#if i want to be the sun and flames and metal and darkness and greens and blues and red all at the same time

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick? 

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson. 

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization. 

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses. 

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room. 

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip. 

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow. 

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair. 

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast? 

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered. 

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind. 

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window. 

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes. 

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge. 

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword. 

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight. 

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air. 

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night. 

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.” 

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you. 

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin. 

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass. 

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal. 

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact. 

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time. 

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie. 

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration. 

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside. 

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful. 

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost? 

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins. 

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less. 

Your own family had never been so generous. 

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity. 

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat. 

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.” 

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.” 

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night. 

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned. 

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?” 

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.” 

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges. 

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees. 

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow. 

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?” 

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.” 

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.” 

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground. 

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets. 

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other. 

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched. 

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down. 

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly. 

Relentlessly. 

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding. 

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion. 

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.” 

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh. 

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.” 

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight. 

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain. 

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?” 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?” 

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?” 

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests. 

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist. 

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.” 

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily. 

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.” 

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.” 

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about. 

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies. 

You’d be found out in no time. 

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?” 

Can and not do. 

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals. 

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that. 

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips. 

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?” 

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past. 

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains. 

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you. 

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge. 

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell. 

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?” 

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.” 

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” 

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief. 

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences. 

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools. 

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron. 

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds. 

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes. 

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers. 

There was no running from this. 

“Okay,” you whisper.

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[tobitofunction]

🐉 Part 1

Set after the events of the Last Airbender, Zuko is Firelord and over 18. The reader is a Targaryen, so silver hair and purple eyes but the character otherwise have any description of hair texture or skin tone

Long and has mentions of incest as game of thrones inspired characters

y/d- your dad (or any male name)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 part5 part6 part 7 part 8 part 9

“So where we going, Uncle?” Zuko asked,” An Island which is nearly double the size of the amber island which is located near Crescent Island, where a family of silver-haired people lives, "he said  lifting his cup to his lips,” Is this all we are getting?” Sokka asked,” You shouldn’t even be here, only Aang, me and uncle-“,” But where is the fun in that. You owe me a life-changing field trip flame boy” Toph said,” Well, it’s been said that they are closer to the gods than us. The fire nation families have been trying to marry into them for generations but they always decline” Iroh continued,” Can’t blame them, wouldn’t want to marry into that either” Katara said gaining a soft nudge from Aang,” The Targaryen family has some queer costumes anyway so I doubt we are getting anywhere anyway” Iroh shrugged,” Wait is this a trip to get Zuko a wife” Sokka said with a big smile,” Oooh this is going to gooood” Toph smirked while rubbing her fist. Zuko was about to open his mouth when a large gust of wind knocked him onto the floor of the ship,” What was-“ Zuko stopped mid-sentence when he saw the reason he was knocked on the floor, a large white dragon was flying across the sky towards the direction they were heading,” I thought dragons were mostly extinct beside the two with the sun warriors” Aang said with wonder in his voice,” The Targaryen are from the Valyrian race, dragon blood is run through them is what people say” Iroh said looking with awe at the dragon flying majestically through the orangy sky,” How come I never heard from the until now?”,” Because not many are left, my nephew. Only two families are left. That’s why they are often marrying…. Well within the family” Iroh sighed making everyone's eyes widen,” INCEST” Sokka gasped,” So Zuko, be less you. Having a Targaryen in our family would be very beneficial” Iroh said.

They soon arrived at the island, large and small dragons made of stone decorated the island, it looked similar enough to his own palace but unlike his, it carried a dark aura. “Fire Lord Zuko here, we are here to see your King” Iroh smiled at the guards who walked up to them,” Their armour looks so cool” Sokka fangirled at the dark armour, it was made up of multiple metal panels which were held together by dark red leather, from far away the armour gave the illusion of scales which fitted with the design of their helms, a dragons head.

“Fire Lord, it’s an honour to have you here,” an older man said, his hair like Iroh said was silver and went towards his shoulders, he carried a friendly smile which seemed genuine, and his voice was similar to his Uncle and carried a similar aura as well. His throne room was similar to his own, with open flames everywhere making the room nice and warm, the symbol of the house, a red three-headed dragon on black fabric was hanging behind the King’s seat. “An honour my Lord,” another man said, he also had white hair which went past his shoulder, and he seemed friendly enough but also more worn out, he, however, wore a different symbol, a silver seahorse on a sea green field. “ Iroh, or should I call The Dragon of the West?”,” Iroh is alright your majesty” Iroh smiled,” I am embarrassed to say my daughter isn't here yet. Riding that dragon of hers if I should guess. I forgot call me y/d” he smiled,” This Lord Coryls, he’s married to my cousin. He is part of the other Valyrian family which has survived the doom”,” The doom?” Aang asked curiously,” Avatar Aang, what a privilege to have you under our roof” y/d said bowing his head,” Thank you for having us,” Aang said politely,” If you want to hear more about the history of our people ask my daughter if she ever decided to show up”,” The Princess, is quite something I hope the Fire Lord can handle her, my son and she are good friends-”,” Lord Coryls is trying to forge a marriage between them”,” Well my majesty, not many of us are left, and blood purity-”,” Shh, he is the Fire Lord, he is the most important person in the fire nation. I might hold the title of King but that’s all it is, a title which only exists here. A marriage to Zuko would benefit both of us, isn't that right?” Zuko cheeks began to darken, he knew that he would be forced into a marriage to have heirs but it still is embarrassing to happen in front of all his friends, Zuko was about to open his mouth when Toph cut him off,” Someone is coming” she said turning towards the door where you soon stepped out, like your dad and Lord Coryls you had silver hair, which bounced with every step you took, the light of the open fires illuminated your hair making you seem even more out the world “I’m sorry” you said with a tide lipped smile and quickly passing Zuko, you gave him a quick glance revelling your lavender coloured eyes,” What’s that smell?” Toph said,” Dragon,” Lord Coryls said,” It was beautiful weather so I wouldn’t hold it against the Princess,” Zuko said scratching the back of his head,” This is my oldest y/n, my heir,” he said squeezing your hand,” Well, your wife is pregnant and if it’s a boy-”,” She still is heir to the throne” your dad cut Corlys off,” Y/N, show the fire Lord and his friends the dragon pit and the rest of the island. I want to talk to Iroh alone” you nodded.

“Sorry for knocking you on the floor earlier on,” you said with a grimace,” It’s fine but I thought only two dragons are left and they live on the crescent island?” Zuko and Aang asked simunatsly,” It’s complicated, before the doom of my race their were many more dragons but with the doom, the dragons died alongside my people. My family and Lord Coryls the Velyrion are the only ones left” you smiled,” We came not far from fire nation itself, well what the fire nation would become, our ancestors brought as many dragon eggs as possible but not many of them hatched. An adult dragon a pure white one, the oldest at the time, left, this was around the time-bending was bestowed to the people by”,” The Lion Turtles” Aang interrupted,” Yes, the dragon who left helped teach the people about their bending mostly the first Avatar Wan” you said,” What about the dragons with the sun warriors?”,”They are the dragons which came from the time of old. The sun warriors are the first people my ancestors met, the first people who learned from the dragons besides Wan of course. As the Valyrian never got the powers to bend we gifted them with our oldest dragons, so they teach people the true meaning of fire bending, with one condition. We get any eggs laid from them” you said stopping in front of a large cave where two men emerged, “Maghagon nyke ñuha zaldrīzes (Bring me my dragon)” you said making them nod,” How do you know all these facts?” Sokka asked making his friends sigh,” I read books and the story are being told for centuries within my family” you smiled as Sokka's cheeks redden in slight embarrassment at the question,” What did you say?” he said trying to change the topic,” I want to show you the dragon who knocked you out earlier, in the tongue of my ancestors” you smiled, soon the floor began to shake slightly, from the far distance Zuko could see something glitter in the dark,” Haku” you smiled at the dragon who emerged from the darkness. The gaang stepped back a bit, the dragon was slightly smaller than the dragons with the sun Warriors but  larger than Appa,” This is Fire Lord Zuko and his friends so please don’t eat them” you whispered making them gulp,” They eat human flesh?” Katara asked as Sokka was trying to hide behind her,” So long it’s cooked” you shrugged,” Don’t worry, he won't hurt you.... so long you don’t try to hurt me. He’s quite protective of me” you said patting his white snout, his golden eyes didn't leave the group of friends,” Is he related to-”,” Ran and Shaw?” you cut off Aang who nodded,” Distantly, they didn't lay eggs for a century now but we have other dragons who do, not many have hatched even some of Ran and Shaw’s once are still unhatched” you shrugged, you walked towards Zuko and grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him towards the white beast who was now focusing on the young fire lord,” Stop being scared, he can sense that” you said as you felt him tremble slightly as the hot breath of the dragon hit his face,”sagon gentle (be gentle)” you commanded Haku would seem to relax at the statement, you placed Zuko’s hand on her snout. Zuko like Haku relaxed, the scaly skin underneath his palm was an unusual feeling but he got used to it quickly, he could feel the heat from underneath his skin as well,” It’s Valeryian, tradition to put a dragon egg inside a baby cradle if it hatches they are true blooded Valeryian” you explained as Zuko continued to gently stroke Haku’s nose,” You can touch him too, he seems to have noticed you aren't a threat” you said, Toph was the first to walk up and touch his side,” I can feel that he is huge” she smiled impressed,” He can grow bigger, it all depends on their life styles” you smiled as the other slowly made their way to Haku,” Also my dear fire lord, we have a gift for you” you said, just than the two men who brought the dragon out came towards the silver haired princess with a metal bowl carried on a metal pole, the bowl was rather large and had a dragon carved on it’s outside,” We have a good feeling with this one” you said lifting up the lid making steam erupt from it.

Zuko stepped closer, his eyes widening when making eye contact with the items covered in steam, a red scaley egg was sitting in the middle. You gently grabbed the egg from the container and handed it to Zuko,” Why? I can’t accept-“,” Yes you can, both Avatar Roku and Sozin had dragons, it’s in your blood” you shrugged taking the egg from him again and placing it back inside the heated bowl.” How do you know about Roku? My Uncle told me this only a while ago” Zuko said narrowing his eyes,” Why do you think my father finally accepted the fire nation's request for a marriage proposal?” you said with a lifted brow,” One more question?” Katara said moving away from Haku,” How did the fire nation not eliminate you and your dragons? Iroh lied about the once’s on Crescent Island but if the fire nation wanted a marriage they knew about this place-“,” I show you but be warned it’s not a pretty sight” you patted Haku’s neck,” I will be back soon” you smiled making him grunt.

You walked the Gaang to the other side of the island before stopping close to the cliff side,” Don’t fall” you warned as the group stepped closer to the side,” Wow” Sokka said softly seeing half-melted wrecks of Fire Nation ships at the bottom of the cliffs. Even with it being quite low you still see some shard remains of fire nation soldiers whose armour was melted to their remains,” Dragons once bound will defend their rider until death and some of the dragons' fires were so strong they could melt metal” you shrugged,” The dragon who did that is no longer with us”,” What happened to it?”,” Before the last fleet got destroyed they had a surprise attack on him, but they didn’t live to tell the tale so fire nation gave up on trying to conquer us, there were a couple survivors but after seeing what we have they changed sides and joined us” you said,” The dragon was the child of Ran and Shaw, one of their first and also their biggest at the time of his death he was bigger than them” you said,” My grandfather was his last rider” you said remembering the stories your parents told you about the large dragon. Zuko licked his lips,” Return to the palace, I want to speak to her alone”,” Marry her Zuko, she’s awesome” Sokka whispered-yelled as he walked past his friend.

“Thank you for the egg, my mom used to tell stories about dragons, positive stories on how majestic they are but my father ruined it by telling us about their murderous tendency, their love for human flesh,” Zuko said as the two of you began walking alongside the cliff,” They can be murderous but only if they feel in danger or if they are bounded if their rider is in danger. Also, dragons prefer sheep over humans” you smiled making Zuko chuckle,” Can I ask you a question Fire Lord?” you asked,” Do you want to get married or is it only duty you are seeking?” you asked,” Duty if I am being honest, not to offend you but I only recently got out of a relationship and I wasn’t eager to get back into one but my Uncle and the Council are pushing me into one. Uncle mostly because he’s afraid I will die alone as my personality isn’t something women crave” he said rubbing his neck,” I like your personality... the side I meet so far” you said making Zuko blush,” What about you?”,”As you heard my mother is pregnant and if it’s a boy people expect that my father will name him heir to whatever is left of the Valyrian race. My mother said woman’s battlefield is the birthing bed, something which I guess I have to get used to,” you shrugged,” I’m just doing what is expected of me, I can fight as hard as I want but they just marry me off anyway. If not to you then my cousin, my Uncle is already set to marry my other cousin” you played with your fingers licking your lips before looking to your left and seeing a small blue dragon dunk into the water and back out with a fish in its mouth, he threw the fish in the air and burned it with his fire before consuming it whole,” Dragon’s are so amazing, I can’t believe we nearly eradicated them all” Zuko said staring at the small dragon who was flying away,” Dragon’s are part of us, we came here together and I know we leave this planet together as well. Fire and Blood” you said continuing to walk,” I have more questions” Zuko said catching up with you,” Ask away, I am your tour guide, after all, I hope your friends find their way back to the palace in one piece” you mused,” They can protect themselves” Zuko said waving his hand dissmisvelly,” So you would be marrying your cousin if this doesn’t work out?” Zuko lifted a brow,” Yes, our blood and connection with the dragons have to do with magic, we tamed them through our magic and we believe the more we marry outside the family the more diluted our blood will come. That’s why my uncle and cousin are getting married, he actually.. never mind but we stopped using magic centuries ago, however so I guess we are clinging to the last bits of our culture” you said changing the topic of your Uncle quickly,” So being related to avatar and the fire nation family was enough to make your father think I am good enough to marry his only daughter. I’m honoured” Zuko chuckled ignoring your short quip about your Uncle,” And probably weirded out, incest isn't normal in other cultures,” you said knowing what Zuko wanted to say,” It be an honour to be your wife Zuko and to carry your children,” you said stopping and looking into Zuko’s golden eyes,” I will be honoured to have you as my wife and mother of my children,” he said looking into your purple eyes with a soft but unsure smile which mirrored yours.

“Oh, they have arrived. How was it?” Iroh asked, a long table with food had been set up. The gaang was there already sitting on the floor,” I have received a dragon egg Uncle” Zuko said happily and proudly while finding a seat beside his Uncle. You meanwhile sat beside your father who patted your head affectionally,” Where is mother?” you asked,” Tired, no need to worry though, she is a dragon” your father reassured,” Have two of you made peace with the idea of marriage?” Coryls asked, as you bit into your food,” We know our duties” you mused,” Where is your son anyway?” you hummed seeing the empty space between him and Katara, Coryls was about to say something when the door swung open revealing your cousin,” Sorry I’m late” he bowed his head, his blond locks falling off his shoulder slightly behind him entered his older sister,” Found him, he was near the Cannibals cave, saved him from being eaten” his sister said slapping the back of his head making him pout, both siblings found their seats,” My dear you know the rules” your aunt said to her youngest,” Who is the cannibal?” Toph asked,” A wild dragon, he like his name says likes to eat other dragons and humans who came near his cave. That’s why you won’t find any dragons near his cave” your father explained,” Cannibal just needs to have the right rider and we can use him if fire nation ever thinks of attacking again” the young Lord snarled making Zuko shift,” The Cannibal, dear cousin would eat you for breakfast and you have a dragon already,” you said with narrowed eyes,” Why can we only have one?”,” Y/N is right it was stupid of you to even try to claim him” Coryls snapped at his son,” Well this got awkward real quickly” Sokka said to his sister who nudged him in response. Your cousin didn’t respond to his father but just ate,” So about the marriage” your aunt smiled,” We talked and we are ready to perform our duty”,” That’s good to hear” she smiled in response,” My dear, as you know Lord Coryls wasn't happy with the decision but we came to a form of agreement which the fire lord needs to approve” Zuko lifted a brow and looked at Iroh who looked everywhere but his nephew’s direction,” Which is, as you know your Uncle is set to marry Leena?” you nodded slowly and looked at your cousin who looked confused at why her marriage is being brought up,” We thought your firstborn will be married to her firstborn” you licked your lips at the mention of your Uncles wedding, you took a deep breath and held your head up high before answering,” Did Uncle approve?”,”We have sent him a message but you know your Uncle, he is fine with that” Corlys said, you gave him a fake smile,” Are we sure? Uncle isn’t really fond of -”,” If it means we can continue to have a sense of blood purity he will agree” your father said with narrowed eyes,” Isn’t that still incest?” Sokka mumbled to Katara with a weirded-out face but again only received a nudge from her but her facial expression he could tell she felt the same.”  It’s fine... I guess, y/n told me it’s part of your tradition how can I say something about that” Zuko said simply, he wasn’t really happy about the idea, not because of the incest even though it was a part of it, it was more the part of taking his future’s son ability to fall in love away from him. Yes, he is in an arranged marriage, but unlike his son, Zuko was able to see other people before that and hoped you did too. Zuko gave you a look and he noticed your demeanour shifting, you looked slightly upset,” Father, I'm not hungry can I go to my room?” you asked,” Y/n, the servants put a lot of work into the food and we have guest” your dad slightly scolded,” I’m sorry” you mumbled bowing your head before walking out the room.

 “y/n, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” your mom asked trying to sit up in her bed but her giant belly made it difficult for her,” Wasn’t hungry” you mumbled crawling onto her bed,” Is something wrong?” she asked you concerned,” Father just married off my non-existing child to Uncle’s non-existing child” you pouted,” Do you at least like the fire Lord?” she asked,” Zuko is sweet, he be a good husband but he agreed to marry off our child” your mother sighed,” He probably thought it is the right thing to do, it’s still to soon to think about that my child. Just be happy that Zuko isn’t a horrible person, but I have a feeling there is more to it than your unborn child being married off. You don’t like the idea of your Uncle getting married” she said nudging your knee,” I have my duty mother and so does he” she gave you a firm look,” He might be family but he’s nothing but trouble, get him out of your head my dear” you nodded and looked your mother up and down, her skin was clammy and duller” Will I look this bad once I'm pregnant?”, your mother rolled her eyes at you,” Charming, and yes at least I hope so” she joked making you smile,” Stay strong mom” you smiled,” I will don’t worry”.

You left your mother's bedroom and walked outside to ride Haku when you heard Zuko call your name,” Did I upset you?” he asked directly,” You only agreed to a marriage pact for our unborn child, I thought with us it can be different, our children can choose who they marry” you shrugged making Zuko sigh,” I wanted that too but it was the only option, I don’t want to make a rift between your family y/n” he said honestly as the two of you walked towards the dragon pit.” I understand, I hope we don’t have a son then” you said making Zuko look at you,” I hope we do, and I hope he will fall in love with his wife like I hope I will fall in love with you, even though I think I’m already falling” he said making your cheeks heat up,” We only know each other for a few hours” you chuckled rubbing your arms,” I know, it’s crazy, I love hearing the tales of your ancestors, how excited you look when explaining it to us” he said licking his lips,” Also you didn’t speak of my scar yet which is a bonus in my book” you chuckled,” I assumed it was something traumatic and I we don’t know each other well enough to trauma dump on each other yet” you shrugged,” I appreciate it”. You stayed silent for a while once you arrived at the Dragonpit,” Want to ride Haku with me? He’s big enough for two” Zuko's eyes widen,” Are you serious? I will be honoured” you giggled at his excitement.

“Just hold on tight, it can be quite bumpy,” you said settling into Haku’s saddle,” Also it’s Haku’s first time carrying two people, so don’t move around much,” you said feeling Zuko’s arms wrap around your waist tightly,” Issi ao sȳz Haku? sōvegon  (Are you good Haku? Fly)” you said patting his neck, Haku began to trot before taking off into the air. Your hair was flying into Zuko’s face tickling him slightly,” How are you doing?” you asked, your voice slightly raised due to the altitude,” This is amazing, it’s so different to Appa” he said looking around, he couldn’t explain but flying on a dragon back is such a different feeling than flying on a sky bison or a hot air balloon. He felt like he belonged, free of any responsibility,” How resistant are you to heat?” you asked looking back slightly,” Tolerable” he said into your hair,” Then get closer to me” you said, Zuko didn't question it and pulled himself closer to you as much as he can,” Dracarys” you shouted, Zuko peaked from behind his shoulder as Haku blasted fire and flew through it, Zuko gasped slightly and hid his face from the flames but he could barely feel them on his body.” It was scary cool” he said into your ear,” Let’s land on Crescent Island, don’t want to make Haku to tired” you said,”tegun (land)” you said.

“So how was it” you smiled as Zuko slipped down on the floor,” Undesrcibel, I hope the dragon hatches and I can do the same,” he said,” They grow faster than one can imagine. Mostly if they live outside,” you said rubbing Haiku’s neck,” Was the fire too much?” you asked,” I could just feel you hide away a bit when it happens,” you said,” No it wasn’t too much but... the scar on my face happened due to an Agni Kai against my father,” he said touching it gently,” You fought against your own father? And he scared you like this?” you asked with wide eyes,” He never loved me, I want to be different to him, I want to be more like my mother who always showed me kindness and was full of love,” he said with a soft smile,” She sounds amazing”,” She is, she vanished when I was young, many believed she is dead but I know she’s out there and my father is the reason she went missing” he scoffed and laughed, you furrowed your brows at that ” I’m trauma dumping... sorry too soon maybe?” he said awkwardly,” It’s fine, we be married sooner or later, it’s nice to know my husband a bit better” he smiled softly,” And you stink of dragon” you added making him laugh,”Can say the same thing about you” he said pushing you gently. Haku  meanwhile had his head lying on the ground, slightly exhausted from carrying people.”Princess y/n?” a male voice said, it was the Chief of the Sun Warriors,” Sorry for the intrusion Chief, I just wanted Haku to rest, he carried to people for the first time” you said with a bow of your head,” It’s fine, it’s always good to see the dragons. Someone fetch Haku some food” he said making one of the warrior's nod and walk off,” I remember you boy, the crown Prince of the fire nation has returned” he said looking Zuko up and down with a smirk,” Actually he’s the fire lord now and we are set to marry” you said making the Chief eyes widen slightly,” I hope you be wedded by the tradition of your house” he said,” I hope so too” you smiled,” Than it’s settled we marry in the tradition of your house, whatever it is” he smiled,” It involves the masters and a little bit of blood” you said,” Blood, that’s lovely”,” Squeamish?” he shook his head while you try suppress a smile,”The wedding tradition of the Valyrian race is a wonderful ceremony we will be happy to host Princess like we did her family for thousand of years” he said.

Haku feasted on his food while you and Zuko were having a casual conversation,” Did you have any relationship?” Zuko asked, you licked your lips and leaned back into Haku,” In a way yes” you said,” In a way?” Zuko said,” It wasn’t anything serious my Father made sure of it. You don’t need to worry,” you said making Zuko confused,” Worried about what?” you laughed at his confused face,” My virtue is still intact,” you said seeing Zuko’s face get redder,” Your family is very traditional in a way,” he said rubbing his face, you smiled. Suddenly you felt Haku move behind you, his head lifted up in the sky looking into the direction of your home,” What is it, boy?” you asked standing up, you squinted your eyes and looked in the direction Haku was looking,” Is that another dragon?” Zuko asked with excitement in his voice,” It’s Carax, my Uncle’s dragon” you whispered making Zuko nod, you mentioned him a couple of times making Zuko curious enough about him. Soon a large red and black dragon landed, which was slightly bigger than Haku and more threatening to look than all the dragons he saw so far. A tall and bulky male with shoulder-length silver hair climbed down off the dragon, he patted the neck of the dragon before walking towards the two young adults. Zuko noticed that he was slightly younger than your father but was less friendly looking, his scar which dragged from his forehead through his left eye and down his chin didn’t help either.” Uncle” you greeted folding your hands behind your back, Zuko stepping closer to you,” Princess, I was surprised to see you here” he smiled not sparing a look to Zuko yet,” I wanted to show my future husband the area” you said looking at Zuko who waved awkwardly,” Fire Lord Zuko, my brother has sent me a message about your arranged marriage between our children” he said pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket,” Yes, I hope it’s okay with you” he said carefully,” I just don’t understand if the marriage between our future children is happening to keep our blood strong why marry my niece of to someone outside the family” he said looking down at Zuko with a lifted brow,” He’s related to the Avatar, Roku was the grandfather of his mother” you answered for Zuko,” Ahh, the Avatar who disappeared and let the fire nation hunt dragons like they are deer” your Uncle snarked,” I will try my best to revive the dragon population and make sure that no harm will come to the remaining ones” Zuko said, your Uncle didn’t say anything but just turned to you,” I have something for you, see it as an early wedding gift” he said making you lift a brow, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a necklace,” Valyrian steel ” he said holding it in front of your face,” I heard about it” Zuko mumbled,” Really?” you smiled making your Uncle sigh,” Sokka said it’s one of the rarest metal on this planet, no one knows how to forge it or know’s it’s origins” he said,” It came from old Valyria, it was forge with the help of dragon fire but with the doom most of the steel got destroyed” your Uncle explained with neutral tone,”How did you get your hands on these?” you asked curious touching the necklace slightly,”Anything for my beautiful niece, turn around” he said, you gave Zuko a brief look before turning around and moving your hair so your Uncle came place the necklace around your neck. His fingers grazed your collarbone making you shiver slightly,” How does it look?” you asked Zuko,” It suits you well, I wish I brought something for you, mostly because you gifted me an egg” he said,” You gifted him an egg?” your Uncle asked annoyed,” He be part of the family soon, it would only make sense for him to have one and his ancestors had dragons as well” you defended making your Uncle roll his eyes,” His ancestor also destroyed most of the dragons”,” Zuko is different Uncle. Come on Zuko let’s go” you said climbing onto Haku.

“I’m sorry because of my Uncle,” you said with a grimace as you landed in front of the Dragon Pit,” It’s alright, I understand his hostility,” he said as the dragon keepers led Haku back into the pit. “I really enjoyed your stay” you smiled,” I enjoyed it to and I do not hate the idea of having an arranged marriage anymore,” he said,” I can say the same thing”,” You're leaving tomorrow right?” Zuko nodded,” Then I will recommend getting some sleep, it be a long way” back.

You and Zuko parted ways,Zuko watched you disappear into your room before beginning to walk towards his. He walked past the throne room when he heard a loud discussion happening which made him curious, he looked around to see if anyone can catch his ears dropping but when he saw no one close by he leaned his ear against the door,” What do you want brother?”,” I want Y/N, you promised me anything I want when you made Coryls your advisor instead of. Give me your daughter, I don’t trust that boy, his descendants to the throne split the realm in half, marriage to him will put y/n life in danger and he can’t protect her the way I do” Zuko frowned, he knew that half of his nation didn’t like the idea of him being Fire Lord but putting you in danger isn’t something he thought off and thanks to Mai, he was able to put a group of Ozai supporters in jail.” She can protect herself and he’s Fire Lord, he can afford the best guards the four-nation has and he’s a fire bender who the master trusted enough to tell the true meaning behind fire bending” your father defended Zuko but his brother just scoffed,” Zuko is the right match for my daughter, they’re the same age and seemed to get along quite well. That’s the end of the discussion brother, y/ will marry the fire lord and you marry Leena. Your children will be married once they are of age” he said with a tone which didn't leave room for any more discussion. Zuko heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door which made the young lord panic and run off towards his room.

“So where did the two of you go after dinner?” Sokka said wiggling his brows with a cheeky smile,” She took me on a flight on dragon back, it was truly amazing, nothing can beat that feeling” Zuko said with a fond smile,” Also I met her Uncle, he doesn’t seem to like me. I overheard a discussion between him and her father” Zuko said leaning against the railing of the boat,” He thinks I will bring her in danger as my reign split the realm in half” Zuko said,” But we have the Kyoshi warriors and they won’t let anything happen to you or your family and you have us as well” Aang said trying to lighten the mood,” Aang is right, y/n father would have thought that risk through, don’t worry too much Zuko” Katara said patting Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko nodded and looked at his friends with a thankful smile,” I hope I’m not disturbing?” you asked making Zuko turn,” No, we are just discussing some things. What are you doing here?” Zuko asked,” My father and Iroh thought it would be nice for me to look at the Palace, to get used to it already. I hope that’s okay with you” Zuko nodded,”Of course, what about Haku?”,” He be staying, my Uncle advised against it, he doesn’t want people who still support your father to know about their existence yet” you said with a tight-lipped smile,” That’s understandable, I just wanted to say I will protect you, my father’s support’s will not lay a hand on you. I promise you that” he said firmly,” I know”.

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[secretly-a-catamount]

  Water is eternal. It cannot be created. It cannot be destroyed.

  Water is ancient. It fell from the heavens at the beginning of the world encased in rock, and, once it was freed, drowned the flames and ash. It falls to the earth still, a cycle that cannot be broken, an ouroboros eating its own tail.

  Water is all-encompassing, everywhere. It is present in ever living thing. It seeps into that which is believed to be dead but is not.

  Water births.

  Water sustains.

  Water kills.

  The man walked up the misted dock with an assurance that could only be granted by absolute power; someone who was used to taking what he wanted, the very mountains crumbling beneath his will. His skin was paler than sun-bleached bone, and his hair was the color of burnished gold and fell in tousled waves to his coat collar. He wore black clothing, blacker boots, and a dark gray jacket that accentuated his musculature well, silver buttons neatly fastened through ever hole atop his wrists and up the deceptively delicate, almost swan-like curve of his throat. His blood ran slowly through his veins, each beat of his heart punctured by a wound that would never heal.

  He stopped halfway down the dock, hellfire-green eyes scanning the partially obscured surface of the lake, and spoke.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  The trees did not answer, gnarled roots and trunks bent, arms burdened with leaves bending down to be swallowed by the water, but the man had not expected them to. The mist did not answer either, but he had not expected it to, anymore than the trees. The wind, faint and weak, running the incorporeal tendrils of its fingers down his neck, didn’t answer, but he had not expected it to anymore than he had the trees and the mist.

  “I said: I need you to do something for me.”

  We heard you the first time, the response came from everywhere and nowhere, a thousand voices speaking as one but slightly overlapping, the angry buzz of bees, the deafening patter of raindrops against a metal roof, the howl of a hurricane, waves crashing against the shore, who are you, to think you can command the Element of Water?

  “I’m the Enemy of Death.”

  A moment of silence, then a loud crack as the end of the dock splintered off, then a thump as a mangled corpse pulled itself from the churning depths and heaved itself onto the splintered end of the dock.

  The mage gasped and staggered back, watching as the animated corpse dragged itself towards him with the nasty scraps of bone against wood, and the wet slaps of wood against rotted flesh. The water, splintered boards, rusted nails, vegetation, and silt, came with it, reconstructed its body as it went.

  By the time the Devoured was erected and whole, the Enemy of Death had composed himself again to the point of neutrality.

  The Devoured smiled like a predator, the vines wrapped around her bones and ruptured flesh acting as muscles and ligaments, her remaining bits of skin splitting at the movement, peeling away from her ruined body. Blood and oil leaked from her empty eye sockets, and her black hair twisted around her form like a shroud. She was vaguely humanoid, vaguely feminine, and vaguely young. She wore the tattered remains of a Golden Year uniform and a Magisterium wristband.

  “Hello, Tamara.”

  Hello, Aaron.

#WIP #work in progress #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #ao3 author #ao3 writer #cross posted on ao3 #magisterium #the magisterim series #callum hunt #aaron stewart #tamara rajavi #the enemy of death #devoured #au #alternate universe #canon divergent au #tw: blood #tw: body horror #tw: dead body #the iron trial #the copper gauntlet #the bronze key #the silver mask #the golden tower

[ansu-gurleht]

okay dream sequence below

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull green eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Eight forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It’s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Eight forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

- - - - -

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the talisman around her neck and, through her tears, saw father’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

#oc: malekaiah

[cypriathus]

Here are my versions of Shamsiel and Temeluchus!

WARNING: There are mentions of torture, especially in regards to my version of Temeluchus. In regards to my version of Shamsiel, I decided to use the Black Sun as a design motif. I'm well-aware that the Black Sun originates from Nazi Germany. It has constantly been used to promote white supremacy, racism, and fascism. However, I'm appropriating the symbol to something that only represents the sun and nothing else. I wanted to use the Black Sun because of its striking design. I had to point this out because I don't support Nazism and Neo-Nazism as it's wrong and it goes against my values. I also don't want people to think that I support white supremacy, racism, and fascism. Thank you for understanding.

Yhamuzosiel is a strategic and bold fallen watcher-seraph hybrid with great motherly instincts and a strong sense of righteousness. She spends a lot of generous time supporting the moral lives of people and uplifting justice. She possesses a strong desire for achievement, unwavering loyalty, and the ability to make well thought out and evidence-based decisions. She can be quite firm with her authoritative convictions, laying down principles she deems as incontrovertibly true. She has an occasional habit of acting quickly and suddenly without careful consideration. She’s magnanimous and vehemently passionate about life, and has a certain degree of self-assurance in her personal capabilities. She comes across as self-assertive in a noisy and overbearing way, which bloats her confidence and aggression. Yhamuzosiel is militaristic and belligerent, enjoying the act of shedding blood and strongly believing that ambush is cowardly.

She’s 9’ 2” (279.4 cm) with an inverted triangular ectomorphic body type that has broad shoulders, small breasts, a well-defined waist, and an average musculature. Her sturdy skin of snow-white has yellow-orange blushing on her face and joints, and greyish-red freckles on the neck and hands. Her lips are a pearlescent vermillion and her eyes are verdigris with metallic green lid eyeshadow. She has six wings of a gleaming alabaster dove, having a shimmering pink, blue, and yellow sheen. She uses the first pair to cover her face; the second to fly; and the last to hide her feet. She once had mid-back curly hair of golden honey blonde, but it has changed into shoulder-length straight hair of glossy greenish-black. After her fall from grace, she has gained two false eyes of lime green on the temples, wild goat horns, four massive southern red bat wings, draconic feet, and a false gharial tail that’s tipped with pink and purple flames. Yhamuzosiel has a gold-rimmed sun disc of blue holy flames with four cardinal points and parallel lines originating from the centre. She dons a full suit of plate armour that used to be a gleaming yellow-orange with softer edges, but is now a striking, iridescent carmine with sharper borders. The back of her new cuirass has three straight, pointed openings on each side that are leaning in a 90° angle. Her armour has golden alloy shoulder pads with the right depicting a stylised eagle holding a serpent that’s encircling the bird. She possesses a basilisk-headed helmet that’s covered in a thin layer of greenish poison. She also wears a black leather belt with a Black Sun buckle in rose gold and two pockets on each side that holds bottled fire, which act as explosives. She often wields a pruning saw and a metallic blue rod-and-ring symbol with two pinkish-purple bells on each end.

Yhamuzosiel can use psychokinesis, astral projection, darkness to heal injuries and illnesses, and use scolding hot coal to purify the sins of people. She’s able to kill demons by touching the foreheads of their chosen host and easily wake people up from a deep slumber or horrifying nightmares through a mere glance. She can telepathically communicate with others during daylight hours and speak to everything in the multiverse. She can force people to see the goodness of their souls, and create six glowing tentacles of spiritual energy from her back for offensive purposes. She has the power to manipulate life and death, justice, equity, order, truth, morality, aspects of the sun, sacred light, buildings, and construction. She’s omnipresent with nearly transcendent strength and a capability of inducing blessings and fear to all sentient creatures. Yhamuzosiel is capable of observing, documenting, and reporting the chronicles of all mortals and immortals simultaneously.

FAMILY:

Aftmelokhivus (husband)

Uyrenolahi (daughter)

Koscharubiel (adoptive son)

Yekihojan (adoptive son)

Luxasofer (adoptive son)

Ezlaphorius (adoptive grandson)

Äbhiszelondur (adoptive grandson)

Blesaphongur (adoptive granddaughter)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Shamsiel

Angel of the Fiery Dragon and Morning Sun

The Chucking Amphisbaena

Her Conquering

Yhamuzo (by most people)

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

As an Æylphitus, her name means “god is my sun”.

She was kicked out of heaven because she taught men the signs of the sun

She rides across the sky on her dragon-pulled chariot

She often ties her hair into one or two braids

Aftmelokhivus is a spiteful fallen watcher that punishes people on the basis of wrongdoing and blood-guilt, ensuring that justice is thoroughly served. He possesses an implacable anger that’s directed towards those who are labelled as irredeemable, showing sadistic pleasure in their torture and agony. He repeatedly does things that mentally and physically harms individuals who he treats with ruthless intent. He fiercely guards people who are very dear to him, and maintains his unwavering loyalty to others, only breaking off when betrayed. He’s disturbingly fearsome and has impenetrable courage, never letting cowardice get a hold of his heart. He shows a fair amount of pride in himself and those who manage to impress him through uplifting justice and strategic use of their brawn. Aftmelokhivus has phenomenal wisdom that he doesn’t mind sharing with worthy individuals, and he can get easily distracted by shiny objects and bloodshed.

He has a height of 9’ 6” (289.56 cm) and a rectangular mesomorphic body type with a well-defined musculature and sloping shoulders. He has pallid skin with greyish-blue freckles on his face, neck, and hands, and pinkish stretch marks on his upper arms and legs. An X-shaped scar brutally adorns his face and his long coral-to-Persian plum hair is carefully curled and ringleted. Due to being kicked out of heaven, his hair is an unkempt nest of metallic orange serpents that weep human blood. His mouth has been pulled into a sharp-toothed rictus with the help of rusty staples. Aftmelokhivus' once wisteria eyes are now a foggy Tyrian purple and crude stitches run along his body below the neck. He possesses six wings of a gleaming alabaster dove - now a scorched black with an unearthly lustre - and his newfound claws are painted a metallic purple.

He dons a full suit of plate armour that’s infused with the natural hues and magical energy of fire. The right bronze shoulder pad is a pterosaur holding acanthus leaves with heart-shaped berries and the left is festooned with dirty animal bones. His armour possesses a gilt-brass feathered gorget and helmet that’s shaped like the head of a gryphon with a mahogany obsidian unicorn horn. He dons a black leather belt with a bronze bat-winged human skull and six pockets, which are filled with black orbs. These glistening black orbs cause instant burning and psychological torture when in contact with a perceived enemy. Aftmelokhivus wields a spiked whip of golden light and a shield made from durable viper skin, which has eight solid black eyes encircling the front. The eyes on the shield can send electrical signals to him, letting him know about potential dangers and sinners who are trying to escape. It can also shoot purplish lasers that cause amnesia and seizures, and turn living creations into marble.

Similar to his wife, he can observe, document, and report the chronicles of all mortals simultaneously. His supernatural strength causes earthquakes and tsunamis, creates mountainous regions, and quickly turns mortals and sinners into a bloody pulp. He can perform strenuous activities for centuries and endure all levels of discomfort. He’s able to evict demonic entities from mortal hosts, heal wounds through prayers, induce blessings, and banish beings from heaven. During the time a target is going through a mental struggle, he has the ability to force people to see the evil and good sides of their own soul. Aftmelokhivus can use psychokinesis and manipulate fire, torment, mercy, childbirth, benefic force, and sacred energy. He’s capable of conjuring fiery Pnemazokhus, demonic warriors, manticores, Asteriae, light and dark elves, and animals of guardianship (e.g. gryphons and dogs).

FAMILY:

Yhamuzosiel (wife)

Uyrenolahi (daughter)

Koscharubiel (adoptive son)

Yekihojan (adoptive son)

Luxasofer (adoptive son)

Ezlaphorius (adoptive grandson)

Äbhiszelondur (adoptive grandson)

Blesaphongur (adoptive granddaughter)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Temeluchus

Angel of Endless Torment

The Merciless Fire

Temalo (by most people)

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

As an Æylphitus, his name means “far away from battle”.

He prefers to torture gluttonous and lustful sinners, arrogant royals, and men and women who committed wrongful infanticide, parricide, fratricide, sororicide, and homicide.

#writerscorner #writing #creative writing #original character #nazi mention #i don't support white supremacy #i don't support racism #i don't support fascism #personality #physical appearance #outfit #abilities #power #fallen angel #watcher #virtue #shamsiel #sun #dragon #temeluchus #fire #gryphon #tormentor #fun facts #extra information

[barbex]

Happy Friday! How about “Please don’t leave me.” from the Super Sappy Lines list, for whoever you're feeling most tonight?

Thank you for this prompt! I felt like writing a little Carver x Merrill for tonight's @dadrunkwriting.

---

The way to the alienage is dark, the sun hiding behind the tall buildings up in Hightown. Carver walks with purpose, knowing that people, that the elves are watching him. He's out of place here. A human in templar armor, it's a small miracle that nobody's throwing rotten fruit at him. 

The taste of the air changes as he enters the plaza of the alienage. It's the vhenadahl, the tree of the people. Merrill had explained that to him. Somehow, the tree makes the air cleaner. He didn't believe it at first, but as he breathes in now, he has to admit that the air doesn't smell of the foundries and tanneries, but like rays of sunshine. 

He turns to the right, knowing quite well where Merrill lives. It's not the first time he shoves his helmet under his arm and knocks on the green door, waiting anxiously to be led inside. 

The door opens slowly and just for a gap. Carver doesn't recognise Merrill at first. Usually she's full of energy, shining so bright. But today, her light is gone.

"Carver. What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in? Please?"

Merrill opens the door wide, and Carver follows her inside. The curtains are drawn and only one candle spreads a little light in the room. His armor creaks as he moves through the small room, his shoulder guards nearly scraping against the walls.

"Isabela just left," Merrill says as she sits down in a rickety chair. "My clan. They cast me out."

Carver sits on the other chair, flinching at the metallic noises he makes. "Hawke told me what happened." 

"Aren't you going to get in trouble?" She looks at the symbol on his chest. A flaming cross, the symbol of hunters. He shouldn't have come here like this. 

As quick as possible, he unties his gauntlets and takes Merrill's hand in his. "That doesn't matter." 

"I'm alone now."

"You're not alone," Carver says. "You have friends now, here."

Merrill's hand clenches between his. "Please don't leave me." 

"I won't." Carver's heart beats painfully in his chest. 

He looks down on himself, over all that metal, embraced with symbols Merrill fears and he rips it off, piece by piece. A pile of metal ends up next to the door and he can finally breathe. 

"I'm not leaving you," he says and pulls Merrill in his arms. "I'm staying here, as long as you want."

#dadrunkwriting #carvermerrill fic #Carver x Merrill #Templar Carver #Carver Hawke #Merrill #dragon age fanfiction #my writing

[ranahan]

The whole ramble about #the cin vhetin problem makes me want to expand to other colours, but there we’d quickly run into planet-specific or species or colour vision specific associations.

On Earth, the most common metal ion used for oxygen transport is iron, which makes red the most common colour for blood (but not the only one: there’s also green, blue, and colourless blood). Which then follows that red = colour of blood, bloodletting, often life, perhaps war or action; in different cultures the colour of weddings, war, or bravery.

Blue = the colour of skies and seas/water, but that’s because of Earth’s oxygen rich atmosphere and abundant water. Planets with different atmospheres or less abundant free water (desert or ice planets) might disagree.

Green = colour of leaves and living things because of chlorophyll, but nothing says that chlorophyll is the molecule for photosynthesis on other planets (unless green plants were popular in ancient terraforming efforts).

Yellow = the colour of sun (our star is actually white, but can appear yellow/orange/red because of Rayleigh scattering), fire (because the carbon-based biomaterials we have historically burned for heat and light burn mostly yellow), or gold (which many historical cultures used as a medium of exchange).

There might be some universality to some of these, just based on chemistry. Oxidation is a powerful way of releasing chemical energy, and so far as we know, the only way to produce enough biochemical energy for complex life (but that could be our sample size of 1) and iron is particularly well-suited for transporting oxygen. And if oxygen and water are necessary for complex life, then planets that support life might have some similarities in their atmospheres and available water. Carbon really is great for building complex structural molecules and it does burn with a yellow flame, so fire = yellow/orange/red could be a fairly common association if not the only one.

But we have a sample size of 1, so I wouldn’t say it’s strong evidence. Just considering the variety of colour visions on Earth, there’s little guarantee that alien species galaxy over would agree what to associate a colour with. These might have weak correlations for humanoid species and humanoid-inhabitable planets, and they might or might not be relevant to Mandalorians. The colour meanings in mandalorian culture could very well be inherited from the Taung, who weren’t human and lived on Coruscant (the biosphere of which has long since been destroyed, so who knows what grew there originally).

As it happens, we do have linguistic evidence that the Taung, original Mandalorians, or whoever spoke the language when it developed, did indeed bleed red (ge’tal, red, lit. almost blood), and live on a planet with a blue sky (kebii’tra, daytime, lit. blue space) and green plants (vorpan’oy, vegetation, lit. green life).

The one I find interesting is green = duty in combination with mandalorians historically being agricultural people. So the colour of green would have the implication of feeding your clan, because agriculture is a collaborative effort that produces food for a community, not an individual.

Blue = reliability either has nothing whatsoever to do with water, or else Mandalore historically had very reliable rains (like monsoons). It probably doesn’t refer to river floods (like the Nile), because rivers tend not to be very blue (have you noticed that rivers are more often named black, dark, red, brown, etc. than blue?). I’d also posit that traditional mandalorian agriculture would be more likely to be rainfall based than irrigation based, which would promote independent villages over centralised government. Reliability of blue could also have something to do with the permanence of sky—or the impermanence of it: viewed from the space, the atmosphere is the thinnest blue line yet all life on the planet relies on it to breathe. Or maybe it’s just a nice colour; I’m not sure if there’s an obvious connection here.

It would be very tempting to draw the connection between red = blood = honouring a parent, but I hesitate to do that because 1) mandalorians were and are aliens who may or may not have red blood, and 2) mandalorian family is not based on blood, at least not obligatorily. Even if there is a connection with blood, I’d prefer to say it’s because of its connection with life. I.E. your parent didn’t necessarily give you your life in the flesh and blood sense, but they did nurture you and teach you what it means to be a mandalorian and how to live your life. So red in mandalorian culture is perhaps a more figurative life’s blood.

The etymology of shi’yayc, ‘yellow’, is unclear. Shi means ‘just/only’. ‘yayc could be from oyayc, ‘alive’, or it could be ya- + -yc. If it does come from ‘barely alive’, it could be a reference to dying vegetation or flickering yellow flames. But I’m going to go with this idea from @izzyovercoffee :

So, there’s no word for orange in mando’a at this time.

Consider: Yellow is sometimes indicated to also mean lust for life, depending on who you ask and what source material you’re comparing it to.

It’s entirely possible that mandalorians don’t have a way to differentiate between yellow and orange. Some cultures do display a limitation in language, seeing what we would consider a range (yellow to orange) as all one spectrum under the same banner.

So while Yellow may mean barely alive/barely dead, yellow may also mean nothing but life.

So Mando’a doesn’t have a word for orange, yet orange is used to symbolise shereshoy, an important mandalorian concept. They’ve dedicated a whole colour to it in the same vein as justice, duty, reliability, honouring a parent, vengeance and remembering the fallen have their own colours. But there’s no word for it? I call bullshit.

Isn’t it more likely that “yellow” is in fact a spectrum of colour from yellow to orange (like Yiddish blue/green) and the meaning is indeed related to both flames and the passion for life, i.e. ‘only life’ = shereshoy.

ETA: It occurred to me that an alternative solution to the problem of not having a word for the colour orange would be to use the word ‘shereshoy’ itself. Kind of like English uses ‘orange’ both for the fruit and the colour. ‘Shereshoy’ comes from shereshir (‘seize’) + oya- (the root for ‘live’ and ‘hunt, chase’). I’m not sure how you’d get from an abstract concept to the colour word, though, unless the connection is literally the colour used to paint armour.

#meta: mandalorians #mandalorians and color #mandalorians #Mando’a #mandoa #beskar’gam #shereshoy #ge’tal #kebiin #vorpan #shi’yayc #mandalorian colour theory #mando’a words

[buffalojournal]

Two Poems by Morgan L. Ventura

A Brief Synesthetic History

When I look around it could be said we are living in dark times, the walls & skies & sea & clouds & spaces within me, obsidian smoke, pitch tar, pooled oil. It tastes of ash & petrol & mould & the edge of a boiled knife & I hear the whooshing whooping of distant stars – black holes – ebony arias bending, twisting vibrations. What’s true is I want brighter times, amber & magenta times, spirals of smiling roses & giddy peonies, & detonations of laughing citrine. Times that carry the blush of wisteria, caramel popcorn, earnest eucalyptus. I was born in green times – aventurine smiles & verdant yards blooming viridian jewels, emerald & jade hanging from low branches, wistful and content. The 80s rainforest transmutes blue. Periwinkle times, the 90s breathed cornflower winds and bluebell gales, husked sapphire on metal plates, glimmering robin eggs on cedar porch chirping an unearthly jingle piercing aquamarine eyes of my father who knew only sadness. The sky only spoke rain, it was falling sea, shredded wave, lacerated labradorite, cascades of troubled cerulean. Shocked like glaciers arguing, raging because all’s spilled into red. A time of crimson, furls of fuchsia in the tide of blood after flames across New York, after strikes in Chicago, after death in the family. The 2000s were carnelian, lay the bead beneath my tongue, the rubies on my eyes, enshrine me in magma, encrust me in this livid tomb. Vitrine of vermillion, what is a body but stained glass, medieval sun never modern. The next era’s violet, arched, mutilated candy blossoming from irises in the back. In the evening light it all shivers purple, bruised lilacs yammer & portend a luminous love. Amethyst troves in the attic squirm & emit warmth, simmering with snapdragon & grapes, pisco vineyard from a decade ago, time punctured by lazy lost lagoons. Take me now into what seems like blank times, off-shades of pale peeling into crystal pears & glass shards as we wait, & the iridescent soul in the body of the future, the cloud high above spitting quartz & splitting mirrors, declares these are rainbow times, & I have to tell you, I love all the colours, I want all the colours. World, let me bathe in your prisms & drink your light. This marbled soil, this striated sky. I’d be no one & nowhere without.

 Internal Monologue of an Anthropologist in Paris

i.

My mother said if I fail on my new adventure I can live in her closet.

My French roommate has shit in my bed after having a midlife crisis at 29.

On television I look like an idiot. Even smart, floral blazers from the 10th Arrondissement make me look like a cartoon character because I’m very small.

They want to hire me as a curatorial fellow at the Musée du Quai Branly but then I have to stay here and oh, how I know the Parisians suffer.

Every Thursday there is a voracious vacuuming in the flat above me at 6am and I am suddenly murderous. I strike the ceiling with my broom and the ceiling strikes back.

ii.

My life is an Antonioni film. At the Sorbonne, I’m asked to describe my unwritten doctoral thesis in front of four medieval historians and a self-proclaimed spiritualist who spends most of his time at Père Lachaise by the grave of some important figure whose name I can’t remember. I whirl around in my seat and quip, “It is about nothing with precision.”

iii.

The community in Oaxaca wants me to ask the Mexican government to return the collection it stole but I’m merely an anthropologist, when did we ever hold power?

Margaret Mead was barely 5’0” and carried a walking stick taller than herself, which she’d use to intimidate men. That’s power.

I’m invited by the History Channel to appear on Ancient Aliens after my undergraduate advisor, a certain Mayanist, declines and thinks it would be hilarious to give them my personal email. “We will pay you $300,” they tell me. I think seriously about it.

Pseudoscience is absurd but my life is absurd. My next-door neighbour smokes cigarettes naked while his parrot shits on the patio. A colleague informs me they irrationally hate my surname.

“Would you like a career in anthropology?” my PhD advisor asks me after I tell him about the invite. This, coming from a man whose faculty headshot features him sacrificing a chicken.

Anthropologists don’t deserve careers, I think. But I sure enjoy all the grant and fellowship money, society’s conviction that we are worth something because “we are scientists.”

I don’t want a career, I conclude.

iv.

Over lunch in the EHESS cafeteria, my friend says everyone here complains too much and that the Parisians are insane and create their own chaos.

My brother texts me because my mother is in jail. She should stay there.

I go for coffee with an artist in Le Marais. The owner comes out to scream at all of us who dare to use their laptops and take up too much time – or space.

Claude Lévi-Strauss helped found UNESCO. Franz Boas died in his arms. Claude’s a structuralist and I despise structure. Will I die in the arms of anyone?

When Bronislaw Malinowski died, we all found out that he was a pervert. His field notebooks were festooned with scribbles of his interlocutor’s boobs.

“Anthropologists are very interesting, no?” asks the barista I’ve befriended at perhaps the most hipster café I could find.

I don’t know, are we?

Am I?

[botslayer]

So I found this list of Pokémon combinations that don’t exist yet... Fuck off I’m making some now:

Hyokyawa - (Electric + fighting) the lightning Jester Pokemon. Related to Mr. Mime, these little tricksters are usually patterned with black and white stripes. (Shinies are blue and white) they like to mess with people and are known to show off to one another and to humans both as social displays and as distractions for their friends to assist in pranks and occasionally petty crimes when used by the wrong people. Humanoid shapes save for the horns that end in tassle-like pompoms, thin tails, and certain exaggerated features. (Basis- Heyoka from Lakota mythology.) 

Ineed- (Poison + Steel) The Needle Pokemon. Ineed is known to randomly poke things with its long proboscis, injecting poison into prey before consuming it later. It has six metallic legs and a long, tubular body that ends in a tail that, itself, ends in a circular club it likes to swing about. It can also spray it’s poison and is known to retract it’s tail very close to its body while spraying or injecting.(Basis, a Syringe)

Arker- (Poison + Ice) Arker is a snake with harsh black diamond patterning over an otherwise white coat of scales and fangs usually made of ice-sickle like growths. It almost always looks angry no matter what mood its in and has a long black tongue. (Basis: European Adder, the only snake found in the arctic)

Tyssil- (Ghost + Rock) Some pokemon fossils are known to form together and ambulate, the results tend to be, after some refinement of form, a Tyssill. Around the size of a Charmeleon with the rough anatomy of a quadrupedal sloth-gator, Tyssils live in caves and forests but typically burrow in by river beds. Some live in packs, others do not. This is believed to be a phenomenon of some being more parts from some fossils that make up others and other times mates raising small litters. (Basis, The “Strange bedfellows” fossil)

Panidyte- (Fighting + Ground) Panidytes tend to live in large communal yet autocratic tribes with their pre-evolution, Chibo (or to pluralize: Chibos), but are fiercely aggressive with one another. When this happens but the other party wants to avoid a fight, they normally solve this with a hug which also shows submission. However, when a fight does start, it takes a lot to stop and some are known to sunder entire communities of these ape-like pokemon. They are not always friendly to humans, but when a Panidyte trusts you, it is often known to show affection and even friendship through hugs but will not always sustain them if not reciprocated as it shows the master to be dominant rather than a partner. (Basis, A combination of Chimps and Bonobos)

Tocalo- (Fire + Fairy) Tocalo is a legendary pokemon and said to be a spirit of the sun. Known abilities include making it rain fire in a small radius, beams of light, and the ability to levitate. Has a humanoid stance and appearance but with blue skin, glowing eyes, and several Green patterns all over his body. The flames he makes are usually blue. 

Zochichel- (Ground + Fairy) Tocalo once loved Zochiche but she turn on him for the love of another pokemon. This is widely seen as what cause the rampage that made Tocalo a legendary. She resembles humans as well but with yellow skin and red/green patterns. Her domain is the ground and as such, Tocalo never walks anywhere anymore as it is likely to start a fight.

Tezlica- (Fighting + Fairy) Is the current partner of Zochiche she left Tocalo for. The two are inseparable. Tezlica has black skin and a pattern not unlike a purple jaguar all over his body. Some believe him to also be a dark type on top of the other two but he is known to regularly challenge other pokemon out in the wild, thus making him more known for his fighting type abilities than his dark ones.

Cuechaluht- (Fairy + Water) Cuechaluht is the current partner of Tocalo against the Zochichel and Tezlica. Red skin, Jade green patterns. Tends to bring rainfall and new life to the places she goes. Also known to bare the mother of all grudges to Tezlica an Zochichel for breaking Tocalo’s heart in the first place. 

(Edit: These last 4 we're based on Aztec gods and the creation myth of the Five Suns. I am not gonna try to spell their names for the sake of my fingers. Just look up the legend of the five suns and you should get it. I recommend Overly Sarcastic Productions and their video on it.

I have also since been told SV added a god number of these but I have a personal roster of Fakemon, go me.)

#Fakemon #Lore #Why did I do this #Pokemon #I need to find an artist #Ground #Fire #Ghost #Fairy #Water #Fighting #Posion #Ice #Steel #Electric #Types #Aztec Mythology

[deciphered-narrator]

ROY G BIV tag game

@westywrites put out an open tag and i think this is a neat tag game so im gonna do it! most of these are from ignis

red (99 instances)

The brilliant gold and red flames were stark against the charcoal-scarred structure as they crackled and snapped, ripping apart wood and blackening stone.

orange (7 instances)

Night fell fast, and soon the only light was the moon, a dull harvest orange, the swirl of stars, and the dim embers of the fire.

yellow (10 instances)

At last, they made it out of the clustered buildings, onto the lawn that led up to the castle, the grass yellow and sickly beneath their feet.

green (11 instances)

The deer was camouflaged by its brown coat, dappled with tan and mahogany, and the patches of green that grew from its fur. Tiny plants poked out of its flesh, leaves and unopened flower buds growing in tandem with the animal, pulsating in rhythm with its breathing.

blue (22 instances)

As she approached Alda and Dasan’s house, the sun was nearly hidden beneath the horizon. The sky had become a dark velvet blue, scattered with shimmering stars. The porch, covered with a fine layer of dust, creaked as she stepped up onto it.

purple (2 instances) - from umbra

The mushrooms coated the walls—and, she realized, the floor she was lying on. They had black stems and caps, but their gills were dark purple.

white (47 instances)

A single white flower. She took it from him and opened the lantern, tossing it into the flame. The petals twisted and blackened, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke as they burned.

black (85 instances)

The metal walls were streaked and pitted with black, and had even melted around the edges. The places where they met the floor and ceiling had separated, revealing a dark space beyond.

i'll tag @artbyeloquent, @authortango, @writingandcheese, if you haven't already done this, and anyone else who wants to

#all of these are completely normal descriptions of things don't worry about it :) #no suspicious deer in this book :) #my writing #tag game #writeblr #wip: ignis #wip: umbra #99 instances of red had me cracking up bc. yeah #it's a book about fire and a LOT of characters wear red #anyways i could ramble about color symbolism in ignis for an hour

[barovianbitches]

Hell's Coming With Me - Wynona Colt

“E-Excuse me- I’m here to uh, to pay my mama’s bail.” Wynona wrung her tail in her hand nervously, looking up at the two guards that stood chattering at the gates of Fort Faithful, the stronghold of the soldiers who served the local lord. They barely spared her a glance. They couldn’t be bothered by a scrawny teenager at their doorstep, mumbling something under her breath. 

It had taken her weeks to scrape up the money, selling furniture, antiques from the farmhouse, and the scrap metal that was left when her father’s workshop burned down. Bertram helped some, moving heavy items for her and acting as a bodyguard. The warforged was the last thing she had left from her father, besides the crumpled notebooks and plans she had stowed away to save from the flames. She had worked so hard, and she felt as though she was on the brink of tears as she made the walk to the fortress. 

“Excuse me-” The young Colt dared a little louder, standing up a bit straighter so they would notice her. She was met with a scornful gaze, a guard sneering from beneath his helmet. She felt so small in that moment, the high towers of the fortress stretching high above her, the iron portcullis resembling the maw of a monster from the fairytales her father read her. 

“What is it? This is no place for little girls. Make it quick.” He spat, his shift partner chuckling wryly at the remarks the other man made. Despite the fact that she was clearly a thorn in their side, she refused to falter. Wynona was here for one thing, and one thing only.

“I wanna pay my ma’s bail, if you please, sir.” She continued, feeling her spirit break under his hateful gaze. He scanned over her, spotting her tail held in her hands nervously and the stubby horns that sprouted from her golden-blonde hair. She was unnaturally tan, a coppery sheen to her skin that almost glittered in the sun. Her eyes burned a bright green, one that might glow in the dark. This was no human child.

“Tch. You think this is the spawn of that big one we brought in, Rurth?” One guard scoffed, looking to the other man, gesturing to Wynona’s devilish features. Anxiety formed a ball in her throat, tears threatening to fall. They weren’t taking her seriously. The men didn’t understand what was on the line for her. They didn’t understand how in a few mere weeks, the rug was swept out from under her and everything she had known for her fifteen years of life was gone.

“Her name is Hera Serrano-Colt, sir– You brought her in a few weeks ago-” She was cut off by the butt of a spear being jammed into her cut, causing her to double over and cough in the dirt.

“You speak when spoken to, kid.” The other guard, Rurth, snapped at her, retracting his spear before looking back to the other man. “The Infernal? Think so. Don’t think any of the other prisoners woulda kept a halfblood brimstone baby.” 

Anger swelled in her chest. Life on the ranch was lonely at times, but at least there she was protected from the ignorant humans that plagued all of Faerun. It was just how her mother liked it, as she experienced all too much of that hate while in the fighting ring. She bowed her head, gritting her teeth. Her fangs felt sharp in her mouth, and for the briefest moment, she imagined what it would be like to tear their throats out with her very own teeth. 

“Don’t call me that.” Wynona choked out, trying to maintain her resolve. She hated that she cried when she was angry. She so desperately wanted to lash out, to make them fear her, but what could she do? She was a child, freshly orphaned by the cruel hand of a greedy noble. Not once in her life had she ever been on her own. Her wounds were all too fresh, still oozing blood, guilt, and grief. 

The men paused, sharing a look. A brief kindling of hope sparked in her chest before they both burst out laughing. “Or what, brighteyes? You’re gonna bite our ankles? Watch out, Stren, she’s gonna sick her big scary mama on us. Oh, oh wait.” Rurth smirked, looking down at her with an evil glint in his eye. 

Wynona balled up her fists, tears spilling down her cheeks as she lunged for Rurth, her hands aimed for his throat. Stren countered, bringing down the length of his spear across her back to swat her out of the air like a fly. She hit the ground hard, gasping for breath and rolling over on her back, clawing at the ground. Her lungs were empty, rib cage rattling desperately as she struggled for air. After a moment she gasped hard, coughing harshly. 

“That’s what I thought.” Stren muttered, delivering a rough kick to her side with an armored boot. The guards showed no mercy, their faces twisted with sadistic pleasure as they pummeled the youth. Each strike left marks on her skin, welts that would soon blossom into bruises. She curled into a pitiful ball, trying to shield herself from the onslaught. 

She felt weak and frail, meek cries drawn out of her as she struggled to stay conscious. Her nerves were fried, begging for her to just go to sleep and forget the rest. As the minutes stretched into eternity, the beating continued. The guards exhibited a merciless brutality, fueled by some unseen rage or malevolence. She bore the marks of their cruelty, her face swollen, and her body battered and broken. Tears mingled with the blood that stained her bruised face, but not once did she beg for mercy.

For a moment, she thought maybe she had passed out, but a single word managed to reach her ears. 

“Stop!”

She felt the guards pause over her, clanking metal as they stood upright. Footsteps approached, and she blinked a bit, looking up to the blurry figure before her. She couldn’t process the portcullis of the fort raising.

“F-Father Alderbran! This delinquent-” Rurth stuttered, glancing down at the bloody teenager covered in dirt. Wynona tried to lift her head, but fatigue had set itself into her bones. Everything ached, and she could feel that at the very least she had a broken rib or two.

“And what do you think you are doing, gentlemen? Do you believe that Lord Haldric pays you to beat a mere youth half to death? I think not. You are both dismissed for the day.” The man scoffed, leaving both guards flabbergasted. “I said that you are dismissed.” He repeated, prompting Rurth and Stren to hightail it in with their metaphorical tails between their legs.

“What is your name, child?” Her savior spoke, reaching a hand down to pet her head. The touch wasn’t entirely welcome, but she wasn’t in a position to protest. 

She coughed a bit, blood staining the dirt. “Wynona… Colt, sir.” She managed after a moment. The man nodded, gesturing something to several other guards to do something. She watched vaguely as a stretcher was brought out and placed on the ground beside her, pain shooting through every limb as they tried as carefully as they could to move her onto it.

“Fret not, Miss Colt. We will take care of you inside.” He nodded, the guards lifting her. As she past, she was able to observe the man. She realized as she briefly looked over him, he was a holy man. The priest was a middle-aged man with a kindly demeanor. He had a slightly stooped posture and salt-and-pepper hair, which framed his gentle face. His dark, warm eyes held a wisdom that only years of serving his community could bring. He wore a traditional black cassock, and a simple silver coin dangling from a chain around his neck.

“Thank you, sir.” She managed to murmur, her consciousness finally slipping with the sense of security she felt, something her mother would scold her for. 

You can never let your guard down, ‘Nona. 

Her ma’s words echoed through her mind as she shut her eyes once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Wynona awoke some time later, her wounds healed with but small scars leftover. Some type of magics, she thought to herself. The priest sat across from her as a cleric left the room, leaving them alone. He watched her with an intense curiosity, one that made her squirm in her cot. She never liked holymen, what they were shucking was as good as snake oil. Her pa was a man of science, and her ma was a devil, enough said.

“Wynona, was it? I extend my deepest apologies for my men. Some of them… Well, are nothing but soldiers, and have trouble separating foes from civilians.” Father Alderbran spoke, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

She tried to sit up, wincing in anticipation as she fully expected fiery pain to burn through her limbs. Fortunately, though, she felt as fresh as a foal.

“Ah yes, do not worry. Our lovely clerics have fixed you up good as new. You should only walk away from this with a few minor scars.” He smiled kindly. It was a disarming smile, one that made her feel comfortable in her seat. One that goaded her to confess all of her sins to this man she barely knew. Wynona remained silent. For a split second, Alderbran’s smile faltered. “Do not worry, my child. You are safe. Now tell me, what has brought you to Fort Faithful.”

She fixed her eyes on him, something not quite sitting right with her as she shifted nervously. “I came to pay my mama’s bail and take her home.” Wynona said finally, waiting and gauging his reaction before she spoke another word.

“Ah, I see.” He nodded, smiling a bit. She could see his eyes dart up, fixing on her small horns. “Your mother, is the Infernal, I presume? Golden skin, four arms, sturdy as an ox?” He had described her mother in perfect detail. She was here, she had to be.

Wynona did her best to hide her excitement, her eyes widening ever so slightly at the description. She didn’t like the way the man said infernal, but she couldn’t expect much from a holyman who didn’t understand. “Yes… That’s my mama, Hera Serrano-Colt. I wanna pay her bail and take her home.” She repeated, the words tired in her mouth from how many times she was forced to repeat herself. 

“Ah, yes. The demoness, wife of the great inventor, Arthur Colt.” Alderbran continued. “She is new to the fort, yes? It has only been… Five weeks? I recall the night she was reprimanded.” The way he spoke about her parents’ capture was all too casual for her liking, and despite her fatigue, she could feel anger bubbling in her gut.

“Yes sir.” Her teeth grit, still trying to maintain some modicum of politeness. “My pa was captured six months ago, then you took my ma last month.” By all means it was an accusation, a clawed finger pointing at the man before her. Something was wrong with this man, but she couldn’t quite tell what. Her intuition was telling her to run, to get up and get out as fast as she could. Get away from this fort, circle back and try again later. 

“Correct. Now, you see, my child, with what money would you be paying her bail with?” The Father asked, his tone cool and even. He raised his brow, ever so slightly.

“This money right here, sir-” She reached down to her hip, aiming to grab her satchel that she had carried there the entire way to the fort, the satchel that held her mother’s bail, a whole five hundred gold. “Where’s my bag, sir. It’s gone.” Before she even asked the question, she already knew the answer.

“Your bag? Oh, yes, that bag. We had to confiscate it, of course, when we brought you in. Who knows what you could have been carrying.” He brushed it off, a cold smile working its way into his features. 

Her hands curled into fists. “I’m gonna be needing that bag, it’s all I have, sir.” Wynona spat the last word, her composure starting to give. 

“I’m afraid that is not going to be possible. You see, we will consider it to be a charitable and ever so generous donation to the Silver Hawks and Lord Haldric. Someone will have to pay for Sir Rurth and Sir Stren’s time off. Besides, in a turn of events, your mother has been imprisoned without bail due to her crimes against his lordship. Not only was she an accomplice to your father’s efforts, but she killed three of my men while resisting her arrest.” Alderbran tutted her tongue, looking at Wynona. “We will have to be sending you home now.”

Rage burned in her lungs, her vision becoming blurry. “You- You tricked me! I thought, I thought you were going to help me!” She snapped, rolling out of the bed and to her feet, baring her teeth at the priest.

He smirked, standing as well. The Father towered over her, fixing her with a sinister expression. “Please, we would never let a devil like that loose in Faerun. Who knows what destruction she would cause? She is an Infernal beast that we will be locking away for a long, long time.” Alderbran chuckled, moving to leave the room. 

Wynona’s chest began to heave, her claws leaving marks in the skin of her palms. “You, you, son of a bitch–” She yowled, her anger boiling over as she lunged towards him. He was visibly weaker than the guards outside the gates, and wasn’t wearing armor. Perhaps if she clawed his face off, left him a bloody pulp, she would be arrested to- Then maybe, just maybe, reunited with her ma. 

“Manere.” Her thoughts were cut short, a purple warding rune blooming from the floorboards beneath her at the spoken word and capturing her in a magical glow. She hung suspended in the air, caught lashing out at the man. He rolled his eyes, turning towards her, his hand held out as he maintained the spell. “You insolent spawn, how foolish can you be? Leave this place, and never return. There is no hope for your fiendish parents. Guards. Seize her and throw her out.” He turned, releasing the spell as two more armed men entered the room, grabbing her by her biceps.

Wynona did everything she could, screaming, shouting, clawing, and biting, but her anger fell on deaf ears. Alderbran didn’t speak another word, silently moving down the hall. In the opposite direction as she was dragged towards the large door leading outside.

“I’ll get you, you son of a bitch! I’ll get you, I’ll get everybody in this damn building! I’ll gut you like a fish, THEN you’ll see who’s fucking fiendish!!” She snarled, digging her heels into the floor.

Alderbran turned, briefly glancing over his shoulder with his hands folded behind his back. “Yes, I’m sure you will, Miss Colt. I’ll send your regards to your mother. I’m sure she would love to know how her foulblooded spawn miserably failed to release her from her chains.” He chuckled, turning again and disappearing down the hallway.

“I promise, I’ll be back when you least fucking expect it, you monster! I’m gonna burn this place to the ground! You’ll see, you’ll fucking see!” All who heard her cries wrote them off as the ramblings of a feisty teenager, empty promises fueled by grief. Oh how wrong they were.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It had been a year since that day, a year since she made the promise to that ignorant preacher that she would be back. The weeks and months that dragged on caused everyone to forget the mad cries of that teenage girl as she was thrown out, the portcullis closing firmly behind her.

As Alderbran forgot her face, she spent her time pouring herself over her father’s schematics. Since she was little she knew how to fire everything from rifles to revolvers to flintlocks, but she had never tried her hand at building one herself with a severe lack of guidance. Not only was she building weapons, but connections. She cashed in one favor to get an old copy of Fort Faithful’s building plans, another favor for white phosphorus and lime. One more for some insider information, that the plans for Hera’s move to the main city fell through, and that she still remained there all this time. Then finally came the day that she would make good on her promise to the Father.

Since she had last visited the fort, she had grown some. In that year she had found her mother’s old riding gear, a pair of fine red leather boots with golden spurs and a dusty black cattleman’s hat. It wasn’t much, but it brought her some amount of comfort, and she thought it fitting to save her ma in style. Not only did she sport new leather, though, but twin pistols on either hip. Sol and La Luna, she called them, named for her father, the moon, and her mother, the sun.

Fear never gripped Wynona Marybeth Colt as much as it did at that moment. Her pockets clinked and jangled with the sound of glass. Adrenaline filled her veins as she dashed through the open doorway, ducking around two guards that had been looking for the teenager that had broken into the fort in search of her mother. They shouted after her, poising crossbows right in the soft spots of her joints. She caught their gaze, her emerald eyes wide like an animal as she hucked a bottle at their feet, smashing on the floor between them. The moment the orange liquid met wood and oxygen, it ignited, green sparks flying into the air and using the wood as fuel for a blaze. The men let out cries of terror, hollering for reinforcements.

She wasn’t looking their way, though. She was looking down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, the floorplan and layout of the various floors of the floor written in smudged ink. Holding cells were in the ground floor, but they kept the more dangerous folks down in the basement. Lets see the stairs– Left left, right left. Should be a door. Wynona’s heart beat in her throat, damn near choking on her own air. She was so close to the first step of putting her life back together. First she would get her mother, then with their combined power they would arm themselves with everything left at home to retrieve her father.

Wynona still remembered the look in her pa’s eyes when they came to take him first. 

It had been a late night in the shop, her and her mother having gone to bed in the farmhouse. She had woken when she heard her ma shouting profanities on the porch, and as she ran to the window she saw the soldiers storming her father’s workshop. In nothing but her nightgown, she tugged on her boots and ran out to do what she could to help. By the time she reached them, four grown men were mustering all of their strength to restrain Hera, each of them taking one of her arms as she roared in anger. 

Wynona watched on as her father, beaten bloody, was dragged from the double doors of the shop through the mud of the ground. “Pa!!” She cried out, the scream making her throat sore. Hera was having none of it. They would not take Arthur, not with her around. He was hoisted to his feet by two guardsmen, another delivering a brutal right hook across his jaw. His glasses fell to the ground, shattering on impact. He spat blood as his wife shouted for him, murder in her eye.

“Don’t hurt them, my love! They don’t understand! I’ll, I’ll be alright!” He coughed, lifting his head weakly to look at his wife and daughter. Wynona lunged forth, trying to hug him, but she was caught mid-air and roughly shoved to her knees. “Leave them out of this, please! It is not their work, it is mine!” He thrashed in their hold as they wrangled him into the back of a cart, slamming the door closed and locking it after him. He threw himself against the bars, making eye contact with his daughter. 

“Wynona, you listen to your mother, while I’m gone, alright? Help her! Remember, don’t lose your spark! I’ll, I’ll be back in no time!” He reassured her, the lie bitter on his tongue. He knew wherever he was going, he would surely die there. But that was not a thing to admit to his wife and child.

“Pa!! Pa, don’t go!” She cried, trying desperately to free herself from the guards’ painful grip on her arms. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her freckled cheeks. That night, she had lost her father.

She choked back a sob, refusing to cry at such an important moment. The waterworks were for after she had her mother back. Wynona hit a corner hard, pivoting left on a dime and dodging an arrow that sailed from down the other side of the hall. The second found its mark though, lodging painfully in her shoulder. She yelped, stumbling forward but catching herself before she truly fell. She had to get ahead of them- She wouldn’t be able to concentrate on lock picking if they were hot on her tail. Her eyes fixed on a heavy bookshelf and a suit of armor that decorated the hall, stealing a glance behind her to see them closing in. 

She hucked the bag off her shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. She dug her heels into the floorboards, her spurs digging into the wood as she came to a screeching halt. Wynona turned fully, staring down the hall directly at the several guards chasing her. Wait a second, one more. Just a little more, c’mon c’mon c’mon-

As soon as they were close enough, she gripped the bookshelf, heaving it down onto the satchel sat in the middle of the hall. It only took three heavy books to fall out, the crushing of glass heard a mere millisecond before enormous green flames erupted from the bag, at least six some flasks of alchemist's fire igniting at once. 

The shockwave of the explosion sent her and the guards flying down opposite ends of the hall, to which her back slammed into the wall. It knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t have time to think before she was up and moving again. The green flames started to spread, burning heat following her as she ran. Left left, right left. Left left, right left. She repeated over and over in her head. Left left, right left. Left left, right left.

Just as the plans had said, she found herself standing before a door. Hope swelled, her eyes wide with excitement. Without a second thought, she burst through, expecting a staircase, but instead coming face to face with coal-black eyes. 

“Well well. Look who is back. Have you come for your mother?” Father Alderbran snarled in her face, shoving her back. She was caught off-guard as she tumbled back to the ground, shock evident in her expression. “What, you expected to be a hero today, didn’t you? That you would barge right into MY fort and somehow get out unscathed? You’re more foolish than you look, Miss Colt.” 

The plans. The plans said this was the stairs to the holding cells. The plans were wrong. She had been done in. 

“It’s been a whole year, you son of a bitch. A lot has changed. I’m here for my mother.” She snapped back. Something was different now, Alderbran observed. Something had changed within this girl. No longer was she a meager mouse, heart broken by a cruel system. He was too absolved in his thoughts to see the boot flying for his knee as she kicked sharply out, forcing him to crumple to the ground. Her other foot swept his cheek, sending him careening into the wall.

Wynona jumped to her feet, her eyes fixed on the man. “Where is she.” She snarled, baring her fangs with true ferocity, reaching up and ripping the crossbow bolt from her shoulder and dropping it to the ground in front of him. “You better start talking, Father, before I get bored of you.”

She had broken his nose, blood pouring down the bottom half of his face. He collected himself, looking up to her with a smirk. “You really think she is still here, after all this time? You think you are so smart, infiltrating us like that. But we were always one step ahead.” Alderbran chuckled, collecting himself. Without another word, Wynona reached toward her waist belt. “Manere!!” He shouted, holding his hand out as the same purple rune blossomed. Wynona froze, eyes widened and hand poised over her hip.

“You have nothing against a spellcaster, you little wretch. You will soon understand your mistakes.” He went to stand up, bowing his head for a moment. As he began to move, though, he felt cold metal pressed between his eyes.

“And yet I’m the devil that you forgot, father.” She snarled back, an odd contraption poised in her hand, pressed against his skin. She had held strong against his spell, faking him out and allowing him to let down his guard. Her thumb flicked over a curved piece of metal, the device making an audible click. “Any last words?” Wynona drawled, her voice low and gravelly. Her tone sounded bored, like a cat growing tired of a mouse.

His eyes widened, fear taking hold of him. “Wait, you do not know what you are doing! You will unleash something far worse on yourself if you do this, child. Where will you go now? Your mother is gone, sent to the city. You have burned this place to the ground, and everyone knows your name.” The preacher spat at her boots, glaring up at her.

She rolled her shoulder idly, wincing a bit from the pain the bolt caused her. “Just taking out the trash.” Wynona replied, pressing the barrel harder against his skull. “What, you’re not gonna beg for mercy? Your last words are gonna be telling me what I can and can’t do? Not very smart of ya, father.”

Alderbran grit his teeth in response, his nails digging into the floor. “You want to know why they were captured, don’t you?? Who’s to blame?” He offered, a last ditch attempt to buy him maybe a few more minutes. “Your father was a clever man, he wouldn’t have made such a careless mistake, neither would your devil of a mother.”

Wynona furrowed her brows. He was right. Arthur Colt was a genius, an arcane engineer that fused corporeal and incorporeal components to create inventions no one had ever seen. He wouldn’t have put those weapons into the hands of the unsavory, not willingly. She hated it, but Alderbran was right. It would give her a new name to add to her list.

She bowed her head, sighing, but she didn’t move her hand. “Fine then. Go ahead and explain it to me, then maybe I won’t blow your brains to kingdom come. You have a minute, Father. A minute to convince me you deserve to still walk this fucking earth with all the things you did to me.”

The preacher’s eyes widened at his chance, fumbling over his words. “The Hawks had found evidence of your father’s designs as far as the deserts of Anauroch.” Wynona wrinkled her nose in response, digging the metal back into his skin, coaxing more from him. “T-That’s all they found! But they were your father’s weapons, the guard had only ever seen such craftsmanship from him.” 

“Not good enough.” She snarled. Perfect, they found weapons in some shithole desert, what a big fucking deal. Wynona poised her finger over the trigger, beginning to squeeze. Behind her, the popping sizzles of wood had caught up with her, flames licking at the walls from where she came from. “Shit.” She muttered, looking back at the preacher. “I’ll send your regards to my ma when I get her out.” She snapped.

“Wait- There was a fugitive- Winchester- '' He eked out, his eyes wild and frantic as he tried to back away. Her finger was faster, as with another click of La Luna, the insides of his skull painted the floor behind him. 

“Son of a bitch.” Wynona snarled to herself, holstering the pistol. A fugitive? That never boded well. There were hundreds of fugitives and wanted men all across just the Sword Coast, let alone stretching all the way out to Anauroch. She didn’t have time to reminisce, though, as the hallway began to burn around her, the heat licking at her back. She dashed into the preacher’s chambers, looking for a quick escape. The green flames licked at the walls, eating up the wood like a starving dog. 

Wynona glanced around, spotting a small square window high up on the wall. On the opposite end of the room, though, piles of papers. She had time. Maybe in that stack, something about her parents was buried there and about to be burned up.

She dashed over to the desk, keeping a watching eye on the green flames that mirrored her irises. The acrid smoke wafted through the room, gathering at the ceiling in burning black clouds. Sifting through papers as fast as she could, she found several vague letters and correspondences between Alderbran and other officials, discussing the recent removal of an Infernal from the premise. Bingo.

She gathered them up in her arms, dashing for the window as the flames chewed at the edge of the desk, getting too close to comfort to her leather boots. She jittered open the lock on the window, busting it wide open and throwing the window outward. Positioning herself on the windowsill, she stole one more glance back, her eyes fixing on the burning body of Alderbran. 

He was slowly becoming nothing but a set of charred remains, the flames burning away any recognizable features. Wynona wrinkled her nose at the awful smell of burning hair and flesh. From her pocket, she pulled a flat gold tin, opening it. She placed a rolled cigarette between her fingers, leaning over and lighting it on the burning curtain. 

“Good riddance.” She muttered, spitting in his direction. She placed the cigarette to her lips, breathing in through her mouth and letting smoke billow out from her nose before folding the papers under her shirt and holding onto her hat before she pushed herself out the window.

While the fall wasn’t pleasant, she was cushioned by the roof of the horse stable, falling through and onto a bed of hay. She was met with a distressed whinny. Wynona startled, looking up to see a rearing horse. She got to her feet, quickly trying to sooth it. Outside, chaos ran amuck, guards either fleeing the flames or attempting to put them out as the fort came down in green cinders around them. 

A quick glance around made her realize this was the only horse left, his reins tied to the post of his stall with no saddle in sight. He was large and clearly unhappy with the nose and smell of smoke, his black hooves stamping at the ground.

“Woah woah there, boy, calm down-” She soothed, holding her hands out to him. He was skittish, trying to back away from her. He strongly resembled that of a friesian, his black coat bearing warm brown undertones around his belly. His black mane was tied into braids to keep it out of his face. “You’re gonna be alright, boy, hear me? I’m gonna get you out of here.” Just for a moment, her heart ached, yearning for the memories of her taming the wild horses that roamed the ranch. However, it was not the time for reminiscing about fonder times.

“C’mon, lemme get you untied, we’re leaving.” Wynona reached around him, pulling his reins loose from the post, her other hand placed on his neck and trying to sooth him. He settled ever so slightly at her touch, still nervous from his surroundings. “There you go. You gonna let me up on ya? We’ll see.” She mumbled to herself. With a lack of saddle and stirrups, she set her foot onto the edge of his water trough, pulling herself up and onto his back.

He knickered, trying to rear and buck her off. “Woah there, c’mon, now’s not the time, boy, gotta get out of here first, yeah?” She patted his neck, her eyes fixed on the open portcullis across the yard. She gripped the reins, snapping them and digging her spurs in. “Let’s go!” Wynona barely had time to process it before the horse burst through the stable door, bolting across the yard. He was faster than she expected, her hand reaching up to stop her hat from flying away.

Another surge of adrenaline followed, her eyes wide with youthful excitement. The guards didn’t have time to process it as she sailed right through the gates and down the dirt path, putting distance between her and the burning fort. 

While the horse did his job, her mind wandered. “Winchester.” She muttered under her breath. Her itchy trigger finger didn’t give the preacher man enough time to finish his sentence, but she didn’t know what his word was worth anyway. But, she had a name, and a place. Winchester of Anauroch. Whoever he was, he was gonna be a dead man in due time.

#Wynona #Wynona Colt #lore #d&d #Wynona Marybeth Colt #Hera Serrano-Colt #Arthur Colt

[miracleweaponhunt]

Miracle Weapon Hunt chapter one: The Thunder Axe

“So, what’s the status on Sandala?”

Cassandra whispered to herself over the deck of her airship, looking into a pair of binoculars. One other ship docked next to the Sandala Grand. Shouldn’t be anything too major to deal with. The surrounding housing ships were all disconnected, and the flames underneath the grand were still bursting with life.

“What’s the security on the housing ships?” She asked the helmsman.

“Maximum. But two were ravaged and they could definitely break through the rest if they wanted to, and it’d be no question if they got the axe.”

“Okay, we need to make this quick.” Cassandra nodded. “Prepare to land!”

The small carry ship flew over and would be five minutes before they land. So with nothing troublesome seeming to hide on the horizon, she checked her weapon stash.

A battle axe? No. It was strong, but the time between swings could lead to her getting stabbed if the new fighters were as strong as she heard they were.

“Let’s see, one pre-sky shortsword should hopefully be enough.” She casually sheathed her weapon into her belt, tucking a few daggers in her green varsity jacket in case anything unexpected appeared.

The ship docked, and Cassandra donned her green cap over her ginger hair and walked out with her crew of about twenty into the airship.

Once she entered the main testing facility of the unmoving airship, the chill of the area washed over her. The facility had nothing but a grand central hall completely devoid of life. The news of the invasion only broke a day ago, yet it felt like nothing ever existed here. The only thing preventing complete darkness was a dim emergency light weakly illuminating the hallways.

“Any signs of life?” She asked.

“Not feeling anything.”

“Okay. Inspect the area for spare generators and survivors. Anyone who wants to find the axe, come with me.”

Around five people stood with Cassandra while the rest scattered into the separate bedrooms on each side of the main hall to hunt. She took the stairs up to another set of hallways, checking the rooms. There were a few nicely decorated bedrooms as well as a few rooms displaying projections of grids next to them.

“Okay, I’m guessing the axe is at the top. But it could be hidden underneath.” Cassandra said to her men. “If anyone wants to go down and see if there’s an elevator, feel free.”

Three men nodded and went downstairs from her view. Cassandra headed upwards, with nothing in terms of interest springing out. One room had a poster, with a stack of magazines on the bed. She flicked through them and placed them in her bag when nobody was looking. Something for Roxanne to look at later, perhaps.

With the floor scoped out and nothing of interest, she headed to the third floor. The lights were off completely. She turned the light switch on by the stairway, and the emergency lights made a dim path towards a metal walkway above an unused electrical grid.

She took her sword out. If this light was still working, then it was more than likely somebody turned it off.

“Any signs of life?”

Her companion felt the air around him.

“The air feels different then the other floors.” He confirmed. “There could be someone else around.”

“Thanks. Stay back.”

She dropped her bag and walked outwards, sword in hand. She made it to the other end of the walkway, where a small garden lay underneath a glass roof showing the sun in all its glory. And just past that was a small tower, and a voice.

“Come on! Open up!”

The young man in the hoodie was kicking the door to the building.

“Who are you?” Cassandra asked.

The man turned around. Black hoodie with white sleeves, with a spear on his back. Shaggy black hair peering over his hood.

“I’m looking for the thunder axe. What’s your deal?”

“And I take it you’re with the new legions?”

“Number thirty-five out of five hundred. But while we’re on allegiances, who would you be with?”

“I live with the miracle scouting group, top one out of twenty-five.”

“Ah, just some small timer then.” The man sneered while pulling his spear out. “So, how would you prefer to die? Head or heart?”

“I’ll tell you when I decide.” Cassandra replied calmly.

Cassandra ran towards him, sidestepping the thrust of Thirty-Fives spear. She ran towards him, stabbing forward with her blade. Thirty-Five aimed his spear between Cassandra’s legs, and she barely managed to jump on the spear’s hilt and use the swing’s momentum to propel herself upwards. While she was airborne, she threw a dagger downwards. Thirty-Five managed to swipe it away, but while the spear was to his side, she landed a kick to his face.

Thirty-Five yelled out in pain and swiped as Cassandra tried to jump away. She thought the distance was good enough, but the pain in her left leg said otherwise. She was able to stand but stepping forward would be painful.

Cassandra jumped back when the man tried to stab her again, struggling to land on her feet as the landing pain hit her. All she needed was a quick minute, and her leg would hopefully be fine.

“So, what are you fighting for, anyway?” She asked, holding her sword to her face.

“I’m just trying to collect the thunder axe.” Thirty-Five replied.

“Okay, but why is the new legion trying to collect it?” She asked.

“We’re trying to get all the relic weapons.” He announced calmly. “Once we get them all, we’ll be able to destroy the Lux and the other kingdoms, and nobody will be able to stop us!”

“I see. Well, seems like a good reason to stop you.”

Her leg was healed, so she leapt back into action, thrusting her sword forward. Thirty-Five was taken aback, swinging his spear forward. But Cassandra merely grabbed the hilt and swiped it out of his hands. She grabbed his hoodie and headbutted him, slamming him against the metal railing of the walkway. He tried wrestling her sword away from her, but she pushed him over the railing before he could try anything.

He fell into the grid with the sound of something breaking as he hit the ground. Cassandra ran down the stairway with the two others. Thirty-five survived the fall and was slowly getting up.

“Look for a switch, quick!”

The three of them ran around the perimeter of the wall, and out of view behind a potted plant was a switch. The man who discovered it slammed the button down.

The grid sprang to life, and Thirty-five screamed out as he died inside it. And as his screams faded, the electricity in the building came back to life.

“Good job, Tomas.” Cassandra said, putting her sword back in her belt.

As she went back to the tower, she picked up the spear Thirty-five was holding. Solid weight behind it, with some grooves on the tip of the spear to do some real internal damage. Looked like a decent post-sky weapon she didn’t have, so that was reason enough to pick it up. And as she went into the small tower, she found…nothing. The tower just seemed to be the boss room in security mode.

Just then, she got a call on her phone. She flipped it open, and on the other hand was another one of her men.

“Cassandra! There’s a wielder downstairs! You gotta come quick, he can- “

The call cut off, and Cassandra ran down to the ground floor before the others could catch up. On the ground floor was an elevator, which she ran into while slamming the down button.

Once she got off the elevator, the corpse of the one of her men lay right in front of her, riddled with holes. The only thing in the room was a dark hallway with a figure at the end, in front of an open door.

“So, are you the reason I can’t contact Cole?” A raspy man’s voice at the end of a hallway asked.

“Is he ranked thirty-fifth?” Cassandra asked. “Because if so, he died in the grid upstairs.”

“You bitch!” The voice yelled. “Well, I’ll let you know I’m ranked number twenty-two. So come a little closer. I dare you.”

Shadows enveloped the elevator behind Cassandra, and she responded by throwing a dagger forward. The dagger was immediately caught by a series of tendrils popping out of the dark hallway. Cassandra ran forward, her legs getting slashed by a series of shadows trying to grab her. But as long as she kept running, she wouldn’t feel the pain. And her legs would hopefully recover enough between each slash to reach the cloaked figure at the end.

A shadow was shot forward as another tripped Cassandra up. It shot past her face, barely missing her. She felt a bleeding sensation on where her left ear should be, and when she checked, it was gone.

She kept running. Julian could fix her up later, worst case scenario. She thrust her sword forward in a last-ditch effort to finish this man. Twenty-two grabbed her sword out of her hand with his tendrils, with more appearing to snare her limbs.

“Hm, no lasting damage, it seems. If I were to guess, I’d say you’re a wielder with some kind of regeneration ability. And if my cuts can’t damage you, I’ll just be forced to call for backup.”

Twenty-two quickly threw her in the door behind him and covered it in a thick layer of shadows. She immediately stood up and looked behind her. And behind her were rows upon rows of axes. About a dozen downwards and across. In the middle of the first row was the body of one of her men, his face frozen in dying agony with a hand outstretched.

She apologized to his body as she removed his shoe. She threw it at one of the axes, and it exploded into a brilliant display of lightning as it clashed with the axe.

So, if she were to guess, one of the axes were real, and the rest would kill her if she touched it. She walked past the rows of axes looking for some kind of distinction. There had to be at least a minor one, otherwise some intern would get killed finding it. As she continued her inspection, she heard a faint voice. She looked towards the body.

Still dead. And there was hopefully nobody else in the room to speak. So, as she followed the voice, it got more frequent. Words too quiet to make out, but the weapon was saying something.

So, this was the distinction then? With nothing else to go off, she grabbed the axe.

The other axes disappeared. The axe started glowing with electricity in her hands. It was a large double ended axe. Grey with golden edges. Its size meant it would be hard for her to wield, but she was willing to use it. She slashed downwards on the layer of shadows, and a burst of electricity quickly melted it.

Twenty-two looked at her in fear. He tried throwing up another wall of shadows, only for a flash of electricity to light up the room and melt them. Twenty-two screamed as the axe cut through him in one smooth motion.

Cassandra picked up Lincolns and Buck’s body, her ear, and the spear, and made her way to the elevator.

Once she got up, she found the other members of her team. One was holding two generators, and one was holding a boxed set of daggers.

“We lost Lincoln and Buck.” She announced. “But we have the axe. Now get on the ship before more of the new legion arrive.”

As she said that, an explosion went off behind her. She looked in front of the door, and a man holding a grenade launcher was in front of her.

“You twenty-two’s backup?” Cassandra asked.

“Number fourteen.” He replied. He was more muscular than the other guys. Older too, with a scar across his face. Wearing a white tank top and baggy jeans. He fired a grenade at the group, which Cassandra swiped away with her axe. It barely made its way past her, exploding a small distance away.

“Get to the ship, now!”

More explosions filled the area as Cassandra tried batting them away. She took a grenade to the leg, barely managing to keep it intact. She was forced to drop the two bodies as she ran to the escape.

The remaining crew got into the ship, with the man following her close behind, firing more of his seemingly endless supply of grenades. Cassandra and her crew were able to get onto the ship and start it before he could get any closer.

“So, on the way to miracle?” The helmsman asked.

“Yep. Onwards to miracle.”

#my writing #writeblr #writing #fiction #webnovel

[anonymousfoz]

Doomsday Uprising Part 3: Change

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Many years had gone by as Galaxy had reformed his land. It was much more green and life had seemly to return in full force to the planet. His days spent farming, exploring, and hunting. He expanded his cottage to house more people. If more people ever came, and he was right. He befriended and became part of a wild wolf pack. The radiation made the wild wolves more human-like. Able to stand up on their now extended long legs and talk to the best of their ability. They stayed at the other houses in the winter when food became scarce. He didn’t feel as lonely after this. Since after the majority left, a few wolves would always stay behind. He improved his magical ability and physical strength. Galaxy seemly did not age and the wound on his thigh remained. He had become desensitized to the pain, which allowed him to push past other pain in his later years. His old life felt like dreams, almost distant. However, it would all change soon.

It was any other normal night in the autumn season. Galaxy had gone to the other houses and made sure there was a heat source going all night to keep whatever wolf inside warm. He only had to do this to 5 other homes. The ginger returned to his own just before the sun had set. He quickly cooked himself a piece of boar meat, seasoned it to perfection, and enjoyed his dinner. He retired to his bedroom once the sun had fully set and closed his eyes, ready to start another day tomorrow. That’s when she returned. Demi teleported to the planet. She was back in her normal form. Orange fox ears, green pupils, and normal sclerae. Her iron chest plate appeared much shinier than her previous and her iron leggings were now replaced by mysterious metal from the fight. The goddess walked through the village, seeing how much had changed over the years. She had reached Galaxy’s cabin to find him dead asleep. She looked at him before touching him to attempt to wake him up. The man would not awake. She did not want to be violent with him as it could cause panic. So she waited until dawn. When the bearded man had awoken, He seemed to not see Demi in the darkness of his room. She let him go through his morning routine as she sat at his table waiting for him. Finally, he came, and the two locked eyes. She saw the same amount of fear in his eyes as the night of his banishment.

“Good to see that you are doing well,” she chimed. “Why are you back? Is my time here over? Do other clans want me dead?” He asked, his voice panicked. “No. Calm down. I’m just in to check in.” She had lied, and he knew it. “Tell me why you are really here.” “I was here because your time had come to an end. Your former clan no longer wanted to have you alive and sent me after.” His heart sunk. He forgot all about them. The flames? Firey Rebels! And the potatoes something… powered potatoes. “But I’m not going to murder you. You seemed to do the one thing your father could not.” “Which is?” The ginger man seemed confused and became intrigued. “Change. For the better and care for others. And that is all I could even ask of you. Which is why I am offering you a deal. A chance back to the life you once had. But it seems you do not want that back.” He sat for a moment and thought about what he was going to say. “I do not want to move, but it gets lonely from time to time when the wolves leave in the fall. And only a few stays. Maybe I don’t know some outcasts can come and stay here?” His response made Demi silent. Without realizing it, he gave an answer Demi wasn’t expecting. He had come full circle from slaughtering the outcasts and banished to trying to find a home for them. Demi had agreed and before long, she was gone. The day after Galaxy awoke to his thigh wound seemly disappearing and more people in his village. He did his typical routine and was about to head out when he saw something that wasn’t there before. A wooden box with the words “gift” carved into it. He had opened it to see the black chest plate from the night. It was not clearly the same, but it was meant for him. He stood confused as to why it was left before putting it on. He could find out later. First, he had to take care of his new people. And as the sun fully came up, he was gone. Doing what he did best. Farming, exploring, and hunting.

#doomsday uprising #fiction #writing #fantasy #writeblr #my writing

[soriaryl]

Curse of Killarky

I looked out the window of the metal carriage as my father packed up my trunk into the back. The grey drizzle fell from the sky, making the world shift from its usual bright and colourful realm to the pencil-sketch tint it was now. I looked at the warm wooden buildings. The candle lights glowing in their windows proclaimed, “Welcome!” to those who lived in them. I could see the fires burning in their stone hearths, making me wish I was sitting beside one, a quilt on my lap and a book of fairy tales in my hands.

I lit the tiny flame to the oil lamp within the carriage, then looked at my reflection in the glass window. With pale golden hair and eyes like the afternoon sky, I may as well have been a princess on my way to be caged in a tower guarded by a dragon. I looked at the bright green bodice I wore as it melded into the dark green skirts and black boots I refused to give up. My father opened the carriage door, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This is for the best, my daughter.”

I could not believe him, refused to believe that being married off to the cursed Lord was for the best for me. Maybe it would elevate my family name, but my life, that spark of joy and light, would die under the Lord. I refused to cry, choosing harsh silence as my reply to him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the promise of riches and greater status kept his mouth shut. He stepped down from the carriage, closing the metal door. He shouted to the driver to start the journey through the woods that would take me to my doom.

The carriage ambled forward, passing over the bridge I used to play trolls with the village children. I saw the gardens, filled with herbs and spices that she used to play with, pretending they were poisons she was mixing, potions she was brewing. A plant caught my attention, its dark flowers edging the forest. One my books said to never touch or eat it or risk pain and a quick but hard death. After I entered the forest, I saw ghostly figures running across my memories, watching as the scene of playing knights and heroes unraveled then faded. Just like my dreams of finding true love. The sun, blocked by the dark clouds and canopies of tree leaves, could not penetrate to the muddy road that twisted and turned through the ancient forest.

My thoughts moved between the fairy tales I used to console myself to the sad reality that awaited me. I even prayed to the Goddess Above that Elves would come rescue me, but no one has seen the Elves since the City Elves fought for their freedom from the human cities. My knight in shining armor would never come, now that I was being taken away from my home, betrothed to a man who carried a deadly curse. One that promised death to any Lady he married by morning’s light.

The day bled into night, then back into day as the carriage continued its journey. We only stopped when I needed to use a bush, maybe the driver thought I would run if they stopped for a meal or the night. Maybe I would have, if I knew the wolves in the woods would not eat me. By day three, the rain had slowed then stopped, though the overcast clouds still covered the sun. By the early morning of day five, we finally reached the city that belonged to the Castle Killarky and its Lord.

I opened the window, letting the air of the town reinvigorate my senses. A quiet fell amongst the people as I passed, becoming murmurs then silence, as people made the sign of the Goddess on their breast. They knew of their Lord’s curse, another sacrificial bride for the altar of bloodied matrimony. I wanted to call out to the villagers, wanted to know if they knew how I could break the curse that held the Castle in its grip.

Too late, the wind whispered. The carriage pulled up to the stone drive to the grey stone of the Castle. I hated the look of the place, the feeling of icy hopes and dreams emanating from the dark doorway. The driver stopped, as a footman raced forward to open the door. I stepped from the carriage, the butler beckoning me inside. My bootsteps echoed at the entrance of the foyer. Not like the warm wood I belonged to, instead, the impassive and heavy weight of the earth piled over me.

“The Lord is waiting, Lady Clara.” The butler’s face was as cold as the stone Castle he worked in.

I followed the man, passing down the chilled hallways. I took in the route, the walls covered in expensive fabrics and paintings of the previous brides who walked these halls before me. The first portrait, a young woman with a sad look in her eyes, was practically destroyed by gouges and a red staining. A reminder of the fate that awaited me when the curse took its hold. The butler knocked, then opened a heavy wooden door, allowing me entrance to the bedroom.

The Lord Killarky sat in a leather wing-backed chair, swirling a dark liquid in its glass. He was three times my age, his grey hair lighter than the stones that made his home. He looked over at me, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight. “Come,” his voice was a command, strong and unwelcoming.

I lifted the fronts of my skirts and stepped closer to the man, hoping the warmth of the fire would thaw out my bones and soul. I dipped into a deep curtsy before him, “Lord Killarky, I am—”

He chuckled bitterly, never looking at me beyond the initial gaze when I walked into the room. “Does it matter? You will be dead by dawn, so why waste your breath?” He looked back over his shoulder to the butler. “Prepare her for the wedding.”

I looked at the butler, who escorted a pair of maids into the bedroom. The two women curtsied low. “Yes, my Lord,” they spoke at the same time.

The cold cruel Lord turned back to me. “You are dismissed.” He faced his body back towards the fire, no longer acknowledging my presence.

I thought about kicking the embers and ashes into his face as I moved, but what was the point when the curse was already curling its treadles around me? I followed the maids into another room, a white dress hanging on its dressform. The very same one that each of the brides in the paintings wore.

The maids opened the balcony doors to the gardens for lunch, and a plant caught my eye. I smiled to myself, recognizing it instantly. The dark green leaves and inky purple flowers rose two feet from the soil, shaded by the huge tree centered in the garden. A gardener was digging up the beautiful plant, before I saw him snip the roots, then replant the small bush. The gardener must have seen me watching him, because he fled the gardens.

They stripped me, cleaned my skin with scented soaps and warm water, then dressed me in the cursed white gown. A painter came in and created my portrait. “Another bride to die before morning’s light,” melancholy filled the painter’s voice as he spoke softly.

I made my choice, deciding that I would never succumb to the curse that killed so many Ladies before me. I would die fighting, if I had to. I would embody the knights and heroes I loved to read about, fighting my personal dragon to save the princess. I swore to the Goddess Above that I would find my happily ever after, even in this cursed Castle.

The maids placed the veil over my hair, the sheer white fabric covering my face. I wore my mask of indifference well, not willing to give anything away. I was a golem, a creature with a single purpose, to survive. I carried flowers in my hands, calla lilies, the flowers of funerals and death, but they meant nothing to me now.

The maids opened the doors to the Chapel, a small room, where the Lord Killarky and a Priestess of the Goddess stood. I took measures steps towards the altar, giving myself additional time to think. When I reached the altar, I knew what to do. I placed my hands in the Lord’s and the Priestess began the long ceremony that drifted from the afternoon to the evening. Once the woman closed the book, announcing our marriage, the Lord leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

Walking arm in arm, the Lord escorted me from the Chapel and back towards the bedroom. “Bring the wine,” he told a footman, who rushed off towards the kitchen, where I saw the gardener step fro .

I smiled to the gardener, sending shivers of fear up the man’s spine. I gave him no indication that I saw his terror, putting the man at ease. The footman returned after they reached the bedroom. Two bottles sat on a tray the footman carried. I watched with intense interest as the Lord moved his hand to grab the bottle closest to me with his dominant hand. A crest symbol etched into the glass of the bottle, an outline of the familiar flower as I remembered. Belladonna, my mind’s voice reminded me. The footman bowed and left us alone.

The Lord kept one of the bottles close to him. He poured the wine from the different bottles into two wine glasses that carried the same etched crest. He started to undress, but I stopped him, placing my hand on his chest. “May I?” I looked up at him, large doe eyes hoping he would take the bait. The Lord moved his hands away from the silver buttons that held his shirt together. I became a Fae, a trickster who showed passion where there was none. I slowly undid the buttons. I turned him away from the table with the glasses, letting the fire turn me into a silhouette of grace and beauty.

Once I finished sliding the shirt from his shoulders, I moved his hands to the corset ribbons to help me undress. While he worked the knots with his fingers, I pressed her lips to his. I reached around him and switched the glasses, then ran my hands along his spine. He shuddered under my touch, when the dress fell to the ground around me. I pulled away from him. “Wine, my husband?”

He turned and lifted the two glasses of the wine. “Wine for my beautiful wife,” his voice was no longer cold, instead, letting me hear the blazing inferno that raged within him. I took the one he held out to me, the delicate smell of grapes untainted by the dire sweetness of the flowers I saw the gardener digging up. I clinked my glass to his, then took a fake sip.

He looked at me, anticipation in his eyes while he drained his glass completely. It took almost no time at all for him to drop the glass he held. I set my own glass on the table, watching as the Lord Killarky tried to breath. I stepped out of his way, black pustules covered his lips when he screamed. He ran to attack me, but the hallucinations started to fill his mind. “According to the books I read, Belladonna is a beautiful plant, but the death it carries is…” my voice trailed, as I watched him drop to the floor seizing, “unpleasant.” I stood there, acting as the Angel of Death and Vengeance for the brides he killed. “I pray that the a Goddess allows the Ladies you murdered to watch as you reap what you sowed.” It was a quick death, but with blood dripping from his mouth, I knew it was a painful one.

His eyes stayed open as he exhaled one final time, “You—”

I dressed in my green bodice and skirt, passing through the halls of the Castle, giving a blessing of the Dark Consort to the women whose portraits covered the walls, “May you find the peace in death that you should have had on earth. May the Lord Killarky’s poisoned breath never find its way to Paradise.”

None of the servants stopped me, wondrous terror on their faces as I passed. I ignored them, knowing they played their parts in the murders. Maybe that was the curse, the bystanders and enablers who either were forced or enjoyed the deaths they brought. As the Lady of Castle Killarky, they could not stand against me, lest they lose their stations and statuses.

The butler rushed to open the door, our eyes meeting. He did not look fearful of me, instead, a look of awe. “Lady Clara, may I grab your cloak for warmth?”

I shook my head, as he opened the front doors of the Castle. “As long as we have an understanding that this abomination of Death will no longer be tolerated, I believe we shall make this House prosperous. If any of the staff would rather give the sweetness of the Belladonna to anyone else, tonight will be their last night living here,” I told the older man.

“I understand, Lady. I will see that your word is law within the Castle.”

I finally asked him, “Why?”

He did not hesitate to answer me, “The first Lady of Killarky saw brutality under the former Lord. She chose death by a tea made of Belladonna and Melancholy. Her body was found by the Lord the morning after their wedding. Soon after, the Lord demanded more brides, more Ladies, more women whom he could exert his dominance over.” He bowed to me, before adding, “If that will be all, Lord Killarky’s passing should be told to the townspeople.”

I stepped out into the cool night air, gathering my breath as I moved through the garden, until I reached the front gate, looking frantic and terrified. “Help! Someone help! The Curse has taken Lord Killarky!”

Image from: https://www.alamy.com/portfolio/642783.html

#BlackCatOrangeCatPub #short story #SoriAryl

[volcanicflowers]

God I fucking hate Wheatley the core so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he’s in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he’s got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid spherical face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking management rail? Who the hell makes a robot with a management rail. His dumb flaily fucking plastic handles? His shitty, metal round head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking INTELLIGENCE DAMPENING that no robot has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD’S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Wheatley or a Wheatley gif or shitty goddamn fanart, it ignites my primal rage response and I’m overcome by the need to punt this shitty little sphere into the fucking sun. “Bhurr blur, I’m Wheatley the fuckshit test fucker, I am speaking in an accent beyond her range of hearing”. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like if a fucking blue Mike Wazowski summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking blue eye makes your whole shitty head look like a moldy blueberry. I hate your dumb fucking voice and your stupid, empty googly eye and your over-the-top clueless ass moron asshole personality. Any scene he’s sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That’s the worst part. I know he’s just a shitty fucking character in a stupid fucking video game, I know it doesn’t matter, I know I shouldn’t care. But that’s part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world’s array of sinners, and I can’t even begin to justify it. Shitstick the orb dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity’s saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking handles. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It’s EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it’s disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional robot

#SORRY if you don't know this is the 'i hate olaf the snowman' post

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; chan x fem!reader, bonnie&clyde!au, criminal!au, 60′s!au, bank robbery, heavy use of tobacco, explicit language,weaponry, mentions of infidelity, manipulation, mentions of murder, mentions of reader being smaller than chan, mentions of religious beliefs, authorities, american style!au, death, implied su-cide. 

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; SMUT!! sex against a wall (lmao good warning there cherry), dom!chan x sub!fem!reader, angry sex, dry humping, degradation, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, possessiveness, implied corruption kink, creampie, unprotected sex (be careful plz), piv, clitorial stimulation, orgasm (m/f), cum. 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ; 5.9 k 

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦 ; this was heavily inspired by both well bonnie and clyde but also “the serpent” because holy fuck i loved that serie so much 

also warning right; this is purely fiction and not meant to romanticise crime and i think it’s pretty obvious that i don’t know shit about how to rob a bank neither do i know anything about weapons,,, so take this with a grain of salt.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18

It was love. Love had led you down this path and shattered the one you cared the most about, the one that held your hand, the one that promised to die for you. Silence filled your mind as you stroked his cold cheek, his eyes closed. 

Your partner in crime.

Bang Chan.

“Tonight, coming up on channel 4, the continuation of the Lagoons.”

You turned the knob on the car radio, the windows on the silver vauxhall viva rolled down, your hair fluttering in the light breeze that accompanied the summer heat. The voice on the radio got distorted as you shifted channels, the antenna on the car barely being able to pick up signal from how far out in the desolate area the two of you were.

“Who the fuck watches the lagoons?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows, searching for some funky tunes as Chan was driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He laughed, the cigarette smoke whiffing over to you, burning at the tip and hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Where we heading, sweet cakes?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows and checking himself out in the rearview mirror. You scoffed, adjusting the silk scarf around your head and reaching into the glove compartment of the light colored interior of the car, grabbing the half empty cigarette box. 

“Don’t call me that, I’m married” you say, the flicker of the metal zippo echoing, a purple flame igniting and burning the white end of the cigarette in your mouth, the orange part quickly stained by your lipstick. Chan smirked, casting a glance at you as you puffed, putting the lighter on the dashboard and leaning back against the leather seats, exhaling the smoke through the window as you observed the mountains that passed you, sweltering heat making your vision blur.

“And still you fuck me. What’s he good for? Cheating on you? You should just throw that ring away, I’ll buy you a new one”

The ring.

You and your ex-husband never officially divorced. You just packed up your things and left one night when he was out drinking, probably snogging a woman younger his age. The emerald ring that he once put on your finger held no meaning, it was simply for aesthetic now. Memorabilia from when life was worse, reminding you to always strive for something better. It was ironic, the way the sun shined on the emerald green symbolizes wealth and toxic jealousy. You couldn’t help but to feel jealous of the many young women he spent his nights with. You thought you had moved on but maybe you hadn’t since you refused to let go of the ring. Thank god you didn’t have his child or else you’d be tied down for life. You escaped at the right time. 

You didn’t answer Chan, simply staring out at the window. The car zoomed past with speed, there was no time for resting since you two were the infamous criminals that could be captured at any moment, it was still a miracle you were alive and well despite how many times you’ve been in open fire with the authorities. The two of you always managed and had each other in the end and the plethora of guns that were loaded in the trunk could buy you freedom for a little while. A gritty highway that never seemed to end, the tumbleweeds rolling about in the distance, he searched for a place you could rest since dusk would soon arrive. Life as a runaway couple had it’s ups and downs but the worst part of it was not knowing if you would survive another day, cops could just arrest you, rip you from your lover and lock you up like you were once before, writing love letters to Chan on a filthy piece of paper until you were bailed out by none other than your mother that you abandoned for him. They didn’t understand. He might be a criminal, stealing cars with his older brother since he admired his fancy lifestyle with hookers, expensive liquor and gold. He was so close until he stumbled up to you through a mutual friend and fell head over heels, he was too much of a hopeless romantic for him to be able to lead such a lifestyle. 

A big sign was ahead of you, a small red building inching closer to the two of you. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, anyone could call the authorities on you but luckily telecommunications weren’t that advanced out here, most of the news being the ones you heard from between others lips. You two were simply a married couple whatever new village you infiltrated or at least that’s what people thought, the two of you were simply well-off, being able to afford the most expensive cigars and perfumes. The cigarette had burned down, almost meeting your plush lips that were covered in the latest lipstick. You threw it out the window, Chan had done the same moments prior. 

“What you say, hm? How about here for tonight?” he asked in a low voice, his hair slicked to the side, his jaw clenching as he rested his head on the headrest, looking at you with a quick glance with a smile. He always smiled when he gazed at you, it was almost a reflex. He was too smitten with love. You nodded, grabbing your oval sunglasses from the seat in between you and Chan, putting them on and observing yourself in the exterior mirror. Now you were ready for greetings with strangers, hiding behind your dark tinted shades.

The young man swerves onto the dusty driveway, the dust billowing from behind the car as stones flew everywhere, the car coming to a hasty halt. Your back bounced against the seat, removing your safety belt and opening the car door, stepping out with your shining red heels. The hotel seemed kinda small, perfect place for two sought-after criminals to hide. The building was a cherry red, tacky curtain in mustard yellow covering the chipped white window frames that held up the grimy glass panes. It lied in a remote place, being the only building as far as the eyes could see, beside the hotel there was a kiosk where one could buy the most basic necessities like bread, milk and cigarettes. As you were looking around the place, standing with your feet wide and your hand on your hip, Chan was busy unpacking the car. Not the weapons that were nicely hidden beneath a blanket but your two small briefcases containing nothing more than a couple of expensive clothes, makeup, a small notebook of your poems, a camera and photos of relatives. As you observed the mountainous landscape and dry land where cactuses made their home a small old man hurried out, dressed in a half-dingy suit and vest, the colorful tie being the main focus.

“Welcome welcome!” he says in a scurried voice. “Please, let me!” The old man shuffled over to Chan, grabbing the briefcases out of his grasp to which Chan bowed subtly in thankfulness. You and him followed the man inside through a lime green door and were greeted by the lobby that had a dark oak check-in counter, decorated with small trinkets of older times, a golden clock and small piles of paper. The man put down the bags in front of the desk, you casting a glance at Chan that was looking at the keys and the tags attached on the walls on small hooks.

“How long will you be staying for?” the man asked to which Chan hummed, looking at you before clearing his throat and answering - “Just one night”

“alrighty hmmm,,, then I’m guessing a double bed would suit your fancy? You do make a lovely couple indeed” he said with a smile, showing off his yellow stained teeth, years of coffee and tobacco. You smiled, clenching your jaw in frustration. 

“Thank you, which room exactly?” you said quickly, wanting the old man to hurry his actions. He looked back, exposing his half-balding grey head of hair and stretched for a pair of keys at the top, the keys jingling as he put them on the desk. 

“Room 4, it’s just here by the side. That will be 30 dollars” he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. Chan opened one of the luggages, quickly pulling out the needed amount and tips out from one of many wads of cash that were neatly tucked away between clothes and other products. He put the green bills on the desk to which the old man heightened his eyebrows, the generous tip falling to his liking. 

“Keep the change” Chan said with a smile, picking up the briefcases and heading to the room. You smiled at the old man as well, picking up the keys and turning to head over to your lover. 

You put the keys in the lock of the brittle wooden door, a small golden plate saying ‘4′ with a clear font. As the door opened you were met by a rather rustic room, the walls colored light blue and the bed frame the same wood as the door, murky white duvet covers on the bed. Luckily it was just one night.

Chan started packing up your belongings, mainly picking up a map of the area that he bought at a supermarket hours prior. He unfolded the bunt of paper, laying it flat on a vanity that had a round mirror attached in front. He placed his index finger harshly on a certain point on the map, his fingers clad in all kinds of rings with jewels. 

“Here we are, Johnsons motel, right?” You nodded at his question, him continuing talking in a firm voice. “So if we take this route tomorrow at around 9 am we should be there by 10:50 am which is perfect, we c-” You interrupted him mid sentence.

“Chan, you told me we weren’t gonna do this until next week, we have money!” you yelled, only then remembering that the walls are thin in such a matured building. He sighed, turning to gaze at you with dark eyes. He hated it when you contradicted him, it was almost like he was addicted to making you his slave and sure, he did take care of you whenever you were hurt due to his actions but he liked having you totally dependent on him, risking your life for him. The veins running down his arms got bolder, he moved the arm that was holding him up from the vanity instead standing right in front of you with a wide stance, his eyebrows heightened.

“What did you say?”

Your back hit the tasteless blue wallpaper as Chan walked towards you, trapping you between the wall and his muscular figure. A harsh gulp descended down your esophagus as you gazed intently into his hooded eyes, yours twinkling with mere innocence though you were far from innocent in the eyes of the public. He looked you up and down, almost swearing with his eyes, gliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek. 

“I said why can’t we just wait with that for a bit? We robbed multiple stores last week and we have money? I don’t see why you need to hurry so, like fuck s-”

“So you think money grows on trees? We do this together y/n and I could just leave you whenever, I’d just laugh seeing your ass trying to survive”

He leaned closer to your ear, his body pressed against yours. His hot breath lingered near you, tickling the shell of your ear.

“Or better yet I could kill you, no one needs a criminal” 

His voice vibrated through you, the deep tone scaring you but oddly turning you on, the heat pooling around your core, your panties sticking to the thin fabric of your panties. You burst into laughter, catching him off guard.

“You motherfucker” you said through your teeth, smiling brightly at him. 

“I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me y/n, I’m not joking with you” he said with a devilish smirk, moving away from your ear and staring into your soul. It was almost as if he stared through you, his jaw moving as he clenched it.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” your facial expressions turned serious in seconds, the smile wiping off your face. You looked him dead in the eyes, not even flinching when he smashed the rough palm of his hand on the wall next to your head, the loud sound echoing in the cool room, the slight humming of the air conditioner above the bed.

“No and you won’t be after I fuck you” 

You wanted to rile him up even more, get him so angry that he had no other choice but to pin you against the wall and stuff his cock so far down your leaking cunt that you’d alert the other guests around the motel, hearing how good Chan fucks you. 

“Hah,,, is that your only threat?” you chuckled mockingly, running your pointer finger up his toned chest, lifting up his head by his chin and flicking your finger off it, striking a jeering smile at him. His knee traveled up your leg, jabbing at your wet clothed entrance to which you accidentally moan, the gain of friction finally arriving when your core was burning with pure arousal as Chan spoke. With a gleaming look in your eyes you rubbed against his knee, his slightly cold hands wrapping around your neck, feeling your larynx bob when you swallow your spit, not breaking eye contact for a second. His lips landed on yours, pushing his knee against your sex causing you to moan into the kiss as you rolled your hips on the flat surface of his dress pants. Your lips pursed, teasingly biting his bottom lip as a sign that you needed him, his tongue slipping into your mouth and danced around with yours in a sloppy battle. Your hands fumbled with the big metal buckle of his belt, undoing it in desperation and unzipping the black pants that covered his bottom half. Chan grunted as you palmed him through his boxers, his erection begging to be freed from it’s clothed prison, you squeezed his member, massaging it in your hands to make his knees weak, make him beg for you but this time you would be begging for him as he placed removed his knee from your dripping cunt causing you to whine from the loss of contact. 

“C-chan, please I need you” you pleaded in a thin voice, lifting your head up as his kiss diverted to your neck, his rough lips leaving kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin, moving down to your exposed collarbones. 

“You’ll only get what you want if you do whatever I ask you to”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands down his boxers and stroking his cock, Chan groaning against the skin of your neck near your ear, your earrings rattling. 

“Yes, I’ll do anything! J-just fuck me already” you whimpered, your hot cheek against the wall. 

“Then you follow your little ass to the bank tomorrow and do what you are told, understood?” His voice was deep, humming as he nibbled on your ear, giving it small kitten licks.

“And if I don’t?” You challenged him for a last time, stopping your slow strokes down the shaft of his twitching dick and removing your hands from his underwear and instead wrapping your arms around his waist. He scoffs, pulling back and looking you in the eyes, slowly putting his hand around your throat and tightening.

“I’ll choke you to death, you know I’ll get away with it” he said with a lifeless smirk. You nodded in pure fear, your eyes twinkling in the minimal light that came from the sun setting outside the dusty windows. Suddenly his hands grasp a handful of your hair, gripping it by the roots and shoving you down on your knees that land on the frangible floorboards with a thump. He harshly lets go of your hair in order to pull down his pants and underwear, his hard veiny cock springing free mere inches from your saliva coated lips. Chan gave his cock a couple of strokes before rubbing the crimson tip against your lips, hissing when you poke your tongue out, him smearing his precum against the surface of your wet tongue. You pursed your lips around him, slowly working your way down his shaft, taking a breath of air every time you pull away, licking the underside of his dick with fat stripes all the way from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue off. His big hands grabbed either side of your head, him thrusting inside your throat, not caring if you gagged, that just made him even more viscous, hearing your desperate moaning and seeing the spit run down your chin and neck covered in his marks. Your head bumped against the wall with every thrust, your nose pressing up against his abdomen as he was balls deep inside your mouth. Your eyes burned, tears teasing at your tear duct, a cold salty stream rolling down your cheek as he stopped, pulling out your mouth, you coughing violently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tear with one finger before grabbing you by the neck, lifting your head up and looking into your eyes as he inserted his dick in your mouth once again, your thick saliva making his cock glisten. His silent groans only made you helplessly rub your thighs together, eager to have him inside of you. Every moan that slipped from between his swollen lips made the blood rush south, not to mention his fierce eyes that were glued on you as he coldly fucked your skull, no hint of compassion. He stretched out your throat, the clear outline of his cock making its appearance on your esophagus as he went deeper, groaning as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. As the familiar sensation of a knot in his stomach descended upon him he pulled out, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your glistening lips before he was quick with his movements. 

It didn’t take much for Chan to throw you over his shoulder, legs thrashing and you squealing, telling him to put you down. He did but not in the way you expected, slamming you down on the plushy bed, a fine layer of dust swirling in the orange sunset that shined in. The impact caught you off guard, knocking the air out of your lungs. Chan climbed on top of you, his belt buckle touching your body as he hovered above you. You hastily shuffled upwards to the headboard, lifting your hips as you removed your brightly colored bell bottom pants revealing your panties that already had a wet stain decorating them, Chan chuckling as his thumb glided over the patch of wetness. 

“You’re so needy baby, all worked up from giving me a blowjob, huh? I can slip my cock into you so easily” he purred at you, his fingers hooking at the elastic band of your underwear, slipping them down to your ankles, you shimmying your foot out of the fabric and letting the panties dangle from your other foot as your spread your legs, Chan being in between them. He danced his fingers up the wet folds that presented themselves in front of him, you squirming at the slightest touch. 

“You think you have control, you think you can do anything without me? You’re wrong, without me you’re nothing” he growled at you, his fingers covered in your slick as he teased your clit, fingers rolling in circles as you clutched onto the covers, knuckles whitening. You hurried by taking off your top, throwing your bra somewhere in the same direction, exposing your hardened buds, Chan��s mouth watering. He did the same, momentarily losing contact with your wet cunt as he pulled off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted body surprising you every time, as if you hadn’t fucked him countless times before. Chan attached his lips to one of your nipples, the other one being fondled by his hand, the cold pure silver causing you to shiver. Your hands stroked his soft hair, twirling it between your fingers and softly whimpering. He left tiny marks all over your chest, his lips sucking and gently nibbling on your supple skin. When your entire chest was a mess of marks and spit he lifted your legs, leaning them against his wide sturdy shoulders as he teased your wet entrance, rubbing his tip against your folds causing your back to arch slightly, a long pitched mewl forcing its way out of your mouth. When he finally slipped his cock inside you he groaned at your tightness. 

“fuck y/n, you’re so tight no matter how much I fuck you” he said, leaning over you so that your legs almost touch your chest, planting one hand beside your neck as the other one choked you, the restriction of air making you lightheaded but only adding to the pleasure that burned at your core as he relentlessly fucked into your squelching cunt. Your feet dangled near his shoulders lifelessly as the sheer momentum of his thrusts made you move upwards on the bed, the bed frame creaking due to the age it carried, you hoped no one noticed what scandalous activities was going on this room but it was probably already too late as your moans turned into high pitched cries. Your hands folded over Chan’s wrist as you tried to stabilize yourself, it took every ounce of strength to not close your quivering thighs. His thrusts got faster, rolling his hips against yours as the hand around your neck loosed, a harsh slap landing across your tear stained cheek, his thumb dipping inside your mouth, you latching on instantly.

“Look at you, thinking you’re so tough. You’re weak, remember that” he said with a lifted smirk, asserting his dominance through his dark gaze. You nodded, feeding his ego even more as the hand around your neck tightened, making you lightheaded with arousal, his cock ramming into your tight cunt that begged for release just like you. Chan loved seeing you like this. All fucked out with drool hanging from the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he vigorously made your world shake, going hard enough to make the bed squeak loudly, the headboard bumping into the wall with every thrust. You couldn’t form a single sentence, blabbering incoherent sentences with his name stringed into it, in your mind you made perfect sense but your hesitant lips didn’t do the same. 

“f-fuck!” you cried out, the even pace getting sloppier as the skin slapping sound grew louder, bouncing against the awfully colored walls of the shabby motel room. You squirmed around on the bed, flailing your arms as you desperately tried to grab onto either your lover or the flowery sheets, your efforts fruitless as you felt your orgasm approaching with wide strides as Chan started circling your swollen abused clit with the pad of the hand that wasn't forcefully holding onto your throat, making you swoon. You arched your back as you couldn’t hold on any longer, clenching around his cock with every ounce of perseverance. With weak legs you interlaced them, trapping him deeper inside you as the merciless fiddling with your bud made you let out a breathy broken moan, your tits bouncing with the movements. The male looked at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, adoring your bloodshot eyes. How he loved staring down at his prized possession. He had ruined a once innocent girl, made her his with the mere power of love and crime. 

He lulled his head back as he was dangerously close to his climax, drawing in a harsh breath from between his clenched teeth, the air cooling down in his mouth before warming up in his tobacco-stained lungs. He was sent over the edge with a final thrust that made your body jolt in excitement, his thumb now simply resting on your clit as all thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, his hot seed spilling into your cunt, unknowingly making you cum as your abdomen contracted, your teary eyes squinting together, not in pain but in pleasure. His cum painted the quivering walls of your sex, draping his body over yours as he panted, staying inside you to ensure every drop of cum was where it supposed to be. His lips were coated with a fine layer of saliva, two lips meeting in a loveable kiss. It might seem odd to others. That you love a man that only brings you down or uses you, at least that’s what it looked like from a different perspective but you were infatuated, maybe even obsessed. He made you famous and he took you under his wing when you fled from your scumbag of a husband. 

Now Chan was the only thing that mattered.

He pulled out, falling down beside you, the weight of the bed shifting as his built back hit it. The cum dripped out of you slowly, hitting the sheets and staining them. You ruffled your hair before you stood up, cum running down your inner thigh as you made your way over to the shower. Chan instead crept down under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in a half lying position, casting glance at the dark oak bedside tables where a packet of cigarettes was left haphazardly along with your metal zippo, a gift from your dad that died in war. It was important to you, important enough to destroy you with smoke. Chan retrieved one of the deadly sticks from it’s pretty eye catching packaging and lit one end, inhaling the smoke. He put one hand beneath his head that was supported by the pillow as he other one momentarily removed the cigarette, flicking the ashes on the cold tile floor, the grey thick smoke spreading through the room, interlacing the bed sheets with it’s scent. The gentle tapping of the water on the bathroom floor calmed him, calmed him from knowing that tomorrow might be the last day he’s alive. Or maybe it’s you. 

Here you were again, getting into the sparkling clean car that was loaded with nothing more than a multitude of weaponry that many times wasn’t used against civilians, just to give a gentle reminder that you don’t fuck with the two of you unless you wanna get a bullet burned through your skull. If they ask for it they are gonna get it.

Chan loaded the suitcases into the truck where a blanket covered the weapons, the pile of murder machines looking innocent like this. The sand of the desert was blowing in your face, your long skirt flowing in the wind. Just because you were a criminal didn’t mean you had to dress out of fashion, the style was a part of it. You gazed out into the valleys of dust, the lonesome tumbleweeds drifting with the wind like a blind rat following the smell of musky cheese, not aware that it’s heading to it’s own death.

“Ready, sugarplum?” Chan said, wrapping his hand around your head and leaning it against his sturdy shoulder. 

“I was born ready” you whispered into the wuthering wind. He smiled but put on a serious face as you looked at him, before walking over to the passenger seat, opening the car door.

“Let’s do what we do best, darling.” you said with a bittersweet grin, sitting down and closing the door. 

The bank wasn’t too far away, that being that it was still in the same state since many other robberies required long car rides that was either filled with funky tunes or more cigarettes than you can count. This one wasn’t any different. His two hands were gripping the steering wheel as he drove faster than the speed limit, praying to whatever nonexistent god he had in his head that the police wouldn’t flash their red and blue sirens behind the vehicle. He probably prayed to the money. He often said that money did things not even god was able to do and there was truth in Chan’s words or maybe the both of you were too infatuated with the idea of money that you would go to any lengths just to get it. Just to smell the fresh dollar bills in your hands. The car was in complete silence, only the growling of the engine being heard. It was always scary heading to a new place, you never knew what would happen there. Maybe it’s the last time you witness your lover behind the steering wheel, the last time you feel the wind fluttering through you hair due to the rolled down window. Maybe it was the last time you would see the emerald green jewel reflecting it’s light as the sun bounced off the glossy surface of the stone. You denied your longing for your husband, beside all the cheating and drugs you were ready to stay with him but there was one thing that Chan could do better; love. 

You could tell how tense Chan was. The way he anxiously checked the rearview mirror and forcefully looked straight at the neverending road in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty apparent that this lifestyle was driving him mad, making all his nerves stand on the edge of his skin, paranoid to the bone. But there was no end in sight unless someone else put that end there. He was never gonna stop, go as far as he could and shoot for the stars. It was people like him, greedy people that life usually steered the wrong way and well,,, you were one of those as well, greedy for luxury even though the life you were living now was anything far from that. You turned to Chan, his one hand rested in his lap and you slowly reached over to grab it, rubbing your thumb over knuckles. His eyes momentarily diverted from the road to you, looking at your eyes that were focused on his slightly rough hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chan parked into the parking lot of the bank, the building being just as remotely placed as the motel. Perfect. The car was strategically placed near the road for easy escape if there would even be any required. As you stepped out of the car you opened the trunk, uncovering the multitude of weapons that lay beneath the blanket and passed Chan his favorite rifle, the M1918 Browning Rifle. You simply stuck to a revolver since you could hide it in your holster for when you needed two hands to grab the money and shove it into the burlap bag. 

There wasn’t much thought needed for the robberies that happened this far away from the city, the local police station was a good drive away so neither you or Chan worried too much but it was still a risk. The big wooden doors were slammed open by him, a shot up into the ceiling shattered a lamp and next second your ears were filled by the terrified screams of men, women and children. You didn’t hesitate your movements as you went up to the multiple receptionist desks where the women in neat uniforms were all kneeling on the floor. 

“Get the fuck up!” you yelled, jumping on the desk and pointing your gun at one of the girls, she looked rather young and innocent with her dark shaking pupils that wandered with pure fear. You yelled at her to open all the vaults, to which she complied not having any other choice than to get shot. Her hands quivered as she put the money in the bag, filling it up with valuable green bills that would promise you dreams. You glanced back at Chan that was pointing the rifle at the people that lied down on their stomachs with their hands on their head, the sound of a child's tears not even bothering him or his conscience. You held the gun to her head, lonesome tears streaming down her face as her legs were barely able to hold her up. A smile cracked on your crimson painted lips as the bag filled up, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your blood making you fly on the clouds, you could do whatever you wanted in this moment. You were free. 

Just as you were about to turn around, signaling to Chan that the mission was done you heard another gunshot that was foreign from the usual sounds of the weapons you carried. It didn’t sound like it came from inside the building. The second after you heard a window shatter, glass flying over the civilians that screamed in fear once again and then you heard a thump, a loud one. You looked over your shoulder and there he was, your lover with a bullet through his back, the puddle of sangria red blood spreading over the bright vinyl flooring. This was the sight you feared the most in the world and here it was, right in front of your naked eyes. You dropped the revolver you held in your dominant hand and rushed over to him as you heard a male voice over a megaphone from outside the building. 

“Civilians, exit the building immediately”

The crowd of people squeezed through the doors, fleeing to whatever corner they could or hiding behind the countless cop cars that flashed their colorful sirens. You dragged Chan’s head into your lap as you fell down in defeat, looking at his closed eyes and his face that turned a pale blue with hints of grey, he was cold to the touch and his blood stained your clothes as well as the floor, the dark red marks on the floor that lead to his body as you dragged him closer to you, cupping his cheek. Frigid tears rolled down your cheeks and accumulated on your chin before dripping down onto his face, coloring his lips with a clear sheen. 

He wasn’t gone, he simply couldn’t be. He was your Chan, the Chan that always got away no matter what. Nothing could stop the two of you, not a stupid bullet through his back. You shaked him as you sobbed loudly, your lips quivering as black streaks of mascara covered the supple valleys of your cheeks. 

“Chan! Chan, fuck!! Wake up!!” you yelled as you shook him vigorously but his lifeless body was limp in your arms, no sign of life to be seen. You hugged him closer, not feeling his heartbeat or lungs filling with air from this cursed place. He wasn’t gone, he was still here and he would wake up one day, you told yourself these lies because they are easier to believe than the cold hard truth. Your blood boiled with pure rage. Somebody had stopped your dream life, that someone being the law itself but no matter who it was it still stopped you and you never took no for an answer. Your empty lost gaze diverted to the loaded gun that lied only footsteps away from your cowered body.

“Exit the building, leave the weapons” you heard the voice call out from outside, the megaphone crackling and distorting the voice. 

What was better?

Dying in the hands of the authorities or dying in Chan’s arms?

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