to touch the children soldiers, not even for scavenging. They said ‘the brothers will sleep next to each other forever’ to each other and they left and you crawled out of that ditch. You crawled out and you fled the country, and you always remembered those words. Don’t Give Up. But it looks as if you’re in this forest because you have given up. What did Elaine say? “You will live for a few more years…” But you are here and you have given up on those years, huh? Huh?”

But Pieter shook his head and trudged on. The sun shone from the east, and she smiled on him through the leaves. He watched her through the corner of his eye, and cursed himself. Cursed himself and the thought-woman who treaded behind him.

But he would not stop. He continued on his course because he was a man of great tenacity, who writes thoughtful plots, relatable characters, and worlds built with the eye of an architect, and everyone loved him.

If he was five decades younger, he would have shouted out to the sky. He would have kicked at the ferns and tore at the flowers, he would have struck and cut down and burned the trees that held him down.

But he wasn’t five decades younger. He was Pieter and he lived as he was. Crying and calling out to the dead.

“What did they say, then?”

~~~

“You’re a damnable fool, boy!”

Professor Mildred Uffe was, in many aspects, a respectable woman. She had been born to a small, northern, noble family and grown up in a manor and manner that overlooked the measly village that it crowned. She was taught to sit still among the rosebushes and to not move. So, of course, Uffe had chosen to move as much as she possibly could. The bakers of the village knew her as the shade in the night that crept in and took the fruits of their labor. The boys of the village knew her as the one thing in life, besides ghosts and God, that they should fear. The apothecary knew her as his second footstep, who always wanted to know more, more, more, and why?

At fifteen, Uffe distinguished herself among her six siblings by being the only one to be disowned. She had managed this by being too careless and allowing a maid to come upon the secret stash of letters that she had been exchanging with a foreign scholar. This would not normally have warranted any more than thrashing by her father, but at the very top of the pile was one ticket for a one-way trip on the Midnight Ire locomotive, set to leave the very next day. Brandishing the slip of paper, Mildred’s father had confronted her and declared her arranged marriage to some other remote barony.

Uffe had, without a word, punched him in the stomach, snatched the ticket, and fled the country.

Two months later she appeared on the doorstep of Princedam University’s very own Dean of Students. Dressed as a boy, she talked her way into living arrangements and convinced the man to adopt her.

After completing her studies, Mildred open the university to women by, once again, talking sweeter than the opposition. She revealed her true identity, fought off claims that she was unfit for office, had a very memorable dual with her once-fiancé, and finally settled down to work on her own projects. Some viewed the results begrudgingly, others obsessed over them because of the researcher's identity, and others still were actually professional about their peer’s work.

But one project never came under public scrutiny. It yielded no results, other than mottling Uffe’s face with rage. That was clear to the eye as she threw down her pen and stalked away from the table.

Her hand dove into her jacket pocket and combed the bottom. Fingers danced over scraps of paper, keys to locks, and samples of metals until they came upon what they sought. Here they resurfaced, dredging up with them a stained pipe and a single match. She swiped the match against the heavy oak door to the parlor, and brought the flame to the bowl. When the old leaf began to smoulder her lips met the pipe’s and Uffe drew deeply a breath.

The pipe now jut out of her mouth and breathed warmly alongside Uffe. She shook out the match and replaced it to her pocket, fingering her chin with thumb. Two pinpricks burned into her back, piercing her through the tweed of her coat. Uffe sighed. That boy had been wanting to try tobacco for as long as she had known him, but always balked when he heard the price of leaf. And Mildred refused to pay for anything other than the barest minimum of what he needed. It wasn’t right, being walked through life with a mother to hold your hand.

Though she suspected Pieter, as she named him, had a past as split as a spectrum line in an electrical field. He likely had no mother and, based on the scars covering his body, had a poor father. Though she never could wring that out of him, being a poor socializer herself, she got enough by his haunted eyes and anxious hands. That was enough for her to pull out him of the immigrant detention center and adopt him, to her dismay.

And now, what foolishness was she attempting? She had had the inane idea that she could teach him physics and other mathematics, but he stubbornly refused to learn Bernoulli’s Equation or Bragg’s Law, or even the Complimentary Principal.

Not even the Complimentary Principal. Ridiculous.

But still she persisted. If he struggled with math, she would teach him science. And when he struggled with that, then he’d learn history. And if still not that, then politics.

But a firing squad is not the correct answer on how to remove an insubordinate worker. Uffe wasn’t even sure how he’d learned about such things; But it was wartime, and war does strange things to men.

She turned back to consider the boy, and he quickly turned back down to scratch at the page with his pen. He was writing on the book, but the Professor didn’t care at the moment. She walked back to him and past, to look out the window that admitted the light they studied by.

Outside, the sun shined weakly through the clouds. Its light glinted off of the waxed carriages in the stony streets, which themselves had puddles of water to imitated the star. On the campus lawn, which Mildred’s apartment overlooked, two students walked and compared notes; On the right was a brown-haired girl with a set of spectacles perched on her nose and on the left was a wide-shouldered, blond-haired boy. Uffe leaned in and strained her eyes, holding her breath to keep the window from fogging. Her pipe had somehow made its way out of her mouth and onto the sill.

As the girl tittered at some comment made by the boy, Uffe detected, once the boy’s rolling shoulders calmed down from the joke, that every other step was slightly stunted then the one before. This dip was also present in the those broad shoulders; the boy had a limp. Uffe nodded, satisfied at this conclusion, and reached for her pipe. It was likely that the only thing keeping the boy from going away to fight was that leg of his-

Her train of thought was interrupted when Uffe realized that her hand had still not found the pipe. She looked down and then behind her.

Snatching it out of Pieter’s hand and ignoring his muffled sigh, Uffe placed the pipe on an ashtray on the other side of the room, on an ornate three-legged table that stood before a plain looking bookcase. It was the latter that she had crossed the room for.

Sitting back down, she placed three novels before him. “Choose one.”

He looked up at her.

“Choose one.”

He ran his fingers over the covers, considering.

As Pieter walked under the stars, he sobbed silently. His hands were being wrung by each other in front of him as he scuttled forward, his shoulders forward like a child who hopped to make himself too small to be noticed by the other children.

A great wolf walked beside him, staring down at him with brown eyes. It was gray, the fur, and was dappled through with cream hairs.

“Well?” the great wolf. “Why do you look so horrible?”

Pieter rubbed his forearms, hugging himself. He felt so cold in the night and felt so young next to the shining, brilliant thing that walked beside him. It was ancient, but that wasn’t possible; Mildred Uffe had died only twelve years after finding Pieter. She wasn’t old by any means.

So this great wolf was some sort of metaphor for her. Pieter would normally relish trying to figure out why his memory of the professor had produced a wolf, but he was busy.

“I didn’t sleep,” he said, repeating what he had once said, one week after choosing his book. “I didn’t sleep because I wanted to see how it ended.”

“You are a fool, then. Even God needs to sleep.” Pieter blinked, expecting those words but surprised all the same by hearing his mentor’s voice all these years later.

“I don’t believe in God. He has done nothing for me yet.”

“Hm. Well, all the same, take care of yourself. You’ve much to do.” The great wolf turned and walked away. Pieter watched her go, bowing his head at the tail that flicked out from the treeline before disappearing.

I am taking care of myself.

“Are you, though? You are almost naked in a forest, all alone, and questioning if you even want to be here.” The woman was back, and she playfully stepped around Pieter. He could not contain his sigh then, and she could not contain her laughter.

Pieter walked on, his thoughts dancing around him freely. He should have been proud to have such an active imagination, but Pieter was feeling rather tired. Darkness seemed to creep into the corners of his vision and crawl deeper into his eyes with every beat of the heart. Soon, the blackness covered his entire eye and he was blind to the world again, despite the moon lighting up the forest.

“Hi, you’re not leaving me so soon, no?” The sprite giggled. “There’s still much to see!”

Pieter said nothing, but stopped his march. Her words had momentarily beat back the darkness, but was still there. He leaned against a tree, hands resting against the trunk, and rattled. The woman laughed and leaned in close to his face, but his chin was beginning to drop. His eyes as well, and they had already glazed over. His breathing was labored and slow, but there was no coughing.

“Hey…” The woman frowned as Pieter slid down the tree, letting his weight both take him down and slow the fall with friction. He hit the ground with an Uf! and let his chin fall to his chest.

“Why are you doing this?” The woman was crying now. “Why do you persist, when you’ve lived your whole life to live longer, that you should die!” Her tears shone with a green light, but were just water when they landed on the leaves. Pieter said nothing, but his shoulders relaxed.

It was a sight. There was an old man, a human. He leaned against the dark bark of a tree, and his head was slumped forward. Legs arranged in a cross in front of him. Hands were on the ground, with the palms facing upward; knuckle down. Everything was relaxed: muscles, breathing, and mind. No thoughts crackled in his head.

But one played. It was a memory and it played with no effort. The dream played in the space in front of the man and he lived through it again, almost forty years later.

Lights. They were white and fluorescent. They didn’t shine on the leaves or sticks on the ground, but they did shine on the tile floor. They did shine off the rubber gloves and masks. They did shine off of the metal the operating table, and it did shine off of the sweat-riddled woman.

There had been a complication. The umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around something or the other and they had to take the baby out a different way. It didn’t matter to Pieter; Elaine was in danger and he had to wait for the doctors to do their job, and suffer all the while.

And when the baby came out, she was beautiful. The nurse had reached forward, but Pieter was faster. He grasped the baby and carried it far away from Elaine. She was gone now, but the baby was here.

When the nurse came, holding a clipboard, she found Pieter crooning to his child. She asked for contact with Pieter’s son, but Pieter had no son. The nurse waved her hand, but unlike the baby would, and said that she just needed to talk to the father to give the baby a name.

“Elaine,” he said.

And Elaine was named after her mother, who was cold in the delivery suite. Pieter held the swaddle up to his brow and cried, cried tears for his wife and tears for his daughter.

And Pieter cried now, finally, tears for himself. He cried the tears that he never allowed himself when his big brother Zahir died, when Uffe had died, when Elaine had died. They were tears for the doe who was scared and the captain who had to stand and the woman who felt sick and the stone he couldn’t throw. Tears for all the people he stole and put into his stories to figure out why he hurt so much inside. They were for them, but they were for him.

Pieter’s breathing grew shallow, and he drifted off. He was warm.

That was chapter four. These are starting to get long, but five (spoilers?) is going to be shorter.

Also, Google hates all the names that I’ve chosen and want to correct all of them.

Tag List:

@cookiecuttercritter , @cawolters , @the-violet-writer , @magiciswitingnow , @royalbounties , @kaylewiswrites , @francestroublr, @els-writes , @mischiefiswritten @magpiesmisgivings , @kowlazovdi , @mnfwrites (Know anyone who might like this kind of writing? Please let me know!)

Thanks in advance!

12 notes · View notes

northeasternwind · 6 years

Text

dragonborn nameless king in the age of dark fic l u l

((More coming later, but the plot bunny turned into this monstrosity sob. Read on AO3 if you like, but I can’t add the link or it won’t appear in the tag, so here it is!))

Of all Gwyn’s children, his firstborn remembers the Age of Dark best.

Gwyn had never been a good father, but once upon a time he had been a loving one: Caerwyn saw his father little during his early years, but even now those memories are held close and cherished. Gwyn bouncing his only son on his knee. Gwyn patiently suffering his only son to whine and complain about not being allowed outside. Gwyn going hungry so that his only son may eat instead.

The concept of life was new, then: everything Before had been eternal, with no need for maintenance to sustain it. Caerwyn often wonders what life was like before his birth, when the plants had yet to truly take root and the only source of food for creatures of flesh and blood would have been each other. As it was, eating was a luxury afforded only to the best hunters and the bravest of scavengers, and Caerwyn was frequently left to his own devices as his parents searched.

Do not wander far from camp, they warned. But children only rarely heed such commands.

Caerwyn was out collecting lightning bugs one day— or one night, as it were, for there was no sun in those days and the moon and the lightning bugs were the only lights he had ever known. They were gentle little creatures, nothing at all like their namesake (though that did not frighten him either), and Caerwyn delighted in collecting them to free later in their shelter— the only chore his parents had allowed him at that young age.

Keeping them imprisoned in his tiny pot was quite an undertaking for a clumsy child, and he was trying to shoo his new prizes inside without freeing the old ones when the ground trembled beneath him.

This was not as important as Caerwyn’s task, of course, so he carefully nudged a stray lightning bug into the pot before placing the lid and looking up curiously. How strange! The moon shone clear in the sky, with no sign of clouds in sight. Where, then, had the thunder come from?

It happened again, the low rumbling startling the bugs and knocking Caerwyn off his feet. The lid popped free, and the captive lightning bugs fled its confines toward freedom.

“Hey!”

Caerwyn pushed himself back to his feet and scrambled after them, calling as though they would heed his commands and return. This was a mistake, of course, but both Gwyn and Caerwyn himself had decided later that it little mattered; even then Caerwyn’s white hair had been an impressive mane about his head, making any attempt at hiding useless.

Something crashed into the ground right next to Caerwyn, sending him sprawling to the rocks with a startled squeak.

The thunder stopped. Caerwyn sorted up from down, pushed himself to his feet, and brushed his hands together to remove the tiny stones stuck to them.

Then he looked up and found himself face-to-face with the largest creature he had ever seen.

Caerwyn would never forget his first dragon. Everything seemed so much bigger as a child, and the great beasts of legend were no exception; no dragon he had met since could compare to that first titanic colossus, towering into the sky like the mountains or the archtrees. Even then Caerwyn could see quite well in the dark, and he saw craggy scales, teeth as long as spears, and two black eyes peering down through the darkness into his.

Unfortunately, Caerwyn’s parents had not seen fit to tell their only child tales of dragons. The dragons were their boogeyman, constantly looming specters casting great shadows over their already difficult lives, and they had wished then for him to remain innocent and unafraid for as long as possible.

What they had told him, however, was that sudden movements would startle animals, so he kept very still in an attempt not to scare this one off.

The dragon bent down to look closer, its long neck craning and curving to bring its head to the ground. For some reason its breath did not seem to smell, though Caerwyn felt a blast of hot air as it exhaled into his face, and as he looked up into a dark eye the size of a dinner plate he thought that perhaps the rocks had simply grown legs like people did.

Children are rarely masters of their own impulses, so Caerwyn obeyed his and reached out to lay his hand upon what little of the dragon’s snout he could reach. Yes, it felt just like stone— clearly this was a mountain that had woken up, after falling asleep in a time when there were no people.

“Hello,” Caerwyn greeted, because greeting your elders when they approached you was the polite thing to do.

The dragon rumbled, retreating out of Caerwyn’s reach. Ah, so this was one who paid little heed to children, Caerwyn thought— but then his sight brightened, light and heat springing from the dragon’s mouth, and before he could wonder at a creature producing lightning that lingered instead of flickering out the flames washed over him.

“Eep!”

Caerwyn covered his eyes with his arms, as one is wont to do when another breathes in their face, and did not remove them until the roar of dragonfire had subsided. When he looked again the strange light had caught on his clothes, which was quite interesting actually, except that as he looked the cloth turned black and curled up into nothing, and so with a yelp of dismay he set to brushing the light off of himself.

There was another rumble, and once Caerwyn was free of the light he looked up to find its source. The dragon was watching him, not angry or disinterested. (And not, Caerwyn realized much, much later, surprised.) It had the air of an adult waiting for a child to give the correct answer, and with a child’s intuition Caerwyn suddenly knew exactly what it wanted.

Some of the brush had taken up the light, but it too was fading away to nothing, so Caerwyn had to act fast. He reached out to try and scoop it up with his bare hands, but the warm light did not seem to like his skin so much. He picked up some of the burning foliage and stuffed it into his mouth, only to find that it tasted even more awful than usual (it is not his fault he did not know these plants were not edible, honestly, especially when his parents insisted on feeding him plant matter that looked entirely identical to it). Finally, with little else left to him, he simply grabbed a stick that had fallen in the dragon’s wake, allowed the light to climb onto the end, and then turned around and waved it back and forth in greeting to the strange titan, as the titan had greeted him.

Like a roll of thunder the dragon rumbled again, and Caerwyn felt a rush of pride. He had guessed right, and won the little game they had been playing. What a story he would have when he returned!

But then there was a terrible scream, and a horrid scraping noise, and the dragon reared backwards and roared.

Caerwyn squeaked as he fell over yet again, trembling like a leaf. Every child recognizes their father’s voice, and yet he had never heard his father scream, so frightened, or so terribly angry—

By the time it was over Caerwyn was in tears, truly terrified and unknowing of what had happened before his eyes, and Gwyn scrambled across the rocky brush to scoop his only son into his arms.

“I am sorry,” Caerwyn said, for his father only ever became angry when Caerwyn did something bad, but Gwyn only sobbed and tucked his son against his chest.

Caerwyn would never know how word traveled amongst those few men in the world back then: he could hardly imagine they kept in contact with each other, and meetings between them were rare indeed. But word did travel, igniting whispers and ambitions across the whole of the world: this was not the first time a man had fought a dragon, but it was the first time a man had won.

#nameless king #the nameless king #dark souls #probably nkstein eventually ksjdhsjhdf #north writes

9 notes · View notes

disneykathy · 6 years

Text

DISNEY WORLD

Disney’s Animal Kingdom

This is the other park I get lost in. I’ve been there a dozen times or more but it still feels like the Moving Island in “Lost”: “Wasn’t Africa to the left of Dinoland? How can I be in Asia? Where’s the damn big tree?? I can’t see the tree!!”

Never fear...when you first enter, you have no choice but to walk straight to the first “land” of this park: Discovery island:

Directly in front of you will be the weenie for this park: The Tree Of Life! It’s huge!

No...it’s not real! C’mon, sane up.

The “tree” is a 145 foot high sculpture of an African Baobab tree. Wander around the tree, under passages and through the Discovery Island Trails. Besides seeing some interesting real-life animals, you’ll see that the “Tree of Life” aka the “BFT”, (use your imagination), has 135 detailed animal carvings in its wood. They are amazing. Please take time to explore. You just got here-you can still feel your feet.

Under the BFT, in its roots, is a theater. This is where you will find the attraction: “It’s Tough to be a Bug”.

If you have a fear of bugs, take heed: although no real insects are involved in this production, it does evoke creepy crawly bugginess. The waiting area is an underground lair with the constant sound of chirping and buzzing. And the show does evoke a few fun special effects that make most of us laugh, but, if you are creepa-phobic, these effects may shoot you right through the wall. Just sayin’.

The show is a 3D movie with characters from “A Bugs Life” who will introduce you to the life of bugs and their importance in our little Earth lives. It’s fun. You can sit. It’s air-conditioned (actually TOO air conditioned).

And for those with a phobia, really, you’ll be fine... (spiders, roaches and bees, oh my!!!).

If you stay in the Animal Kingdom until dark, come back to Discovery Island and stand in front of the BFT. Once it’s dark, they do a new projection like show on the tree that is stunning! I had no idea they did this the last time I was there, and just happened to be passing... I was like “what the hell goes on with that tree?? There were all flashy lights coming out of its limbs- I thought I was having a stroke!

Pandora-The World of Avatar:

It’s beautiful! This newest area of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is gorgeous! If you’ve seen the movie Avatar, you’ll be completely amazed at how they captured the topography and flora of Pandora. If you haven’t seen the film, you’ll be confused. Just go with it.

Avatar Flight of Passage

If you didn’t fast pass this ride, enjoy your day standing in line.

I’d love to say “it’s worth it”. It’s not. Nothing is worth waiting in line for 4 hours. Nothing. If Elvis and John Lennon cane back from the dead to jam with Billy Joel, Elton John and Bruce Springsteen, I wouldn’t wait in line 4 hours.

However, it’s a great ride. This is a 3D flight simulator taking you on your Banshee and swooping over landscapes of Pandora. It’s only 5 minutes but it’s a memorable 5 minutes!

Warning: there are warning all along the queue area about thinking twice if you’re not healthy. Hey Disney-none of us are. I actually thought of not riding because of the excessive warnings. But...

The truth is, if you can ride “Soarin’” without getting extremely dizzy, having a coronary or bursting an aneurysm, you’ll be swell. Only dif here is, you are riding on something similar to a Star Wars speeder bike? It doesn’t actually go anywhere, just moves to simulate what’s happening on the screen. You are in a crouched position. So, if you have neck or back issues, you may want to rethink.

Na’vi River Journey

Your boat takes you on a river journey through Pandora at night. Again, if you haven’t seen the film, most if the trees, plants, animals, bugs in pandora are bioluminescent-a fancy word meaning that they light up at night in psychedelic colors. So, this ride is like floating through a college dorm room in 1968.

Rivers of light

Again, if you are going to be in Animal Kingdom after dark, you might want to get a fast pass for the Rivers of Light show. There are multiple viewing areas for this light show-one entrance is by The Voyage of the Little Mermaid theater And the other is by Expedition Everest.

I hear it’s a beautiful attraction. I haven’t seen it. It’s like, late, and my feet hurt and I’ve seen enough cool stuff to last me. But, if your still bright and bushy tailed, by all means, go. And let me know how it was.

Africa:

I love the atmosphere here. It really feels like you are visiting an African Village (I say that like I’ve ever been anywhere near a real African Village...). The village is called “Harambe” which I think means “spend money” in Swahili. There are some really interesting shops and food stops here-linger awhile...

Kilimanjaro Safaris:

You should have a fast pass for this excursion. You should also go first thing in the morning; the animals are much more active and visible before the heat of the day. They, as opposed to us, have common sense.

For this ride you will board large Jeeps and a driver will take you over muddy rut filled roads and over creaky rope bridges through a variety of African ecosystems where you will see indigenous animals. It’s a wonderful experience.

Last time I rode, 2 long horned Bongos blocked our way And we had to sit and wait until the mood hit them to wander off. And a Rhino jogged next to the Jeep, a little closer than my comfort zone approved of.

Lions, giraffes, crocs, gnus ...you’ll see them all with a steady stream of comments from the driver. You’ll love it.

Warning: pee first. The ruts are deep and the ride is long.

Gorilla Falls Exploration Trail/Wild Africa Trek

This section is right next to the Safari. It’s a walk through African nature trail where you can spend some leisure time really experiencing the animals. And you will get a close up view of the gorillas! I have an obsession with Silver Back Gorillas And will spend quite some time in this area photographing them. Unless it’s 90 degrees, then I photograph whatever lurks in the A/C.

Festival of the Lion King

This is a theater production where they re-enact the film with all the songs...it’s full of color and pageantry and people love it but I can sit in my house and watch the movie in the a/c without having to spend a gazillion bucks on a one day pass, so I am not a fan. But what do I know??

Asia: this area is also beautiful and evocative. Lots of photo ops to take advantage of.

Expedition Everest- I hate roller coasters, but I love this one! I love the theming in the queue, I love the speed, the yeti and even the drops. It doesn’t feel as wild as it looks, and it’s a smooth ride. If you can keep your eyes open, there’s lots to see.

Again: there are all the standard warnings. I had no problem and I am a major chicken with a bad stomach...so only you know you. Chose wisely.

Kali River Rapids- the signs read “You will get wet”. They should read “You will get soaked to your undies!”.

Kali River Rapids is a wild rapids ride that takes you down a raging Indian River. The theming revolves around an illegal mining/logging camp that you will come upon, showing the decimation of the forest.

You won’t notice this at all because you’ll be praying that the raft turns in your favor and drowns the guy across from you instead. I have ridden this a few times and have never not gotten soaked.

It’s a fun ride and it feels great to get wet in the heat of the day. However, it doesn’t feel great to still be squishing in your jeans 2 hours later or freezing while eating lunch in the A/C! So... don’t wear denim jeans, or, better yet, wear your poncho!

Maharajah Jungle Trek- this is similar to the wild Africa Trek, but with Asian animals-duh. The tigers are the Star of this walking tour and you’ll see them up close and personal. The theming of this Trek is lovely-you’re in an ancient ruin of a Hindi temple.

Up! A Great Bird Adventure:

This is a wild bird show like any other bird show you’ve ever seen except for two things:

1-it stars characters from the movie “Up”

2- it’s outside in Florida so, even though the partial roof keeps you out if direct sun and there are a few large fans, you will still be hot. Unless you go on a cool day, I’d say you can skip this and not live your life in regret.

Dinoland: -

The theming here is just...weird. When it first opened it had a sort of Paleontological bent with fossil beds and some Dino bone exhibits. Then Disney realized that people on vacation don’t care bout science, so they changed the theming to...

Weirder. Now the idea is: this is one of those tacky roadside attractions you’d find on Route 66 in the 50s or 60s. Run by “Chester and Hester”, this two bit Dino-Rama themed low rent stop over features two old fashioned carnival rides - the Primeval Whirl and the Triceratops Spin. The first ride being a small roller coaster and the second is the Dumbo the Flying Elephant Ride with triceratops (triceratops’? Triceratopses?). There are also carnival games and a tacky roadside shop and restaurant. Unless you are with desperate little ones, I’d walk through to pick up the atmosphere and Keep walking.

The real attraction here is Dinosaur!- the ride. This is a dark ride in an enhanced motion vehicle through the Cretaceous period to capture a Dino...And time is of the essence because you have to find said Dino before the great extinction comet hits!

This is a fun trip with lots of bumps, quick turns and jolts..with a few true honest thrills. It is a not to be missed e-ticket ride.

I just rode it and came away unbroken. But, if you have back or neck issues I’d think about skipping it. And, again, use the facilities first.

The Boneyard, which you should save til the end of the visit, is a play area for the kiddies: there are bones to dig up, slides, ropes and climbs and all kinds of stuff to work out any energy they’ve stored up. (You want them to sleep tonight, right?). There are only a few sitting spots for parents/grandparents though. I guess Disney thought we’d be running around sharing joy with our precious darlings. They guessed wrong. They need more seats. And wine.

Well, if you followed my order... and there’s no reason you needed to... you’re done with Disney World!!! Now go back to your room and relax...cuz tomorrow you’re probably spending the day at Universal Studios! ThenThe World of Harry Potter...then Sea World...And Legoland...then of course you’ll have to take the fam to the beach... maybe Clearwater... then you might as well spend a day at Busch Gardens...wait!

You didn’t tour Kennedy Space Center??

2 notes · View notes

saiyanprince541 · 7 years

Text

A trip with daddy

Okay, so with all the Bra art/literature going around and no fresh ideas in mind, I thought I might share this cute little Vegeta/Bra-fic, I wrote last year hehehe. Enjoy! 😁 Summary: Left alone to babysit Bra, Vegeta takes a trip to the convenience store with his little girl, but things take an unexpected turn, when a mugger enters the scene and threatens the store owner, at gunpoint. A trip with daddy:

"Dammit Vegeta, quit wasting my time, I'm gonna be late for this press conference!" Bulma seethed, pulling up a stocking.

"That is no concern of mine, woman!" The Prince growled. "I never agreed to this!"

"Yeah, well tough luck!" She fired back. "Mom and dad suddenly decided to take a vacation and Trunks planned this camping trip with Goten for the last three weeks, so I couldn't ask him, alright?!"

"Well too bad, I refuse to go anywhere near that grubby little creature!"

"That's our daughter you're talking about, you ass, not some creature!" The heiress walked up to him, glaring right in his face, her sapphire eyes blazing as ever. Ever since Bra's birth around two-and-a-half years ago, Vegeta had been neglecting his fatherly responsibilities to the poor child and Bulma refused to have it any longer. "Seriously, spend some time with her! Get to know her better! You might actually enjoy it!"

"Pah!" He spat.

"Don't be such a namby-pamby!"

"Damn you woman!" He grimaced. "You're insufferable!"

"So er- is that a yes?" Bulma asked hopefully.

"Fine, fine whatever, now get lost!"

"Oh, thank you Vegeta." She cheered, her anger ebbing away quickly, as she abruptly crushed him into a tight embrace.

The heat rose to Vegeta's reddened cheeks and he was instantly hard, due to her lack of garments.

"Let go of me!" He demanded, trying but failing to tug her away. At last, however, Bulma shifted back and pecked his lips before putting on a formal black business skirt and a white buttoned shirt, beneath a full-sleeve, indigo overcoat that flowed to her knees and matching stiletto pumps, to go with everything. As she was doing so, she gabbled on about Bra's favourite meals, kids' programs, board games and whatnot, while Vegeta tuned her out.

Gone at last, the Prince turned towards the tiny, sleeping form of the little bundle within the crib, her hair just as blue as those of her insane mother's, with a big tuft on top that spilled out in every direction, like the branches of a palm tree. Bulma dressed her in a strange set of powder pink, buttoned, bloomer overalls when taking her to the park this morning and since she'd fallen asleep on the way back, the heiress had put her right in the crib, without bothering to change her into her sleeping pajamas. The outfit covered her torso, as well as her arms and legs up to the points just below the elbows and knees, respectively.

"What a peculiar thing you are." Vegeta mumbled, hesitantly reaching a hand out to her. Gods, was she small or what? Although he was more attentive to her than he'd been during Trunks' infancy, he found her too much of a mess to be around, frequently playing with worms in the dirt and eating like a caveman, with morsels of food flying in every direction. It was outright disgusting. She'd likely consumed more in the last year, than the average human adult would, in ten years. Funny, how it never really affected her. She was still a pint-sized little twerp, perks of her Saiyan DNA. He smirked at the thought, gently placing a hand on her rising and falling belly. Bra began to stir and her big, cerulean eyes, slowly fluttered open.

"Daddy?" She mouthed groggily, yawning thereafter.

'Shit!' Vegeta cursed inwardly. Dammit, he should've left her as she was! Now, he'd have to deal with this crazy half-Saiyan toddler, all by himself and he was not looking forward to it!

"Daddy!" Bra exclaimed happily, placing her tiny hands atop his. The move sprung a strange feeling within the pits of Vegeta's stomach.

"What're you so happy about, brat?!" His mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Bwat?" She repeated. "No, no Bwat. Ish Bwa."

Her attempt at correcting him was quite amusing, he decided.

"Brat."

"Bwa!" She rectified more forcefully this time, with narrowed blue eyes.

"Brat." The Prince smirked teasingly.

"BWAAAAA!" The little girl screeched so loud that the Prince nearly toppled over.

"Okay, okay, Bra!" He relented, waving his hands in front of him, shocked by her sudden caprice. "Stupid child. You're just as crazy as your banshee mother!"

"Mama?" The half-Saiyan's anger suddenly melted away. She stood up and grabbed the bars of her crib, looking curiously at her father. "Where mama?"

"She's gone to an important meeting, but she'll be back soon."

"Soon?"

"Yes, soon."

"Oh."

Vegeta frowned at the child, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"Cookies?" Bra blinked up at him with those innocent, blue eyes of hers and he suddenly felt himself beginning to melt, from the inside. Dammit, what was this bizarre feeling?! He didn't know what to make of it!

"Ugh, fine." He groused. "Come on then." Vegeta lifted her up and placed her on the floor, feet first, before proceeding forward.

"Daddy!" The blue-haired toddler squealed. He turned around and saw his daughter looking at him imploringly, with those endless azure depths of hers, as she held out her stubby, little arms.

"You can walk just fine on your own!" He declared crassly, which only made her burst into tears, not two seconds later. Vegeta was suddenly plagued with an unfamiliar sensation of guilt, as his daughter continued to bawl and call him "meanie".

"Alright, alright!" He groaned peevishly and took her into his arms, whereby her sour mood suddenly vanished. Bra smiled and held him tight, as he carried her out of the room. The Prince mentally cursed his unexpected weakness, around the puny brat.

Sifting through cupboard after cupboard, drawer after drawer, inside the kitchen, Vegeta quickly realized that all the chips, cookies, lollies, munchies and other treats that would appease his crazy daughter, had gone missing. No doubt, Trunks had seized them all, for that absurd trip with mini-Kakarot. Curses!

'I'm going to make him wish he was dead!' The Prince vowed. Oh, this most certainly warranted an arduous training session, aka thrashing, for the purple-haired brat!

Left with no other choice, the Saiyan grabbed a few bills from the living room cabinet and whisked Bra to the nearby convenience store.

Entering through the automatic double doors, Vegeta perched Bra on his shoulders and took hold of a basket, filling it with all the best confectionary he laid his dark eyes on, as the giddy, blue bundle on top, clapped and cheered in delight.

"What a spoiled girl." The Prince grumbled.

"You think I'm bluffin'?!" A thick, middle-aged voice suddenly hollered from nearby. Vegeta turned in time to see a ski-masked hoodlum pointing a sawed off, single-barrel shotgun at the man on the counter, who had his hands up in surrender. Between them was an open briefcase. "Open the fucking cash register and toss in everythin' ya got, else I shoot!"

All of a sudden Bra began bawling and the Prince's protective instincts kicked in, as he lowered the shopping basket to the floor and cradled the girl in his arms. She nestled into his chest and he awkwardly placed a hand on her back, to try and soothe her.

"P-please, sir I- I-"

"NOW!" Roared the mugger, which only made Bra cry louder.

"Shut up you imbecile, you're making her cry!" Vegeta yelled at the thug.

"You, back away, this instant!" The gaunt man pointed his weapon at the flame-haired Saiyan. "Or so help me, I will spill your guts! I swear it by the horns of Lucifer, himself!"

"No!" A horrified Bra cried out, clinging to her father even more tightly, if it were possible, big, blue eyes brimming with tears. "No hurt daddy!"

Vegeta's stomach churned at the heartfelt plea of the tiny bundle of innocence within his arms. Gods, she was just so- precious.

'Ackh, that was way too corny!' The Saiyan mentally slapped himself, for his excessively sentimental thoughts and turned his attention back to the crook.

"Put that thing down before you hurt yourself, fool!" He took a step forward.

"I- I'm warnin' ya!"

Vegeta, however, did not heed the warning and moved another pace towards the mugger.

BANG!

The attacker discharged his weapon, however, the Prince simply flashed his ebony eyes and in that very moment, the blast exploded before it even left the barrel, causing the gun to implode and the wide-eyed carrier to fall on his behind.

"What in the?" Scrambling to his feet, he tried to run off, only for the double doors to open and a bizarre man with a white bandana, wayfarer sunglasses and the most outlandish green and black outfit, to appear before him with a grim look on his face. But- why would be here, of all places?! It made no sense!

Vegeta's face flushed and he placed a hand over it, groaning in disgust, while an intrigued Bra rubbernecked the mysterious newcomer, listening to his bizarre preamble.

"Beware evildoer, for I, the Great Saiyaman have come here to bring justice upon those who would mean to harm the innocent and-" The new arrival cut off his speech, as he recognised the father-daughter duo, not far off. "Vegeta? Is that you?" He asked, only to bite his lip, realizing that he'd mistakenly gone back to using his normal accent. The comical figure cleared his throat, before reverting to that lower-pitched hero inflection of his. "I mean, greetings my fellow-"

"Oh God, just shut up already, you moron!" The Prince cut him off peevishly, his tone as gruff as ever. "Seriously, have you not embarrassed yourself enough for one lifetime?!"

"Mowon!" Bra echoed, balling a tiny fist and waving it at the intruder.

"Braaaa!" The costumed man protested in shock, before catching himself and covering his mouth, once again realizing the slip of his voice. Only then did he notice the crook, furtively trying to sneak around him, in an escape attempt.

"Oh no you don't!" The vigilante tutted, shaking his head at the would-be absconder. "No one escapes the justice of the Great Saiyaman!" He promptly gave him a light tap on the temple that knocked him unconscious, before laying out his wobbly frame, on the tiled floor.

"Th-thank you, Great S-Saiyaman." The store owner stammered.

"You're most welcome, venerable sir!" He replied in his hero voice.

"Moron." Vegeta muttered.

"Mowon!" Bra repeated loudly, whereby the outlandish man cringed and walked over to her, with a disapproving expression, bending down so he was face level with the toddler. He shook his index finger at her.

"Now look here, young lady, you should not be using such foul- YYYYAAARRRGGGHHHH!"

Bra bit down on his poor finger, mid-sentence, whereby it throbbed and the chucklesome hero began howling and sucking on it, in an attempt to ease the pain.

Vegeta barely managed to hold back a smirk, at the sudden rush of pride, surging through him.

"Owww, that smarts!" Saiyaman looked towards Bra with a hurtful glance, while clutching his bruised finger. 'Man, like father, like daughter.' He thought to himself. Straightening his posture and puffing his chest out, he decided that it was time to be off. "Well then, farewell, good citizens!"

The owner stared incredulously, having no clue what to make of the baffling events that had just materialized before his very own eyes.

'Can't believe this idiot was stronger than all of us, not too long ago.' Vegeta thought to himself.

The superhero meanwhile, grabbed the crook, so he could deliver him over to the West City authorities. He'd come all the way here to pay a surprise visit to the Briefs, until he'd heard angry shouts in a nearby store and so, decided to transform into his hero outfit and intervene. Oh well, he decided it best to come back another time.

Not long after, father and daughter sat on the living room sofa, voraciously feasting upon the snacks they'd just purchased, while Bra was watching 'The Lion King' for about the hundredth time ever.

"He bwave!" The girl commented, as she saw Mufasa easily take on three hyenas.

"Tch, he's a weakling." Vegeta snorted.

"Weak?" She frowned. "No weak! Stwong!"

"No, he's weak." Replied the Prince. "I'm strong."

"Daddy stwong?" Bra was intrigued.

"The strongest." He answered, smiling smugly.

"Weawy?"

"Of course." He nodded.

"Show me?"

"Okay." He decided and gandered at the screen. "Watch the TV."

Bra did just that and gaped in fascination, as it began to levitate, all of a sudden.

"Daddy?" She looked back towards her father and saw his concentration, fixed upon the hovering, flat screen. The girl observed the television descend back atop the entertainment unit.

"Wow, so cool!" Bra cheered, clapping her hands excitedly.

"Hmph, that was nothing." The Prince remarked.

"Can you fwy, daddy?" The child asked, with longing blue eyes.

"I learned to fly when I was three years old."

"Fwee?!" An awestruck Bra goggled.

"That's right." He quirked his upper lip.

Bra looked at her father in wonderment for several moments, before grinning.

"Fwy me daddy?" She asked, eagerly.

"Hmmm." Vegeta pondered the request. One look at the ridiculous song playing on the screen, with the legion of hyenas marching before that strange lion with the black mane, was enough for him to make up his mind. "Alright."

The Prince turned off the television and gathered Bra's tiny form in his arms, before heading through the backdoor, locking it and taking to the skies. Bra held onto her father from behind, in a piggy back.

The blue-haired girl gushed with joy and ebullience, cheering and squealing in delight, as her father took her half way around the planet at a nice, even speed. She looked down in marvel, at the forests, deserts and icy landscapes they crossed, with a bird's eye view. A multitude of cities and country towns alike, bustled with life, all oblivious to the duo that flew above them like hawks. Bra had never experienced this much excitement and frenzy, all her life.

"I wuv you, daddy." She twinkled, fastening her hold around him.

The Prince grunted in annoyance, not one for sentiments, though he could feel his heart pounding against his chest at the heartfelt proclamation of his daughter. Damn feelings! This darn girl was turning him into a big bag of slush!

"Do you wuv Bwa?" She asked innocently.

"I- uh- you- urgh-" He sputtered, unable to formulate a proper sentence. Stupid girl! Why'd she have to ask him that?! If he said "no", she'd definitely be devastated, which would ruin all the headway he'd made with her today. For some reason that he couldn't quite figure out, he liked the adoration she bestowed upon him and certainly didn't want to spoil it, but he couldn't say "yes" either, so he settled comfortably, for something in between. "You- uh- you're not so bad."

"You're funny daddy!" She giggled, holding onto him even tighter.

"Hmph."

Around two hours since taking flight, the pair finally returned to Capsule Corporation. Bra was fast asleep and the Prince was cradling her against his chest, as he entered the residence through the back door.

"Where the hell were you?!" Bulma screeched all of a sudden, whereby Vegeta cringed. "I was worried sick about-"

"Shhhhh!" He scowled, pressing his index finger to his lips.

"O-Oh." The heiress suddenly realized her mistake, as she saw him holding the slumbering form of their daughter. Her heart practically melted at the sight. She grinned widely at him. "So how was it?"

"It- it was okay." He shrugged indifferently and Bulma saw right through his fib. It had taken years, but after all their time together, she could practically read him like a book. He was ecstatic.

"Told you." She said smugly, arms akimbo.

"Tch, whatever."

"You want me to put her to bed?" Bulma asked.

"It's fine, I'll do it myself." He replied and proceeded upstairs, while Bulma gaped at him, positively dumbstruck. Yep, he was totally ensorcelled with that girl.

A/N: And there you have it folks! Hope you enjoyed! Be sure to review and tell me which bits you enjoyed most and which you didn't (if any)! :D

#bra #vegeta #Vejita #Vegebul #bulla #DBZ Fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #dragon ball z fanfiction #literature #saiyan prince #Prince of all Saiyans #saiyanprince541

42 notes · View notes

postexchange · 6 years

Text

DnD Character Asks!

1. How many dead parents do they have?

Della: 3 (as she knows it, her birth parents might still be alive somewhere but she has no idea who they are and they have never been in her life so they are dead to her. other is the old woman who took her in and raised her)

Trina and Casablanca: none, parents are all alive and well

Pia: both dead (father possibly alive but was an orphan so has no real idea who he is)

2. How good are they at tongue twisters?

Della and Pia can manage fairly well. Trina can only do it when she’s not actually trying to. Cassie is like this is dumb.

3. Biggest regret?

i don’t think any of them have done anything they truly regret, its too early in their stories. but Della perhaps wishes she were a little less hostile towards people, a little more friendly, trusting, outgoing. and Cassie kinda regrets not being able to have a better relationship with her mother. Pia regrets nothing, all she’s done that others might regret she’s done in the name of survival. Trina is the one who might actually have regrets, like pushing the envelop at art school when she knew she probably shouldn’t have pushed it that far, or scamming those folks by telling them she was a true, graduated artist (actually her regrets are if she was going to get into trouble for either of those things, not making an even bigger impact)

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset?

Della is all organic for her magic with some formal training in natural healing/herbalism.

Trina is mostly trained in her druidic arts but her artistic talents are organic.

Cassie and Pia are trained in their arts, though Cassie’s combat skills are more rough and untested than Pia.

5. If they could hang out with one famous person in 18th century American History, who would they want to hang out with?

????

6. What’s their theme song?

Della has a whole playlist ;)

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence?

8. Paper or plastic?

paper for all (maybe plastic for Cassie if she’s going out to sea, paper gets soggy)

9. What’s their dump stat?

Della is not charismatic.

Pia is also not charismatic, nor very strong (poor tiny elf girl).

Cass is lower on wisdom and maybe dex.

Trina lacks dex and has lower charsima

10. What’s their best stat?

Della rocks con and wisdom/intell (which ever she needs more for her spells, i can’t remember which is which)

Pia is all dex.

Cass is strength and con.

Trina is wisdom (but only of the druid spell casting variety, not the actual kind).

11. What is their favorite anime?

i know nothing of anime so i can not say

12. What’s their favorite beverage?

Pia just wants cold, clean, clear water. maybe a crisp cider if shes got the coin, but she will take that watered down piss quality ale.

Cassie and Trina will drink pretty much anything in a tankard.

Della sticks to her herbal tea. perhaps a wine if the occasion calls for something.

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell?

Trina is here for stoneshape, earth moving spells.

Della rocks the inflicting wounds. she is very good at the spare the dying, but its not her favorite.

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done?

Again, its too early in their stories for anything to really have occured, heroic or otherwise, but Pia might be recognized for going without many things (food, adequate clothing, lodgings) for the sake of others.

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done?

Della has said hurtful things but that pales in comparison to her leaving behind folks she has only done the barest of minimums when it was within her power to help.

Trina has lied and cheated people from money by protraying herself a fully acredited artist. There was a time or two when she didn’t even bother to attempt to produce the art works she promised patrons.

16. Are they a hero or a supporting protagonist?

I’d like to see Della and Cassie be heros. Trina is more a sidekick. Pia has the potential to be a hero.

17. What’s their favorite food?

Trina is always eating. girl loves her food, doesn’t matter what it is.

Cassie of course likes seafood. hand her a hearty pail of mussels and some bread and cheese on the side.

Pia is kinda delicate when it comes to food, partially her small statue leads to dainty portions but so does half a lifetime of going hungry.

Della’s meals are full of fresh, wild ingredients. she mostly dines vegetarian i think but doesn’t not dislike meat.

18. Would they rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck?

Pia says hundred, more target practice.

Trina goes for horse sized duck.

Cassie and Della don’t really have a preference.

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take?

Della would chose to be alone but want to take a journal to write in (since she’s not taking a person, she can have a pencil too right?)

Trina would want her father and her staff (to practice her true arts with)

Cassie would be very torn between taking her father or her craftsman friend.

Pia wants her daggers. She would mostly want to be alone but at the last moment decide she wanted the friend who taught her her skills in the city.

20. Are they religious? If so, what god or gods do they serve?

Trina is religious to her druid tribe and its respect for mother nature.

Cassie offers her prayers to gods of the seas.

Della would serve the source of her magic.

Pia despises religion and gods and worship.

21. How did they become an adventurer?

Della wonders off in search of more knowledge of her mysterious wild magic. she also has no one left in her tiny cabin in the woods and faces rejection from the population of the nearest town and wishes to escape. will find herself integrated into a party.

Pia runs off with her street kid mentor, both in search of a better life.

Trina is trying to make her way home and stumbles upon a small party in trouble. after coming to their aid, they take up the task of escorting her home (via the longest, most interrupted by adventurous situations route ever)

Casablanca ran away with the guild prince she was almost betrothed to when they both had no desire to be wed. they join a crew but a couple of adventures in, the guy knows its not the life for him and stays in the next city they come to. Cassie stays in touch with him, using him as her new homebase between missions.

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill?

Once again, too early in their sagas to have killed much (except maybe some wild game, or in Pia’s case an assassination or two)

23. Thoughts on death?

Della sees it as just another state of (non)being.

Pia and Cassie have seen much of it and have no wishes to see it themselves, but will lay down their lives in service of others (Cassie more willingly than Pia, who is secretly afraid of it)

Trina seems more or less indifferent to death, just another part of the cycle. she would be the most accepting and least fearful of it.

24. Do they have any interesting skills?

Trina is a sculptor/pottery artist.

Della is gifted in herbalism and poison crafting. also cooking

Pia is your standard dagger throwing, agile, acrobatic rouge type.

Cass is great in the water, swimming, sailing. navigator and cartographer. surprisingly good dancer.

25. Favorite animal?

Cassie likes dolphins.

Pia hardly knows animals beyond city dwellers like rodents and pigeons. i guess she would pick a cat.

Della is fascinated by moths. deer might be another favorite.

Trina of course loves animals of all types.

26. Expansion of civilization or the preservation of nature?

Della and Trina are for nature preservation.

Pia and Cassie would rather see things remain as they are, civilization and nature but would lean more to expansion (Cassie’s argument being that you can’t expand and ruin the ocean)

27. They’re at a tavern. They bump into a big burly angry drunk with a combative attitude. What happens?

Della and Pia are fighting (they might offer a warning first but its not like the guy is going to heed it and its a threatening one at that).

Cassie is like woah there big guy settle down, i just bumped ya, didn’t mean nothing by it and will thrown down only if he keeps being rude (but its not the brawl that would start with D and P)

Trina will also attempt to apologize and calm him down by offering food or buying him a drink. will probably just wall of stone him in place until shes ready to leave if he insists on being dumb about it.

28. What do they do between quests?

Cassie always tries to get back to the city to see her friend. he’s usually crafted something new for her or her party to use or trade in their current supplies for. they eat some good food and go for a drink where Cassie can tell him all about her adventures. she also always writes a letter to her father (and there is usually at least a couple waiting for her when she does get back to check in).

Trina is usually stuffing her face, laughing her butt off with her friends, exaggerating their tales for the crowds around them. occasionally she will create something in the traditional manners to keep up her skills if she can find the right supplies. she usually decides its not as good as if she had used her magic and leaves the work behind (but little does she know there is almost a cult following with in the art world for her little abandoned pieces)

Della likes to journal and pursue magical knowledge/training. she likes to do this alone, away from her party.

Pia gets squirrely between missions, she does not like being idle. She will hone her already impressive skills, sharpen her knives, prep supplies, anything to keep busy. when she sneaks away, shes out searching for information about the group that caused the fire that burned down her town, including her orphanage and killed some important people and children.

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development?

Della’s positive would be the old woman who took her in as a small child when she was abandoned. while she does not remember her mother abandoning her, Della is aware that is what happened and the parent to give her up and resents her for it. another big negative would be the general populations reaction to her tiefling-ness.

Cass would cite her father’s positive influence on her life, even if her upbringing aboard the ship was not the most traditional. Her mother’s absence from her early life was not exactly a negative but Cassie does recognize now that she’s met her that she would have been. she cared not for Cassie, only that by marrying off a daughter she could advance her own status in society. while Cass resents that, she is thankful that it allowed her to meet her guild prince friend who has been nothing but a positive in her life.

Pia has positives in the form of the sisters who ran the orphange she was raised in. they held nothing but compassion and kindness. while rough around the edges as most street urchins are, the friend who took her under his wing after they met trying to make a living on the streets, also demonstrated the same compassion and kindness in her eyes. the biggest negative influence would be the hard life on the streets after society showed it didn’t care much after the radical group attacked her town. also the street kid king who makes demands of those who band together (demands Pia was not comfortable with, no matter how bad street life got).

Trina’s positives would likely be her family, her circle, her friends. negatives would be the ones who kicked her out of art school for magic use on her final project, even after she explained exactly its use and what she was trying to say with her art, that she wasn’t just using the process to cheat.

30. Would they smooch a ghost?

Pia, hands-down no.

Della would but only if it were a ghost she wanted to smooch (chances of that are pretty slim)

Trina and Cassie would on a dare but neither are true firm believers.

1 note · View note

torontoseoulcialite · 6 years

Text

Next Stop: Reykjavik

Can you believe I made it to Osaka, Shanghai, Bangkok, Phuket, Chiang Mai, Taipei, Tokyo, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Kota Kinabalu, Bali, Orlando, and Korea (duh!) over the past 3 years? When I was in Korea, all I wanted was to escape the freezing temperatures and fly to warmer climates. Now that I’m in Canada, I’m eyeing Europe – particularly the Nordic countries! While I only just started my “new” job in August, I’ve already earned enough vacation days to take a little trip. Hello – dream job! If you’ve been following along on social media, you’ll know that I just got back from Reykjavik, Iceland. With Wow Air flights this cheap, I couldn’t not go!

Toronto – Reykjavik

First things first – my flight to Reykjavik’s Keflavik International Airport was an absolute steal. I’m not fussed over having luxuries like in-flight entertainment or 5-star dining. Let’s be real – I flew Air Asia practically everywhere. I flew Wow Air and paid $235.92 CAD for my round-trip flight from Toronto to Reykjavik. This price was inclusive of HST, Airport Improvement Fee, Air Travelers’ Security Charge, ZU passenger fee, and IS Airport service charge).

Once I arrived in Reykjavik, I booked an Airport Direct shuttle from the airport to the Blue Lagoon at 7:30 AM. My total transfers from the airport to Blue Lagoon and then along to my hostel came to a total of ISK 5,500 ($58.35 CAD). Not exactly a steal, but a great option when things in Reykjavik can be quite pricy.

I decided to ball out at the Blue Lagoon and treat myself to the Premium experience:

Entrance to the Blue Lagoon

Silica mud mask

Use of towel

1st drink of your choice

Second mask of choice

Slippers

Use of bathrobe

Table reservation at Lava Restaurant

Sparkling wine when dining

From ISK 9 900 ($105 CAD)

The Lamb fillet and shoulder of lamb: Rutabaga, carrots, rhubarb, thyme set me back ISK 4 900 ($51.97 CAD). It’s a once in a lifetime event and I wanted to enjoy every second, but honestly? Not worth it to get the premium – don’t bother with the crappy food at Lava. It’s plated beautifully but lacks any sort of flavour whatsoever. Save your ISK and just get the comfort package. The only extras you get are flip flops, a robe, and an algae mask.

The lagoon itself is gorgeous and relaxing. I didn’t indulge in the spa treatments, but the silica mask you get leaves your face and shoulders feeling baby soft. Heed warning about your hair, though. I thought that covering it in conditioner would be enough, but my hair was a wreck. Trying to pull a comb through it was incredible painful wet or dry, and it lasted for days. Heed the advice of other bloggers and put your hair up in a bun!

Arctic Adventures – Iceland’s South Coast

4 days in Iceland is plenty to scratch the surface. I can’t imagine how many gorgeous places there are to discover. If you’re like me and have limited vacation days, Reykjavik is a great adventure destination even if just for a few days away! Over the course of 10 hours on an Arctic Adventures minibus, we got through the tight schedule of:

Skógafoss Waterfall

Seljalandsfoss Waterfall

Sólheimajökull Glacier

Reynisfjara Black Sand Beach

Reynisdrangar Basalt Sea Stacks

Vík in Mýrdalur

Included

Pick-up & drop off from Reykjavík

Guided Visit to South Shore Highlights

English Speaking Tour Guide

Free WiFi on Board Your Bus

Seljalandsfoss

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I went chasing waterfalls in Iceland. I climbed icy rocks to step behind Seljalandsfoss and make my wish. I couldn’t find any evidence of Icelandic folklore to support the idea of making a wish behind the falls, but I had on my trusty HBC boots, my Columbia snowsuit, and propensity for mischief, so behind Seljalandsfoss I went. Can you guess what I wished for? Hint – it wasn’t surviving the climb up out and down the other side!

Skogafoss

Skogafoss waterfall (by the way – that’s redundant as “foss” means “waterfall”) was certainly safer than Seljalandsfoss! To get up to the top and get an aerial view of the falls, you can walk up some stairs. It takes about 5 minutes – the record is 3 minutes, apparently. Legend has it that there was once a treasure chest buried at Skogafoss and those trying to reach it would experience delusions. You can read all about it here. I’m sure glad that my wishes come from the heart, and not for the wallet!

Reynisfjara

The iconic black sand beaches and basalt sea stack formations featured in “Game of Thrones” are found at Reynisfjara. There are a few legends as to how the stacks were formed. One involves two trolls dragging a three-masted ship into land and failing. The other is of a free-spirited woman pulled away from her husband by the trolls, destined to spend eternity among the rocks and sea. As stunning as the landscape of Iceland is, I’m sure it would be even more breathtaking with a partner. I felt incredibly calm, but especially lonely at this beach as a solo traveler.

Vik

When I told people that I was visiting Iceland, they told me I absolutely had to go to Vik i Myrdal. I certainly wanted to see the iconic church (Reyniskirkja), but beyond that I wasn’t sure. We only stopped here for a quick view of Reynisfjara and the town of Vik, then we were on the bus and headed for a 3 PM “lunch”. The food in Iceland is already incredibly expensive, so imagine being in a town where a truck stop is your only option for food on the tour. I think I paid $25 for the crappiest, tiniest curry ever. Stick to the hot dogs and burgers, when available. They won’t be cheap either, but at least they’re dependable! I was surprised that in a country like Iceland their fish would be frozen, square, deep fried pucks. Bring food with you on the tour, for sure!

Aurora Borealis: The Northern Lights

If you really want great images you must really know how to use your camera and have a much better tripod than I did. Also – avoid these huge tour groups. They’re big ole money grabs. We were taken an hour in one direction to a chalet where we were expected to buy drinks and souvenirs. The lines were insanely long and it was just pretty uncomfortable. Then, we were brought back in the direction of Reykjavik and further down to the South Coast to a small area near a very brightly lit church. It was very hilly and quite windy – not ideal for a tripod and camera. With drunken idiots stumbling in front of your tripod trying to see the lights through your lens and littering water bottles full of vodka, we were incredibly lucky to actually see the lights dance! This is what it actually looks like chasing the Northern Lights with a tour group.

Photos from my Samsung S9 – I was pretty impressed with the image quality they were able to produce:

Food and Drink in Iceland

Since food and drinks are so expensive in Iceland, your absolute best is to stock up on vodka or even champagne when you get off the plane. Drinks at bars in Reykjavik will cost about $7 – $10 during “Happy Hour” (very common in Reykjavik due to the obscene prices) and $10 – $20 otherwise. Most people who have visited ask me if I survived on hot dogs. I must admit, I ate a couple as moderately cheap sustenance! I took myself out on my first night and a bowl of olives and a pint cost me $20. i suggest you pre-drink at your hotel or even get an AirBnB so you can cook. “Bonus” is the cheapest grocery store around, I’ve been told. Liquor stores are closed on Sundays, so prepare in advance. People in Iceland leave to go out quite late at night, too.

Last Day in Reykjavik

On my last day in Reykjavik I rounded out some of my other bucket list goals. I visited Perlan – Wonders of Iceland. I walked around the city getting great views of Hallgrimskirkja, the iconic Catholic church in Iceland’s capital city. On the way back to my hostel in Hlemmur Square, I saw an incredible mid-afternoon sunset behind the Sun Voyager.

Perlan – Wonders of Iceland is a museum which will really need a post all to itself. The incredible architecture makes way for a 360 observation deck, and since it’s up on a hill you get a phenomenal view of the city, the glacier, and the water. Ut i Blainn, the restaurant inside Perlan’s dome, was another example of overpriced food (better than Lava, however) and piss poor service, but the ambiance was nice and it was a good way to relax before making my way through the impressive exhibits and the brand new planetarium.

Reykjavik for Romance

Iceland is a wonderful place especially for couples and especially around Christmas. It’s an inexpensive flight from Toronto, you can get pretty good deals on AirBnB’s, and there are plenty of ways to relax together or get an adrenaline rush. I would absolutely suggest heading over even if you, like me, only have a few days to get away! Absolutely DO go chasing waterfalls. Let me know if you head to Seljalandsfoss and we can compare notes on waterfall wishes, too – I hope they come true ❤

Have you been to Iceland? Where was your favourite place to visit? Let me know in the comments!

The Perfect Stopover in Reykjavik, Iceland! Next Stop: Reykjavik Can you believe I made it to Osaka, Shanghai, Bangkok, …

0 notes

unziptheselips · 7 years

Text

Sauteed Ground Turkey

Sauteed Sweet Potato Noodles

I feel when people write about recipes, it’s primarily because they want you to try the recipe. Unfortunately, that is not the case with this recipe that I’m about to share with you all the details about.

Please heed the warning: do not make this recipe at home!

I was inspired to make ground turkey because one of my friends prefers it to cooking chicken. In fact, she has never made chicken because she’s afraid to handle the raw meat. I felt similarly until my mom taught me before I moved into my apartment, but anyway…

I was sick of eating chicken all the time so I thought that I should try out ground turkey. My mom isn’t a fan of ground turkey so I’ve never really had it before, and I now understand why.

I improvised based off of a recipe I found on my favorite Food Network app, In the Kitchen. It’s called “Corn Tortilla Tacos with Ground Turkey” by Darrell “DAS” Smith. I mostly used this recipe to get an understanding of how ground turkey should be cooked such as, for how long and with which spices you use. I didn’t make tacos with the turkey, but maybe I should’ve. I don’t know. I still think I would feel the same way: I don’t want to cook ground turkey again.

It is stinky. Perhaps it’s the brand I bought (it was very cheap turkey if that has anything to do with it), but I’m skeptical that that’s why. It was just so…game-y smelling. The way I feel about ground turkey is similar to how I feel about meats I don’t usually eat such as veal, lamb, duck…I’m just not used to them so when I’m cooking them, the smell is unpleasant to me.

The actual turkey tasted delicious, but every time I heated it up…the smell made me want to vomit so, no thank you.

How I cooked the turkey:

I sauteed garlic in a pan of hot oil. That had a nice aroma.

Then I added chopped tomato and red pepper and cooked that for a while.

Once the garlic was golden and the veggies were soft, I added the turkey, along with the full cumin seeds, salt, and pepper.

I may have added a little cayenne, I’m not really sure though. Either way, the turkey tasted great on its own, although it would be great to use as taco meat too.

I know I spent all this time delving into the turkey, which was bad to me solely because of the smell; however, the real tragedy of this dinner was the sweet potato noodles.

I didn’t follow a recipe for this one because I make sweet potatoes somewhat frequently, so I felt confident in my ability to make them in noodle form. I was wrong. The noodles smelled and tasted so bad that they were inedible so I threw them all away. They were expensive too! I am not making that mistake again, I will just buy the actual sweet potato because I love them in actual potato-form anyway.

My mom has made me veggie noodles before like squash and zucchini, and I begged her to get the sweet potato ones for me because I love sweet potatoes. She didn’t appease me though and I forgot about the noodles and bought myself the regular potatoes, until a couple of weeks ago when I saw them in noodle form at ShopRite!

I was so excited to bring them home to cook them but what happened was that for some reason…I just blanked on how to season them. I was so focused on the turkey that I used similar seasonings and it was a noxious-smelling disaster.

How I cooked the sweet potato noodles:

I cooked fresh garlic in a pan of hot oil until it was golden.

I added the sweet potato noodles and came across what looked like a long, skinny carrot at the bottom. It smelled unpleasant and was hard as a rock. I assumed it was a factory-error such as…the machine that makes sweet potatoes into noodles fucked up and I got the remainder of the sweet potato, which at that point looked like a long, skinny carrot.

I added dried basil to the pan as well as Italian seasoning, ground pepper, and turmeric. Why I didn’t only add cinnamon and nutmeg is still a disappointing mystery to me.

So what happened was, the sweet potatoes were burning and they stank because I seasoned them improperly. Plus, they had a weird texture. I don’t know what I was expecting (a regular sweet potato maybe??) but it was…hard. Even when they were wiggly like how noodles are, they didn’t have a potato texture I was expecting.

At this point, my girlfriend had arrived at my apartment and was displeased by all of the nasty smells in the kitchen. She made me throw out the sweet potatoes because she thought they were sketchy between the long, skinny carrot thing (at one point I thought I had bought carrot noodles by mistake. Not sure if they even make those lol) and because the noodles had a weird texture. She doubted that they were organic and she suspected they had been treated to retain a noodle consistency instead of becoming potato-y.

It may have simply been how I cooked them (how long are you supposed to cook them anyway? And how?) but yeah…overall, super disappointing dinner. Thankfully my girlfriend is a wonderful cook and I ate some food she had made for me a couple of days prior.

Have y’all tried making these dishes? How did it go?

xx Vic

How to Fuck Up Dinner: Ground Turkey and Sweet Potato Noodles I feel when people write about recipes, it's primarily because they want you to try the recipe.

#college #cooking #disaster recipes #family #food network #friends #gay #girlfriend #ground turkey #how to fuck up dinner #in the kitchen #love #recipes #sweet potato noodles #sweet potatoes #university

0 notes

envirotravel · 7 years

Text

Eight Secrets of Brazilian Beach Culture

I read once that local of Rio often say “tenha uma boa praia,” or “have a good beach” over the much more standard translation for “have a good day.” It’s a culture-revealing phrase not unlike Thailand’s famous “gin khao reuyang?”, a way of asking “what’s up?” which literally translates as “have you eaten rice yet?”

In much of Brazil, the beach isn’t a place you go for a few hours on vacation. It’s a lifestyle. I was warned ahead of time that Rio in particular has a strict beach etiquette and rules that had to be heeded — luckily when it comes to all things sand and sea, I’m a quick learner.

Despite wildly overscheduling my trip and visiting in autumn, when Brazil’s beaches are lightly buzzing but not overblown with people, I managed to hit the beach in Ilha Grande, Rio de Janeiro, Buzios, and Jericoacoara. Here are a few strict rules I learned along the way — the rare kind that are more fun to follow than to break.

Take as little as possible

The frumpy schlep of coolers and chairs and endless beach supplies is a major faux pas in Brazil. A towel in particular is considered a horror-inducing no-no. A canga (the Brazilian term for a sarong), some cash, and maybe a volleyball are basically the only acceptable items to take — anything else you need can be supplied on the sand.

Cangas are fabulous alternatives to towels — they can be worn as cover-ups walking to and from the beach, they can be laid out on the sand to lie on, they can be used as scarves and towels and a million other purposes in a pinch. In my mind, they are a travel essential! They also make for amazing gifts and souvenirs — Ilha Grande in particular was a fun place to shop for a few.

Wear as little as possible

In Brazil, tops stay firmly on – regardless of how small – but another body type entirely is on display. You can’t talk about Brazilian beaches without talking about butts. Women of every age and every size subscribe to the “suns out, buns out” line of thinking, and men don’t stray far behind with their own sunga swimsuits, a kind of modified speedo that would leave most American men recoiling in horror. Why put any extra fabric between your body and the beautiful sun, sand and sea, the thinking seems to go?

I quickly purchased several teeny, cheeky bikini bottoms for myself after receiving several stare-downs for wearing a fralda (or “diaper”, as Brazilians refer to the more full-coverage American bikini). Believe it or not, wearing more modest American styles is apt to draw even more attention than a teeny tiny thong — you’ll stand out as a gringa and some say make yourself more of a target for petty crime from those who target tourists!

While I felt seriously self-conscious at first letting my cheeks and inhibitions fly, I just looked around the beach for inspiration — Brazilian women appear unburdened by the body-hang ups that plague many other cultures, and I marveled at the confidence that strutted down the sand in so many different shapes and sizes.

One government worker from Brasilia who I met while she was vacationing in Jericoacoara told me she dreamed of visiting Miami, but the horror of wearing an American bathing suit had stopped her so far. I am afraid people will look at me in my bikini, but, I just cannot wear that diaper! I cannot!

Brazilians are known as some of the sexiest people on the planet and having shared the sand with them, I feel like I now know their secret — it’s confidence! It speaks to the major difference in our cultures that I uploaded and deleted the following photo so many times, wondering if it was inappropriate to post on my own dang travel blog, even though it’s a beautiful photo that I love taken by one of my closest friends — because the wrong square inches of skin are showing. In Brazil, a grandmother wouldn’t bat an eye wearing these bikini bottoms to the beach with her family. I love this aspect of Brazilian culture!

Say yes to snacks

It’s almost considered rude to bring your own food to the beach in Brazil. Acai cups, caipirinhas, seasoned cheese on a stick, iced tea, puffed crisp Globo and empanada vendors will walk along the beach calling our their offerings and you simply wave them over if interested. Eating out is incredibly expensive in Brazil and so sitting on the beach and grazing on snacks all day is not only fun, it’s also a great way to balance out the pricy dinner you might go out for later.

The very cool thing that I loved was that unlike in other countries where you apparently sign a blood oath to make a purchase if you so much as accidentally make eye contact with a beach vendor, the Brazilian ones were fairly low key and didn’t mind if we called them over to take a look and then decided not to buy. Everything was low-key and done with a smile. (We did encounter one over-aggressive bikini salesman who had a hard time hearing no in Copacabana, but he was the exception to what seemed to be the chilled out rule.) Normally I loathe beach vendors but in Rio they were one of my favorite things about the city.

The other beach cities I visited didn’t necessarily have the roaming vendors walking around, but they did have little stands where you could grab any snack you’d need.

Where you beach matters

In Rio especially, all sand is not made equal. The city’s main southern beaches stretch across over five miles of shoreline and are divided by 12 postos, or numbered lifeguard stations. These are for more than just giving directions; they are for finding your tribe. There is a saying in Brazil that you can tell everything you need to know about a person by three things: their favorite soccer team, their favorite samba school, and which posto they lay their canga at.

While Copacabana is the most widely-known to foreigners, it’s far from the hip place to be among Cariocas, or Rio residents. We spent an afternoon on touristy Posto 4 in Copacabana but far preferred the trendy, see-and-be-seen Posto 9 in Ipanema, where we spent two beach days in Rio. Certain Postos denote gay beaches, family beaches, and beyond.

Each posto is lined by barracas, semi-permanent beach bars where you can buy fresh coconut water, cold beer, and more caipirinhas, and also hire beach chairs and umbrellas. I was particularly enamored with Barraca Uruguay at Posto 9, both for the lively atmosphere of the easy-on-the-eyes crowd and the fact that the employees were primarily from Uruguay and Argentina, which meant we could chat in Spanish.

When you beach doesn’t really matter

Because there’s never a bad time to be at the beach. We were pretty amazed that even on a Monday in May, the beaches of Rio were pretty darn busy. While summer (December-February) is certainly the most popular time for Brazil’s beaches, don’t expect to ever have the popular ones to yourself. But no worries — that’s part of the fun!

Watch your stuff

This is probably fits int he “duh” category for most travelers, but don’t go swimming in the sea and leave your stuff unattended. Brazil’s crime problem is pretty notorious so I’m guessing most travelers don’t need to hear this, but it does warrant a warning. If you’re really blending in with Brazilians, you brought next-to-nothing to the beach (kudos!) but if you’re like me and can’t resist bringing your phone and camera, too, ask a trustworthy-looking neighbor to watch you things while you go for a dip.

It’s common practice in Brazil and as a bonus, is a great way to get your feet wet with Brazil’s notoriously social beach vibes (see what I did there?)

Don’t you dare bring a book

I’d read before my trip that Brazilians almost never read or listen to music with headphones in at the beach. Well, they can do what they want but I’m going to read my darn magazine, I thought, stubbornly throwing an old issue of Afar into my tote en route to Ipanema.

Yeah, no. I didn’t crack a single page. The beaches of Rio are alive in a way that you just can’t look away from. Impromptu fútball games, flirty chats with the barraca boys, beach vendor picnics…. who could read when there’s so much to do and see?

I suddenly understood the disdain for towels and personal beach chairs. Some beach-goers, I noticed, more or less spend the whole day standing. If they aren’t already engaged with someone, they are scanning the crowd and checking out the scene. It’s one of the most hyper-social situations you can be in, and the people-watching is unmatched.

Heather and I weren’t even being particularly outgoing; with our busy schedules our beach days did double duty as our hangover days and we were still just soaking it all in and getting into the Rio groove. Yet one day, we had a long, in-depth conversation with an empanada entrepreneur around our age who plopped down on the sand to answer our questions about the legalities of beach selling, and on another it only took two trips to our barraca for coconut waters before I was politely asked for my phone number by a cute Argentinian who intended to take me on a date. Some things are worth skipping the next chapter in your beach read for!

Stay for sunset

Don’t leave, the party is just getting started! Sunset on the beach in Brazil is, quite simply, a must. In Ilha Grande, we booked a hostel on the water so we’d never miss one. In Rio, we took it in at Aproador where a huge crowd had gathered to watch surfers and sip caipirinhas delivered by an enterprising local with a cooler. In Jericoacoara, it was a nightly ritual for the entire town.

. . .

It’s no secret that in many ways I found Brazil to be a frustrating and challenging country. And yet all that seemed to melt away when I was by the sea — I left Brazil completely enamored with its unique and special beach culture.

As much as I loved the tours I went on and the attractions I took in, I vowed that my next trip will involve summer, and include about four times as many unscheduled days to do nothing but plop my bare bum on the beach and watch the Brazilian world go by.

So Brazilians — and Brazil lovers! — tell me what I missed!

Pin It!

Of course, a few days baking in the Brazilian sun hardly make me a cultural anthropologist — please forgive me any misinterpretations of the local culture, and feel free to set me straight in the comments if I’ve erred!

Eight Secrets of Brazilian Beach Culture posted first on http://ift.tt/2k2mjrD

0 notes