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donteattheappleshook · 3 years

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There is a Pirate in the Dungeon

Summary:

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All the serving girls are too afraid to go down the steps and bring him his meal. All but one.

This fic is based on a beautiful little story from The Starless Sea that just screamed of Captain Swan so strongly that I couldn't resist.

***

Happy Birthday to @elizabeethan who supported this fic and is just an all around great friend and writer <3

Thanks to @kmomof4 and @the-darkdragonfly for looking this over!

***

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All of the servants are in a flurry over it, gossip filling the halls of the Evil Queen’s palace. They say it’s him. Him who? You know, him, with the hook. The girl pays little mind to it. There is always someone in the dungeon. It doesn’t take much to upset the queen. One foot out of place, one word out of turn.

There are always people in the dungeon. Some are former servants, some former friends, some simply people who had the misfortune of crossing her path on a bad day. In fact, this pirate may be one of the few - if not the only - prisoner being held for any real crime. But the girl keeps her head down and goes about her work. No need to get involved. No need to stand out.

***

The pirate sits in the dungeon. He finds himself bored. It’s a strange emotion to have when facing down one’s inevitable end, but it’s the emotion he feels all the same. He wonders when Death will come. He wonders if this time he will stay, if they’ll meet like old friends, if Death will smile - not in self satisfaction, but in fondness for this game they’ve played so long. It’s only fair. He’s slipped through Death’s fingers so many times, it was bound to be his turn sooner or later.

A key hangs on the wall, six feet away from his cell, a tease of freedom just out of reach. He appreciates the metaphor. The guard is old, and drunk, and asleep most of the time. In a past life, the pirate may have attempted escape, may have hatched some elaborate ruse to win back his liberty. But he is old now - though he does not look it - and he is tired. And so he sits in his cell, bored, and waiting for death.

***

The girl does her best to ignore the chatter, but it follows her everywhere. She hears it in the kitchen, ears catching the whisper of a name, or perhaps a title. She hears it in the hallways, a guess at what he’d done to earn his date with the gallows. She hears it in the small bedroom that she shares with another girl, a rumor of his terrifying reputation, of a man more monster than human. But she isn’t afraid. There’s no such thing as monsters.

***

On the first night of his captivity, a girl comes into the dungeon carrying a tray of food and water. The pirate makes the mistake of standing too close to the bars, of looking over perhaps a tad too suspiciously, too threateningly, and the girl gasps, dropping the plate and running from the dungeon in fear. The guard wakes, and shrugs, and the pirate goes hungry.

On the second night there is a new serving girl. She makes it halfway across the room before the candlelight gleams off his hook and she stumbles. Half the food and water spill from her hands before she sets it on the floor far enough from the bars that he needs to remove his hook and use it to pull the tray close enough to have what’s left.

The third night no girl comes at all, though he hears her retreating footsteps at the top of the stairs. By the fourth night, the pirate has resigned himself to dying of starvation. It’s not quite the death he’d always pictured for himself, but he supposes it’s as fitting as any other.

The guard is asleep again when the girl comes down the stairs on the fifth night, this one also new and more striking than any of the other servants who have fled from him. More striking than most women he’s ever seen and suddenly something that had started to go out in the pirate’s heart begins to stir.

There’s a wariness about her, a hesitation as she approaches, but there is no fear, and it surprises him. As she approaches the bars, she meets his eyes and he watches in wonder as the doubt melts from her features, making way for confusion, relief, and even, he thinks, disappointment. It makes him laugh and he nearly startles at the sound of his own voice after so many days of silence. The girl, however, does not startle.

She sets the tray in front of him and he thanks her. That does startle her. He wonders briefly if it’s at seeing manners in a prisoner or from having become accustomed to never being thanked for her work at all.

The girl studies him, gaze falling over his face and his greatcoat, settling finally on his hook before finding their way back to his eyes. He wonders what she finds there, what she may have been looking for. He takes the chance to study her himself, her long golden hair and bright eyes, the rags she wears unable to disguise a certain dignity with which she carries herself.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, neither compelled to speak as they take each other in and draw their conclusions. Soon, however, his stomach cries for him to eat the bread which she’s brought him and he’s too tired and too hungry to deny it. But as he takes note of the thinness of her cheeks and the smudges below her eyes he feels a certain obligation towards her, a long forgotten sort of duty.

The pirate tears the bread in two and holds one half out through the bars. The surprise returns to her face and he wonders at the fact that it’s kindness that seems to scare her, rather than danger. She watches him, closely, carefully, more curiously than she has yet, and he’s stunned when an older - younger - version of the pirate makes himself known, one he hasn’t seen in years, but that he hopes is still worthy of this girl’s scrutiny, perhaps even of her trust.

She takes the bread from his hand and neither miss the way his fingers brush across her wrist as she pulls back. But she doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t run.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” the pirate asks, trying to remember the last time his presence wasn’t met with fear or dread.

She considers him a moment before answering, her voice low so as not to wake the guard. “I’ve met scarier men than you,” she says, and he believes her.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because he is, and because he doesn’t know what else to say. He himself has met few scarier men.

The girl does not stay to eat her bread. The guard begins to stir and she hurries out of the room before he can ask her name. The pirate cannot chase after her. He would like to, but the bars pose a certain problem. When the guard wakes he finds the pirate with his forehead pressed softly to the iron rods of his prison, a soft, faraway look in his eyes. He does not, the guard notes, look at all like a pirate anymore.

***

The girl walks swiftly down winding steps that lead from the kitchen, which is on the second floor of the palace, deep underground to the damp, carved out tunnels that serve as a dungeon. She doesn’t pay attention to the strange looks she receives from the other serving girls, or the judgemental ones she receives from the men. She is the first to make this trip twice since the pirate’s arrival and it has earned her the distrust of her coworkers.

“Aren’t you afraid of him? Haven’t you heard what he’s done?”

“He’s behind bars,” she answers simply whenever this question is posed. But she knows that the bars are irrelevant. She does not fear the pirate.

She is more concerned with the second question, that of what he has done. The girl, who grew up near the palace and was orphaned near the palace and now works in the palace, has never done anything, not truly, not anything worthwhile or worth remembering.

She wonders how many places outside this palace the pirate has seen. She wonders how many places outside this kingdom he has visited, or perhaps even, outside this realm. She decides that she’ll ask him to tell her about them. The worst he can say is “no” and then her life will be no different than it was when she woke up this morning. She thinks however that if he says “yes”, it could be a little bit better.

When the pirate sees her coming down the stairs he looks surprised, and then relieved, and then pleased. A small smile pullis at the corner of his lips and she feels it makes him look even less the terrifying monster those upstairs believe him to be. He looks young, his eyes which yesterday had betrayed an ancientness of one who has lived many lives, perhaps, more lives than they’d have liked, are now bright and anxious like a boy’s.

The guard is predictably asleep and the girl makes her way to the bars where the pirate waits and hands him his food. He takes it with a thank you, as he had yesterday, and while she’d expected it, she was still not prepared for it and it catches her off guard, her cheeks flushing. Then her cheeks flush at her embarrassment over her cheeks flushing in the first place.

He is handsome, dark hair and dark lashes framing blue eyes and a soft smile contrasted by a strong jaw. But she has seen handsome men before and paid them little mind. She wonders what it is that is different about this one. Whatever the difference, it makes her lose her nerve, and with no other reason to be here, and no question bold enough to ask, she turns to take her leave.

“Wait,” the pirate says, and the girl stops, glancing back. “Will you tell me your name?” he asks. When she does not answer, he speaks again. “If I’m to see you again, I’d like to be able to thank you properly for your service. If I’m not, then I’d like a name to associate with the memory of you.”

The girl is grateful for the darkness in the dungeon, and the distance that hides her stricken expression. “Emma,” she tells him, and he smiles at her in the same youthful way he had before. She offers a clumsy curtsy, and leaves.

When she returns the following night, the girl has slipped whatever extra treats she could find onto the tray. A roll of bread with honey stolen off a table while serving breakfast, meat leftover from the servant’s dinner, and a small, baked good that the queen had sent back. She imagines the pirate must be hungry. She is only sent to bring him food once a day and there are no other servants making trips to the dungeon.

He looks relieved, and then happy to see her. And then something crosses his expression that she doesn’t recognize. Likely, because no one has ever looked at her like that. She finds that she likes it. She hands him the tray, watching a little too eagerly as he notices the contents. He smiles, one eyebrow jumping up, the pull of his lips lopsided, and it spreads warmth through her belly.

“Thank you,” he says, adding “Emma” to the end. It’s the first time he’s said her name, and Emma is surprised at how much she likes hearing him say it.

The guard is asleep, and she imagines he will be for a while, his snores resonating annoyingly through the room. She wonders if the pirate gets much sleep. She imagines it would be hard to sleep with the threat of impending death looming over her. But she imagines it would be even harder to sleep with the guards snores echoing in her ears. Either way, the guard seems unlikely to wake, so she chances stealing a little more time in the pirate’s company.

He watches her as she makes her decision, and when he offers up some of his meal again to share, she accepts it. She feels guilty, taking his food, but it allows her the excuse to step closer to the bars and to brush her fingers carefully against his as they had last night.

When their hands have been touching as long as they reasonably can while passing food, perhaps even a little too long at that, the pirate pulls his arm back through the bars. She notices the hook on which he balances the tray. He notices her noticing it, but says nothing.

After a moment, he sits on the floor, resting the tray against his knee as he picks at it. While he doesn’t ask her to stay, the invitation is clear in both how close he sits to the mouth of his cell and in the way he watches her, waiting. Feeling bold, Emma sits down beside him, shoulders near close enough to touch, were it not for the bars between them. They sit silently, letting the guard’s snores fill the quiet that would be filled by their words. After a long time, Emma speaks.

“They say you’re a captain,” she tells him, wondering if any of the gossip is true.

“Aye, that I am,” he answers. “Or… was,” he corrects, acknowledging his current predicament. Can a captain be a captain without a ship? She takes a breath before speaking again.

“They say you’re a pirate.”

He smiles, mirthful, his eyebrow ticking up again. “Aye,” he says, “that too.” Emma only nods and it seems to surprise him. She wonders if he was expecting shock, or fear, or perhaps even fascination. She gives him none of it.

“Have you been a pirate long?” she asks then, and this time his smile is melancholy as he nods.

“Yes. Too long.”

Emma draws her knees up, holding them in her arms as she gazes forlornly at the floor. “I can’t imagine you could ever tire of being a pirate. Not when there are so many places to see.” When she says it, she’s thinking of the freedom he must have had, the chance to go wherever he pleased whenever he pleased. But then she feels guilty, remembering where he is now.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agrees, offering her an accepting nod.

“And have you?” she asks, breath held in her lungs until he answers.

“Have I what, love?”

“Been many places.”

“Aye. More than you could imagine.” She can imagine quite a bit, but she supposes he’s probably right.

“You must have many stories,” she suggests, and he smiles at her the same way he had when she’d asked him about being a pirate.

“As many stories as there were places,” he promises.

“Will you tell me some of them?” She looks at him when she asks and is met with eyes that are both old and young all at once.

Before he can answer the guard starts to stir and she jumps to her feet. The pirate follows suit, hand reaching out to catch at the sleeve of her dress before she can leave. She turns to him and is shocked at the look in his eyes, she can’t quite place this one either, but if she had to name it, she’d call it... hope.

“I will,” he promises. “If you come back tomorrow. And I’ll tell you more if you come back the following night, and more after that.”

Emma meets his eyes and knows he isn’t lying. And the promise of hearing his stories is nearly as powerful as the promise of being able to sit next to him in the dungeon again, with their shoulders just close enough to touch, if not for the bars. She agrees.

***

When Emma returns the following night, there is more food on his tray. The pirate imagines she must have stolen or kept most of it, sharing her own dinner with him. So it feels only right to share some of his own meal with her.

He’d tried to hide his excitement at seeing her come down the stairs, though he’s sure it was written all over his face. And she’s quite perceptive, he’s noticed. It feels strange, to have something to look forward to. He never imagined being excited for or anticipating anything while in this dungeon, apart from perhaps death. He prefers it this way.

“So what would you like to hear?” he asks after he has touched her hand and sat next to her on the dirty floor of his cell. She contemplates his question for a while, putting serious weight to her decision and he smiles. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in learning anything about him.

“How did you become a pirate?” she asks finally, and his heart settles like a lead weight in his chest. It must show on his face because she begins to apologize. He stops her. He had not expected to have to share such a painful story so quickly, but he tells her anyway. He tells her of his childhood, uncertain why he starts so far back but the more he continues the more he feels it suits the story.

He tells her of his upbringing on Silver’s ship, of his time in the Navy, of his brother, of everything he was and everything he himself wished to be. He tells her of his brother’s death and her eyes fill with tears, the kind that speak of understanding rather than sympathy. He’d learned long ago to spot the difference, to pick a kindred spirit out of a crowd. Tonight, he picks a twin soul out of a dungeon.

When he has finished his story he waits for her appraisal, wonders if he did it justice. He embellished in parts, if only to make himself more dashing or the dangers greater. He could read on her face that she knew what he was doing and it only made him smile, even as she rolled her eyes. That made him do it more.

“I’m sorry,” she says, he imagines in much the same way he had said to her that first night, and he knows then that they understand each other, perhaps in a way nobody has ever understood him before, not really.

The guard is still asleep but he doubts they have much time left. Nevertheless he offers her another story, if only to keep her here a little longer, to watch her eyes light up with wonder and excitement as he spins his tales. Emma considers again, as carefully as she had the first time.

“Will you tell me your name?” she asks.

He smiles. “Killian.”

***

Killian tells her of Neverland, of evil little boys and fairies and mermaids. He tells her of a land covered in snow, of one where sand reaches as far as the eye can see. He tells her of krakens and monsters and heroes and damsels, of kings and knights and pirate queens over the course of the following nights, each tale more fantastical than the last. But he never lies. She knows he doesn’t. He may embellish but his stories are true, and that makes them all the more unbelievable. She begins to pity the guard, who sleeps through such magical stories, but does not begrudge the privacy it allows them.

His fingers tangle in her hair through the bars, as they do every night, playing with each stand before letting it slip delicately between his rings. He likes her hair and she likes that he likes it. He’d made a comment when she asked, about pirates being drawn to gold. She’d rolled her eyes and he’d laughed.

“What tale would you like to hear tonight?” Killian asks, smiling that smile which always makes her stomach warm and her cheeks flush.

She thinks carefully, as she does every night, wanting to ask the right kind of question to hear the right kind of story. With every tale he reveals more about himself, whether intentionally or not. She knows he is brave but also protective, charming, but also solitary. Dangerous, but kind. He’s seen the whole world, known countless people, but he carries a loneliness that breaks her heart in a way her own never could.

There is a story she wants to know, one that she’s held off on asking. In part because it feels rude, because she is unaware of the rules around asking such things. But also, because she imagines this is the tale that everyone asks him, and she doesn’t want to be everybody. She hopes she can ask and still be Emma to him.

“Will you tell me how you lost your hand?” she asks finally and his fingers still in her hair. She fears she’s crossed a line, but when she turns to face him he’s watching her with that same expression he had when he told her the first story. She knows that this will not be a fanciful tale.

Killian nods and his fingers return their attention to her hair, his eyes fixated as he begins to speak. He tells her of a woman, of a great love and a cruel man. Of adventures and romance and the promise of happily ever after struck down by one monster’s hatred. His eyes water and she wants to ask him to stop, to beg him not to continue if it pains him so much to speak of it, even after all these years. But he finishes his story. Nothing embellished, nothing softened. And when he is finished she’s the one with tears in her eyes.

He does not look at her, preferring to watch the strands of her hair slip through his fingers as he brushes it over her shoulder and back again. She wonders if he’s awaiting her judgement, disgust or forgiveness. Neither are fitting. There is only empathy, and anger, and a feeling she has not felt before but is certain of regardless - love.

She reaches through the bars, takes his hook which rests in his lap in her hand and turns so that she can face him. He looks up in surprise as the movement steals the strands from his fingers, and then in greater surprise when she brings his hook to her lips before holding it to her chest, hoping he can read what she cannot say.

He does.

***

The following night is the last night. Killian knows this and while he’d always thought he’d leave this world with no regrets, he is left with one. He regrets not meeting her sooner, regrets time, not having enough of it, having wasted too much of it. For the first time in a century he fears death, resents it, because death will steal her from him and he is not ready to let go. But the gallows await him in the morning.

The guard is, shockingly, awake when Emma arrives, and he flatters himself that the redness around her eyes is because she knows as well, because she will miss him as well. His heart tightens, loathing that their last night will be cut short, impeded by the presence of the guard who will prevent her from staying. But he should have known to expect more of her.

Emma smiles at the guard, offering him something from the pitcher she carries on the tray. She imagines from his enthusiasm that it is wine or rum and he supposes he was to be offered a last drink on his last night. The guard drinks greedily and Emma continues to smile that lovely smile until he suddenly falls against the table, face colliding painfully with the wood. Killian looks at her in surprise as she comes to meet him. She shrugs.

“He’s not dead,” she dismisses and he smiles, proud and impressed.

“Perhaps there’s a little pirate in you yet, love.”

She gives him his food and they share it as they always do, sitting side by side yet too far apart to truly be together. Killian is aware of the metaphor here as well, though he appreciates it less than the keys on the wall.

Tonight, perhaps because it is their last night, perhaps because she is feeling the finality of it, the grief for all that could have been and what little was, Emma slides her fingers through the bars and takes his hand, letting her fingers slide along and play with his own and his rings as he had her hair. His whole body warms from his hand, rolling through him like a wave, like the sea, like magic.

“I thought, perhaps,” he starts but then hesitates, fingers tightening against hers. “I thought you might tell me a story,” he suggests. She watches him, eyes still red, thumb stroking along the back of his hand. “I’d quite like to know you before I die,” he admits, his voice more strained than he’d like. He realises it's not death he fears, but never seeing her again, never again touching her hair or holding her hand, never having so much as kissed her. He brings their hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s something.

She nods, eyes watery and lip caught between her teeth. She tells him of her life, of being born near the palace, of losing her parents young, of being left by them, sent to live in the castle before she even had a chance to know them, of having looked for them but only having been met with dead ends and disappointed hopes.

She speaks of growing up in the castle, of the queen’s temper and the constant fear and he can see where her strength comes from, though he believes she may have been born with it. She tells him of a man that she believed she loved, one who left when things became too much. All her stories speak of abandonment, of loneliness and perseverance and hope, despite it all, hope.

When it’s nearly dawn she asks if she can have one final story and he cannot deny her anything so he says yes. She asks him what he did to be imprisoned by the queen. He laughs, because there is nothing else to do. He is not a good man, he has not believed himself to be one for a long time. But he likes to think that his last deed, the one that sent him to the gallows, was. That it was one that Liam could be proud of, and Milah, and Emma.

“I refused to kill someone for her.” Emma’s eyes widen. Clearly, this was not what she’d expected. “The Queen learned that someone in her castle had been placed there by the former king and queen, the ones she overthrew so many years ago, and that she, a girl - a daughter - had the power to destroy her. She wished me to find and kill the girl for her, as she cannot. I refused. I am many things, but a killer of innocent women, I am not.”

The booming of a drum brings his story to a certain, poetic end. It is followed by another and it is only a moment before they recognize them for what they are. The gallows await. Emma turns to him, fingers tightening against his until her knuckles are white, eyes wild.

“No,” she says with all the strength and stubbornness he’s grown to love in her.

“Emma,” he starts, not wanting their last moments to be anger and pain and sadness. But she pulls away, standing and staring at him for what feels like an eternity as she makes up her mind. She lunges for the keys, fingers fumbling as she tries to find the right one, to fit it in the lock. “Emma,” he tries to stop her. “Go,” he warns, fearing what fate awaits her if they catch her trying to help him escape. But she doesn’t listen. He did not expect she would.

When she finds the key the gate is wrenched open and she stands in the open doorway watching him with frantic, panicked eyes. He is frozen in place, unable to move, shaken by the risk she is taking. For him. She frowns at him then, confusion and just enough disbelief and annoyance to make him want to laugh.

“Run!” she commands, gesturing towards the stairs. He knows he could make it, he could run now and get out before the guards catch him. He’s gotten out of more dire situations before. But he can’t. She may save him from death but the result will be the same. Either way he will be without her. Being without her when he knows she is somewhere he cannot reach is far worse.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma demands, voice raising. “Get ou-”

He strides forward, takes her face in his hand and kisses her. He kisses her as though this may be the last time, because he fears it will be, regardless of whether they catch him or not. But once he’s kissed her he can’t let her go.

He’s held the whole of his world in his hand and against his lips and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let her go. He’s lived a very long time, and been to a great many places, but nothing has felt quite like this. Nothing has felt so much like home.

“Come with me,” he pleads, knowing that if she says no he’ll wait here for them to come for him, because it won’t matter, not without her.

The guards burst in, catching them with their faces still only inches apart and it takes them a moment, registering their own shock before they lunge at them, at him. Emma screams and suddenly there is a burst of white light, a light so bright that he has to shield his eyes against it. When he opens them again the guards are on the ground - breathing but unlikely to wake up anytime soon - and Emma is staring at her shaking fingers.

She looks at him with confusion and fear, helpless he thinks for the first time in her life. He takes one of her trembling hands, kisses it softly, and asks her again.

***

They run. They run until they reach the shoreline, Killian gazing out at the sea, and Emma imagines them on any of the ships out there as he attempts to figure out which he could commandeer most easily. She’s quite pleased with how easily she’s taken to piracy. Or perhaps, she’s just taken to pirates. He hasn’t released her hand since they ran from the dungeon and he still won't. She’s not sure she wants him to, for fear that what happened in the dungeon might happen again.

He’s only just picked a ship and started to pull her towards it when they hear the commotion behind them. The guards have caught up to them. The Queen is with them, fury on her face. They stop only a few feet away and Killian steps forward, attempting to stand between them and her. She attempts the same, and so they end up standing side by side, hands clasped tightly, ready to face whatever comes together.

“Well, Captain,” the Queen says. “I underestimated you. It seems you found her after all.” Emma’s breath catches, putting together the pieces of Killian’s story, of her own. Killian’s fingers only tighten around hers and she realises that he must have put it all together much sooner than she had.

She calls for her guards and this time Killian does stand before her and the Queen has him on his knees without even taking a step, sick pleasure in her eyes as the man Emma loves gasps for breath. She screams and she cries and she begs but the Queen doesn’t stop. She won’t lose him. It’s not a question or a choice but a fact. She refuses to lose him, not when they’re so close to freedom, not when she’s only just found him.

She isn’t sure how she does it, but before she has time to question how she does it now, or how she did it then, a light bursts from her fingers and she only just has time to see the fear in the Queen’s eyes before it engulfs them. It flows out of her. Like magic. Like love. And she’s certain that’s what it is, at least, that’s what it feels like.

She helps Killian to his feet and he takes her hand as he had in the dungeon, thanking her. She asks if he still wants her to come with him, warns him that if she is who they think she is, the Queen will never stop hunting them. He smiles, that same smile from their first night. His fingers find her hair, slipping through the strands from her ear to the ends and letting them fall around her shoulders.

“I’ve been hunted before,” he says. “And for far less valuable treasure.”

Someday, her parents will find her. Someday they will defeat the queen and they will ask her to come back with them. And she will, for a while. But she will always go back to him, to the adventures that wait for her in far off lands, and to the love that waits for her aboard a ship. But that is only someday. For now, the pirate takes the girl’s hand and asks her to follow him as he will follow her always, to the ends of the earth, or time.

The End.

*****

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @gingerchangeling @bubblegum1425 @jackieorioncat @darkcolinodonorgasm @xhookswenchx @lfh1226-linda @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xsajx @thejollyroger-writer @elizabeethan @carpedzem @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @demisexualemmaswan @itsfabianadocarmo @courtorderedcake @yasbio2015 @the-darkdragonfly @klynn-stormz

#captain swan #cs #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #cs au

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sukiglycerin · 3 years

Text

starless fairy tales || keigo takami, katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x reader x katsuki bakugou (gender neutral!)

* genre: it’s a sandwich: angst on the top, fluff in the middle, and angst at the end :) not fantasy DLKFSF IM SORRY

* words: 5.2k, somehow

* warnings: angsty, reader is wary of hawks at first, tokyo skytree!! so don’t read if you’re terribly afraid of heights, a reference to blood for a small metaphor, a reference to the league of villains ;P, cliffhanger ending that i’m not sure i’ll resolve

* original request from @bien-sur: hey, saw you wanted requests and I read through some of your work, really loved the Hawks one shot!! i’m a sucker for enemies who make out. i’m feeling angsty so uh maybe, if you want, a bakugo one-shot where he kind of uh cheats on the reader...? or maybe just hurts her feelings very badly? maybe the reader feels numb for a while but is comforted by Keigo, and the reader realizes they deserve better? so sorry if this is out of your comfort zone or it’s dark content(?) anyways I like your writing so i’ll read a few more of your works before going to bed :)) thank you, i appreciate u taking the time to do requests regardless of whether you do mine :)

* a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS SUPERIOR!! i was so excited to write an enemies piece with hawks. this showcases the soft, kind side of hawks so i hope you enjoy it !! thank you sooo much for being so kind in your request! this request is completely fine. i added much more plot than i’d expected, and learned sooo much about tokyo skytree. i couldn’t do infidelity because it hurts me too much and i love bakugou too much. i tried to keep the angst.,., but happy birb..,., this might become a multi-chap fic, as i do have a plot jumbled in my head because of the cliffhanger, and i’d like to develop more aspects of your request! for now, it’s up to your interpretation! biggest thing i got out of this: i now really, really want to go to tokyo skytree.

* synopsis: you had a fairy tale love with bakugou until your prince became the villain for vague reasons. in a moment of serendipity, you find a new prince, hawks, who just might take you high enough to reach the stars you’d so longed for. sometimes your dreams are only a train ride and a couple elevator trips away.

love was like a fairy tale. at least, that’s what you’d believed. love, with its ornate leather cover and soft golden embellishments. the pages would be worn but so cherished; the black ink printed in a pretty font, telling of charming words and whispered promises under the shining moonlight and twinkling stars. it was supposed to be your security, a castle hidden in the lush forest away from the horrors of the world. your castle would hold you and bakugou for an eternity, kept away in the pages of a pretty love story.

alas, even the strongest of castles fall, and the most beautiful of forests mangle. yours just happened to be a bit quicker. contrary to the illusion bakugou had painted in your fairy tale, your castle was not of stone nor brick nor iron. it was not of anything but sand, waiting for its turn to be washed away by the sea. your castle slipped through your fingers; the once elaborate stronghold now swept into the depths of the cerulean sea. what had once been painted seashells of wondrous hues and crystals that illuminated the night were now pebbles and corroded versions of things that had once been. it had slipped through your fingers so easily without a passing thought; now here you were, in your deserted kingdom, playing the fool.

like the sand past your fingers, love had once come easy for you and bakugou. it was always there, drifting in the air as you walked or swirling above your heads while you bickered. love was supposed to be easy, like how your hand just fit in bakugou's as if sculpted after many lives with him. love was supposed to be easy, like how bakugou aced his tests in school and nonchalantly taught you math so you wouldn't have to attend cram school. love was supposed to be easy, like how it had been for forever with bakugou. but your fairy tale was now coming to a close, velvet curtains falling and pages turning to dust.

you wondered if there were any fairy tales on the shelves of books bakugou had. contrary to popular belief at ua, bakugou was an avid reader. it was clear by the shelves that lined the wall in his dorm and the stacks of unread books on his nightstand. you never touched them, though bakugou had said you were free to pick them up whenever you wanted. the only time you’d touched a book from his bookshelf was when he pushed a book of yosano akiko’s to you.

the colored spines of the books on his shelf in your shared apartment all blurred like paint on a palette as you stared at them, bakugou’s voice becoming a fading afterthought.

“y/n? y/n, please…” the voice which had so held you in its tight warmth went cold and unfamiliar. a light flickered out in your castle, and so started the crumbling.

“say…” you started, your throat clogged with disbelief, “it again.”

“please, don’t make me…” his voice trailed off. you could feel his deep scarlet eyes trained on you. “i just…. i’m not in love with you anymore, y/n.” his voice cracked. “you’ve got to understand. please.”

your hand trembled in your lap, your vision shifting out of focus like a faulty camera.

“i tried to feel something, i really did. but…. i can’t.”

“how- how long?” your voice shook.

he paused. “a month… or two, by now?” he reached out to take your hand in his, but it no longer felt right. it was as if his hand was no longer yours to hold. you tensed, moving your hand away.

a light went out in his eyes as he understood and receded his hand. a tower fell in your castle.

“okay,” you said, turning away from him. tears dripped down your face silently and you quickly wiped them away with your sleeve. you stood up from the couch. “i’ll get my things,” you hollowly said, walking toward your shared room with him.

“you don’t need to,” bakugou said. the voice emitted from his throat was no longer his, but the shadow of a stranger’s. “not this fast, at least. don’t force yourself.”

“what makes you say that?” you snapped a bit too harshly. “sorry,” you added quietly.

packing your things was a numbing process. you left the photos of him and you on his nightstand, on top of his pile of unread books. you shoved it all in a backpack you had lying around; your clothes, your phone, your books. you took one last glance around the room and left. bakugou was still sitting on the couch wordlessly, not bothering to say farewell to you as you opened the door and walked out. not that you would’ve responded anyway.

you realized you may have made a miscalculation as you stood cluelessly in the lobby of the apartment building. you had nowhere to go. you fumbled with your phone in your backpack and pulled up your contacts. you knew of no one in your contacts who’d let you stay; they were either on vacation or far away. in truth, bakugou was your closest friend since childhood. he was your map, your guide, your destination; where were you without him?

the wind brushed your cheek as you stood outside the entrance, watching cars pass. the world felt so big compared to the mere side character of you, who buildings loomed over like menacing shadows. it was a somewhat comforting moment, being an alone speck in the grand scheme of things. like this, it was for only a moment you’d forgotten why you were out here in the first place. you’d forgotten the warm feeling that once nestled itself in your heart, instead enraptured by the freeing breeze that rustled in it.

red. then a breeze. that’s all you saw, eyes widening and stepping back. a man no older than you stood in front of you, hands in his pockets. vermillion wings protruded from somewhere on his back, arcing slightly over the man.

“heyyy….” he said lazily, shadows falling on his face. you started walking backward, hands discreetly feeling for the door behind you. “wait! i’m a pro-hero, i swear! i’m hawks, look it up!” he lifted his hands up in surrender, backing away from you.

“who…. what do you want?” you asked cautiously, hand on the doorknob behind you.

he sheepishly scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “i, uh…. got lost…. tokyo’s such a big place, y’know?”

“where are you from?” you couldn’t really discern anything of an accent on him, other than a slightly rougher tone of speaking.

“kyushu, fukuoka…” he gestured vaguely. that explained the slight accent. “i’m in tokyo for a bit of work. business trip, y’know how it goes. haven’t visited tokyo in a while, honestly. what’s a good place for a bite? a bird is starving.”

“uh… there’s a place down the street to the right…” off the top of your head, you pointed out a cafe you and bakugou had frequented.

“it doesn’t have chicken wings, does it?” hawks asked.

“chicken…?” you looked from him to his wings. “no, sorry.”

“don’t sweat it! ‘s fine. hey, i might as well treat you for wasting your time. where’re you heading off to? i could pay for a cab, if you gotta go.”

“ah, thank you....” you said bashfully. “i’m not really in a rush anywhere.”

“really?” he looked excited, innocently so, almost like a puppy. “can i treat you to something?”

“uh… sure,” you replied, strengthening your grip on your backpack. “sure.”

“great! off we go, m’liege!” he pointed toward the cafe and started marching. he was a sight to behold on the street, red wings standing out a mile away. you followed somewhat reluctantly, grabbing your phone to google exactly who the pro-hero “hawks” was. the name sounded vaguely familiar, but you weren’t one who knew their heroes. yeah, it was definitely him; what was your luck, meeting such a famous pro-hero on the street after being dumped by the love of your life?

he hummed a tuneless melody, turning to the cafe. he held the doorknob waiting for you, opening the door for you first. the homey cafe was decently packed for lunchtime, the quiet chatter of people filling the atmosphere. the scene reminded you of so many other times you'd gone here with bakugou; it gave you chills as you stood next to hawks.

"hey," hawks said quietly. "you okay? you seem tense."

you gulped and shook your head. "nah, i'm fine. just thinking about what to eat," you lied.

he nodded, seeming to buy into the lie. stepping toward the menu, he said, "the toasted sandwiches look good."

"uh huh," you agreed absentmindedly. your attention was on the bout of people who'd turned to look at hawks, some snapping pictures on their phones. he did stand out pretty well with his wings.

"'scuse me-!" a little girl, no more than 6 or 7, approached the hero. she had a distinctive accent; it was slightly hard to understand her. "can i 'ave a photo with ya?" her eyes got all round. "yer my big brother's favorite hero!"

"'course, darlin'," hawks smiled. his voice somewhat mimicked hers, his dialect becoming apparent.

once he'd taken a photo with her, more and more people started following suit, crowding him. you stood awkwardly to the side. some people didn't even know who he was, from what you could tell. you debated ordering a latte and leaving, but decided it'd be unfair to hawks. he was kind to everyone he interacted with, unlike most celebrities who just wanted fame and disregarded others.

after some time, the crowd finally dispersed, leaving you and hawks together.

he glanced at his watch. “ah, sorry, that took a while…” he apologized. “do you have somewhere to be? i must’ve held you up…”

“nah, don’t worry about it.” you waved him off. “i, uh, actually… was just dumped by my boyfriend…” you nervously shuffled your feet. “i don’t really have a place to stay at the moment… so i’m free the entire day, i guess.” you laughed nervously.

he blinked at you, bird-like eyes wide. “you must be starving.”

you felt your face warm and you laughed - this time, a real, genuine laugh that was a missed sensation against your tongue. “yeah. yeah, i am.”

“hey, dove.” his voice suddenly got close to you, gentler. “you’re crying.”

“oh…?” you felt your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “sorry. i have tissues in my backpack, hang on…” you unzipped the front pocket and started to rummage blindly through your belongings, groping for something vaguely feeling like a packet of tissues.

“here,” he said, handing you a tissue. you turned to him gratefully, accepting the tissue and wiping your face.

“it’s just… weird,” you said after a pause. “he’s been there all my life - my ex, i mean.” ex. such a strange name for the man you so adored; ex, crossing off the relationship you thought you’d built with him.

hawks nodded, guiding you to a booth in the cafe.

you continued, “sorry. you probably didn’t want to hear this today… you’re busy with your hero duties and whatnot.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, feather,” he reassured you. “he didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“oh, no,” you clarified quickly. “i… left,” you said, abashed. “i shouldn’t’ve been so sudden, but… it was an instinct thing.”

“why’d he do it so suddenly?” hawks asked. “you didn’t see it coming, right?”

“no, i didn’t… but maybe i should’ve…” you think about the part couple months with bakugou. nothing seemed different - you’d gone on dates like normal and spent time together like a couple that loved each other. his interest in you never faltered and nor did the sparkle in his eyes dull; what had happened? what had gone so wrong?

you realize the silence that’s fallen between you and hawks. the hero was looking at the menu behind you intently.

“ham and cheese…” he muttered to himself. “no, teriyaki… so yummy… with coffee…” he suddenly seemed aware of your eyes staring at him. “oh, what did you want to eat?”

“i’ll probably have the teriyaki,” you said. it was your go-to sandwich choice at the cafe. you reached for your backpack to retrieve your wallet, but hawks stopped you.

“let me,” he said. “i already caused you so much inconvenience.”

“ah, okay…” you said meekly. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “what wouldja like to drink?”

“uh… orange juice,” you said.

“alright!” he saluted you. “your wish is my command.” he got up to order, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. the cashier was particularly animated talking to him, initiating a conversation about aerodynamics with the pro-hero from what you could hear.

he returned with the sandwiches (made at the fastest time you swore you’d seen them prepare food) and set yours in front of you.

“let’s dig in!” hawks said, biting into his sandwich. you agreed, taking a bite of yours as well.

“what’s your name, by the way?” he said in between bites. “i don’t think i ever asked.”

“y/n,” you said.

“pretty,” he commented. “i’m hawks.”

“i know,” you blurted. “i googled it.”

“you did?” his pupils widened. “what’d it say??”

“uhh…” you pulled out your phone, finding the tab you used to google hawks. you turned your screen to him.

he studied the screen. “not fond of that angle,” he mused to himself. “so, why’d your boyfriend dump you?”

you were taken aback by his candor. “he… said he didn’t love me anymore,” you admitted.

“all of a sudden? out of the blue?”

you shook your head. “he said he’d tried to endure it for a while.”

“how long?”

“a month or two,” you sighed, thinking about the sight of him sitting dejectedly on the couch this morning.

“he didn’t say anything before that?” hawks gasped. “the nerve. how long have you been together?”

“four… or five years now?” you’d been dating him since your days at ua, even when most high school romances - between childhood friends, no less - were especially rocky. he was your promised forever.

“and he gives up after two months?” hawks set his sandwich down. “wow. some boyfriend.”

“i think there was something more to it,” you said thoughtfully. “we’ve known each other for a long…”

“you still love him, don’t you?”

“i mean… yeah….” you hadn’t given it much thought; bakugou was a habit your heart couldn’t stop thinking about. it was like depriving your heart of oxygen: foreign and wrong. “i do.”

“i’m sorry, dove,” he said.

“your sandwich will get cold,” you said in an attempt to divert the conversation topic.

“you’re right.” he picked up his sandwich and started eating again, eyes still on you. “this place has good food.”

you hummed in agreement, distracted by the cars going by outside the window.

“where will you stay?” he asked, halfway done with his sandwich.

hawks voiced the concern plaguing your subconscious from the moment you stepped out of bakugou’s apartment building. it was definitely not the most thoroughly well-thought out plan, and you didn’t want to come back knocking on his door in the night. besides, you weren’t sure if you could stand being there again, in the presence of a liar and someone who felt so foreign to you. you wondered how much you truly didn’t know about bakugou; were there any other lies he’d blossomed behind your back?

you knew you might be able to stay at a hotel for a couple nights, but not for long. going back to bakugou’s place… as much as you so dreaded the mere thought, you knew it might be your absolute last resort.

“i’m not sure,” you finally replied truthfully. hawks appeared to have come to a conclusion of sorts.

“tell ya what,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “explore tokyo with me.” he took a bite of his sandwich. continuing, he said, “‘s not often the commission puts me in the big city. i’m off today, so…”

the offer was somewhat bizarre, but what did you have to lose? you agreed, under the terms you wouldn’t be out too late. as you walked out the door, you greeted the cool outside breeze with the hope this would help you put the past behind you.

walking through tokyo with a pro-hero proved harder than it sounded. for one, people kept approaching hawks; after all, he was like a walking light-up sign that said “LOOK AT ME!” with the size and color of his wings. after every time a fan asked hawks for an autograph, he sheepishly apologized to you, and offered two autographs to you. you always laughed and declined; the trip was a reward in itself, you supposed. each acquaintance made you appreciate all the responsibilities of a pro-hero. he was charming, though. he really was, so you didn’t mind.

“skytree! let’s go there!” was the first thing hawks had said walking out of the cafe. you’d been to the skytree a couple of times in your childhood, and it was a nice memory; the tall building stretching, touching the tip of the sky. your parents had told you that stardust flecked the very top of the skytree, for it was so tall. you’d never actually reached the highest floor; it felt like a distant fantasy, as you’d always get tired before reaching the top or circumstance would interfere.

it was a five minute walk to the nearest station, and it’d be another forty or so to skytree. hawks didn’t seem to mind, though, happily promenading down the street like a kid in a candy shop. he pointed excitedly to random buildings that you hadn’t given a second thought about and rambled about the facts he knew about skytree with an accent tingeing his words more than usual. he reminded you very much so of a child going on a field trip, and his giddiness only boosted yours.

“we’re here!” his eyes glistened with anticipation when you reached the station. you’d visited the station dozens of times, but looked at it with a new light when you realized how excited hawks was. “i’ll pay; i dragged you here,” he said immediately when you started to pay for tickets.

“really, i can’t-” you started, but he cut you off.

“let me. it’s my off day! please.” he took the two tickets he paid for. “here.”

“i don’t really have a choice, do i?”

“nope!” he was already walking away, smiling back at you and waving his ticket.

“hey- wait!” you started running after him. “wrong way!”

forty minutes later, two transfers, and one circle around the station in pursuit of skytree, you stood at the entrance of the tokyo skytree. hawks’ mouth watered at the sight of the line of restaurants in the breezeway you’d passed prior, and you had to stop him from ordering the seasonal special from mcdonald’s before turning to skytree.

“but you just ate!” you exclaimed as he stared longingly at the ice cream being advertised on a poster.

he pouted. “but i’m hungry…”

you took his hand (which momentarily shocked him) and guided him to the entrance. it was a bit crowded, but not overtly so. hawks was looking everywhere once you’d entered; darting from here to there, sometimes carrying small souvenirs or drinks when returning to you. you were out of energy by the time you’d reached floor 340, though hawks told you there were only 29 floors total and the name was referencing the height. it certainly didn’t feel like an exaggeration, your feet dragging on the ground as you stepped out of the oddly fast elevator.

you begged hawks to let you rest at the cafe you saw. the cafe felt like a little oasis of tranquility, uncrowded on contrary to the other floors. it was relaxing as you stared outside the window and up at the sky. it brought you to your parents words of stars and magic, though something as modern as the skytree must be strange to intermingle with magic. in the moment you were suspended; the still sky surrounding you and the ever-moving cars below. you swore you could just reach the clouds in front of you and float, so serenely in an eternal bubble of quietude to yourself. everything else was forgotten in that moment; things were the way they always were. it was always you, in the end.

after leaving the cafe, you watched people stand on glass flooring overlooking everything below. some jumped on the glass, while some frightenedly stuck a foot on the glass and jumped back.

“quite the view, huh?” hawks mumbled with a mouth stuffed full with chocolate cake. “i usually have to fly so far to get this view.”

you nodded. “it’s amazing...”

“so… where d’you wanna go after this?” he asked you.

“actually…” your thoughts went back to the stories your parents told you. “can we go up to floor 455?”

he showed a hint of surprise on his face. “really? i know we bought the tickets to do it, but if you’re tired, we can just go down.”

“no…” you cleared your throat. “it’s been something i really wanted to do.”

he took this answer and smiled, grasping your hand. “let’s walk into the sky!”

the train ride back did not go as smoothly as you hoped. the adrenaline of being 450 meters in the air had worn itself out, and the pitting realization that bakugou was no longer yours dawned on you. the sapphire sky in your fairy tale story seemed so far now, stars shattering and crumbling. you reached for a piece of a star, but each piece dissolved above your head, light that would never reach you.

“feather,” hawks said quietly. the intense look in his eyes looked like he was building up to something important.

“yeah?” you asked. you fixated on him.

“do you want… a badtz-maru eraser?”

you stared at the spiky-haired penguin in the palm of hawks’ hand.

“sure…?” you said. hawks happily plopped the eraser into your hand.

“feather,” he said again in the same tone. “you should visit bakugou, you know. tonight, to make things straight with him.”

that was what he was building up to. bakugou. you hadn’t dwelled much on the thought of the man; the skytree filling most of your thoughts for the day. but it was still light out.

“i know,” you replied softly, looking down at your fingers. these were the hands that held your heart as you gave it to bakugou, the hands that bakugou held tenderly for so many days and nights. they were the same hands that held your heart now, returned by bakugou shattered and clinking to the ground. the rest of the train ride was silent.

you could now hear your thoughts echoing around the train compartment, deflecting off walls and still making their way to your heart. you wondered what words were left unsaid by bakugou, painful truths untold hidden in the recesses of his heart. you wondered if he remembered how he’d first nervously asked you on a date in high school, words rough but fingers softly fidgeting with each other. it was in may, near the end of the day. he shoved a small box of chocolates towards you, muttering something about “weird hair” making him do it. he’d aggressively stuttered his way through a confession, barely making eye contact with you. the memory brought a fluttering to your heart, but with it came a sore pain for the first time. you wondered if he felt the same or if he was just numb, like how he now felt about you. what did it feel like to fall out of love?

you wondered if he remembered the many times he’d walked you home (only for your sake, of course, not anything else). you wondered if he remembered how fondly he looked at you then. his heart was on his sleeve during those times, the perpetual blush on his cheeks disclosing his very vulnerable feelings towards you.

even on the most draining of days, bakugou would always be there for you. even if his eyelids were closing upon their own accord and legs were sore from a day’s work, he made it a point to be there for you. while children might’ve had their security blankets, you had bakugou. your heart dropped realizing those days of coming home to bakugou were gone.

what had happened? now, you were alone on a train that felt so cold and without the love that had so warmed your heart. why had things ended up like this? why did you numb bakugou’s feelings so? the wave was slow at first, but once it had reached the shore, your tears fell hot and unyielding as you toppled off the edge of being okay.

hawks was by your side wordlessly, a wing around you and leaning you close to him. the feathers were soft. you cried unabashedly in his embrace, sniffling as he soothed you. you tried to say thank you, but all that came out was another sob.

your feet, on instinct, took you to bakugou's apartment without any problem. it could’ve been any other day; you, coming back to the apartment after running errands. it was your hand that hesitated as it hovered an inch away from the wood of the door, the only sign that something had changed. you liked to pretend it hadn’t. you wished that when you’d open the door, you’d hear a light chatter from the tv and a familiar voice saying, “welcome home, idiot.” you wished that the air that enveloped you as soon as you opened the door was that of liveliness and comfort, of warm orange and yellow hues. you wished that the atmosphere didn’t feel so dead, dull, and musty; you wish it hadn’t drowned in shades of blue and gray. you wished you didn’t have the key to the apartment still.

you wished that bakugou would say something, anything, rather than sit on the couch with his head bowed. you wished that you didn’t miss him so much and that you had him, all at the same time. you wished you turned back as soon as you heard the knob click and pushed open the door; you wished not to see all that you had in what was once your apartment.

you wished you didn’t revel in his presence next to you on the couch. you wished you didn’t almost lean into his touch because he was your home, and you wished your eyes didn’t well up the way they had. you wished to have sat in that silence for a while then up and gone; you wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“hey, idiot,” was a cracky and raspy thing coming out of his mouth, words familiar but so foreign at the same time.

“hey,” was what you whispered back, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“where’d you go?” but it wasn’t a question, just a fragile plea devoid of hope.

“skytree,” and you felt you’d break the mood.

“did you reach the top?” his response surprised and killed you at the same time.

“yeah,” you said quietly. “i did.”

“alone?”

“i could never alone.”

“who…?”

“met a pro-hero by chance.”

“your true hero, huh?” it was a bitter tone, venom biting you.

“no,” and your heart sunk because it was the truth.

he scoffed. getting up from the couch, he said, “you forgot something.”

your eyes followed him as he disappeared into your once shared room. he returned quite fast, as if you’d left it on the dresser, carrying a decorated shoebox. you’d almost forgotten about it entirely, eyes wide as nostalgia hit you.

it was a memory box you’d made the last year of high school. it was supposed to be for school memories, but it really just became a box of mementos of bakugou. you could barely see the contents inside, too busy trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. you thumbed through photos and polaroids of you and him, some with his friends and some with yours. oh, what you’d give to have those times back. though it was all blurred, you could feel the moments so vividly: feel the cool summer breeze and hear the sound of people conversing with each other at a festival; hear mina’s excited ramblings and bakugou’s grumbling at the supermarket; smell caramel and vanilla at a movie night, pressed against bakugou’s body warmth. you dropped the photos back into the box and picked up a scorched pencil. a pressed rose. a neatly folded sheet of notes you’d sent back and forth with bakugou during class.

and then it was all gone, shutting the box.

“keep it.” you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips, but you wouldn’t take them back. you handed him the box, staring at the floor and wiping your wet eyes. the memories were no longer yours to keep.

bakugou was silent, taking the box and leaving to his room to put it away.

“is that all?” you tried to make your voice sound strong, impatient. like you had better places to be without him. you hoped he couldn’t tell how it was more of a beg to stay.

“yeah.” cold. emotionless.

you stood for another second, looking around. everything seemed different, as if the glass which surrounded your universe had shattered. “bye, katsuki.”

“bye.”

your footsteps were light, but each step felt weighed by metal weights. you wished he stopped you from leaving. you wished you looked back at him. you wished you weren’t crying.

you shut the door quietly, weakly, behind you. it all came out in the hallway, tears and desperate sobs. you prayed he couldn’t hear you; but you knew, even if he did, he wouldn’t care anymore. he was numbed, no longer the firework you’d known.

“hawks,” it came as a quiet plea as you felt for your phone and dialed his number. he gave it to you right before you walked into bakugou’s apartment.

“please pick up, please pick up,” you muttered, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they came.

“hey, birdie? are you okay?”

“hawks,” you sobbed. “hawks, no, i’m not.”

“hey, are you still at the apartment building? i’ll be right there, chickadee, alright?”

you nodded, sniffed, then said meekly, “yeah.”

“stay on the line. talk to me, birdie.” his voice was soothing.

“hawks, it hurts, everything.” you felt as though you were pouring out your heart, spilling scarlet on the carpet. “hawks.” tears dropped onto the carpet. “hawks.” your knees almost gave in.

“what floor are you on, dove?”

“third,” you hiccupped.

“i’m right there, feather.” you saw hawks emerge from the stairwell. his hair looked windblown. he looked relieved to see you at first, then his face fell to that of sympathy. “oh, birdie,” he said softly, running up to you. “i’m here now.’

you weren’t aware bakugou was listening to you cry on the other side of the door as you sobbed into someone else’s shoulder, not his. with dark eyes and trembling hands he couldn’t calm, he dialed a number on his phone.

“well, tomura? i did it.”

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #hawks fluff #bnha fluff #hawks imagines #hawks scenarios #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami imagines #keigo takami scenarios #katsuki bakugou #keigo takami #luna's writing

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 3 years

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Cuddling with Sal that turns from her kissing your neck to biting all over you until you beg for her touch. Please.

I.... had wayyyy too much fun writing this one, dear 😏 So, thank you 😊 It was truly honor to not only get the okay, but the approval of the incredibly talented @classyfruit to write for this soft, snarky, and insanely gorgeous creature! I can only hope that I did her justice! ♥️ So, without further ado, my dears.. I give you my first genderbent Sal fic! (at just about 3300 words - this deserves a cut!)

****

It was in the murky undertow. In the infinite darkness that filled the waters on the humble outskirts of the village. An absolute starless night enveloping you as you made your way to the water’s edge, keeping your eyes keenly focused. It had been months since you’d seen her last. Since her sea-kissed skin last touched your own. You had ignored all the rumors and hateful words that danced across the stale air of the village. It was no secret that the Lords instilled a great fear in the sheltered minds of the townspeople, but you had learned a long time ago that most of those people didn’t know what they were talking about anyways.

“Fuck, Sal.. Come on. Where are you?”

You were about to turn around, admit defeat and start the long trek back to the village when it hit. The unmistakable mix of fresh rain and cinnamon. It wafted over you warmly like an old friend, forcing your eyes to focus even harder. Smiling as you caught the sharp gleam of her teeth in the moonlight. A supremely smug smirk across her lips as the length of her rose from the dark water.

“‘Ey there, love. Lookin’ for me?”

“No, I’m looking for the other gorgeous sea creature that resides in these waters.” You replied, smirking as you rolled your eyes.

“That right?” Her sharp teeth elongating in the moonlight as her smile grew even wider. “What? One gorgeous sea creature ain’t enough fer yeh?”

“Cute, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

You heard the soft whisper of a chuckle skip across the cool night air as Sal began to close the distance between you. The exposed parts of her skin shimmering as her body seemed to glide seamlessly towards the water’s edge. One who didn’t know any better, would think she controlled the tides, that they bent to her every will. But you knew how strong the tentacles that propelled her towards you were, and you knew it well - so well, in fact, that the thought alone brought a swift blush to your cheeks.

“Blushin’ already, love?”

She gave you a full toothed smile, wrapping you in a warm embrace before her feet even had a chance to meet the wet earth. Her strong pheromones, supremely intoxicating as they rolled over you.

“Shush.”

Her breath was cool against your skin as she chuckled.

“Nah.”

“Heh.. little ol’ me?”

Burying your face into her shoulder, you allowed yourself a moment to linger in her scent - to relish in her very being. She was comfortable in a way that no other person had ever been - she felt like home and adventure, all wrapped up into one delicious package,

“Fuck.. I missed you, Sal.” You murmured into her, pulling a low chuckle from her throat.

She ran the tips of her nails softly through your hair, pulling you closer.

“Yes, Sal. Little ol’ wonderful you.”

You leaned up, to place a soft kiss directly under her chin, forcing a prompt shiver to shoot across her body. The pale moonlight above you, just luminous enough to allow the pink hue that splashed across Sal’s cheeks to shine brilliantly. It was a sight that you would never grow tired of - one that you would always strive for. You could make Sal Moreau blush a million times over, and forever be one short.

“Aye, flatterer.”

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true, Sal.”

“Mh.. ‘spose not.”

She chuckled again, her breath warm against your neck - causing you to shudder against her. Not even aware of the cold setting into your bones as a dense fog rolled in. Sal’s presence never failing to envelope you completely. You shuddered again, this time involuntary, compelling her to wrap her arms around you even tighter.

“Cuppa tea, love? Warm yeh up a bit?”

“Mmh.. you read my mind.”

She rubbed her hands affectionately down your arms, attempting to warm you before taking your hand in hers. Leading you both away from the water’s edge and closer inland towards her humble home - a subtle swirl of smoke from the fireplace told you that she had likely recently baked something. A splattering of flat rocks in the foreground that were perfect for stargazing - or so Sal had assured you many times. And you couldn’t help but smirk when you passed them by.

“Too bad there’s no stars out tonight.”

“Mh.. ’cept fer the ones in yer eyes, o’ course.”

You blushed as she looked over her shoulder at you, deep crimson across your cheeks.

“Smooth, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

She chuckled again, opening the small wooden door as she led you into the small home. The comfortable scent of fresh baked goods and Sal swiftly enveloping you as you stepped inside. Warm undertones of chocolate still lingering in the air as you made your way into the kitchen. There wasn’t a single thing about Sal’s home that didn’t give you comfort - that didn’t make you feel inherently safe. Every part of it overflowing with her essence. It was warm, and inviting, and every bit of who Sal was. You wondered how anyone who’d met her could ever call her a monster.

“Hava seat on the sofa, sweetheart. I’ll put the kettle on.”

You watched how Sal’s body moved fluidly throughout the small room. How her muscles flexed with each subtle movement that she made. She dropped her coat from her bare skin effortlessly, allowing the landscape of it to be truly appreciated. A small smirk to her lips as she caught your eyes on her, fully aware of the effect she was having on you. There wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t toned, that didn’t look absolutely delicious in the low lighting of the room. The warm hue from the fireplace dancing exquisitely across each and every exposed inch of her, like rogue embers upon a driftless sea.

“Heh… see sumthin’ yeh like, love?”

“Perhaps,” You replied, blushing slightly as you bit your bottom lip.

She chuckled softly as she took down a small box from her pantry, placing it next to the two cups on the table.

“New kind of tea? I haven’t tried that one before;.”

“Aye, not so much new. Jus’ special..” She paused, giving you a wink. “.. like you.”

You averted your eyes for a moment, blushing as Sal chuckled - never failing to disarm you.

“Always the charmer, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

She laughed as she shook her head, swirls of steam encasing her face as she filled both mugs to the rim. An earthy but delicious scent immediately rolling over you. The name on the box was unfamiliar - and honestly, seemed a little fancier than Sal’s normal tastes, which only left you wondering.

“So.. do tell, Sal… what makes this tea so special?”

“Yeh mean other than the fact that I’m drinkin’ it with you?” A keen smirk across her face as she stirred what looked like honey into each cup. She was on her game that night, and she knew it. You bit your bottom lip, clearing your throat before replying.

“Ahem… yes, other than that.”

“Heh.. jus’ so happens to be my favorite kind.. but it’s only found in a small shop o’ the other side of the village. So Donna brings me a box whenever she visits.”

You felt a sharp pang in your heart as your eyes fell to the almost empty box on the table - immediately wondering how long ago that had been.

“Oh.. does she not visit you very often, then?”

“Ey?”

Sal looked confused as she caught the melancholic look upon your face, a large and husky laugh ripping from her body as her eyes followed your gaze.

“Aye, no.. she visits me once a week, hon.. I just really like tea.”

She laughed again, filling the small home with so much warmth that it was all you could do to chuckle along with her. A bright gleam to her eyes as she gave you a fond smile.

“Yer cute, love.”

“Hush, Sal.” You blushed.

“Nah… yeh’d think after so many months, youd’ve gotten used to me by now.”

You slowly stood from the sofa, meeting Sal as she came over to the quaint living area. A teasing grin across her lips as she stopped in front of you - raising an eyebrow as you smirked.

“Oh? So you think it’d only take a few months for someone to be used to an incredible, warm, charming, sweet, funny, smooth, insanely attractive goddess, such as yourself?”

You smirked proudly as you watched the fierce blush spill swiftly over her cheeks, a slight bite to her bottom lip as she did her best not to drop the two mugs in her hands.

“Aye… now who’s the charmer?”

“You deserve nothing less, Sal Moreau.”

Sal moved suddenly and without much warning. Placing the two cups on the coffee table before effortlessly pulling you both down onto the sofa. Her strong arms wrapped firmly around you as you settled onto her lap.

“Fancy a cuddle?” She asked with a wide grin, forcing you to laugh.

“You’re cute, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

You laughed again before snuggling into her, the gentle feeling of her fingers in your hair as nestled into the crook of her neck - humming with content as she placed a small kiss to your forehead. You wondered how many had been in your spot before, how many had been lucky enough to bask in the warm affections of this gorgeous sea creature - and if any of them had appreciated it as much as you did.

“Sal?” You asked softly, the tips of your fingers tracing gently over the muscles of her forearm.

“Mh?”

“Have... you ever been in love?”

You almost expected the question to catch her off guard, perhaps cause her to pull back a bit - but she only tightened her hold on you even further.

“Aye.. a few times, yah.”

“And?”

“Eh.. with some, time jus’ gottaway from us.. others jus’ lost interest.”

“Ah... And the rest of the Lords?”

She placed a small kiss to the top of your head before answering.

“Heh.. Alcina has had several who’ve caught her eye.. Her current handservant and companion bein’ my favorite, tho. And Donna… why she could ‘ave any maid or maiden she wanted, tho she’ll never see it.”

“And Heisenberg?”

A deep and boisterous laugh rose from Sal’s body, the rich tones of it dancing melodically throughout the air as she almost doubled over into you.

“Karl loves himself enuf on his own, love.” She replied, continuing to laugh.

You chuckled softly before placing a small kiss at the base of her neck, a slight hitch to her breath as your lips placed another. Her indulgent pheromones sweeping over you with each deep breath that she took. They were sea-kissed and spiced and everything that reminded you of Sal. You placed another kiss against her bare skin before snuggling back in.

‘Hey Sal?”

“Mh?”

“Those others that lost interest.. they were fools, you know?”

“That so?”

You could feel the low chuckle that radiated throughout her throat.

“Mhm.” You replied as you began to reposition yourself, eventually straddling her thigh. A light pink hue already splattering itself across her cheeks as you settled in. The feeling of her incredible body pressed firmly against yours swiftly igniting a fire deep within your core. “You’re fucking perfect, Sal.”

You felt her flinch slightly beneath you, her hands moving quickly to rest on your hips as you moved in a little closer.

“And so gorgeous.. and kind.”

A slight whimper upon her lips - a deep crimson on her cheeks - the exposed skin of her chest growing steadily more flushed as you leaned in further, wrapping your arms around Sal’s neck.

“So sexy.. and wonderful.”

The stunning blush that spilled so beautifully across the murky undertones of her skin, the slight bite to her lip. There was nothing that could rile you up faster - nothing that could make you wetter. - than the absolute fluster of Sal Moreau.

A deep hitch within her throat, a breathy whisper across her ear.

“And so delicious.”

You felt several parts of her move at once. Her arms wrapped securely around your waist - pulling you closer. Her thigh pressed firmly against your core - forcing a lightning bolt of pleasure straight across your body. The sharpness of her teeth - nipping at your supple flesh - ripping a prompt whimper from your lips.

“Speak fer yerself, love.” She replied, allowing the length of her tongue to lick over your freshly bitten skin.

“Mmph.. fuck, Sal.”

She nipped at you again, this time sucking over it. The soft rhythm of her thigh against you, making you all too grateful for the thin fabric of your stockings. Warm juices quickly gathering in your core as your wetness for her grew with each slow rock of your hips.

“I was trying to fluster you here, babe.”

“Heh… how’s that going fer yeh, sweetheart?”

She pressed her thigh into you even further, compelling a deep moan from your body. Another indulgent bite to your neck - the heated sting of it swiftly spilling over you.

“Ah-! It was going good for a minute there.”

“Mh.. it was.”

The exquisite shiver that ran across your body as she placed a kiss to the soft curve of your collar bone. Fingers wrapped firmly in her hair as you eagerly pulled her closer - a desperate and silent plea for more.

“Don’ wanna leave too many marks on yeh, love. What’ll the villagers think?”

“Fuck the villagers.”

“Nah.. rather fuck you.”

She chuckled as her thigh pressed firmly into your core, moaning slightly as she felt the heartbeat of it against her. Your warm juices dripping down - seeping into the soft scales of her skin. An immediate and absolutely desperate moan forcing past your lips as you ground your hips down into her. Her warm breath against the flushed skin of your neck as she tangled her fingers deep into your hair, tugging on it as she gently pulled it back. A trail of heated kisses up the length of your neck, nipping at your jawline before her lips crashed into your own.

You whimpered as you melted into her - into nothing more than the feeling of her - the utter and all encompassing sensation of her tongue dancing exquisitely with yours. And oh, how the world spun - how it rotated intoxicatingly around you - lifting you onto one axis with only Sal to hold you up. It was almost more than you could handle. With your core deliciously grinding against her. A deep heat building steadily within you as your hips slowly quickened their pace.

“I want to touch you, Sal.. I need to-!”

She moaned deeply as her mouth eagerly met with yours again, pulling you back in. A swift movement of her hand, taking your own as she brought it down exactly to where you both wanted it most. Moaning in return at the feeling of just how utterly wet she was - at just how badly she desired you. Juices immediately coating your fingers as you slid them over her clit, teasing her entrance before sliding three in. An exquisite hitch to Sal’s breath as you curled them deep inside of her.

“Mmh.. Fuck, love..”

She lifted her thigh up a little more, resting her food on the coffee table. Her hands firmly on your hips as she perfectly matched their pace to the steady rhythm of your fingers. A deep heat spilling over you - a desperate need for more. Rolling your hips down onto her as your wet folds slid deliciously around the defined muscles of her thigh. Every inch of her taut - firm beneath you as she pulled you closer still. Her hands moving - roaming over your body as if it were a handwritten map of the stars. The tips of her fingernails grazing over the soft skin of your ribcage.. ghosting over your nipples and down your sides. Crying out for her as the sharpness of them found your back, slightly digging in as you increased the speed of your fingers.

“Mh.. you feel so good, love.”

“You are so good, Sal.”

Her hips jerked, whimpering at your praise. A shot of pleasure shooting straight through you as your bodies connected - as they desperately crashed into each other - clawing at the other’s flesh like it was all that you had. Like you may lose each other at any moment.

“And so sweet.”

You placed the softest kiss to her lips, thrusting your fingers deep inside of her. Your own pleasure building with each masterful swirl of your hips - the firmness of Sal’s thigh delicious against your core - juices soaking straight through your stockings, dripping down the sides of it.

“Fuck, love.. I’m..”

The great Sal Moreau, the smoothest creature in existence - not even able to finish a sentence - to mutter a quip. Completely and utterly flustered beneath you. Her normally strong breath hitched, her cheeks a deeper crimson than you’d ever seen before. Slitted embers as her eyes grew increasingly half lidded. You had never seen her look more beautiful - and you felt bad for anyone who wasn’t there to witness it.

“You’re what, Sal? Hm? Stunning? Amazing? Perfect?”

You punctuated each praise with an indulgent thrust of your fingers. Her nails in your back, muffled moans against your skin as she sunk her teeth back into your soft flesh. An unrelenting heat sweeping over you with each delicious sting that marked it’s way across your body. Her hands back on your hips as she sped up their pace to match your own. Fingers strong , merciless inside her - forcing the sweetest juices to gush from her core. Body flushed, writhing against her as you moved as one.

“Come with me, love.”

The words lept from her tongue like a prayer - like an order that had been rolled up in nothing more than a desperate plea.

“Mmph-! Fuck, Sal.”

The heat between you was electric - charged in a way that you had never felt before. Beads of sweat dripping deliciously from your bodies as your pleasures continued to build.. as your fingers curled.. as she took your hips into her hands and forced your aching core down against her. Compelling a cry to rip itself from your lungs. Bodies jerking as a hot white pleasure spilt relentlessly over the both of you. Breathless, shuddering into each other as a tidal wave of it crashed over you… as utter bliss seeped into every cell that you had to offer… as you screamed her name out into the starless night - willing her to scream out yours in turn. Juices gushing - slicking over thighs, and dripping down fingers. And you held each other closely, riding out the infinite stars behind your eyes until neither could move.. until your hearts were beating as one. Your forehead resting gently against hers as you placed soft kisses to her dew stricken skin.

‘Fuck, Sal.. I missed this. I missed you.”

“Heh.. jus’ havta come back sooner next time, yah?”

“Touche’.” You chuckled, placing a sweet kiss to her lips. Her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breath. “So does that mean you won’t mind if I spend the night?”

“Bold o’ you to assume I planned on lettin’ go anytime soon, love.”

As though to prove a point, she wrapped her arms securely around you. The strength of her embrace holding you close as you settled back onto her lap, snuggling into her. The nightly sounds of the reservoir soothing as they swam throughout the late night air - calming as they softly drifted over you. Allowing the two of you to linger in the solace of the moment - in the feeling of nothing but each other - before Sal safely carried your slumbered body to the bed.

#depravity answered #resident evil village #resident evil #re8 village #genderbent sal #genderbend #sally moreau #inspired by classyfruit art #classyfruit art #resident evil au #re8 au #resident evil fanfic #re8 fanfiction #sal is hot #i hope you like it!

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duckiereads · 3 years

Text

#Miraculous May Round Up Week 1

I saw that @booksandrandomfandoms was hosting a Miraculous May Book Photo Challenge and I thought this would be a really easy way for me to do my weekly posts while I have some personal stuff on top of my thesis. I'm doing weekly round-ups of photos because I can't be trusted to do daily anything. :')

Summaries for Single Books are from Publisher/Author sites. I didn't include summaries for the group photos to keep the post from getting longer than it already was.

If any of these interest you and if you are able, please support your favorite independent bookstores when purchasing these and other books!

05/01: SPOTS ON! - TBR

Books Pictured (From Left to Right):

Comics and Sequential Art - Will Eisner

Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo

Chasing Shadows - Swati Avasthi

On Beauty - Zadie Smith

The Starless Sea - Erin Morgenstern

The Black Veins - Ashia Monet

Mooncakes - Wendy Xu and Suzanne Walker

The Good Luck Girls - Charlotte Nicole Davis

Drawing Words and Writing Pictures by

Odd One Out - Nic Stone

On Bottom Shelf:

Isiah Dunn is My Hero - Kelly Baptist

His Hideous Heart - Edited: Dahlia Adler

05/02: Tikki - Bug on the Cover

The Virtue of Sin by Shannon Schuren

Note: the current paperback edition does NOT use this cover

Miriam lives in New Jerusalem, a haven in the desert far away from the sins and depravity of the outside world. Within the gates of New Jerusalem, and under the eye of its founder and leader, Daniel, Miriam knows she is safe. Cared for. Even if she’s forced, as a girl, to quiet her tongue when she has thoughts she wants to share, Miriam knows that New Jerusalem is a far better life than any alternative. So when God calls for a Matrimony, she’s thrilled; she knows that Caleb, the boy she loves, will choose her to be his wife and they can finally start their life together. But when the ceremony goes wrong and Miriam winds up with someone else, she can no longer keep quiet. For the first time, Miriam begins to question not only the rules that Daniel has set in place, but also what it is she believes in, and where she truly belongs. Alongside unexpected allies, Miriam fights to learn–and challenge–the truth behind the only way of life she’s ever known, even if it means straying from the path of Righteousness.

05/04: Plagg - Sly Characters

Dangerous Girls by Abigail Haas

Friends for life. Or death. Spring break. Aruba. Swimming, sunshine, and golden beaches. It was supposed to be the best time of Anna’s life. Paradise. But then the unthinkable happens. Anna’s best friend is found brutally murdered. And when the local police begin to investigate the gruesome crime, suspicion falls on one person—Anna. They think she’s dangerous, and they’re determined to prove her guilt. With the police and media sparking a witch-hunt against her, Anna is running out of time to prove her innocence. But as she digs deeper into her friend’s final moments, she finds a tangled web of secrets, lies and betrayal. Will she clear her name in time?

Note: This book is now published as "I'll Never Tell."

05/04: Sass - Do Over

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver

Samantha Kingston has it all: the world's most crush-worthy boyfriend, three amazing best friends, and first pick of everything at Thomas Jefferson High—from the best table in the cafeteria to the choicest parking spot. Friday, February 12, should be just another day in her charmed life. Instead, it turns out to be her last. Then she gets a second chance. Seven chances, in fact. Reliving her last day during one miraculous week, she will untangle the mystery surrounding her death—and discover the true value of everything she is in danger of losing.

Note: When I got this book signed, Lauren Oliver looked at me and asked: Have you read this book? And I told her yes. She let out a relieved sigh. "Okay," she said, "cause if you hadn't, I usually give a warning that Sam starts out as a major bitch and sometimes people don't like her because of that and I wanted to make sure you were prepared." Reader, this is your warning. :'D

05/05: Daizzi - Pink Books

Books Pictured (From Top to Bottom):

The Princess Diaries - Meg Cabot

The Merciless - Danielle Vega

Queens of Geek - Jenn Wilde

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

Everything Leads to You - Nina LaCour

Pride - Ibi Zoboi

Only to Good Spy Young - Ally Carter

I'm Not Your Manic Pixie Dream Girl - Gretchen McNeil

05/06: Trixx - Shape Shifters

Red Hood - Elana K Arnold

You are alone in the woods, seen only by the unblinking yellow moon. Your hands are empty. You are nearly naked. And the wolf is angry. Since her grandmother became her caretaker when she was four years old, Bisou Martel has lived a quiet life in a little house in Seattle. She’s kept mostly to herself. She’s been good. But then comes the night of homecoming, when she finds herself running for her life over roots and between trees, a fury of claws and teeth behind her. A wolf attacks. Bisou fights back. A new moon rises. And with it, questions. About the blood in Bisou’s past and on her hands as she stumbles home. About broken boys and vicious wolves. About girls lost in the woods—frightened, but not alone.

05/07: Akuma - Plot Twist

Plot twist or expert reveal, I don't care. My jaw was on the ground when I finished this one.

Warcross - Marie Lu

For the millions who log in every day, Warcross isn’t just a game—it’s a way of life. The obsession started ten years ago and its fan base now spans the globe, some eager to escape from reality and others hoping to make a profit. Struggling to make ends meet, teenage hacker Emika Chen works as a bounty hunter, tracking down Warcross players who bet on the game illegally. But the bounty-hunting world is a competitive one, and survival has not been easy. To make some quick cash, Emika takes a risk and hacks into the opening game of the international Warcross Championships—only to accidentally glitch herself into the action and become an overnight sensation. Convinced she’s going to be arrested, Emika is shocked when instead she gets a call from the game’s creator, the elusive young billionaire Hideo Tanaka, with an irresistible offer. He needs a spy on the inside of this year’s tournament in order to uncover a security problem . . . and he wants Emika for the job. With no time to lose, Emika’s whisked off to Tokyo and thrust into a world of fame and fortune that she’s only dreamed of. But soon her investigation uncovers a sinister plot, with major consequences for the entire Warcross empire.

05/08: Fluff - Time Travel

The Girl from Everywhere - Heidi Heilig

Nix’s life began in Honolulu in 1868. Since then she has traveled to mythic Scandinavia, a land from the tales of One Thousand and One Nights, modern-day New York City, and many more places both real and imagined. As long as he has a map, Nix’s father can sail his ship, The Temptation, to any place, any time. But now he’s uncovered the one map he’s always sought—1868 Honolulu, before Nix’s mother died in childbirth. Nix’s life—her entire existence—is at stake. No one knows what will happen if her father changes the past. It could erase Nix’s future, her dreams, her adventures . . . her connection with the charming Persian thief, Kash, who’s been part of their crew for two years. If Nix helps her father reunite with the love of his life, it will cost her her own.

05/09: Xuppu - Yellow Books

Books Listed from (Top to Bottom)

Mirage - Somaiya Daud

Permanent Record - Mary H.K. Choi

The Deadly Sister - Eliot Schrefer

Star Wars: Queen's Shadow - E. K. Johnston

05/10: Pollen - Books and Nature

The Tea Dragon Society - Katie O'Neill

From K. O'Neill, the award-winning author of Princess Princess Ever After comes THE TEA DRAGON SOCIETY, the beloved and charming all-ages book that follows the story of Greta, a blacksmith apprentice, and the people she meets as she becomes entwined in the enchanting world of tea dragons. After discovering a lost tea dragon in the marketplace, Greta learns about the dying art form of tea dragon care-taking from the kind tea shop owners, Hesekiel and Erik. As she befriends them and their shy ward, Minette, Greta sees how the craft enriches their lives—and eventually her own.

And that's a wrap on this week's post! I forgot how fun it was to take book photos! I may even go put these on instagram! <3

#miraculous may bpc #miraculous may #booklr #book recs #book photo challenge #book photography #bookworm #bookblr #jane austen #lauren oliver #katie o'neill #ek johnston #miraculous ladybug #meg cabot #marie lu #leigh bardugo #erin morgenstern

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goldafterglow · 3 years

Text

the glimmer of my eye

Summary: Din Djarin, a brothel worker in a small cottage town, services a client he is extremely familiar with.

Pairing: farmer!Daddy!Jack Daniels x brothel worker!little!Din Djarin

Word Count: a little baby 1.5k+

Warnings: 18+/NC-17 ONLY, lmafdsgfjdkhgs yikes this is short little whirlwind, mlm, i will repeat this is a Man loving a Man a lot, anal, Dd/lb, barns, sex work

A/N: y’all fucking asked remember that shit Y’ALL FUCKING ASKED (also the best way to picture this au is like the cottagecore! au, except the cottage is a brothel, but if you’re not familiar then this should still be enjoyable I hope!)

Gif Credit: my love and angel @mrpascals

“Could…I see?”

His eyes swirl with tree rings, dark and charred as though he’s walked through fires just to reach this bed, reach him. The farmer smiles shyly, a bashfulness he isn’t familiar with that stings his cheek when he curls his now-swollen lip. He looks down to where the boy’s cheek is pressed to his chest, warmth he’s felt before and yet somehow never known until this moment.

“The barn?” he asks, voice soft but still in disbelief. That hadn’t been his intention when he’d started rattling off about it. It was a boring space, more of a hayloft considering how empty it was compared to the animal barn. There wasn’t much in it but hay, seed, and open space. So much space.

“Big windows,” he explains meekly, and Jack could swear his eyes are starting to shiver the way they do when he wants something, the way they do when he’s about to beg. His right hand glides up the side of the boy’s body from his hip to his jaw, the cracks of his dry thumb scratching against his stubble.

“My boy, I just don’t wanna get your hopes all up in a twist,” Jack insists. But then he looks down again and Din is batting his eyes, lashes thick and curling to the tip as they flit in the softened clementine glow of the bedside lamp. He jokes that for as much money he spends just to be with his sweet boy, he always seems to be the one getting what he wants. But he knows that’s what he’s buying, just a chance to give, a chance to make Din smile and need him as deeply as he needs Din. And it’s always been worth it.

“Alright, alright,” Jack concedes. The bright smile that spreads across his kiss-swollen lips is blinding but priceless, something Jack couldn’t fish out the cash for if he wanted to. “I’ll bring you next morning, how’s that sound?”

“Anything, Daddy,” he begs.

“I’ll show ya, baby,” he assures, leaning down until he feels the gentle knock of his worn forehead. His nose falls right into the crook of his face, a dark haven where he can feel the tips of lashes brush against his cheek. “When the sun shines right through them big windows. They wouldn’t mind if I stole ya for a morning, would they? They know I’m just over yonder, I’ll getcha back in a tick.”

Din smiles at the thought of you.

He can already hear the hefty argument - “Sweet boy, the whole morning? You’d better treat him right; that poor man adores you like no one else. You should’ve seen his big puppy eyes when he saw you that first time in the market, oh I knew he’d like you from the moment I met him. Why don’t you take a few blankets? It gets cold around this time of year and I don’t want you shivering back home to me.” There isn’t a thing you love more than when people love on your loves.

“They won’t mind,” Din whispers, the bubbled edges of a giggle tracing his words.

“I’ll make it so special for you,” Jack says enthusiastically, his mind racing as tides sweep through his mind and begin to pool. “I could feed you breakfast fresh from the farm, there ain’t nothing like them eggs still warm from the hen house. I still have some of them orange squashes, I remember you folk would just about buy me out every week. Do you still like them? I got another-”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Din interrupts.

The tide falls.

His chin juts up gently, mouth capturing his in the sweetness of berries that squirt syrup in his mouth and the lace of cotton sugar that sew between their lips, binding them. Suddenly the lamp light becomes fuzzy, the sheets feeling blurry, and through his closed eyes he can see nothing else but a boy with a throbbing heart, aching for his attention and coated in rose petal embers. He does not pull away, his mouth pressed to his in a way that feels so haphazard and mindless that he basks in it.

“I’d do anything for you.”

—

The golden boy.

He is adored; adorable. And he must know it when he looks up at the farmer with his big brown eyes, must know it when he runs his tender, calloused fingers through his soft tufts of chestnut hair like cupping clouds of fizzing sea foam. His voice drips like molasses when he speaks; Din loves it that way. Slow, smooth, pulling away in thin cords that hold everything together in tight, sturdy ribbons.

Sweet.

The boy loves hearing him talk, more than most. The farmer hadn’t believed it at first, wasn’t used to the special attention. But the first time he ever asked, said, “Will you tell me to?” all shy, Jack had seen the stars sparkle in his eyes like splintered flecks of golden flames spraying from lightning.

Still, as he runs his hand up his back and presses the tip of his cock into him, he wonders if that’s when he’d gone sweet on him.

“Feel alright, baby?” he grunts, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the column of his spine. Din has little willpower like this, cock strained from all the grinding he’d been put through on the rough denim of his Farmer’s jeans, and he gasps when Jack presses a little further.

“D-daddy,” he whines as he feels himself begin to stretch even more, feels something thick and heavy fill him up just how he likes.

“You’re doin’ so good for me, baby,” Farmer Daniel coos, sinking the thickness of him into the warmth of his body. “Take me all the way baby, I know you can. Just like that sweet boy.”

He is drowned out by whimpers and the light creaking of wood from Din’s strong fingers gripping the edge of the smooth wooden support beam where Jack had him bent over. Jack always fills him good, he thinks. Daddy always makes me feel good.

“Good boy,” Jack purrs as his hips press into the plush of Din’s ass, balls deep. He’s stretched out plenty, been stretched out so many times before, but he could swear he feels tighter this morning. Something holding him, clamping down like soft feather talons to keep him here if he has to claw at him with his last fleeting breath.

But his golden boy doesn’t need all of that, not when Farmer Daniel’s had been so taken by him from the moment he’d laid eyes on him.

The window in the barn faces the East, to the right of the world, his world. The sunlight only just creeps through, sweet slivers like bronze streamers tossed across the open space, across the caramel oak and right onto his back. Jack runs a hand up into his hair, palming his scalp as the tip of his cock presses deeper into him.

And then he looks back.

His breath catches in his throat when they lock eyes, deep pools of roasted honey that spill down his tongue and coat his throat. He looks sculpted, impossible, and the farmer’s face melts down into a vast blankness like the space between stars.

“Fuck me Daddy.”

Jack quirks a smile, leaning down and over him to press his face into his. He sometimes wonders if there was any sweetness before him, has tried to remember the eons he spent smiling at regulars at the market and making a place for himself, imprinting his face into the town. He wasn’t unhappy then, not by any means, but that only makes him confused as to what more his crashing star could’ve given him.

Bliss.

“What’s that, boy?” Jack grunts, pulling out a little only to press back in, grinding the tip of his cock until Din is on the verge of tears.

“Oh stars - please don’t tease me,” he cries as another thick bead of precum spills down the slick underside of his cock. There is a low hum, a blinding tug on his hair, and then Jack is snapping his hips into the plush of Din’s ass.

“Like this boy?” he spits as he pulls sob after sob out of him, “Yes Daddy, please Daddy, faster Daddy faster.”

“Daddy loves the way you sound when you’re full of his cock. I love the way you squeeze me boy, such a desperate little slut for Daddy.” Jack’s grin has been sent tumbling down the hill, lost in the awed parting of his lips as he drills into him over and over. He knows how rough the boy likes it now, knows that there isn’t much he won’t take to make him happy. Fuck how he loves making him happy. It shocks him how delicate he once thought he was as he stands here now, tugging his hair and pounding into him as hard as he can give it.

“Right there Daddy, fuck me right there,” he hears. Jack knows he won’t last like this, but Christ if this boy isn’t worth every second, every penny in his pocket.

“I’ve got you baby,” he assures softly, the gentle twist of his voice soothing as he fucks him merciless. “Daddy’s always got you.”

Tags: @cobbvader @miraclemoreno @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @dindjarindiaries @antmnwasp @teaofpeach @nopeforyou @frankiemorales @stanfordscrush @thatreclusewriter @thirstworldproblemss @buckstaposition @wickedfrsgrl @eternallyvenus @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @the-wishmonger @fangirlingss @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @iamburdened @frannyzooey @djxrxn @jangofctts @wanderlustmags @mstgsmy @readsalot73 @xakilicious @thewayofthemandalorian @oloreaa @starless-eyes-remain @mrpascals @xjustmenobodyelse @beskar-tano @thepjofanqueen @vulpineblue @sdrecsfics @sin-djarin @filthybookworm @kiwi-the-first @pettyprocrastination

#jack daniels x din djarin #HAHAHAHAH NOT ME FUCKING TAGGING THIS LIKE ANYONE EVER SEARCHED THAT IN THEIR LIFEEEEE #agent whiskey x din djarin #agent whisket smut #din djarin smut #agent whiskey fluff #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian x reader #i suppose there is a little bit of that in there!!!#kingsman: the golden circle #the mandalorian #HERE #TAKE IT #I DID IT FOR Y O U MOM #iris writes #this is more of a drabble but she is cute and quick

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maramahan · 2 years

Note

you can't just leave Cthulhu at Olive Garden on my post and not explain

Okay so, uh, I took a creating writing class a while back, and I’m an utterly fantastic student who does NOT leave everything to the last possible moment and DIDN’T find out about a huge extra credit opportunity at 3am literally the night before the final portfolio was due. Nope. Not at all.

Anyway, I had to dig a bit to track down the old draft, but here we go- This got submitted along with my final:

———

Prompt: My first date with a nonhuman went as well as can be expected.

My first date with a nonhuman went as well as can be expected. I blame my uncle for this: he set up the whole thing, and I should have known better than to trust him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said to me. “Just go out to dinner this one time, do your thing, and then afterward we’ll call it square. One dinner, then you can go home to whatever couch you’re crashing on and return to… whatever it is you do. Come on, kid, this is important! Anyway you owe me a favor. Who knows? You might even have a good time.”

“What?” I replied, “You gotta be kidding me! You’ve got it backwards if you think I’m the one with the debt here, Uncle K. Especially after you went and—”

“Nope! No time to chat, you have a date to meet! I’ll drop you off; there’s a lot riding on this.”

I asked him what he meant, but he dodged the question. I suppose I should have taken that as a sign to run screaming, but I’ve always been far too curious for my own good, so I let him lead me along.

Which is how I ended up sitting at an Olive Garden booth across from Cthulhu. You wouldn’t think a gigantic eldritch abomination of endless strength and unknowable malevolence would fit into an Olive Garden booth, but somehow he managed. His vast and pointed wings were a little squished — they brushed the ceiling and left long gashes in the neat woodwork — but he didn’t seem to mind. He rested his tentacled chin on a many-clawed hand, leaned his elbow on the table, and made a terrible noise: a sound of starless void and endless deathlike sleep, of crushing depths, of screaming madness that turned my blood to ice and left my bones cold — and in that noise, I heard the words, “So. It’s good to meet you…?” Cthulhu trailed off, leaving a space for my name.

I flashed a smile in reply. “Robin. And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” I knew the answer, of course, but it seemed polite to ask anyway.

Cthulhu’s laugh echoed in my skull like boulders crashing and scraping down the universe’s biggest chalkboard. He said, “I am Cthulhu, and long have I slept beneath the sea in my house at R’lyeh. Long have I dreamt of the world above the waves, tiny and insignificant though it is — and long have I wondered at your kind’s ephemeral existence; how you scrabble in the dust of ages, squeaking vain defiance even as you inevitably succumb to eternity.” He laughed again and added, “Tell, me, Robin, what is it you do with your fleeting instant of life? How do you pass your waning days?”

I helped myself to a breadstick and shrugged. “I keep busy. You know: a bit of this, a bit of that. I make things, sometimes. Music, art… whatever seems fun, I guess. Mostly I try to make people smile. How about you?” I proffered the basket of bread, adding, “Want one?”

Cthulhu leaned forward. His face-tentacles delicately plucked the bread from my hand and ferried it away to some unseen mouth. Then he replied, “I am busy as well: I sleep and dream of the abyss between the worlds; I remember the time Before; and I await the time After, when I shall stretch my wings and reign above the Earth once more.”

“Oh... Cool. I imagine that passes the time.”

“The time passes endlessly,” Cthulhu agreed.

“I’ll bet it does…”

The conversation ground to an awkward halt, and the waiter soon brought out more bread. After a while, I finally said, “You know, Cthulhu…”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be honest: I have no idea why I’m here.”

Cthulhu chuckled. “Of course. Such is the plight of all mortals: always, you scramble without purpose. You live aimlessly, and you die without ever knowing why.”

“What?” I couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s not what I’m talking about at all! I know why I exist. Like I said: I make stuff — and I make my own meaning whenever I happen to need it. Nah, the bit I don’t get is... you know. Why I’m here. In this Olive Garden. Right now, chatting with you. I mean — no offense, Mr. Cthulhu, but this isn’t exactly how I expected to spend my Tuesday evening, and I’m more than a little confused.”

Cthulhu blinked at me, his dark eyes glittering like the death of galaxies above his writhing, octopian face. “Your uncle did not tell you?”

I shook my head. “Not a thing.”

Cthulhu let out another rumbling, primordial laugh and replied, “I merely wished for company. I came for the endless breadsticks.”

#just me rambling #cthulhu #i must confess I did some light editing just now #because I wrote this all in one go at 3am a few years ago and I literally never looked back #but the fact remains:#I made my creative writing professor read this story. I do not know what he thought about it. this knowledge inexplicably haunts me #every so often i remember that it exists and my brain goes #‘……Welp. I guess that happened.’

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gothamsforgottenchildren · 3 years

Text

The Forgotten Children Chapter 3

Zack

“Okay I get why you need to be here, but why did I have to come tonight?” Leigh Ann asks. She is tugging at the collar of her turtleneck like it is too tight or is uncomfortable. It’s a dark red sleeveless, turtleneck top, with built-in armor and has gold accents. It’s paired with a gladiator skirt, boots, and forearm guards. It’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about her getting cold.

I roll my eyes at the radiant girl. She’s been messing with her outfit since she put it on. That’s what she gets for wearing her new suit for the first time in the field.

“You’re here as backup so no one tries anything. Also, stop messing with that, you’re gonna stretch it out,” I say.

She groans, throwing her arm dramatically on the ground, “Do you honestly think anyone will show?”

I shrug, “It’s Gotham.”

She snorts, but nods. This causes her long brown hair to fall into her face. To anyone else, it would cause her features to be lost in a shadow, but for me, I can easily see the grin on her lips, and the fire in her dark brown eyes. Leigh Ann has always been easy to read if you can see her eyes. The light within them is currently dancing like flames in a bonfire, playful.

“Whatcha lookin at?” she asks me, pulling her hair up into a slick high ponytail.

“Just you,” I say. I know she won’t take it the wrong way. We’ve known each other too long for that to happen.

She shakes her head at me, “I love you but you’re a psychoanalyzing dork.”

She isn’t wrong, so I can’t really say anything. We sit in silence for a while, I’m just enjoying the warmth of her company. When I hear something from in the distance. It was footsteps, lots of them. “We’ve got company,” I warn her, standing up and moving into position.

I watch as she climbs off the roof of one of our warehouses by the sea pier in the Amusement Mile. She may not be as fluid as Kat, but she knows what she’s doing. By the time Penguin’s thugs show up, she’s waiting for them and I’m hidden in the shadows.

The Penguin not long ago was injured badly by the Red Hood, and ever since then, his gang has been wreaking havoc on everyone. They have no boss giving them orders, so they’ve turned into essentially a gang of anarchists. The main problem with that is they seem to think that we’re low enough on the totem pole to be a victim of their riots.

When they see Leigh Ann or as they know her, The Devil’s Flame, I see mixed reactions throughout the group. Some of them are scared, some notice that she’s by herself and gets excited, and some are angry. Ignatius Ogilvy steps to the front, he’s Penguin’s right hand within the gang.

He’s a white man with blonde hair. He’s dressed well for a guy who’s supposedly going to get his hands dirty. Honestly, I believe that he’s the boss who sits there and does nothing while his underlings do all the work. It’s going to get him killed one of these days.

I cock my head to focus my hearing on his heartbeat. It’s elevated. I can smell the fear rolling off of him. He’s nervous around Leigh Ann. Good, he should be.

She stands her ground. Her body is open and in a relaxed stance, but one she could quickly fight in. To be fair though, she doesn’t really have to move much to hurt people.

“This warehouse is under the protection of the Second Borns, you need to leave,” Leigh Ann says. She is looking Ignatius dead in the eye, waiting for his move.

I hear his heart rate spike as he debates what he is going to do. He lifts both hands in the air in the classic “I surrender” pose, but then he tilts his head, dropping his hands and shrugs. “It’s dangerous for a beautiful lady like yourself to be all alone in Gotham at night,” he says.

“I can handle myself just fine,” she says.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, before pointing a finger at her, yelling, “Get her!” Then I watch as all of his men storm at Leigh Ann or should I call her the Devil’s Flame because that’s who she truly is in moments like this. She is no longer the girl I know with kind eyes that have a dancing flame, she is now a roaring forest fire that only wants to burn everything in its path. Her entire body becomes alight. Her onyx-colored eyes are engulfed in flames along with the rest of her body. She is the human embodiment of destruction and she does it all with a smile on her face. I have to look away because looking at her is like staring at the sun, which is too much for my sensitive eyes. I hear the screams though. I’m sent here to protect her, as backup, but I’m rarely needed.

I make myself busy by watching the skyline. The entire area around me is illuminated by her power. It makes it harder for me to hide, but it also makes it harder for others. I notice movement in a window a ways away from us, in a building that should be abandoned. There’s a sniper in that room taking aim at Leigh Ann. Or at least trying to. It’s hard to aim at something so bright, I bet they didn’t think it was going to be here in charge of watching the docs. It’s normally just me. We’re currently trying to claim them for ourselves.

I take off anyway though. With one leap from the ground, I unfurl my wings, pushing them down to gain height from the ground. Now even though I am flying I still try to stick to the shadows the best I can. If they try to shoot at Leigh Ann, they will most likely miss or the bullet will melt because of the heat. If they shoot at me, I can be shot out of the air, which sucks.

Flying is one of my favorite things, even if I don’t like how sore it leaves me after. I love the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair. I purposefully keep my brown hair longer than I should because it makes the sensation so much better.

I get to the spot where I can quickly fly across and take the person out. I fly across to the window, left to where they are. I move so quietly that they don’t notice me. I open the window and slip in. The room is empty and dark. I can see a door on the right wall, joining the two rooms. Once I finish picking the lock, I open the door to see an older man’s back facing me. He is a white man in his late forties. He isn’t anyone important, no one I need to think twice about before crossing, or killing. I walk across the room, silent. When I finally get to the other side, where I stand right behind him. I clear my throat. I wish I can see his face, but his back is to me. Before he can even turn around, I’m grabbing his head in my hands and snapping his neck.

I let his body drop to the ground, grabbing his gun and unloading it. Then I step over his body and climb out the window he had shot out of.

I take off again, this time flying towards Leigh Ann. I can tell that she’s finished most of them off, or at least scared them off. Leigh Ann typically tries to maim instead of kill. I swoop down to one of the men trying to escape, grab his head, and twist it while flying up. Once I’m twenty feet in the air I drop his body on a woman trying to run away as well. I look up in Leigh Ann’s direction, her bright flames are starting to dim, as she’s powering down.

I land next to her, just as the last few disappear into the shadows that are Gotham City. She is grinning when she turns to me. She’s upset about something though, judging by the dampened light in her eyes. It looks like a fire out in the rain; fighting to stay alight against the force of the cold attacking it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. It isn’t right for someone as radiant as her to be so dim.

Her grin slips for a second, “It’s nothing important, I’ll talk to you about it when we’re somewhere secure. We need to leave because this fire show is likely to attract unwanted attention,” she whispers. She knows I can always hear her.

With that, we start our walk home. I feel the ache in my shoulders and back start. I should take a long hot bath when I get home. I must be walking weirdly because Leigh Ann wraps her arm under the coat concealing my wings, applying warm heat, soothing my sore muscles. I wrap my arm over her shoulder, and she leans her head against my side as we walk.

“Does that help at all?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to shudder. Apparently, I don’t succeed, because she chuckles when I do. “We need to stop and let you change though, or at least throw on a coat. You’re too noticeable in that outfit,” I tell her.

“Okay Dad,” she says, pulling apart from me, and reaching into the garbage bin where we stored her clothes earlier and sliding on a pair of black pants, a red turtleneck, and a dark brown mini trench-coat.

We walk along in silence for a while, just trying to blend in. We have to make sure no one is following us back to our home. I decide that it was safe to start the descent home, when I hear a sound, my knees buckle and I fall, clutching my head. I vaguely catch Leigh Ann’s scared expression out of the corner of my eye before I blackout.

I wake up to warm hands and silence. I’m now in an alley with sound-canceling headphones on. My head is laying in Leigh Ann’s lap, her hands combing through my hair. I reach up towards the dial that controls how soundproof the headphones are, and turn them down slightly. I can still hear the noise, but it’s manageable now.

I look around, taking in my surroundings. There are brick walls on either side of me, Gotham’s starless night sky is overhead. It’s as dull and lifeless as always. There is too much pollution in Gotham to see stars. The weirdest part is the fire escapes. They are the kind installed in residential areas.

“In an alley. We’re just a couple blocks over from where we were,” Leigh Ann said.

I look at her in a panic. Why would she bring us to a random ally in Gotham if one of us is down?

“Don’t give me that look, we’re totally safe,” Leigh Ann said, rolling her eyes at my paranoia, “This area of Gotham is relatively safe. Plus, you’re super heavy.”

I pull myself out of her lap and lean against the brick wall, shuddering from the sudden lack of warmth. I lean my head back, looking up, trying to piece together what happened. I remember the sound. Knowing that the headphones are probably blocking out the noise, I turn the dial down. Then I hear it. It is a high-pitch ringing. It’s super familiar.

My eyes widen, “We have to go! The sound it’s someone’s emergency beacon.”

I watch Leigh Ann’s head whip towards me, causing her ponytail to hit her in the face. She ignores it. She whips her phone out of her pocket. I watch as she presses the first number on her emergency contact list. Riddle.

I know because my phone’s set up the same way. All our phones are programmed to have him listed as our first contact on our emergency contact list.

“Riddle? We have a problem,” Leigh Ann says into the phone, getting up to pace the ally.

I can’t hear his side of the conversation because of my headphones. I’d be willing to bet his response was a shortcut, “What?”.

“Someone’s emergency beacon has been activated,” says Leigh Ann. She stops pacing, tilting her head to the side, and furrowing her eyebrows in the way she does when she’s really trying to pay attention to what someone is saying. This is until her eyes widen, the flames in them sparking for a second. She pulls the phone from her face saying, “Of course you knew this already.” She then turns to me looking exasperated. “Who told you?” she asks, before exclaiming, “Robert!”

I roll my eyes at her. It’s not a hard puzzle to figure out. Robert very rarely leaves the house, and when he does, Riddle’s normally with him.

“Ask Riddle what he wants us to do,” I tell her.

I watch as she asks Riddle my question. She makes that face again, before pulling her phone away and quickly shoving it in her coat pocket. “He wants you to find whoever's triggered the alarm. Once you do make sure it’s safe to enter before you engage. He explicitly told me to tell you not to throw yourself in danger if it can be avoided.”

I stand up, nodding, “Am I taking you with me, or leaving you behind?”

“Behind for now. Once you get intel on the situation, your orders are to engage only if necessary and then call in using our phones to get more orders,” she says quickly. She is clearly upset but trying to stay focused. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to stop and console her, but I know that I don’t. I have to go.

Leigh Ann is caught up in her thoughts. She’s looking towards the mouth of the ally. I take off my jacket, wad it up, and chuck it at her. I listen to her shriek in surprise, before jumping up to take off into the air.

Before I even got to the building I could smell the blood. I know it’s Kat’s. His blood smells different than everyone else's because of his mutation.

“Shit Kat,” I whisper when I land on the neighboring building, “What did you do?”

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theteaisaddictive · 3 years

Text

finally fall book tag

got tagged by @cinderellasfella -- thanks, conor!

1. In fall, the air is crisp and clear: name a book with a vivid setting!

one that really sticks out to me right now is The Poppy War by R. F. Kuang, a fantasy grimdark re-imagining of China during the Second Sino-Japanese War. the setting, while clearly inspired by real history, also stands on its own two feet regarding class interplay, religions inspired by chinese myth, and how the characters relate to their setting

2. Nature is beautiful… but also dying: name a book that is beautifully written, but also deals with a heavy topic like loss or grief.

one of my favourite heavy books is Deerskin by Robin McKinley, which is a retelling of the fairytale Donkeyskin and comes with a massive trigger warning for rape and incest. it's not just the subject matter itself, but the way that she puts the herione back together again afterwards that makes up the bulk of the book and is written beautifully and sensitively

3. Fall is back to school season: share a non-fiction book that taught you something new.

i recently finished Revolting Prostitutes by Molly Smith and Juno Mac, which argues for the full decriminalisation of sex work using the framework of worker's rights. it was fascinating to read their arguments and to learn not just about the legislation of other countries, but also my own.

4. In order to keep warm, it’s good to spend some time with the people we love: name a fictional family/household/friend-group that you’d like to be a part of.

part of me wants to say the rivers cousins from Jane Eyre, although st. john is massively creepy and also just very annoying, god bless. next option would probably be the girls from The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer, they had a fun little found family going by the end of those book.

5. The colourful leaves are piling up on the ground: show us a pile of fall-coloured spines!

i put actual effort into this so you're not allowed to judge me

6. Fall is the perfect time for some storytelling by the fireside: share a book wherein somebody is telling a story.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern is made of stories from top to bottom -- people tell stories, are in them, try to escape them, and create new ones. rather meta, i loved it very much (although the run-on sentences were a bit much)

7. The nights are getting darker: share a dark, creepy read.

i did somehow get jumpscared by The Turn of the Screw by Henry James when i had to read it for undergrad (the very last scene with the little boy, if you're wondering), but the one that i actually found the most unsettling to read was Misery by Stephen King. it was a very visceral, creeping book, and imo far scarier than It as a reading experience

8. The days are getting colder: name a short, heartwarming read that could warm up somebody’s cold and rainy day.

a book that i was surprised to love as much as i did was Lost for Words by Stephanie Butland, about a young woman who works in a bookshop and must process the complicated emotions surrounding her troubled childhood. it was darker than i expected going in, but also made me feel that much better when i got to the end

9. Fall (luckily, it’s my favourite season) returns every year: name an old favourite that you’d like to return to soon.

i would like to reread the lunar chronicles soon -- i have two of the books in my flat with me -- and would also like to reread Axiom's End by Lindsay Ellis at some point since i'll probably ask for the sequel for christmas.

10. Fall is the perfect time for cozy reading nights: share your favourite cozy reading “accessories”!

i don't really have reading accessories -- usually just a cup of tea, or a flask if i'm reading outside!

i'll tag @stagepresenceofapotato, @wizardysseus, @laughingmistress, @jimmyandthegiraffes and anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourselves tagged!

#asks #(for filing purposes)#cinderellasfella #fdskjghl you can tell which books i have and haven't read in that photo #if anyone's curious the top book is 'an unsuitable job for a woman' by pd james #the copy belonged to my grandad and it's special to me since we gave away most of his books after he died #but i read that one either while he was still alive or just after he died #and i've been meaning to reread it one of these days

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isingonly4myangel · 3 years

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1-5 😁

I’m in love with this question list, thank you for for asking darling! 💖

1. Tell me about that imaginary bookshop you dream about running.

Ok, this got long, apologies in advance! So like The Last Bookstore (in LA) meets Bart’s Books (in Ojai) meets the Harbor from Erin Morgenstern’s The Starless Sea?

The feeling of never-ending miles of shelves and curiosities from the Harbor, and the sense of stepping into a space not quite part of the world you’re used to. I’m in love with little corridors off the beaten path and armchairs tucked into secluded corners. From The Last Bookstore, I’ll take the inspiration for art and architecture made from books. Their front counter looks like 4 feet of books stacked on top of each other, and for the life of me I can’t figure out quite how they’re all attached, because it looks like it should just topple over. Same thing goes for the book tunnel upstairs, which is both fascinating and super Instagram-able, which is why hipsters love the place. And above the staircase there’s a typewriter on a desk on the top landing, and it has pages spilling from it that are suspended in the air and curl partway down the stairs, so they’re the first thing you see when going up. And from Bart’s I’ll take the sense of coziness. It feels very peaceful and homey inside- which makes sense because it was actually a house with a central courtyard, and they just kind of removed most of the furniture, took off the doors, and put in bookshelves. Also I’m stealing their cats.

Towards the front of my store are new books, current bestsellers, etc. But everywhere else it’s used and secondhand books. I find those much more intriguing than shelves of brand new books. For certain clients, the bookstore functions as a library, because I understand that even discounted secondhand books can be expensive, and I never want money to stand in the way of someone having access to books they want. Some parts of the store may have different types of music playing- current pop quietly in the front of the store for the people who just come in for that one new 50 Shades-adjacent book. But further back, hidden in corners and hallways, snippets of a waltz, a piano nocturne, a solo violin, soft jazz, something slightly haunting that you can’t identify all the instruments in.

Tea, coffee, and cocoa are all available on request- free of charge, though donations are appreciated to help keep up the supply. There’s a little station towards the center of the store where guests can help themselves, and I make sure to do occasional rounds of the shop, checking for individuals curled in those secluded armchairs with the cats to keep them company, and I take orders. Beverages are served in mugs or cups that are somehow always matched to the book one is reading. No two mugs are alike- they’ve been donated and collected, accumulated over the years. Some of them are cracked or chipped slightly, but they are still happy to serve. Delicate china teacups and saucers for the Austen readers, unusually shaped mugs for stories like Alice in Wonderland, one printed with Calvin and Hobbes for the young man reading his way through our comic books. Later in the day, cocktails are offered in elegantly cut glasses to match, reserved for our guests of an appropriate age.

Everyone who comes in finds something they were looking for, whether they knew it or not. The perfect book, the perfect picture, the perfect tea blend, the perfect poem. The store has a bit of a mind of its own, and sometimes it knows its guests even better than its owner does.

2. Do you like reading aloud? Are you good at it?

Huge yes, I absolutely love it, especially if I’m excited about the book! I’d love to record audiobooks, too. I’m told I’m pretty good at it, too!

3. How do you organize your bookshelves?

So my bookshelves at home lost any and all hope of organization years ago- they’re stuffed to the brim, and when I ran out of normal space I just kinda started stacking them horizontally in front of the books lined up vertically lmao. But the handful I took with me that are in my apartment now are organized by size- the hardback one to the far left, then the paperback one the same size, and they get smaller going to the right. I’m also using candles for book ends to keep them upright lol

4. Tell me about that one book that you can’t remember the title of and maybe you just made it up except you remember that one specific thing so clearly.

A necklace of beaded wishes is used to make an art model have to scratch his balls so badly that he has to leave the session? 😂

5. Do you write in the margins?

Never. Sometimes I underline or mark passages with a bracket, very lightly in pencil. If there’s a note I really want to write, I’ll attach a sticky note to the page and write on that!

#mscarolinebingley #answered #about me #bibliophile asks #honestly had so much fun with the first one #anyone is welcome to spam my inbox with questions about the stores mentioned #the last bookstore #bart's books #ojai california #starless sea vibes

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thelordstears · 3 years

Text

Prepare for some dope ass writing guys gals and nonbinary pals!

“ If love is sinful, and who I am is unholy, then I'll be nothing more than myself.” - Camilla Davidson

“ He follows old scriptures and old fashioned standards of human decency, this is a whole new world, and he'll die on the wrong side of history, while I live on the side that's more loving, accepting, and stable.” - Camilla Davidson

"The human race hates, and hates, and got damn hates. But for what, really? Why hate when you could love instead? All hate does is make ya angry. But love? It hurts, it brings ya pain and sorrow. But it also gives ya peace, happiness and pride. And all those emotions mixed inta one make love, beautiful.” - Sofia Johnson

“ He was gettin' beaten up in some alley, a bunch of white folk decided his skin color, was more important than his humanity.” - Sofia Johnson

“ I am trapped by these memories, because they echo in my head, and I remember everything.. by God, I remember it all. The first time blood other than a fishies stained my hands, the way Caityln'd hold my hand, the way bodies splashed in the seas and the whir of cannon and explosion rang in my head.” - Augustus Seaborg

“ I'm scared, because in this new world, it kill or be killed, fight or die. I raise my weary fists, if only just to survive another day. Because this isn't life, it is survival of the most broken.” - Augustus Seaborg

“ He's everything to me, he's so intertwined into my heart and soul, I imagine he's part of who I am. We're beautifully us, in all our imperfection, we found perfection.” - Malachi Razor

“ Strength isn't in how many pounds you can lift, or how big your muscles are, true strength, is in the heart and mind.” - Malachi Razor

“ As they've always said, violence for violence is the rule of beasts, so does that make war a battlefield, or hunting grounds?” - Burke Castles

“ The leaders start war, but never pull a single trigger. They watch their pawns and brooks move across the board, we never had a King or a Queen, just ourselves and our sins.” - Burke Castles

"I'm the damned priest, the forgotten messiah, I'm just another man. How can you fault me for the sins of another? How can you condemn me, for what I did not do?” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ People use God as an excuse to slaughter, they say they shalt die on the cross for their sins, and don't realize driving nails against the condemned only drives nails into their coffins and secures their place in Hell.” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ I find so much damnation on this Earth, because if this is Earth, by God do I fear Hell.” - Gusto Mellowrich

“ People say God is dead, that his grave is up in the Heavens and he's rotting in his golden throne, but if God was dead, I believe it wouldn't rain. Because it is my belief, that it rains because God weeps for us, he weeps for what has happened. And weeps for what is to come." - Gusto Mellowrich

"Life either kicks you down, or you don't allow yourself to fall.” - Icarus Richens

“ My dear brother has fallen far, he believes his wings clipped, his honor stolen, but if he simply climbed, and took my hand, he would find salvation is for the sinners of this world, which in theory means salvation is for everyone.” - Icarus Richens

“ Gregory is a soldier, he stands sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, because he let the fires of love build him anew. He is a phoenix, not of light nor darkness, but of love in all of it's grace.” - Icarus Richens

"Even God, sins on the occasion.” - Alastair Sambridge

“ People walk this earth and call themselves saints whilst sinning just under the nose of the people, we've allowed the commandments to be re-written, where in the commandments did it say, "Steal from the rich?" where in the commandments did it say, "Let the rich steal?" And where in the commandments did it say, "Be sinful as long as it's for a good cause?" - Alastair Sambridge

“ You believe God loving? If any ruler in history was loving nothing would happen. Imagine what would've happened if George Washington fought violence with peace. We'd still be shackled by Britain, so tell me why it is you wish me to fight your sin, with holiness?" - Alastair Sambridge

"Ain't it the most wonderful thing, bein' able ta break a man and give ta yourself? The Hell's morals doin' in a world that don't give a fuck what happens? It'll tear ya down, push ya down several flights 'a damn stairs, the world is fucking cruel, ya gotta be just as cruel ta survive it.” - Gunther Mirowick

“ I'm only alive because other's aren't.” - Gunther Mirowick

"Isn't it better to sacrifice your life for a good cause rather than die for nothing? I imagine no cause is worth killing for, there's only causes worth dying over, and love, is something to die for.” - Vekel Kidelman

“ Love is what makes us human, the lack of it often creates monsters.” - Vekel Kidelman

"This blackhole in my mind would destroy anyone who dare stepped forth to walk into it's depths, so imagine what's happened to me, wandering inside of it every day.” - Daniel Abacross

“ Knowledge is a weapon, and I've allowed mine to pull triggers and create a cacophony of suffering and the demises of those who didn't deserve death.” - Daniel Abacross

“ I learn this world is a brutal place to live, the killings of innocent men and women is commonplace, but I survive, and when you survive such tormented things you become the very things that tormented you.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

“ We are not in control of destiny, but at least I'm in control of yours.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

“ I live by no moral code, because when one is in power, morals only allow the crown to be stolen from atop your head by he who's willing to cut it from your neck.” - Isiwoah Sakigowami

"To live is to die, so might you allow yourself life, so you may experience death?” - Will

“ I have found such a cold heartbeat inside my chest, I believe if one were to perform an autopsy on me, they'd find a hollow ribcage and strings attached to my heart, played like a violin, it may sound beautiful, but the meaning behind the melody is sinful. They'd find the coldest of blood and it'd flow the color of the night sky, except when my soul is involved, the night sky is starless.” - Will

“ My pain shaped me into a beast, and I'll never find the strength to put myself down, because I am no hunter, simply a scared child, trapped inside the mind of a wilder beast he once would've imagined was so fantastical that he could ride it into the sunset. But with the lenses of childhood innocence removed he sees it's bloodstained lip, it's teeth cracked and stuck between each one flesh of a fresh kill, it's eyes crazed with hunger, he'd find nothing but a wild beast, the hint was within the name wilder beast, because it twas simply a beast wilder than any other.” - Will

“ I've learned knowledge is power, but it can be misused dare one use it to harm another. If you use knowledge as a weapon, you've already failed.” - Lola Crabthorn

"If this is what it's like to feel alive, than bury me low. Sink the coffin into the hallowed soil, toss dirt upon my grave and etch my name upon the tombstone, and let this girl finally rest in peace.” - Malarie Cavafich

“ I've grown so cold on this journey to find home, they say home is where the heart is, but perhaps my heart is in so many pieces I can't possibly find home. I've pulled a trigger so many times, I simply believe I can never be whole, because I've stopped the heart beat of so many other's, I ask why mine deserves to beat for another.” - Malarie Cavafich

"Live your life fearin' change, you'll fear yourself in da futcha'. But if ya learn ta embrace change, ya ain't gon' fear da futcha', because da unknown ain't so scary when ya learn if life was predictable, it wouldn't be worf' livin'.” - Daurice Marston

“ I'm nothing to my mind but a meat sack of rotting intention.” - Faymelina Van Patten

“ Though revenge didn't help, I still see him in my nightmares, perhaps he's a haunting now. A poltergeist in my mind who throws my mental state about and crashes around the halls of my mind, creating a ricochet of death and eternal sorrow.” - Faymelina Van Patten

“ Though I wield a spear as a warrior, my heart beats that of a woman who wishes to see only peace, and sadly, peace has to be fought for.” - Nova Toria

“ The meaning of life is different for every soul, for one it might be dancing underneath the stars with the one they love, for another it could be solitude. For some the mind is most keen when surrounded by others, but for others the mind is most keen when surrounded by only their ideas.” - Nova Toria

“ You don't have to fall into the arms of another, you can catch yourself if you wish.” - Nova Toria

“ Just because something can kill, does not mean that is it's only use.” - Morgan Gaskill

"Days come and go, I keep each memory close to my tattered heart, because if I forget the little moments, I forget life.” - Journey Castlehill

“ I don't quite identify with any of the norms people have set in stone, and if people hate me for that, they aren't worth my time. They're stuck in a construct, and refuse to dig themselves out.” - Journey Castlehill

"The rule of predator and prey, the dance of gnashing teeth and ragged fur, a melody of naturality and sinful desire. Thus is the rule of life, a song of gnashing jaw and flowers of misery bloomed from sinfulness so deep not even a God could wipe it from existence.” - Ranbraker

“ She's my hero, really. Even if she's my little sister, she kept me safe from my demons, and I'll always keep her safe from her demons. We've both suffered, both thought who we were is wrong, but you know what? Screw that. If being who I am is a sin, I'll be a sinner. Because I'd rather burn in Hell for being who I am, then enter Heaven being who I'm not.” - Tristy Hem

“ In all my pain, in all my scars, I find hope. Because I still have people I need to find, people I love with all my heart.” - Hailey Fellwitz

“ Be the author of your own story, and remember, not every page is one with pain written upon it. There's peace, too. Fight for your happily ever after." - Hailey Fellwitz

"I've been drowning in the depths of my shattered soul, gulping in false promises and empty threats. And yet here I am, searching for myself when other people is all I've found.” - Tina Diamon

“ People say love is a double edged sword, but that's because you love the wrong people. If you find the right person, love isn't a sword, it's a shield.” - Tina Diamon

“ A love so beautiful can not be destroyed, though the world has tried to tear us apart, it only brought us closer together.” - Tina Diamon

“ They say what's done in the dark shalt be dragged into the light, but I'll only come into the light when I will it so. And when the sun soaks my bones, and light is all you can see, I'll grip my club and let it be the sinking of the sun, cuz when I lower it, you lower a damn coffin.” - Luga the Hidden

“ Us orcs aren't treated so well, so I think it's about time I showed em the monster they damn well created. Because here I am, nothing but claws, teeth and crimson.” - Luga the Hidden

“ I can be vile, I can be a monstrosity, and people'll blame it on my heritage.” - Luga the Hidden

"When you're broken down to nothing, and find yourself mourning all that you've lost, remember what you have. I've been stuck in the past before, but I found there's always a rope, whether it be one of love or hope.” - Thorballa Ulfdottir

“ You have to be careful, when you're in a dark place. Because your decisions could lead you straight to your demise, the path to Hell is paved in bad deeds, don't follow it.” - Thorballa Ulfdottir

"My mind is so filled with ghosts of me you could walk into it and find only a graveyard, every tombstone reading my name, and the name's of those I've slain.” - Sheriff ~~Redacted~~ (Can’t say his name, it’s a twist and my twin sister follows my Tumblr)

“ I hear a blood curdling howl on the wind and I come to the haunting realization that it came from my own throat.” - Sheriff ~~Redacted~~

“ This life, it'll throw you through the ringer and then some, but what matters is that you rise like the champion you are.” - Vasiliki Mathers

“ Family is made up of loyalty, not blood.” - Vasiliki Mathers

“ I've spilt so much damn blood that it's just another habit these days, one trigger pulled, one man dead and one bullet torn through the got damn sky.” - Oswega Creek

“ Ya'll sip on regret as if it were a cure ta your damn sinfulness. But regret can't change the damn past, it only changes the future. But when you decide ya don't wanna live in regret you keep pullin' the damn trigger and watching bullets tear through the sky on burnin' wings and bloodied talons.” - Oswega Creek

“ You better tell the whole world Oswega Creek is coming home, because peace is an option better left in the past and harsh words are best left unsaid lest you wish to end up in a pinewood box with nuthin' but the wrigglers ta give ya company.” - Oswega Creek

"Life ain't all dat bad, ya focus on da shade unda' da tree, ya'll miss da branches dat provide it. Ya can't focus on da bloodshed 'a nature when bird's sing songs just fo' da soddin' world ta 'ear.” - Daisy Gloria

"I know, you'd think a gal like me would have a pitch perfect life like in a shitty comedy movie, but that isn't the case, ya see perfect lives reside in the land of fairy tales and fantasy, while I live in the gritty reality of this bizarre world, life is a bumpy fucking ride, and you better hope you can hold onto those reigns, because sometimes you get bucked off and fall, and sometimes you fucking stay there." - Mary Adler

"Oh if they thought they'd seen the end of days, just wait til they see what happens when they utter the word, "No." - Javier Cross

"The hope of morning can't come if your mind is stuck in the night." - Dale Markus

"I hide in the shade of my deeds, but you, my friend, will lay underneath the shade of a willow." - Edgalzio Halvlies

"I'll sip on this regret as if it were a cure to the disease of my past. But all it'll ever do is poison me." - Chase North

"Jou can regret jour actions, but jou can not change zem." - Marlene Dayvrack

"The echoes of death and tragedy ring in my ears. But it's not my own." - Autumn Wolfmoon

"Sin only intensifies when the whole world is set ablaze and all ya got left is the echoes 'a normality." - Davy Blight

"Reckon we do what it is we always do. Sin as if our lives depended on it, cuz these days, the do." - Davy Blight

“ You’ll see Hell, it ain’t no man with red skin and a pitchfork, it’s me in all my vengeful rage.” - Davy Blight

"You touch 'im I swear ta every God I'll send you their way fuckin' howling!" - Davy Blight

"Life don't get that much betta' these days. It's a symphony of broke bones and spilt blood, only difference 'tween you and me is, you're the one singin' the damn song, I'm the one echoing the harp." - Lind Blight

"Life ain't a constant state of kill or be killed. There's peace, you just have to fight to achieve it." - Cago Envers

"The truth is suffocating. It's why I breathe in a lie." - Sam Dellwotfire

"I could burn alive within the hatred of my family tree and still I wouldn't find peace." - Rover Calico

"You know, I'd be who I am if it ever did me any good." - Drew Dreadful

"All I've ever been is scared, and in this new world, fear only kills everyone but you." - Drew Dreadful

"The sky bleeds golden, yet my scars bleed black, and the color of my skin, is but the troubled sin within." - Sandro Colorfeid

"It ticks the wrong direction, because it is damaging itself in the process of working how it was built to operate." - Gregeno Puley

"Ben you live in a family of heroes. Will you become one by circumstance, or will you become one the hard way?" ~~Redacted~~ (Another case of my twin would see his name)

"No one can become me, Ben. Only I hold such a torment." - ~~Redacted~~

"My curse will only be the death of you." - ~~Redacted~~

"That's where you're wrong, Ben. I am fate, I am the law, I am peace, I am chaos, I am everything, Ben. you're nothing but a speck, whilst I'm the sun." - ~~Redacted~~

"Stars can only be destroyed if they implode upon themselves, and thus I chose to implode so I could destroy the darkness I had found." ~~Redacted~~

"You're so covered in the blood of wolves you think you are one." ~~Redacted~~

"You want to be a leader, step on the podium and speak to your subjects. You want to be a King sit on the throne and wear the crown, you wish to be a subject sit still and listen. But if you want to be a God, show people that resisting your dynasty is a death sentence and all you have to do is snap your fingers to rid yourself of their treacherous ways." ~~Redacted~~

"They say we aren't our sins, but here I am, nothing but death." - Arthur Wellburn

"I looked Hell in the eyes and all I saw was myself." - Betty Shalfien

"You look evil in the eye, you begin to get a taste for it." - Destallo Starend

"Sometimes secrets are best untold, because when something's too awful for this world it is best erased from time entirely rather then brought to the light." - Yuntara

"Don't walk the path you're given, find a different way, cuz often if someone hands ya a path, and tells you ta walk it, they've got tricks up their sleeves. And they ain't card tricks." - Church Godsel

"Mr. Bundy! Killa' of men! You think you got the damn balls ta take on three devil's? Cuz I'm tellin' you now, you can slay men, but you damn well can't slay legends." - Saul Northutt

"You don't know what I've done in the dark, but unfortunately for you, it hails in comparison to what I'll do in the light." - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"I never pulled you down, Idian, your life was Hell before our destinies intertwined. I could see it in your eyes, the mark of a broken soldier, what was your battle Idian?" - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way. Do you wish to be a splatter across the tracks or the conductor?" - Corvenstain Bonstellos (Props go to my twin for the beginning of the line, a callback to what her character said)

"Abel! Your ambition is what's going to kill you in the end." - Corvenstain Bonstellos

"To some, I am life, to other's I am death. It is up to you what end of the blade you receive. The hilt, or the sword." - Raimundus Wolfes

"If the holy spirit were to ever meet me, his name would be tarnished." - Caldwell Ramirez

"Hunting is an art and you're a canvas to be splattered red." - Luther Woolhaun

"The hunt is all about what you do with the prey, how you stalk them and how you execute them. The hunt is a sport, an art, a masterpiece that smells of gunpowder and the tangy scent of iron." - Luther Woolhaun

"All I find in myself is the blood of those deemed weaker than me by the rule of sword." - Violincia Bloodwort

“The pits are me only 'ome. Me 'eart 'as resided 'ere fo' da longest time, and now all it beats is a thirst fo' more." - McCannon Bowitsend

"All it takes to ruin a life is one bullet. But all it took to make mine a glory to behold, was one bullet." - Ewan Hanstammer

"I'd say I'm lost in daydreams, but those are just an echo, these days." - Hanzo Sabian

"I slipped from the edge of my own ignorance." - Pedro Bonfire

“A man who spreads violence is remembered, a man who doesn’t, isn’t. It’s the curse of a hero.” - Miella Fang

"Crumble? We all did that fifteen years ago, we're the rubble of judgment day fighting amongst ourselves, difference between me and most people is, I've been fighting for scraps since I was ten. I'm fit for battle. What about you?" - Scow Wiston

#writing #author #characters #characterwriting #Iknowredactedhasalothe'scoollikethat

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

You know what, I'm feeling nostalgic tonight, so: “Truthfully, this is the fabric of all my fantasies: love shown not by a kiss or a wild look or a careful hand but by a willingness for research.” For Sam/Miranda?

Thanks to @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, I had to go digging in my inbox for this (and lbr it’s from a while ago and I meant to do more prompts and then I didn’t, so you can shame me). BUT. ANYWAY. HAVE SOME SOFTNESS. Set somewhere in my modern hacktivist Sam verse.

The light is on in the kitchen window, filtering out to the garden where they sit, and traffic rumbles past on the road. They have a pile of papers accumulating between them, and Sam keeps glancing down to type things up, fingers clattering over the keys of his latest extremely futuristic laptop. Thomas is out of town again -- he lost Foreign Secretary last year in the election reshuffle, and Miranda is not altogether sorry to see it go, though he maintains the Hamilton Foundation and is presently larking on a yacht with Sir Richard Branson in the name of high-speed internet for underserved communities in Britain -- and it is just the two of them, her and Sam. They’ve been reading these reports for hours, and Miranda straightens, uttering a groan as a crick in her back makes itself regrettably known. “My dear,” she says. “Some tea? Or supper?”

“What?” Sam glances up in surprise, and only then seems to take in the twilight that has fallen among the rosebushes, the darkness in the garden. “Christ,” he says, blinking. “Where did the time go?”

“Where it goes when we’re occupied, I suppose,” Miranda says dryly, as she offers him a hand, and Sam -- ever gallant, and notwithstanding the fact that he is nearly a foot taller than her -- permits her to help him up. They collect the papers and the computers and the other work they’ve been doing to identify the Foundation’s next area of fundraising interest and go inside, to the dim kitchen. Sam offers to help make supper, as always, and as always, she tells him to sit. The lights chase some of the shadows away, and they fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, as always. He looks especially handsome with the black scruff, the loose tendrils from his ponytail, and the new silver earring he’s acquired -- a bit dramatic perhaps, but it suits him. Miranda still sometimes cannot believe this wild, beautiful, independent creature is hers, and it frightens her.

She has almost lost her hesitance about being with Sam while Thomas is gone, as he has assured her it is entirely satisfactory to him, but still sometimes, the fear of it holds her back. Miranda Hamilton loves her husband, after all, and even with the unorthodox lives they have led -- even though Thomas loves Sam too even if not in the same way as her, has seen what they have, has chosen to let it remain between just the two of them, pure and inviolate -- it sometimes cannot help but feel like dishonesty. Sensing her struggle as he always does, Sam glances up. “I can go,” he says gently. “If you wish.”

“I -- no.” Miranda stirs the sauce on the stove, perches on the chair across from him. She raises a hand to push back the brown-grey swoop of her hair, fallen free from its bun. “You know that is not what I want.”

Sam eyes her with utter, unspoken understanding, with the words he has whispered to her so often before -- be kind to yourself, my love -- hanging between them. He reaches out and takes her hands, uncurling the anxious knot of her fingers, massaging her palms, working out the incipient ache of carpal tunnel and the lingering ink stains. When he’s finished, he presses a silent kiss to the back of it, then lets go with an impish wink. “Your sauce is burning.”

Flustered, Miranda leaps to her feet to turn the heat on the hob down, manages to rescue it from disrepute, and constitutes the rest of dinner without incident. They go out back again to eat, London draped in the warm cloak of a summer night, Queen Mab whispering among the hedges and the trees, the glow of the world when it almost seems enchanted and soft and new. Miranda glances sidelong at Sam again, the magnificent etching of his profile against the dimness, and catches him looking back at her. When they have finished eating, he puts down his bowl, then opens his arms without a word. Just as quietly, Miranda gets up, pads over, and sits down on his lap.

Sam wraps his arms around her with a deep sigh, holding her close against the firm strength of his chest, resting his chin on her hair. Miranda leans against him, burying her nose in his collarbone, some of the weariness and strain from the day draining away, the constant struggle that it is to try to help people in any meaningful way at all in this gilded shell game. Part of her wishes that she could leave this Kensington mansion and join Sam in his humble flat in Ealing, or anywhere else. She wishes that she could spread her wings and fly, or sail away into a vast starless sea, and be free of this. She could not leave Thomas behind, not forever. But if she could only breathe --

Once more, Sam can sense her discontent, her restlessness, and he turns his head, pressing a soft kiss into the side of her head. Then he stands up and carries her inside, to the bedroom where he stays -- where they stay, truly -- when he comes to the Hamilton house. He refuses to dishonor Miranda and Thomas by the use of their marital bed, their master bedroom, and Miranda herself feels it is better to remain separate. He pushes through the door, shuts it behind him, and says, “My love, let me make you happy, eh?”

She nods back, nods because she can’t speak, breathless and needing and absurdly halfway to tears, as he unbuttons her blouse, her expensive brassiere, and kisses his way slowly down her shoulders, her chest and breasts and stomach, until he tugs his way past the waistband of her slim-cut trousers. Miranda stands long enough to help him strip them off, and then her underpants (she thinks that she should have worn a nicer pair, the ones with the lace perhaps, but Sam does not notice or care). Then, naked, she sits back down on the bed, as Sam kneels in front of her, spreads her legs, and leans in.

Miranda gulps, gasps, clutches at his hair, as he works with his usual consummate thoroughness and care. He is gentle and relentless in turns, licking and sucking, working her until she is all but a boneless, rubbery-limbed heap and thinks it signally unfair that he is still fully dressed. When he pulls back to breathe properly, she gets to her feet and commences briskly stripping Sam of his clothes, something which has never yet failed to give her deep delight. “Mmm,” he says, teasing, looping her around the waist, straining her neck up for a deep kiss. “I am all yours, darling.”

“Good,” Miranda says, as he toes his last sock off, and it is only them in nothing but their skins, entwined in the dimness, their hair falling loose around their shoulders. He lifts her like a leaf and lays her out on the bed, but Miranda rises up, rolls him over, and pushes him down on his back. He goes at once, delighted to be wherever she wishes him, and his hands grip her hips, lifting her atop him, and then as they both gasp, into her.

They make love as they always do, both slow and sweet and fast and deep, roughness and romance in turns, as he worships her and fills her and makes her whole, and Miranda closes her eyes and holds her breath because still, even now, she is afraid that she will wake up, and it will never have been at all. Sam smooths his callused palms over her arms, her sides, her thighs, the knobs of her spine, the curve of her arse. He muses kisses at the secret spot behind her ear that makes her melt, and more than she feels her mouth can stand to bear. She loves him beyond any common word or sense or feeling for it, anything that seems proper or sane or ordinary. She loves him until it burns.

In the end, they wear themselves out, lie together gasping and giggling and entangling their fingers, exchanging sleepy kisses, still wanting to be close so long as they are awake. But the night comes on, very deep now, and there is more to come in the morning, more research, more battles, more fights to make anyone give a damn what they say. When once again, they must rise up like the sun, and somehow do this again. Miranda does not know how.

And yet, she does not need to. For Sam Bellamy is with her, and she with him, and that is all that matters. And so it is thus that she can close her eyes, and let go, and sleep.

#sam x miranda #black sails au #oh look my feelings #extasiswings #ask

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aplaceofstone · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Twin Peaks Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dale Cooper & Laura Palmer Characters: Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks), Laura Palmer Additional Tags: character-typical orientalism, Dreamscapes, Post-Canon, Symbolism, Road Trips, Future Fic, but also past fic! what year is this, trick - Freeform Summary:

Windom told Dale about the dugpas. Dale tells Laura about the dugpas. Laura doesn't say much in this one, already knowing that projection is one hell of a drug. And while they don't talk about it, they both remember peeking under the curtains only to find themselves staring at a vast and starless expanse beyond. In the end there is nothing to say.

My Trick or Treat story for @cerealninjakat!

ETA I’m told AO3 is being glitchy, does this work?

It's another all-night drive to nowhere. Town after town, highway after highway until time and distance lose meaning. Their whole world has shrunk to the space within the arcs of a rental car's headlights, all dark asphalt and road paint. The radio is broken. When words flow out of their throat, they come out heavy and full of static. All they fill the air with is ghosts.

"Have I told you of my encounter with the dugpas?" asks Cooper.

"The what?" asks back Laura, eager to break the silence, not quite sure this is the way to do it.

"Dugpas, Laura." He grows bold, there's an echo of an old story molding his words, it's an easy path to follow. "The dark magicians who are otherwise known as red caps, as Madame Helena Blavatsky describes them in her early theosophical writings. They are an old sect of monks who resisted the yellow-cap gelugpa reform of the fourteenth century - a deeply spiritual affair, the details of which, if I am to be completely honest, mostly elude me - and practice their drunken sorceries in the great monastery of Sakia-jong, deep in the heart of Tibet. Or… in Bhutan." He frowns, losing momentum, struggling to chase back that memory, that knowledge, the abstract idea of a geographical map, finding no help in Laura's distant gaze. "...sources differ. It is said... that they can imbue even common objects with their evil magnetism. It is a fearsome power to be sure. To hex pieces of cloth that they place on the mountain paths that lead to their monastery, so that incautious hikers will step upon them and be subject to a tremendous psychic shock, making them fall to their doom. The high path of knowledge and spirituality is indeed a treacherous one..."

"Oh, yes." She nods, slowly. It's a slow day. "I met those. Didn't think they were monks, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I met those. But I didn't think they were monks."

Cooper nods. Certainties like that, they go nowhere. One day he and Laura herself will find out what she meant by those words, if it was her memory, or his, or something they have not experienced yet, or they will not. Happens to the best of them.

Regardless, he has his tale to tell, a tale which, as he recalls, began when he appeared in the mountains, far, far away. "Laura, the mountains…"

In his memory, which is coming back to him as would a dream, one moment he was not there, the next he was, dragged through the ether by invisible forces. Summoned, is, the word, through obscure magic rituals. The mountains! The stone was old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that traced their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretched farther than he had ever seen. Cooper stood motionless on a flat, dark rock. The pale six o'clock sun was still high in the sky. Amidst that stillness, a crimson line snaked through the valley, slowly marching toward him. It was a procession of monks, chanting in unison as they walked, and they wore red robes and red hats, and he knew what they were, and he could not move, overtaken as he was by fear. One by one, as they came next to him, they grabbed his face and observed it, tracing their fingers along his hairline and down to his jaw as if to find some secret there, a crack, a fault line. He didn't know their faces and they knew his face and they judged him. He knew, as he knows now, that there were good monks far away, in the monastery which lay at the end of the valley, whose golden domes could be seen on the horizon where the two mountains met. He thought, in his terror, that if he could get away, he would be able to take refuge there and the good monks would look after him. He thought they would show him their truths. But he could not get away. One by one, they grabbed his face and observed him, and they let him go. Imperfect moon, they said. Imperfect moon. There was no moon in the sky, but that is what they said, and then they left. The valley was empty again. He wanted to run to the safety of the monastery, but as the last monk passed him by, he was not in the mountains anymore. Whatever mystical force had taken hold of him had loosened its grip, or another power had grown stronger. He found himself back in his bed, relieved by the simple familiarity of the objects around him, and went on to get a good cup of coffee, a fact which is positioned as the moral of the story, and maybe it is, he concludes with an awkward smile.

And then: with the gravity of the plate collision that gave birth to the mountains, this moment shifts, morphs, stretches, grows tighter and more brittle.

They linger in their motel room. The desert fills the horizon outside their window; Laura feels that she has seen this place already, with its vast clouds above and constellations of cacti on the ground, and lived this life already, and heard this story already. So it goes, on and on, swirling in the clouds, already written in secret patterns on the ground. They are tired.

"Have I told you of my encounter with the dugpas?" asks Cooper.

"The what?" asks back Laura.

"Dugpas, Laura. That is a name for the darker parts of the self. There is, you see, a tendency in occultist writings to speak in metaphors for the struggle of the human soul, so a text may describe the depraved dealings of a dark sorcerer, but when push comes to shove, what they mean to show is that all men may fall prey to those fallacies. It has long been proven that symbolic images are a way for the human brain to grasp abstract concepts that would be much too difficult to be absorbed directly. And so the Path of the Shadow, or the Left-Hand Path as it is also known, is a dark discipline for the the so-called black magicians of the Occident, but their archetype applies to us all. In a way, it is said, it stands for the selfish choices made by our ego in every little event in our lives, when we move away from universal unity and toward separation."

"Story of our lives," Laura laughs. There is no answer Cooper could offer that would make them feel better, so he offers none. Story of their lives.

Her laughter fades and he has to keep telling his story, to make sense of it. In this particular story of his life, then, the curtains parted and the mountains appeared before him.

"No, no, no, let me start again: I was standing in a small room, back then," he says, and they both know where that back then is, and that it still looms over them, trembling red in the corner of their eye, chevron reflections in a diner's toilet. It is them. But back then they curtains and the chevron were all around them, they were a place, which usually affords a certain degree of separation from the self. Except all of a sudden the curtains came up to him, sneaking on the floor and rising up against him from all directions. His body was surrounded by heavy red velvet. He tried to fend off the attack, but he saw faces in the fabric's folds, sneering at him. What he had thought to be curtains were rows of men and women dressed in red vests and red caps, some of them old, some of them young, their faces were all harsh and marked by evil, and they were all him.

This sea of red-clad people who were him swarmed to him and parted back, and instead of the room, the mountains laid before him. The mountains! The stone was old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that traced their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretched farther than he had ever seen. Cooper stood motionless on a flat, dark rock, trembling, feeling naked against the open expanse of the valley. The pale six o'clock sun was still high in the sky. The figures in red had swarmed the ground. A doctor came forward - long face, gray hair, a veterinarian, a distant part of Dale Cooper but a part of him nonetheless - and visited him as he stood there, paralyzed by fear. Cooper knew that this sea of red was not all of him: there was a house far away at the end of the valley, whose roofs could be seen where the two mountains met, where all the good he had done waited for him, wearing different vests and different faces, to look after him and to show him the way.

"Ever had any luck running from yourself?" asks Laura, her interest piqued.

"Oh, they let me go."

The doctor stitched him back up, shaking his head at the end of his exam. Instead of explaining himself, he fell atop him, unfolding like a piece of fabric, leaving behind only the echo of his words: he shall bring others. He was a curtain again, and so were the others, and Cooper was back there, back inside. He spent the rest of that day thinking about those faces, an instant and twenty-five years. But the curtains never showed them again. They were far away.

Once again the moment shifts. It cracks, splinters, gains new mass.

They walk, because a car will not lead them where they need to be. They have been walking for a long time. The day is cold for the season, the snow hasn't fully relented yet, but their jackets are warm and their boots well-worn. The slope is mild and they are not alone on the path, tourists and locals alike enjoying the pleasures of a sunny day.

A row of gaudy little flags planted on the edge of the path catches Dale's attention; he waves at Laura to wait for him and kneels down to check out the closest one. The fabric is smooth under his fingers. The ground is smooth under his knees and he falls off the path, down the cliff. The world goes dark. Eventually, he lands on a different path underneath, one they did not tread on their way up. Laura is following after him, balancing herself with her open arms as she steps on big, flat stones on the mountain's side. With one last hop, she is standing by his side, helping him back up with a steady hand. They look ahead, trying to find their bearings.

The mountains beckon them. The mountains! It comes back to them, as would a dream, or they come back to it, or both at once when seen from an impossible perspective encompassing both ends of the story. The stone is old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that trace their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretches farther than he has ever seen. Cooper stands motionless on a flat, dark rock, Laura by his side. The pale six o'clock sun is still high in the sky.

There are people walking on the path above; some stop to look at them. There are rows of people on a path higher up still, and yet more on the other side. Wool hats all over, 'tis the season (although which season it is, they could not say); some of them are red. They stare, for a while. Then they walk away, carrying their red hats with them, struck by indifference, keeping their secrets, their vices, their miseries, spreading them into the world. This place does not care. They have fallen into a mirror of itself and see now with razor-sharp clarity the simplicity of it all under the tales and symbols. It is vast and terrifying.

"Have I... told you… about...?" Dale says, and they are among ghosts, and a cold fog covers his words.

"Tell me that story," says Laura with the same urgency in her voice. "How did you get out?"

"I…"

The valley ends somewhere up North, as all valleys do. But there is nothing at the end of the road, where the mountains meet. No-one has summoned them: no-one has the power to let them go. Evil exists. A desolate crossing place leads into the unknown.

"I don't think I ever did."

#twin peaks #dale cooper #laura palmer

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shipwreck-letters · 4 years

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“Codename; Beast Killer”

Prologue + Chapter One....A Pokémon weapon developed for a specific mission, it went berserk during an experiment, so it was cryogenically frozen. But what if it escaped?

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~3066

Andromeda, Johto

His arms were sore, his muscles straining far longer than they should. His teeth gritted together, pressing hard as if it would help at all. Arceus, what was this thing?

---

He dropped it on the counter and it fell with a bang, with the cluttering of silverware and the shaking of the table. His nerves ran like lightning, the adrenaline rushing away and reality quickly set in. The clash of dread, excitement, confusion, it left him heaving. The water of the lake clinged to his clothes, dripped from the tips of his hair.

The Pokemon was limp and cold, unmoving even with any gentle poke or prod. It just continued to drip with lake water and seaweed from it’s skin.

“What are you?” He repeated as he gripped his chin, pacing around the table, back and forth. “I-I don’t understand.”

He quickly began to pat his pockets, a man with a million things on his mind. Phone, phone, where’s the phone?

“Striker, have you got my phone?”

The Mightyena shook its fur and the man suddenly held his hand up triumphantly, with a red cell phone in his hand.

“Gotcha! Okay, alright, what should I do now? I need to document this. No, no, wait, I need to call Cassie. Striker, grab me the sketchbook, please. And a pen- Oh, I need to call Cass.”

As the phone began to ring, he flicked away more droplets of water, and analyzed the creature on his dining room table. It’s feet, legs, and even thighs didn’t seem to match. Like a toddler had spun the diagrams of a Pokemon in the classroom, mixing each body part until you had a conglomeration of...Something unnatural. Something amazing. And it’s head...On its head, a restraint like wood, shaped like a battleaxe, but still looked incredibly heavy. Maybe that’s where the weight came from.

On the other end of the phone, speakers were bumping, people shouting, and the man grimaced as he held the phone away from his ear. A voice laughed, and between a separate conversation, spoke directly into the phone. “What’s wrong? Damien?”

Damien rubbed his brows hard. “Uh, yeah, Cassie. It’s me. Hey, I need you back home. Now.”

“Like, now? I’m spectating a battle, I’m in the middle of a battle. Is it really that important, or are you calling me to show me an Ivysaur sprouting a different species of flower again?”

“Something big washed up tonight. I-I can’t explain, I just need you here. Don’t tell anyone, don’t bring anyone.”

As he spoke fast, he rummaged through drawers in the hallway, and wrapped a stethoscope around his neck, and slipped a retinoscope into his pocket. “Just hurry up, okay?”

He hung up the phone, and went back to the Pokemon. In the direct light, he could see the wounds on its body, burn marks unlike any natural battle. Battle burns were smaller, and more controlled as attacks were not to kill. He warmed up the stethoscope, rubbing it across his palm, and gently pressed around its body, and his eyes widened when he felt a heartbeat. It was alive.

🌃 🌃 🌃 🌃

The music was blasting across the stadium, special Loudreds rocking out with their ears broadcasting across the field. Guitars, drums, bass, you name it and there was a member of the band on the stage. Crowds were cheering, raising fists and raising midnight chaos for the night’s battle. A woman bopped her head to the music, her blonde hair swaying and her scarf blowing in the breeze. She rolled her shoulders and looked upon her crowd, at the faces and Pokemon in the seats. A proud grin couldn’t stop from coming as she turned to her Lucario.

“You ready?”

Lucario gave a small smile and nodded his head, and Cassie chuckled as she turned to the band wrapping up, the singer leaving a long note for the crowd to cheer on, and once noticing Cassie standing in the shadows, she smiled and left the microphone open, waving to the crowd as she stepped out, and Cassie stepped in.

Cassie took the microphone into her hands and faced the wild people.

“Show of hands, and I better see a lot, who’s ready for an old fashioned, Johto styled, Andromeda battle?!!”

The screams and cheers, whistles and clapping was enough to give Cassie an honest answer, and an ear-ful. She playfully winced and slowly nodded her head, turning to the microphone to calm down the city.

“I hear you! Now, I know Andromeda’s getting some light nowadays. Things to do, things to see! I get it! For all who’ve been here before, you know them, you love them! For the new folks, I want to show you what Andromeda can really do. So come on, Cora and Gliscor!”

From the opening next to Cassie, a young woman tied up her long hair and waved to the crowd as they welcomed her in. Above her, a Gliscor soared around, posing on light poles and fences. When Cora made it to her side of the field, Gliscor joined her side, playfully bumping her shoulder and grinning mischievously. Cora nuzzled its cheek and waited for her opponent.

Cassie cleared her throat.

“Encouraging new trainers is what we’re all about here! So without further ado, I want to welcome in Viola and Abra!”

From the farthest end, another girl entered the arena carrying an Abra in her arms. Her hair swooped in front of her face, and she made no effort to move it away, even keeping her eyes from the crowd as they cheered her on. Viola made her way to her end of the marked grass, and gently set her Abra on the ground, crossing her arms behind her back, and walked towards Cora as Cora did the same.

Cora shook Viola’s hand firmly, while Viola held a faint grip.

“Good luck, Viola!”

“Same to you, and your Gliscor.”

They backed up to their positions, and Viola looked down at Abra. “Okay, Abra, we trained for this remember? Are you nervous? Calm Mind.”

Abra took a silent, deep breath, and a light pink aura fizzled around its head. Cora jumped up and crossed her fists. “Alright, Gliscor, Swords Dance!”

Gliscor copied Cora’s move, crossing its arms in an X motion, and its body glowed in a faint orange light. It’s next attacking move would do more damage. Viola kept a close eye on Abra as it levitated into the air, and turned to Cora and Gliscor.

“Toxic, Abra!” Was all she needed to say before Abra teleported away, and Viola placed her hands behind her back. Abra appeared right in front of Gliscor, and struck it with a staggering claw, that left Gliscor holding its chest as a poison stain coated its hand. Abra teleported back to Viola.

Cora shook her head. “No heals, we’re gonna do this, right Gliscor? Let’s use that move too, Poison Slash!”

Gliscor shook itself and rushed forward to attack Abra with a taste of its own medicine, knocking it back with its long stinger. Abra cried out and teleported before it hit the ground, dropping next to Viola’s foot. Viola pried Abra off her leg, and set it on the ground.

“You can’t give up, Abra...Headbutt!”

Gliscor’s eyes widened as Abra disappeared. Cora shouted out, “Slash!” and stood back as Gliscor reared its pincer back and uppercut Abra as it reappeared, knocking Abra in the gut as it hit Gliscor head on. The force threw them both back to their spots.

Meanwhile, Cassie whistled as she watched closely. “Not bad, that Abra.” She mumbled. She took the microphone into her hands and was about to make a comment on the unfolding fight, when her pocket buzzed loudly and obnoxiously. Dropping her arm, Cassie groaned and took her phone out. “Now what?”

“Don’t you hate in-game interruptions?” A band member asked. Cassie laughed as she answered the phone. “Happens too often. What’s wrong? Damien?”

Damien’s voice was stuttered and rapid; Panicked. Cassie plugged a finger in her ear and frowned, leaning down to try and block out the surrounding noises.

“Like, now?” She demanded, glancing up every moment. I’m spectating a battle, I’m in the middle of a battle! Is it really that important, or are you calling me to show me an Ivysaur sprouting a different species of flower again?”

“Something big washed up.” Damien’s voice was stern, and it made even the fired up night feel chillier. It didn’t help when his orders were to come alone. The phone call ended and there was a monotone ringing until Cassie hung up as well.

“Everything okay, Cassie?”

Cassie motioned for Lucario to follow her. She turned to the Andromeda grunt that asked. “I’ve gotta go, something’s come up. Let the trainers know I’ll see them next week.”

The grunt took Cassie’s seat, and waved to her as she quickly left the field, back into the Arena and her room past the locker room. The light flickered on, and the footsteps of Cassie and Lucario echoed on old concrete. Cassie sighed as she heard the crowds cheer reach her ears, picking up her bag that hung on the old battered chair.

“Let’s go see what Damien’s got planned…Whatever he’s got to show me that keeps me from doing my job.”

She paused, looking down at Lucario’s neck, and the locket that carried something very special. Cassie had one too. She adorned a small smile and gently touched Lucario’s hand with her palm, leaving her hand to linger and slowly pulled away as she walked out of the room, shutting the light off behind her.

The outside air carried a wind that only happens at the sea, and the night sky was starless. The city was very quiet on weekends like this, and anyone who still lingered around kept the peace just fine. Still lively as the weekend night, trainers and others hanging out both inside and out. A Snorlax snored loudly on the grass, and a Bulbasaur, Lilligant, and Fomantis were curled up comfortably on top of it. A Misdreavus and Shuppet floated among the sidewalks.

Cassie strolled the sidewalk, her hands in her pockets and her walk on auto-pilot, as she slipped into a mind to think about many other things. It was almost disheartening to hear her meditation be cut short when footsteps ran behind her, and a young voice called out.

“Night, Cassie! Hey, Lucario!”

Pausing, Cassie glanced back to see her trainer catching up to her. Long bangs covering their eyes and many freckles dotted their cheeks and nose. They gave a bright smile and Cassie felt herself smiling back.

“Not feeling well? I’ve never seen you leave this early.”

“Didn’t want to, but...Got some business I gotta take care of at home.”

“Mind if I walk with you, at least for a little bit?”

Cassie waved her arm, and continued to walk again, with Echo joined at her other side, head tilted to the sky. The buttons on their coats glinted under the moonlight like fallen stars. Where Cassie's jacket was pristine and clean, Echo's was dirty and worn away. Along Cassie's shoulders were great spikes that could pierce, Echo's was small and dull, if some weren't chipped and broken.

“Why didn’t you come to the battle tonight?” Cassie asked.

“You’ll see me when I’m needed, but no one will fight me for a while. Because when they fight me, they’ll fight you. And no one in Andromeda has ever gotten that far.”

“What if someone broke some rules? Showed up and demanded to fight you?”

“Trust me, I’ll be there for that.” Echo laughed. “I’m the rule breaker in this town.”

“Fair enough.”

For what felt like a long walk, Cassie and Echo talked about all sorts of things on their walk. The Johto League season opening back up in the coming springtime, the oncoming Winter season and how they wish they could escape to a place like Alola. Who would be Champion next year, and if anyone from Andromeda would make it. They both laughed and shook their heads.

Past the apartment buildings and cafes, the Pokemon Centers and corner side shops, the urban city fleshed out and began to change. Sidewalks turned to grassy terrains, with sandy roads lined with pebbles and rocks. Time ticked away slowly in the city, but the moon quickly rose above the horizon then, bringing a starless night and a strange, slow wind. Cassie didn’t even realize that Echo still walked with her.

The remainder of the walk was very quiet, with the wind continuing to drift, pulling the ends of Cassie’s scarf, or Echo’s long hair. Pokemon would run back and forth across the brush and trail, but with one stern look from Cassie, they’d back off. Echo tried to copy her look one time or another, but the Rattata in the grass tilted its head and stared as Cassie and Lucario passed by. Echo stuck their tongue out and ran to catch up.The path leads to the dense, dark forest.

They followed it through to find the stream that leads to the lake at the edge of Johto. It parts in two, and Cassie lead the way to turn left, and continued walking on. She listened out for music playing; Acoustic tunes that carried around the trees and through the branches, singing about lovers and darkness and light.

Tonight, she heard nothing. Just the lull of the Pokemon in the forest. Damien’s house stood in a clearing, with many rooms and a porch that went all the way around. When there would usually be lights on, and Damien leaning over the railing of the front porch, a steaming cup in his hands, Cassie paused when she noticed there was none of that. The lights were off, Damien was not there.

Lucario picked up on Cassie’s stiffness, the trouble lurking in her aura. Cassie shook her shoulders out, dropped the chills of her head, and pressed on to the front door. She held her hand outstretched behind her.

“Just hold on, Echo.”

Echo stepped onto the porch and waited, while Cassie pressed her ear against the door and listened. Her eyebrows furrowed, there wasn’t any noise coming from inside.

No fighting or talking, or anything strange. She reached into her pocket and fished out the key to her house, and unlocked the door.

“Hey Damien, I’m home. I uh, I brought Echo too.”

There was an immediate, harsh “Shh”. Damien’s voice whispered, “Not so loud.”

Damien came from the living room, and quickly ushered the both of them, and Lucario, inside. He immediately shut the door, locked it, and even checked the blinds.

“No one followed you?”

“...No one’s out there. Now what do you have to show me?”

“I hope you don’t mind, I put it in your room.”

Cassie blinked slowly, and made sure she heard that right. “I-I’m sorry, you put it in my room?”

Damien handed her a notepad with a page full of notes taken. Cassie passed it to Echo as she followed Damien up the stairs, quietly pressing the situation. What was in her room? Why in her room? Damien walked slow, and greatly urged everyone to stay quiet, as to not wake it up. He lead Echo and Cassie to Cassie’s bedroom, the first one at the top of the stairs.

“Striker caught it in the water, and I brought it home. It’s extremely heavy, and your room was the only one I could manage to get it to. I have no idea what it is.”

Echo was reading the paper, and every observation lead to another question. They peered over Cassie’s shoulder as Damien cracked the door open, peeked his head inside, and then allowed the two to come in. Cassie and Echo’s eyes both widened, and they edged into the room.

“What is that?” They whispered together. Echo stepped around Cassie and walked up to the sleeping Pokemon, so big on the bed it almost didn’t fit at all. It was huge.

“In the paper, I noted that it was burned and had traces of glass in its wounds. I’m no doctor, but I think I got all that out, and I saved it to research. These burns didn’t look like they came from a battle. It seems to be gaseous fire, like a building explosion. A...mix of chemicals.”

Echo kneeled down beside the Pokemon’s head, and reached out to it. They gently touched its helmet, and the Pokmeon didn’t stir from its deep sleep.

Cassie rubbed her head, trying to take it all in. “What, you’re saying it came from a lab, or something?”

“Where else, Cassie? What trainer in any region would have something like this? Everything about it is a mystery. It’s...biology is unearthly. That helmet, it must be containing some kind of power in it, restricting it.”

“This is absolutely insane.” Cassie whispered, pacing across the room. “What if it’s dangerous? It wakes up, it blows up the house.”

“Cassie,” Damien began. “You are the leader of an entire Gym. You almost get blown up by inexperienced trainers, unstable Pokemon, everyday.”

Echo joined in. “Yeah, Cass! You’re a Dark trainer! This should be a cakewalk for you! And, if it’s not in a lab anymore, it’ll wake up in a big soft bed, we’ll be here, and we can figure out what to do next!”

Damien and Echo both turned to Cassie with big eyes and pleading hands. Cassie stared back at them, glancing at the Pokemon, and eventually looked down at Lucario.

“Do you sense anything dangerous with it?” She asked quietly. Lucario shook his head, and Cassie sighed.

“Fine, fine. But-” She cut off the two before they could celebrate. “We tell no one about this, not a soul. Not the rest of the team, not your professor friends, not bystanders in a Cafe. Got it?”

The two nodded their heads eagerly, and Cassie took one last pitiful glance at the Pokemon. The wounds that covered its body, and she could only imagine what kind of situation it escaped from to end up in the ocean water, almost to die. She mumbled to Damien, “I’ll get some towels, and the Burn Heals.”

The rest of the night would be a long and grueling one.

----

My Quotev; https://www.quotev.com/reachingcoda

My Main: https://mako-bones.tumblr.com/

#oof sorry this is so long #pokemon #original story #codename; beast killer #mako's story #type; null #silvally #pokegraphic #johto #alola #sun and moon #pokemon sun and moon

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callunavulgari · 4 years

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YEAR-IN-BOOKS | 2019

So. Last year I read 89 books. The year before that I read 39. The year before that I read 23. This year I have (thus far) read 110 books out of my goal of 100 and will likely finish both The Secret Commonwealth and The Library of the Unwritten before the end of the year. I may even finish another depending on which audiobook I go for next. So I’m gonna talk a lot. Again.

1. a book you loved?

Again, I read a lot of books this year. It was a great year for books. I discovered Brandon Sanderson, which has been amazing. I reread at least two different favorite series, some graphic novels, a few books that would ordinarily be outside of my typical genre. But I’m going to pick Red, White, & Royal Blue, which was probably the one I loved the most. Casey McQuiston, for those of you who weren’t in The Social Network fandom, wrote a really fantastic RPF in like 2011 or so. It was gorgeous and while I’m sad that it was never finished, I can still appreciate the crap out of it. RWARB is a story about the son of America’s first female president falling for the Prince of Wales. It is everything I loved about fics like The Student Prince and Drastically Redefining Protocol and more. It’s best universe 100% and I will probably be rereading it within the next few months because I loved it to pieces. Also, it won both best romance and best debut novel on goodreads by a pretty large margin, which is amazing!

2. a book you hated?

I think the only book that I absolutely hated this year was The Gunslinger. Which sucks because a lot of people recommended that one pretty highly, but I either reluctantly enjoy Stephen King’s books or I outright loathe them. My review, directly from goodreads, with a rare one star rating:

“Thing number 1: same guy who did the audiobook recording for The Stand did this one as well. Bad enough. Thing number 2: I forgot how badly Stephen King writes women. I got to listen to this narrator read a scene where a woman has an orgasm because the main character is exorcising a lust demon out of her by shoving a gun into her unmentionables, and then I got to hear someone described as "falling whorishly." DNF at 75%. Sorry. I just could not do it. Falling whorishly was the straw that broke the camel's back.”

3. a book that made you cry?

I definitely cried when I finished The Hero of Ages, which is the third of the original Mistborn trilogy by Sanderson. Without spoiling things... I was definitely crying by the end of it. Might have been crying at the end of the first in the series too. The only other ones I can think of that may have made me sniffle are Everything I Never Told You and To Be Taught, If Fortunate.

The first because it’s a wonderfully crafted little tale about a family getting torn apart when their daughter dies tragically. The whole thing is pulled wonderfully taut with tension, and each of the character’s snippets into Lydia’s life before her death leads you to more and more discoveries until finally everything comes together seamlessly in the end.

The second because it is a little, little book about a big, big universe and is just so achingly beautiful and big inside that it hurts.

4. a book that made you happy?

I mean, I’m tempted to Red, White, and Royal Blue again because it is 100% the one that made me happiest. I was grinning like an idiot half the time I was reading it. But, because answering the same book for two questions seems cheap when I’ve read over 100, so I’m gonna go with King of Scars, which is the sequel to the sequel of the original Grisha trilogy by Leigh Bardugo. It took the best things about the original series and combined it with the best parts of Six of Crows and left me with a super riveting, fun read.

5. the best sequel?

Gah, I read so many series this year, so this is kind of hard. I have two answers!

The Well of Ascension, which was the second of the Mistborn novels and probably my favorite and The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy, which in my humble opinion was leagues better than The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue. Not that it was bad, I’m just starved for stories about smart sexy ladies who become pirates and flirt with other pretty pirate ladies.

6. most anticipated release for the new year?

Return of the Thief by Megan Whalen Turner is still my answer to this one. The release date got pushed back to August of next year instead of March of this one, so provided it doesn’t get pushed back again - that is 100% my answer. Some others I’m excited about: The Nobleman’s Guide to Scandal and Shipwrecks, which I found out about two minutes ago, the as yet untitled Stormlight Archive #4 which is apparently coming out in November next year, and like six books that don’t have release dates yet so probably won’t come out until 2021. Oh, oh, oh, and The King of Crows, the fourth in The Diviners series, which I forgot was coming out in February!

7. favorite new author?

Easily Brandon Sanderson. Most of my other favorites that I really loved were all authors I’ve read before. Sanderson was my Rothfuss of 2019. Discovering his books changed my whole damn year.

8. favorite book to film adaptation?

I didn’t reread the series this year, but HBO put out their adaptation of His Dark Materials and it has been absolutely amazing so far! I’m blown away by every single episode and can only hope that the second and third seasons will be this good.

9. the most surprising book?

Okay, so there’s this book that I picked up randomly at the library because I liked its cover. It’s called The Hundred-Foot Journey by Richard Morais and it’s about an Indian boy who grows up to become a world famous chef. It’s so, so rich. The detail is wonderful. You can taste the food, feel the sun, be a stranger in a market somewhere in France. It was a true delight of a book and definitely one of my favorites.

10. the most interesting villain?

I read Codename Villanelle shortly after I got into the TV show, and it was actually a surprisingly good book. She’s a great villain. However, I also read Forest of a Thousand Lanterns, which you don’t even realize is about the evil queen until you’re like halfway through the book. That one was really, really well done and I need to get around to reading its sequel.

11. the best makeouts?

I’m tempted to say Chilling Effect because there’s just something about a sassy space pirate making out with her alien crew member whose skin can make her go into anaphylactic shock that really appeals to the part of me that shipped Sheppard/Garrus from Mass Effect, but there were two really steamy ones in The Hating Game (elevators) and Ninth House (slightly dubcon-y bit because one character is drugged, but super searing anyway?).

Also the bit in Red, White and Royal Blue where they make out against a painting of Hamilton in the White House will probably get me every time.

12. a book that was super frustrating?

Again, But Better was a pretty decent book over all. But there were slightly too many pop culture references and listening to an audiobook where the characters are signing along to Blink 182 along with several other songs was a little cringey because the narrator did not actually sing, just kind of singsongy shouted. It was weird.

The Alchemist was also really slow going for such a short book but was over all pretty good.

13. a book you texted about, and the text was IN CAPSLOCK?

I have no real life friends who really read and it is fucking tragic, so the closest I got was recommending a bunch of books to my mom and going off on tangents about how good they were. I think I might have ranted to Nick about a couple of them too.

14. a book for the small children in your life?

I reread The Bartimaeus trilogy again this year and it’s a kid’s book series that I would recommend to literally anybody because it might be my favorite series ever? I also read Lockwood & Co, a kid’s series by the same author who did Bartimaeus, which was fantastic because I didn’t even know he’d written anything since Bartimaeus? It didn’t quite compare, mostly because I adore Bartimaeus way too much, but was still highly entertaining. Spooky kid detectives hunt ghosts!

15. a book you learned from?

While I did not read a single non-fiction book this year (again, whoops), a lot of books are informative even if they’re fiction. Hell, I learned more about cooking from The Hundred Foot Journey than I have in any cookbook out there.

16. a book you wouldn’t normally try?

Maybe Challenger Deep? I’ve been branching out more, so it’s getting harder and harder to tell which books I wouldn’t normally try. I did read like three exclusively romance novels this year, which was a bit odd for me.

17. a book with something magical in it?

I still say all books are magical. And definitely a lot of the books I read were magical, but probably the one with the most magic was The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern, which was a meticulously crafted love letter to all stories and fairy tales. It was really magical and definitely lived up to The Night Circus. If she keeps up like this, I won’t even mind the decade between publications, because she has a hell of a way with words.

18. the best clothes?

Maybe either The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (the descriptions of her gorgeous silky green dresses made me deeply envious) or Three Dark Crowns (which had neat food and clothes from what I remember)

19. the most well-rounded characters?

All of Sanderson’s stuff has great characters, but Everything I Never Told You is still probably the one with the best. Celeste Ng is really, really good at making you feel each of her characters down to their marrow.

20. the best world-building?

To Be Taught, If Fortunate was very much wow when it comes to the world building. But so was Ninth Gate and The Alloy Era of the Mistborn novels (sequel series to the original series that takes place hundreds of years after the first series). I also read Saga this year, a graphic novel series about a man and his wife on the run from their governments with their baby daughter because their species are in a long standing war and nobody wants anybody to know that they can procreate. That has some fantastic world building.

21. the worst world-building?

Maybe What If It’s Us? I found that one largely boring.

22. a book with a good sidekick?

Definitely any of the Alloy of Law books. Wayne is a wonderful sidekick and all of the other “side characters” in that series are fantastic.

23. the most insufferable narrator?

Ugh, the Gunslinger. Both the character in the book and the person who narrated the audiobook.

24. a book you were excited to read for months beforehand?

I think the only ones I was really excited for head of time were the two Folk of Air sequels by Holly Black and The Starless Sea. I still need to read Call Down the Hawk, and I’m currently reading The Secret Commonwealth, the sequel to His Dark Materials which I’ve been excited about since I learned that it would be a thing.

25. a book you picked up on a whim?

You already know about The Hundred Foot Journey. We Are Where the Nightmares Go and The Monster of Elendhaven were also both randoms that I picked up during the Halloween season that I really enjoyed.

26. a book that should be read in a foreign country?

The Hundred Foot Journey. 100%

27. a book cassian andor would like?

I still don’t know what to make of this question.

28. a book gina linetti would like?

Probably any of the steamy ones? I honestly don’t know.

29. your favorite cover art?

Probably The Ten Thousand Doors of January. It’s very pretty and flowery and the book itself is fantastic. I also really like the cover of David Mogo, Godhunter.

30. a book you read in translation?

I think The Alchemist was the only book I read that was translated from another language.

31. a book from another century?

Ha! North and South was first published in 1854. Other than that the oldest ones I’ve got were written in the 80s (Shards of Honor, Ender’s Game, and The Alchemist) or the 50s (The Two Towers).

32. a book you reread?

This year I reread the Bartimaeus Trilogy, the Temeraire novels (and then finished the last two I hadn’t read yet), Sabriel, and The King of Attolia.

33. a book you’re dying to talk about, and why?

I have clearly talked enough at this point. I think the only one that I loved that I didn’t get a chance to talk about already was Horrorstor, which is a book about haunted Ikea (basically). It’s fantastic and hilarious and spooky and now that I think about it Gina Linetti would probably like it. Oh, and The Bear and the Nightingale trilogy, which was a retelling of an old Russian tale. It was great.

TLDR; Read Sanderson’s books, Leigh Bardugo’s books, and whatever Casey McQuiston writes for the next 30 years.

#heather says what #new year's memes #2019 #books to read #recommendations #fuck yeah recs!!#this was a mistake why am i still awake #oh right because i can't shut up and talk about books for two hours #in a post that will largely probably only be read by myself a year from now #it's okay though because i like looking back on them

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mneiai · 5 years

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Ridiculous ASOIAF theory: D+J=E

I wrote this for r/pureasoiaf but figured I’d post it here, too lol

Months ago I had been talking to someone on the sub about how obviously anyone could be a hidden Targaryen, including Euron. Then at 4am when I couldn't get to sleep one night wrote up most of this. Again, and I cannot emphasize this enough, I wrote this at 4am.

This theory explores Prince Duncan Targaryen (the Prince of Dragonflies) and Jenny of Oldstones as the parents of Euron Greyjoy. Or D + J = E.

How:

Prince Duncan died at the Tragedy at Summerhaul and Jenny's fate is unknown, though it is implied she died. The event at Summerhaul was meant to bring dragons back into the world and at least two Targaryens died, if not many more.

"...the king summoned many of those closest to him to Summerhaull....It is unfortunate that the tragedy that transpired at Summerhaul left very few witnesses alive, and those who survived would not speak of it." (AWOIAF)

The woods witch, who likely was a Child of the Forest or a close descendant of them, saw Jenny as her friend, perhaps one of her only friends.

"A woods witch?" Dany was astonished. “She came to court with Jenny of Oldstones. A stunted thing, grotesque to look upon. A dwarf, most people said, though dear to Lady Jenny, who always claimed that she was one of the children of the forest.” (ADWD)

Knowing that Summerhaul would end in the death of Prince Duncan, the woods witch used the great magical energy of the event and the sacrifice of not just people with king's blood, but a king himself, to try to save Prince Duncan for Jenny.

However, as magic is unpredictable and weaker at the time, and hers (the magic of the Children) may be at odds with the Valyrian magic that Aegon V was attempting, instead of saving Prince Duncan and Jenny, she saved a piece of both Prince Duncan and Jenny--their unborn child.

Euron was most likely born and/or "conceived" on Pyke, a place that is so old no one knows who originally built it (AWOIAF) and is the location of the Seastone Chair, a throne of unknown origins made out of a mysterious oily black stone. There is magic in Pyke, magic perhaps powerful enough and unused enough to be tapped into.

As the magic of Valyria and the Children mixed, it needed an outlet, somewhere where both could exist simultaneously--such as where fire and ice can be tempered by water.

Euron Targaryen:

Age: Euron was born sometime between 256 and 268. The Tragedy at Summerhaul was in 259.

While we don't know Jenny's age, Duncan would have been in his late 30s and since there is no mention of her being excessively old and given the very young age of marriage for girls in Westeros, Jenny was almost certainly younger than that. Which means they were both likely capable of having children.

Appearance: Euron is referred to as pale and handsome, with dark hair.

In the official artwork of Prince Duncan, he is depicted as having inherited his mother's darker hair. And Targaryens are often considered good looking (a whole string of descriptions going back to Aegon I has them ranging from handsome to otherworldly beauties) and are associated with paler skin (a typical Valyrian feature found in Targaryens and Velaryons).

We are never told the skin tones of the other Greyjoy brothers, which implies that Euron’s skin tone in particular has some significance. We are also shown that almost all Greyjoys except Euron have two black eyes.

Euron also notably has one blue eye and an eye covered by a patch said to be black--Shiera Seastar, a Targaryen bastard, whose name itself means “Star of the Sea,” is one of the most famous figures in Westeros to have heterochromia, or two different colored eyes.

Tyrion Lannister, another infamous “Hidden Targaryen,” whether from A+J or from D+D, is the other.

Personality and Interests:

Many of the people who know Euron consider him strange and mad (in basically every book he's mentioned in)--Jenny of Oldstones was considered both "strange" and called "half-mad" by the locals who knew her (AWOIAF).

She was suspected of being a witch, put a great deal of emphasis on her First Men blood, and was good friends with that prophecy-making woods witch who became the Ghost of High Heart.

Euron dabbles in magic and is especially interested in clairvoyance, as he has consumed enough shade of the evening to stain his lips blue, a feature found in warlocks.

Aeron and Victarion think that the blood of their parents "went bad" in Euron...but what if, in truth, he had none of their blood at all?

"In him our father’s blood went bad.” “Our mother’s blood as well.” (AFFC)

Euron has many personality traits in common with notable Targaryens. Like many of them, including Jaehaerys I, he believes himself to be more godlike than other men. He also is obsessed with conquering Westeros, as Aegon I and his sisters were. (AFFC)

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard....I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." (AFFC)

The only person in history thought to have gone to post-Doom Valyria and survived was Aerea Targaryen (F&B), obviously someone with the blood of the dragon. But Euron supposedly also made a journey to Valyria and came out alive, in fact in much better condition than Aerea.

But Aerea had been completely unprepared for the journey--she didn't have supplies or anything for it--whereas Euron knew where he was going and was ready for it. If having the blood of Old Valyria can keep someone from being killed in Valyria, then perhaps having that blood and being prepared, and having some knowledge of magic and the like, can have someone survive and be relatively healthy after.

Associations:

Euron is also associated with crows--he's called the "Crow's Eye" (or “Euron Croweye”) because of his black eye and in a dream of the woods witch it's thought he appears as a "drowned crow with seaweed hanging from his wings."

Brynden Rivers, a Targaryen bastard also known as Bloodraven, was a brother of the Night's Watch, who are called crows by the free folk, and is thought to be the Three Eyed Crow that appears to Bran Stark and Jojen Reed in their dreams.

Many people theorize that Euron is a warg, which is a power associated with the Children and those First Men who interbred with them (Starks, crannogmen, etc). There are also popular theories that Euron was either a former student of Bloodraven or has been in contact with him somehow.

If Euron is a Targaryen born into such unique circumstances, Bloodraven may have chosen to watch him and pay greater attention to him, the way it is sometimes implied he has been watching and influencing Jon Snow (through Ghost, Mormont's raven, and other methods).

Specifically, Euron seems to talk about flying in a way that is similar to Bloodraven (and may even reference Bran's accident):

“When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly,” he announced. “When I woke, I couldn’t... or so the maester said. But what if he lied?” ... "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower? No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap." ... Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.” (AFFC)

It seemed as though he had been falling for years. Fly, a voice whispered in the darkness, but Bran did not know how to fly, so all he could do was fall. ... “I can’t fly,” Bran said. “I can’t, I can’t …” How do you know? Have you ever tried? ... “I want to learn magic,” Bran told him. “The crow promised that I would fly.” ... “Old Nan says the children knew the songs of the trees, that they could fly like birds and swim like fish and talk to the animals,” Bran said. (AGOT)

Euron's personal heraldry also features crows and a red eye--Bloodraven is albino with red eyes. Almost as though he's referencing--honoring? mocking?--his some-greats uncle.

Duncan is called the Prince of Dragonflies, and dragonflies are associated with galleys (ships):

Two galleys had come out to meet them. They seemed to skim upon the water like dragonflies, their pale oars flashing. (AFFC)

Which in turn have been associated back with crows and Euron’s own ship in the same book:

The ship was Blackbird, the largest of the Watch’s galleys. (AFFC)

And then he saw her: a single-masted galley, lean and low, with a dark red hull. Her sails, now furled, were black as a starless sky. Even at anchor Silence looked both cruel and fast. (AFFC)

Future Moves

Dragons:

Euron is, quite possibly, attacking Oldtown or has hired a Faceless Man to infiltrate The Citadel in order to claim the hidden book Blood and Fire or the Death of Dragons (too many theories/threads on this to reference any one lol).

There is a lot of speculation of what exactly can be found in this book, but if it is magic of Old Valyria it may specifically appeal to someone of Targaryen blood--could it, perchance, answer the question as to why the dragons died out? Could it be used by someone with blood of the dragon to learn how to bring more dragons back? Or could it contain the horrific blood magics that might have been used to create dragonriders in the first place?

Finally, there is Jaime's dream about the deep, which many people associate with what Euron may or may not be doing:

"Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Beware the water, he told himself. There may be creatures living in it, hidden deeps..." "

“Tell me, Jaime. What lives here? What lives in the darkness?”

“Doom.” No bear, he knew. No lion. “Only doom.”" (TWOW)

Doom...as in the Doom of Valyria? Which could have very likely been brought on by the Valyrians themselves? If Euron is planning some large event, a Doom-level catastrophe could be it.

Or perhaps he seeks a type of dragon that even his Valyrian ancestors had not tamed, to kill krakens and torment islands, and show that even kings and gods need fear him, using the knowledge of the magic of the Iron Islands and Sunset Sea and his dragonlord blood.

Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga’s ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga’s teeth. (AFFC)

Daenerys:

Like Targaryens of the past, Euron is interested in marrying his possible-relative, Daenerys. And, contextually, they have a few things in common.

Notably, Daenerys has many dreams of flying and madness, as well.

Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I’ve flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. “Men are mad and gods are madder,” she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement. (ADWD)

Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. (AGOT)

They are both also associated with storms in the text. Daenerys is "Stormborn" and Euron is called a storm:

Aeron thought, and now the storm is coming, a storm such as these isles have never known. ... Aeron tugged his beard, and thought. I have seen the storm, and its name is Euron Crow’s Eye. (AFFC)

And as shown in the Nagga quote above, the Grey King, the early ruler of the Iron Islands and worshiper of the Drowned God, had his greatest enemy in the Storm God.

In ADWD, when Daenerys is alone, she twice specifically mentions the presence of dragonflies, the symbol of Euron’s father. Including in a possible hallucination/vision:

...all she saw was trickling brown water … and the grass, still moving slightly. The wind, she told herself, the wind shakes the stalks and makes them sway. Only no wind was blowing. The sun was overhead, the world still and hot. Midges swarmed in the air, and a dragonfly floated over the stream, darting here and there. And the grass was moving when it had no cause to move.

Euron and Daenerys are also both indirectly (or more directly, depending on one's perspective) responsible for the deaths of their older brother.

Daenerys, of course, is threatened by Viserys and then as Drogo has him killed, she watches, "curiously calm" (AGOT).

Euron appears on the Iron Islands, despite his banishment, the very day after Balon's death. It is very likely he had a Faceless Man kill him.

"Was the storm raging when he fell?” Aeron demanded of them. “Aye,” the youth said, “it was.” “The Storm God cast him down,” the priest announced. For a thousand thousand years sea and sky had been at war. From the sea had come the ironborn, and the fish that sustained them even in the depths of winter, but storms brought only woe and grief. (AFFC)

This quote also shows a dichotomy between the sea and sky: The Iron Born are the sea, but the sky (and storms) are...something else. Euron is not of the sea, he is of the sky. He is not a Greyjoy, he is a Targaryen.

TLDR; Since anyone can be a secret Targaryen, I posit that Euron Greyjoy, who has contextual connections to the magic of the Children and an obvious interest in Valyria, is in fact the son of Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones and give a bunch of ridiculous reasons why.

#asoiaf #euron greyjoy #ridiculous fan theories #my stuff #long post #i mean hopefully not bc hopefully the cut works across all platforms #but it's fucking tumblr

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