#Toothless on the other hand. He's very loud. Even if he's mute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ariparri · 3 years

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This drawing was inspired by a story my friend cursedautumn wrote for me as her part of our usual story for art trade.

It's been so long since I've drawn something in this style, I was scared I was going to give up half way through the entire thing. But nope, I was quite ambitious and pulled through 9 hours to finish this piece!

Look at that! It's absolutely beautiful 😭 I can stare at this and be so damn proud of it all day!

Speaking of the story, you can read it here under the cut. Flowers may be my absolute favorite from autumn's stories, but this was just too cute. I just adore the father/daughter dynamic Veruca and Elroy have.

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His Princess

"Alrighty, I'm leaving." Wilhelmina kissed Elroy on the cheek and took the bag. “I'll be there in the evening, don't wait for me early. I left a list of products that Vera needs to be fed. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"You underestimate me," Elroy growled, jokingly offended. "Veruca will be fine, I'm a fully capable father, Wil. Go and have a good rest, you'll see when you come back, the house will shine, and the child will have the tenth dream." Wilhelmina smiled dryly and rolled her eyes. "You're the same as always. Well, I'm off."

With that, she opened the door and went out. Elroy watched her go for a while until she disappeared behind the fence, then closed the door and took a deep breath. Elroy McQuaid was a father of two children, but, frankly, he had already forgotten what it was like to stay all day with a small child. Coby had grown up a long time ago, now he was at Hogwarts (where, by the way, he recently received an indignant letter from Minerva McGonagall about his son's behavior), and little Veruca did not want to sit still and quickly came up with entertainment for herself: she rolled away from her father, turning over from her back to her stomach, then, on the contrary, crawled up to him and began pulling his hair or stubble. Elroy didn't mind, but he couldn't let his daughter roll around on the floor all day and pinch him! He had to think of something to do. So he picked up Veruca in his arms and spoke, "What should we do? We're going to play with toys, aren't we, baby?"

"Yes!" Veruca said glibly. She didn't know how to speak yet, but she already knew words like "yes", "not", "ma", "pa" and "Co-i" (that is, Coby). Elroy was infinitely proud of his daughter; Wilhelmina took it much more calmly and even laughed at his constant delight. Elroy was slightly offended: "How can you, Wil? She talks great for her age!", but there were no big quarrels because of this, and he understood that his wife showed love for her daughter in a slightly different way.

As soon as she was in her room, Veruca clung tightly to a wooden box filled to the brim with toys. There were dolls, plush toys, a plastic tea set, with which the baby sometimes gently beat her older brother, several suits with bat wings and many other means of entertainment. Elroy watched in silence as she turned over the wooden box, and sighed to himself: later he would have to take a long and painstaking time to clean up the mess that his daughter had made. But he obediently waited until all the contents of the box were on the floor, and smiled, "Come on, Vera, choose what we will play."

Veruca thought for a while and a soft bat colored so bright it was slowly eating out Elroy's eyes. This bat was given to the McQuaid family by friends a few years ago, and at first Coby played with it, and then it was taken away from him by his younger sister. Veruca took it out at every opportunity and forced the first family member she met to entertain her, holding her in their hands and "butting" the girl with a toy. Elroy didn't have much choice right now. He asked, "Are we going to play this?"

"Yes!" Veruca nodded. She had the same light green eyes as Elroy, like clear, transparent water.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll butt you. Come on…" Suddenly, he quickly grabbed the toy and began to gently poke his daughter in the face. Veruca burst into a ringing childish laugh, trying to grab a bat, and randomly waved her plump hands in the air. Elroy poked the toy first on her cheek, then in her stomach, then in her shoulder, and she laughed and made futile attempts to outwit dad and catch her pet. At that moment, Veruca strangely reminded Elroy of a young Wilhelmina, just as cheerful, laughing happily, not yet so strict and upset by the behavior of her growing son. Actually, Veruca was much more like her father, but there was already something about her that made her obviously the daughter of Wilhelmina McQuaid.

After playing with the bat, Veruca lost interest in it and took up a book of fairy tales written by the bard Beadle. Of course, it was still too early for her to read them, but the bright pictures on the glossy paper attracted the eye, and the baby ran her finger along the pages with genuine interest, looking questioningly at Elroy, as if asking what was depicted here. Most of all, she was interested in pictures of beautiful queens, princesses and sorceresses, women with long hair, dressed in dresses, robes and heavy jewelry. The girl especially liked the drawing of Morgan Le Fay, a tall red-haired woman with light green eyes, in a white dress. Veruca poked at it with her finger and hooted.

"This, baby, is Morgan Le Fay. She was a very outstanding sorceress, healer and fortune-teller. The sorcerers bewitched people, Vera, they are also wizards, it's just that their magic was different. And Morgan was both a sorceress and a witch. It's complicated, isn't it?" Elroy explained, to which Veruca frowned and turned away, indicating that she was not interested in this topic. She always did this when she did not understand what was being said to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance — it hurts her pride so much!

And even though Veruca was still a very little girl, she had pride. This pleased Elroy: if self-confidence and healthy pride are inherent in a person from childhood, nothing will knock them out of there. So let his daughter be proud. It was better to have pride than not to have it, his sister had once told him, and Elroy completely agreed with her.

Suddenly, his daughter turned over on her stomach and, starting to turn over slowly, rolled in the opposite direction from him. Elroy was so surprised that he didn't even understand what was happening, and he stared at Veruсa with his mouth open for a few seconds, and then he realized that the typical willfulness of the McQuaids had awakened in her, and she decided to try to move herself. Attempts to "escape" have occurred before, but Wilhelmina, with the air of a connoisseur, assured that this is normal and there is no need to interfere with the child's self-development.

"Veruca!" Elroy called out to his daughter.

"Ah!" she answered him and giggled, once again turning over on her stomach. "Vera," the man said more quietly. "Where are you going?" Veruca smiled with an almost toothless mouth and giggled louder. Elroy sighed loudly and got to his feet to put the mischievous girl back in her place.

Suddenly, Veruca reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed the leg of a chair. She tensed, slightly lifting the body and pulling her legs under her.

And then she began to get up — in the literal sense, to get to her feet, holding tightly to the leg of the chair, as if for a handrail, and finally straightened up and stood up, swaying slightly. Elroy froze in mute amazement, joy and disbelief, watching his little daughter, his princess, stand on her feet for the first time, and was afraid to even sigh and break the great moment. This feeling was even brighter than what he had experienced when Coby first got on his feet, much, much brighter, although Elroy did not want to admit it to himself.

It seems that Veruca was afraid of her own independence and the next second fell on the carpet and began to cry. Elroy was at his daughter's side in the blink of an eye and hastily picked her up in his arms, saying affectionately:

"Don't cry, Vera, don't cry, my princess, everything will be fine, you're a good girl. Look, you got up for the first time today, can you imagine?" and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back. Veruca's crying wasn't caused by pain or anything worse, it's just that she hardly expected such sharp physical progress from herself.

So he patiently calmed her down until the girl stopped crying and wearily buried her face in her father's shirt.

"Do you want to sleep?" Elroy asked gently. "Let's go sit outside. It started raining there, we'll swing in the chair, listen to the weather…"

They did just that. Elroy went out onto the terrace. There he sat down in a wicker rocking chair with Veruca in his arms and was quiet; a summer downpour was really rustling on the green street and in the garden. The storm swelled over the McQuaid estate, rallying in the sky in a dense purple wall, ready to crack and burst into lightning. But while there were no loud noises, Elroy held the sleeping Veruca, wrapped in a plump purple blanket with a bat's face, in his arms and looked at the blooming garden. There was an unusual calmness in his soul, although, in general, there was no cause for alarm; nevertheless, such satisfaction in his soul had not been for a long time-maybe because he was the father of two children, the eldest of whom was now supplying his school with problems, and the youngest was still very small and helpless, like a porcelain doll. They had to look after both of them, and it was difficult for him and Wilhelmina. Very difficult.

Elroy kissed the top of Veruca's head as she dozed off. No, he was grateful to his wife, Providence, and himself a million times for his daughter, because since his youth his dream was to have a daughter, his little princess, just like from fairy tales. As a child, he saw how carefully his father treats his sister, and just dreamed of doing the same.

And now he had Veruca.

His little girl.

His princess.

Elroy wrapped his daughter more tightly in the blanket and began to doze a little himself. The storm did not break out with thunder and lightning, only the rain began to rustle more loudly, and somewhere on the horizon a rainbow began to appear, as if the sky was watching the father and daughter and letting a bright ray through the summer rainy haze.

The rainbow was flaring up. Elroy and Veruca were sleeping peacefully.

#ariparri #elroy mcquaid #veruca mcquaid #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #fanfic #hogwarts mystery fanfic #fanfiction #hphm fanfiction #hphm fanart #hogwarts mystery fanart #jacob's sibling

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

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Whumptober Day 24: Silently We Endure

Summary: Written For Whumptober Day 24. A thousand years after the passing of his Rider, Toothless has found him again. This person is both familiar as well as completely foreign to him, but the kind of past he's left behind as he lives with Toothless and the other dragons matters little. He has found him again and that is enough for Toothless.

Rating: Teen and up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Stormfly

Pairing: None

Words: 2 787

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Forced Mutism”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: MY 100TH SUBMISSION TO AO3!!!!!

Written for the Whumptober prompt: "Forced Mutism" But instead of showing the whumpee being made mute, I have it as something that is just there.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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Just like any other day nowadays, today is unbearably hot as well. The sun beats down on the Earth and Toothless finds little solace in the shade, where it is only slightly less hot.

It is late in the afternoon and still the heat hangs on, stubbornly refusing to leave and making all of those trapped within it suffer. He finds himself preferring the chill of the North from so long ago.

It is cooler, though. It is just slightly cooler than it was hours ago at midday and that is the only reason why he is outside in the shade now and not in the cave he and his Rider have made their own.

He's an old dragon. He shouldn't be exposed to such heat when there are places he can lie in that are much more suited to his needs, but his Rider is out here and even after all this time he will still do anything and everything for him.

Now that he thinks of it, he should probably check up on him again and make sure he isn't doing anything reckless when he should be busying himself with making their home livable.

Unlike him, Hiccup isn't old. He's still 18-years-old, a young man, and therefore much too energetic and prone to foolishness.

The home he's supposed to be making liveable is an enormous cave system on the side of a mountain. While the outside is much too hot during the day, the temperature inside the cave is much more stable and thus easier to endure than the outside.

It's a dragon's kind of home, quite suitable for someone who is more dragon than human himself. And safer for him than any human settlement can be, too.

The details are lost on Toothless, but Hiccup wants to somehow bring cooler air into their home through the use of the sun. He has no idea how he's going to accomplish that, but that is the gist of it.

Using humanity's current technology, he wants to create a house specifically for plants, too, a place for animals, a dragon nursery, and so much more. Toothless isn't sure how this will all work, but he believes his Rider capable. This Hiccup will not remember it, but he has proven himself capable of great things before.

He's trying to create an entire village and he's doing it all on his own. Of course, the dragons present are willing to help in any way they can, but much of it is still Hiccup's work. His brain work, at least.

Deciding to get up, Toothless stretches his stiff body, his back and joints popping loudly, his wings in particular before he exits the chamber he and Hiccup have made their own.

There isn't much yet, just the mere beginnings of a home, but it's enough for them for the time being.

The cave system is extensive and it is roomy. Some of the chambers have a sky pocket that allows the light of the sun to come in and it's in such a room that Toothless finds his human.

It is large, dusty, and sandy with little plant life, and in the center is Hiccup with an adolescent Rumblehorn and Toothless remembers him well. He and Hiccup, still insisting on saving every dragon in need, saved this one about a week ago. He has been injured and Hiccup has been nursing him back to health.

He is with him now and tending to his wounds, changing the dressings. Stormfly is there as well, patiently holding his satchel with medical supplies in her beak.

Rumblehorns have thick armor covering their entire bodies except for their underbellies. Hiccup is tending to a wound on the side of this one's belly, using something that sticks to keep the dressings in place.

Toothless' entrance draws Hiccup's attention and he smiles before waving. The dragon responds by coming over with a skip in his step and cooing before he headbutts his Rider and nuzzles him, an affectionate gesture that Hiccup gladly returns with a breathy laugh.

He points towards the wound and Toothless sees what Hiccup wants to show him. The Rumblehorn is well on the mend and the injury looks better than it did when they first found him.

Rumbling proudly at the human's skill, Toothless nudges his back before he lets him work, Hiccup waving him off.

He can practically see it on his face, the "okay, Bud, see you later". He can still hear it in his voice, too, and that while Toothless has never heard him speak in this life before.

His Rider, he can't talk and not by choice.

Though he was walking away, Toothless pauses to watch him get back to work, spotting the faint scar on his throat. The people who did that to him are unknown to Toothless and they should count themselves lucky for that.

"I talk too much," Hiccup had once told him. Or rather, signed to him as he uses his hands to speak now. It's like the hand signals the Dragon Riders of old once used, but much more elaborate. Old as he is, Toothless still manages to understand him even now. His hands have always been very talkative.

Toothless will never understand the reasoning behind a human hurting another human, let alone take away a physical part of them so important to their everyday life.

The dragon returns to his human's side again, who glances at him with a brow raised in confusion. His face is still just as expressive as he remembers.

Lying down next to him, Toothless watches the rest of the treatment instead of going back to the slightly more comfortable room like he originally intended. Hiccup reaches, left hand holding the new dressings in place and a metallic hand comes to land on his head for a quick petting.

Much like his Viking, this one has lived a life already.

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Toothless always keeps an eye on Hiccup, feeling more responsible for the much younger one than ever before.

But in the event that they're not together, they still have a way for him to call out to his dragon.

As Toothless is just down the entrance hall of the cave, searching for his rider as Stormfly made it clear that he was outside in the searing sun when he hears a whistle. Since he can't shout, that's his call for him, a high-pitched whistle. It reaches quite far and is quite loud, which makes it perfect.

Toothless comes running.

"Eh? What was that for? You're not alone?" For as temperamental as dragons can be, there's a certain species of animal that Hiccup fears more than the firebreathing creatures he lives with.

Humans.

Toothless comes outside growling, spotting the two giving his rider trouble. It's not like Hiccup is defenseless, he knows how to knock a head or two around. He just feels much safer with a dragon near, with the Night Fury especially.

"Oh shit, is that a dragon?" One of them yelps in both surprise and amazement, both of them stumble backward in fright.

They are both oddly dressed, having too much stuff on their person. But then they also have something Toothless believes is called a "car" with too much stuff. Traders, perhaps? Or are they thieves?

Feeling much more secure with Toothless around, Hiccup faces the two humans who have come, quite literally, to the middle of nowhere for reasons that can't possibly be good.

"I have nothing." He signs, an air of suspicion around him as he doesn't trust these two at all.

"Again, we have no idea what you're saying, kid. Can't you use your words at all?" The one with the blue vest tied around their waist asks. Since they haven't shared their names yet, Toothless will be referring to this one as "Blue Vest" and the other one as "Red Scarf".

"If they could, I'm sure they would've. But they can't, they're mute." Red Scarf points out to the other one, who looks sheepish.

Toothless isn't sure what to think of these two. Despite their mysterious appearance in this area and their unknown reasons, they don't give off any bad vibes. What sets him off is Hiccup's distrust of them and he distrusts any human they have met so far in their one year since their reunion.

He has reasons not to trust them, sad as they are.

As Hiccup approaches Toothless, coming to stand by his side in the crook of his wing, Red Scarf points something out to their companion. They are both staring at the right side of Hiccup's head, where his hair is the shortest.

"You're a slave?"

Blue Vest asks and Hiccup presses himself further into his dragon's side, hand on his scales. Toothless can almost hear his heart beginning to race.

He shakes his head, offended that they would even ask, though the scar they noticed was indeed once a brand. His glare says enough. And for a short moment, the air is tense. What will the two do now that they have figured this out?

"Not anymore. Doesn't matter if he's a runaway or bought himself free either." Red Scarf states and goes to the back of the car to look in the back.

"Explains the mutism." Blue Vest awkwardly says to their friend, rubbing the back of their neck.

"And your location. You're hiding?" Red Scarf asks, but Hiccup isn't answering that, which is ironically the only answer they need.

Red Scarf comes back holding something wrapped in brown in their hands and cautiously approaches Hiccup, who has to stop himself from backing up. Red Scarf keeps glancing back at the dragon, watching for any signs of aggression.

Toothless lets them get closer, not sensing any ill intent in their approach. When they reach his human and push that pack into his hands, they back off again and join their friend.

"We're leaving now, we're going to leave you alone. So take care, okay? Don't run into any trouble?" Red Scarf asks, to which Hiccup nods reluctantly, confused by these turn of events.

Meeting humans has never gone well for him and these two were the first since coming to live here with these dragons.

It surprises him that they are kind and want him to stay safe instead of trying to drag him back to wherever someone like him needs to be.

They drive off, leaving Toothless content with the way this interaction has gone and Hiccup feeling confused and unsure what he should think of this. But he opens the pack and finds neatly packed food with a container of water and he didn't even need to trade anything for it. He's been given this purely out of the kindness of their hearts.

Has his previous low status garnered him sympathy? In hindsight, they seemed nice. But despite this, Hiccup's history with other humans means he isn't sure what to think or feel.

Toothless headbutts his back to tell him to come back inside with the other dragons. It's getting late, the sun is nearly all the way down, it's time for bed.

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He was sold into slavery early into his teens.

He doesn't know why he's not even sure if it's the truth. All he knows is that this is what he's been told his entire time as "free labor" before he inevitably escaped.

Toothless wasn't surprised to hear that the reason Hiccup is now free is that he escaped. He has always been a free spirit, even as a Viking, especially as a Viking. Unable to be pinned down, too stubborn to just give up the fight. He can stumble, but he clearly did not give up until he could taste the sky.

He hasn't given the dragon the details on what happened during that time and maybe he never will. All that Toothless truly knows is that it makes Hiccup wake up and break out in tears during many of the nights they spend together.

There are no loud sobs, no crying. Toothless wakes up to labored breaths and lifts his head to look at the troubled human as he sits within his coils. Curled up, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, he cries.

He does so without sound, he can't help it without a voice. If Toothless didn't have such a sharp hearing, he wouldn't have even noticed.

Crooning, Toothless straightens and nudges Hiccup's temple to draw his attention. He gives it to him, wrapping an arm around the Night Fury to keep him close. The other, his right, he cradles to his chest. It must hurt and Toothless can guess what the nightmare he woke up from must've been about.

Because his right forearm and hand, just like his left leg once again, is a prosthetic. It's not like any replacement the Vikings he once knew used to have as his new hand looks and works like a hand and his metal foot looks and works like a foot.

He built them both himself from whatever scraps he could find after his escape. Even when he only had one hand to work with, he still created the other without help. Toothless has watched him do it.

And because they are made of scraps, they look like scraps, but to Toothless, they are the most advanced things he has ever seen and his human made them! He can still make everything.

But right now is not the time to think of Hiccup's ingenuity. His right arm is hurting, phantom limb pain, and it's making bad memories resurface. Because whoever used to own him before, they're the ones who took so many parts from him.

"Toothless," A raspy voice, barely above a whisper, crawls out of his throat with much difficulty. The only reason the dragon can hear it is because of his exceptional hearing.

Knowing that a breakdown might be imminent, Toothless quickly wraps a foreleg around him to pull him closer as Hiccup silently sobs and snuggles closer to his dragon in search of comfort and safety. It must've been a terrible nightmare and his arm hurting certainly doesn't help.

Moaning sadly, Toothless holds him closer and lets him cry.

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It took the better part of a couple of hours before Hiccup could calm enough for them to fall back asleep. He'd needed to let it all out and take some painkillers to make the hurting in his arm stop. After that, once the pain in his heart had abated, too, he could finally sleep again.

It's nights like that that the old Night Fury hates the most. When his Rider is in so much pain that he suffers for hours on end and he hates that he wasn't there to keep it all from happening. So he could keep his leg, so he could keep his arm, the trust in other humans that is supposed to be infallible unless necessary, his voice.

They broke him, tore him piece by piece so many times that even he could hardly survive. Whoever thought themselves deserving of his Rider, Hiccup Haddock, and decided they could be his tormentor they are nameless and faceless, but Toothless despises them all the same. They better hope that they never run into him.

But there is one saving grace.

The next morning after a most difficult and emotionally taxing night, a soundless and breathy laugh reaches the old dragon's ears and he looks over at Hiccup and his latest project, the one that is supposed to bring cooler temperatures during the nigh unbearable Summer days. It, too, is made out of scraps and parts collected on their many trips.

But instead of working now, when the day is cool, Hiccup spends his time playing with the few hatchlings that have managed to be born in this cave. Their numbers are dwindling everywhere.

His arm prosthetic gone for the day after the night he's had to let the limb have a break, Hiccup plays with the hatchling by throwing his wrench in a game of fetch.

It always takes a while to come back to him, the little nadders fighting amongst themselves for who gets to bring the tool. And in the meantime, Hiccup continues his work, frequently looking back at the three before he has to inevitably throw the wrench again.

It's the nights that lay him bare, that show him at his most vulnerable and shows the barely glued cracks inside of him. But during the day, that's when he shows that, despite being broken, he can still thrive just fine.

So Toothless can lay his head down again and continue his rest for the moment.

#whumptober2020 #no.24 #forced mutism #httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfics #tw: implied slavery #tw: implied former slave #hiccup haddock #toothless #hictooth #dragon bros #au #alternate universe #futuristic au #reincarnation au #apocalypse au #my fanfics #silently we endure

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misadventures-phan-can · 4 years

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Chapter 3 - Toothless

The long awaited and thrilling Chapter 3 is here!

Sorry it took a while...

As Tommy went about her day as described in the first chapter, other things were simultaneously underway across the city that would’ve very much pricked her intrigue. If she’d known, of course. As it stands, she did not, and instead had to deal with unpleasant customers and a teasing employer. We now return to our doggish Lieutenant at the start of his day, and the events that led him to Melder’s great capital.

By Meldarian standards, it was the morning of a new Cycle when they reached Trader City. Cpt. Skewlls had explained that technically, this was not true. A Cycle was simply a means to divide time, he’d said as they leisurely flew through the planet’s atmosphere towards the capital; a means to divide a planetary day that lasted a Standard Galactic week and then some. When met with the surprised and, in some cases, horrified expressions of his crew the Dhuuma cackled, green eyes catching the light from the closest navigation console and shining like an animal’s. Yes, he’d continued, two-thirds of the week triplet suns shone something horrible down on the populace, and somewhere in the middle, it goes dark for roughly three Galactic days. Two extremes, with only some reprieve during the 12-some Galactic hours it took for the suns to set and rise once more.

“You’re somewhat lucky, pup.” Sharp teeth glinted behind the Captain’s playful grin, making the short hairs of Lieutenant Famillion’s neck prick uncomfortably. He was never quite settled around the Captain, no matter how much he trusted and respected the man, especially when he bore that expression and used that tone. It usually meant he spoke of equivocations whilst holding some sort of cleaning tool behind his back, readying to spring chores upon his crew unexpectedly.

“What do you mean?" He asked, nervously eyeballing the closet, which held all of the maintenance equipment. Surely not, his Captain wouldn't be so cruel as to- "It means you have less time in the sun, no chance of becoming a hot dog.”

The Captain’s amused voice brought the Mimic’s attention back to him, but the Lieutenant didn't hold his gaze for very long. The rest of the crew’s giggles, most prominently Jaylin’s, died out steadily; Cpt. Skewlls’ wicked grin fading with them as they all turned back to their stations. The mood which they’d labored so hard to lift fell muted once more, just like all previous attempts. The shadowy Captain drifted over to his Lieutenant from the central station, silent like a ghostly mist creeping over the deck. Silent enough that Canis started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, head snapping around to see the Captain holding out a sponge and grinning a bit too toothily. The Lieutenant’s nose scrunched and his lip curled at the biting smell of vinegar-soap emanating from the sponge, and he looked up to meet Cpt. Skewlls gaze with wide eyes and furrowed brows. When his superior’s grin only widened with amusement, he understood- face falling into a grimace.

“What, really? Now? I thought you were just joking!”

“Of course not,” The Captain’s eyes glimmered a merry, mischievous green at Canis’ tone of sheer desperation. “Now, now, don’t worry. The rest of the Jester’s will be at it as well.” The others groaned, collectively slumping at their stations. Cpt. Skwells merely rolled his eyes.

“Come on now. Chip-Chop.” He clapped. “We’ll be arriving shortly and I want this cabin shining so much that I can see my non-existent reflection in the breaker-boxes.” The Captain made sure to stand there and watch until they’d gotten up to gather supplies, then simply turned away and let them get on with their distraction. That’s what it was, and most realized it even as they happily settled down into the routine of cleaning. Joe stood at the closet and passed out the equipment- a broom to Ezio, a mop to Jaylin, and finally, the "dust-sticker stick" was handed to Canis- along with a bucket of vinegar-based product for the polishing sponge later.

And clean they did, until the call to get back to their stations and initiate Ramp-Landing procedures came over the high speaker. Despite the distraction, the cabin remained muted. Canis went through the motions, calling out positions and checking conditions on the outside of the locomotive as if he were merely watching from afar as someone piloted his movements. He tried to satisfy his aching chest by recalling all the good times, all their accomplishments- and all the tough times that brought them ever-closer. It failed miserably and only made his heart hurt more, a bitter taste spoiling his tongue. The Lieutenant didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave his ridiculous crew and his questionable-but-kind Captain. He knew the others wanted him to stay too, they kept glancing his way and he could tell exactly what they felt about this separation, even as they made their last descent.

"So… I guess this is it.” Once the jostling of a smooth, ramp-assisted landing ceased, and the elegant Casino Royale was parked in her bay, the crew sat in telling silence. The Mimic looked quickly away from his station’s screens, away from the shifting hot-red world outside that made his eyes water, and let his gaze sweep through the cabin to meet the eyes of his four other crewmates. He cracked a small grin, hesitant, biting his lip before he spoke again. “After you lot buy me a drink of course."

"We'll send you off with a nice swig o’ milk." Cpt. Skewlls smirked after another moment, teeth glinting as sharp as his eyes as he spoke. “After all, wouldn’t want our doggy officer getting poisoned with his last drink with the Jesters.”

"Ahah! Milk is as bad as alcohol for dogs, because, dogs! Again! Unlike Mimics! Again! Are lactose intolerant!" Canis huffed in mock annoyance, cheekily tutting as if disappointed in the Captain’s refusal to remember. “I am a Mimic, therefore, bring on the booze bitches.” He spread his arms wide, daring the Captain with a sheepish grin.

In the meantime, the crew had moved towards the door. Ezio stood in the corner, already anticipating the eminent jaunt into the infamous Trader City. He followed the conversation with slight bewilderment, eyebrows hiking ever further up as, finally, he looked to Jaylin, then to Joe for an explanation. The Tobitoan saw Canis' smug-looking face, wondering if all of these facts were meant to confuse, or were indeed legitimate. To the short Commander standing at his left, he leaned over and stage-whispered behind a raised hand, “Have we been… feeding our Mimic poison? Is synth-milk really that bad for him??”

"I don’t think he’d lie?" Jaylin didn’t know any more than he did and seemed to be just as confused, watching their Captain smirk and advance on Canis curiously.

"But… the whole… synth-milk in a saucer thing! The yogurt treats! Dogs are mammals, aren’t they?? Mammals drink milk. From their ma’s. Right?"

The other Tobitoan Lieutenant looked back at his counterpart, who met his gaze and winked in a comically forced manner. Joe merely shrugged. “The Lieutenant is not a Dog.”

Canis, who was most definitely not of the class Mammalia, curled his lips into a grin that showed far too much tooth to be all that innocent. “See, now the whole crew thinks I’m a common mutt!” He nudged their Captain, now standing to his right, with an elbow. “Except Joe of course, because Joe is the best person here.” At this point, they had all migrated from their stations into the antechamber of the engine, waiting for one of the Sub-Lieutenants in the wagons to give the ‘O.K.’ to open the airlock.

"I've been a bird owner my whole life, really, my family owned a Rockroc. I wouldn’t be able to tell you much." Jaylin provided with a shrug, sending an apologetic grin to a still-befuddled Ezio.

"You don’t say?" Lieutenant-Commander Joe perked up. He’d always wondered about those birds, it had been rumored that only a handful had ever been tamed, most notably the one that’d made its perch upon the shoulder of that one infamous space pirate. Hemlock? Herlock? Something like that, concluded Joseph, who came from a small moon of an even smaller solar system, the news of which, before he’d joined the SDF, had consisted solely of the occasional old, drunk spacemen’s yarn.

"Yes," the Cpt. Skewlls interrupted sharply, fingers snapping once to set the wandering thoughts of his crew back to the task at hand. Jaylin and Ezio straightened up so quickly from their semi-conspirative hunches that their spines cracked, and Joe, well. Joe, who’d been paying attention no matter how distant and birdish his thoughts became, only set his expression into something altogether sterner with barely a twitch of his lips.

“Yes, the milk thing is true. Moving on now,” The Captain glared momentarily at the youngest Lieutenant, blaming him in full for this quick, albeit appreciated, digression.

“We’re heading to the nearest pub, which I believe is the Dustdog, off-duty, and we’re getting drunk. The Sub-Lieutenants and the deckhands will join us once they finish up with things here at Royale. Catch is, we only have 3 hours or so to do it, so tab is on me.” Half the ranking officers present were near-vibrating in anticipation. Then the Captain’s tone dropped suddenly, dangerously- the antechamber became visibly darker, and green sparks- tricks of the light, they didn’t really exist, or did they?- danced in the corners of the mortal crew’s perception. “However, if one of you show any, and I mean any sign of inebriation whatsoever when we check in with HQ, you will regret it.” The oppressive darkness disappeared as abruptly as it had come, and the ‘fearless’ ones took a breath of relief. Cpt. Skewlls merely grinned something akin to a shark and clapped his hands in delight. “Perfect!”

The call to unlock the bulkhead rung loud above their heads, timed near-perfection with the Captain, as most things were on the Casino Royale.

“Okay humans- and Mimic- Let’s go hit the bar at a planetary hour that would shock most and completely offend others!”

"I'll just start off slow, I think,” hummed Canis, voice smooth and languid, almost whimsical. The Dustdog, despite the local hour, bustled with the sight, smell and energy of a couple of dozen patrons. Most either with keen business interests on the planet or simply waiting out a stop-over on their way somewhere else. Some species the young Lieutenant could recognize, while some were completely foreign and drew his gaze, eyes blown wide and sparkling with unguarded curiosity. Scents rushed to clog his nostrils, the air sweet with sweat and a pungent fruity aroma, toned with earthy malts and fermented brews. Something rancid and bitter seemed to be emanating from a couple pitchers on the bar counter, probably some sort of local drink. Lights flashed, music played a bit too loudly, the rhythm buzzing in his ears like the low, throaty yowl of a Hellcat back home. Swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat, the Mimic tore his attention away from the patrons and back to the Jesters, looking to them as they gathered around the doorway. Eventually they all stood in the entrance with matching, stupidly large grins spreading across both Jaylin and Ezio’s faces. Joe, calm as ever, scoped the bar out with a few sharp-eyed glances and then turned to his crewmates.

"Starting slow is good advice, I say we all follow it. ‘Ey Jay? Ezio?" He teasingly nudged the shorter Commander and earned a finger-flick for his troubles. It never hurt to urge the youth to be responsible, no matter how futile the effort.

Ezio, with a hearty slap on the back which nearly knocked the Mimic lieutenant off-balance, dismissed the very notion with a careless wave of the hand. "And where's the fun in that? Use that nose of yours.” He spoke straight to Canis. “Drinks are on the captain. We either all get plastered or we all wallow in a pitcher of sadness- there’s none of this designated driver bullsh-” He cut himself off when he glanced Joe’s expression. “Look, ok, the Captain can’t even get drunk, there is no reason we can’t do this-”

"Oh, my Telyris- Is that peanut butter?" Canis distractedly interrupted Ezio’s fumbling, saving the Tobitoan from an early grave and earning his endless gratitude. Paying him no attention, Canis pardoned himself with a mumbled word and zeroed in on the scent of the delightful treat he hadn’t had since leaving the SDF’s HQ. However, he did not expect the form in which he found his favorite snack; as he not-so-subtly passed around the table where four small shots of creamy, golden liquor had been served, he slowly realized that they were the source of the peanut butter. Eventually one of the occupants of the table realized he was there, and half-drunkenly told him what they were drinking, among other things. The lieutenant, now flushed deep blue at the ears, scurried off to track down his crewmates and order the first round of what would be quite a few, not dissuaded from his goal despite the minor hiccup.

He caught sight of the Captain first, sat at the counter sipping something strong and clear. The Dhuuma’s sharp gaze swept across the room, watching the patrons with the languid intrigue of a cat perched on a window sill, viewing that morning’s selection of finches at the birdfeeder. He met his lieutenant’s eyes, nodded, and promptly turned back to observing the bar-goers.

Much to Jaylin’s frustration, as for the first time that night she had to admit defeat and put down her hand. The luxury cards had shown a glorious green and black, bearing not a scratch or fold. Until a few weeks ago she’d merely use the cheapest cards money could buy, however Cpt. Skwells had decided that his favorite and only card-playing crew-member could not use such a drab set. She was, in fact, the only one in the whole of the SDF who had not yet given up on the absurd notion of, one day, defeating the Demon King of Black Jack himself. Jaylin’s determination brought a faint smile upon the Captain’s face, and he put his drink down to reshuffle the cards for another game. They were going to be there for a while, and the scene brought up tender memories of the Lieutenant’s first couple of weeks on the force. He’d learned his lesson on his second night with the Jesters, and soundly beaten he’d never tried his luck at poker ever again. Ezio would try once in a blue moon or when he was too drunk to know any better, in both instances resulting in solid losses that the rest would tease the poor Tobitoan with for weeks thereafter.

Joe was the only one who ever came close to beating the Captain, though he rarely played- much to the later’s deep, continuous chagrin.

Shaking off the creeping melancholy, the Mimic quickly searched for Joe and Ezio, knowing both would probably be together and saving a seat for him. Once he spotted them Canis quickly put in his order with the bartender, changing his mind from shots to an individual tumbler; seeing as everyone already seemed to have their drinks. That accomplished, he made his way over to the duo.

Joe, and with him Ezio, had taken a quieter seat at the end of the booze-stained counter and altogether not too far from Jaylin and the Captain. Canis perched on the stool to Joe’s right, watching curiously as the bartender approached the small group. With a quick glance around, he realized both his companions had yet to order and a smirking grin pulled at his lips.

“So Joe, wha’cha gonna get? Milk? Water?” The Mimic snickered, Ezio’s eyebrow curving up in what seemed like surprise. The Tobitoan seemed about to correct his younger colleague, but the bartender interrupted him, flatly asking for their order whilst simultaneously placing Canis’ drink on the sticky countertop in front of him. He took a sip of it, savoring the creamy, artificially flavored peanut-buttery delicacy as he watched and waited for Joe’s reply with mischievously twinkling eyes.

“I would like an Argyenian Basilisk Spritz, please an’ thank ya’ ma’am.” Canis sputtered, half his drink spat back into the tumbler as he turned to stare at Joe in wide-eyed shock. “Wh-what??” Ezio snickered, in turn ordering himself a local Meldarian brandy he’d never heard of out of pure curiosity. The bartender left without sparing them a second look, and Canis was left reeling.

"No! Seriously? Joe? What in Tyr’s nation-??”

Joe smirked, shrugging in a sort of smug nonchalance that had the Mimic even more confused and looking to Ezio for answers. He merely laughed, shaking his head in amusement and eyes glowing warm with mirth.

“That’s right, we never brought you to a bar before- My man here, Joe-” He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning, “-can hold his liquor like no one’s business. He doesn’t look it cuz he gives everyone the impression of a man who dines with his grandma every Sunday.” Joe’s harrumph at that had Ezio backpedaling, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, not that that’s a bad thing Marge is the nicest woman I know-” the Tobitoan turned back to Canis, “point is, don’t judge a book by its cover eh? Joe may look like the goodiest two shoes you ever did meet but he did some crazy sh-”

“That’s enough o’ that there now,” Joe warned, but he had a look in his warm brown eyes that had Ezio rolling his eyes and sighing. “Fineee. One day Joe, one day…” Pondering over what that could mean with a bemused half-smile, Canis turned to check in on the other two just in time to catch them making their way over. In lieu of greeting, Captain Skwells jutted his chin at the tumbler in front of the lieutenant. “What do you got there Lieutenant Famillion?” The tips of Canis’ ears warmed, and he just knew they were flushed blue in embarrassment.

“It’s a Reeses Meeses.” He muttered, much to everyone’s delight. They shared a laugh, Ezio cackling as he answered, “Peanut butter eh? That’s a start of a bad joke right there, ya know. Dog goes to a bar, followed by a cat and a Dhumma-” he jutted a thumb at the Captain mischievously, “Dog orders peanut butter, cat gets milk and the Dhumma orders a can of gasoline-”

Canis interrupted him before the Captain could, blowing the dark-haired Tobitoan a raspberry. “I’m not a dog! Again! Can’t relate.”

“You’re canine-like, and you have this weird fixation on peanut butter- that’s enough for me.”

A firm cough disrupted the argument before it could start in earnest, the Lieutenant biting his tongue to hold back his rebuke and glaring at Ezio’s smug grin before all attention was directed to the Captain. Simultaneously, the bartender arrived with Joe and Ezio’s drinks, darting away just as quick to serve a group of rowdy patrons who had just come in.

The corners of Cpt. Skwells’ eyes crinkled as a pleased grin spread across his face, and with an approving nod at the new refreshments took up his own glass and held it in front of him. The rest of the seated crew took the cue and grabbed their own, waiting anxiously for whatever their beloved Captain was about to say.

“Well, while I would have liked to be able to get properly plastered with you all- not that these words will ever be repeated, mind you, in a professional setting-” he met each of their eyes carefully, and as that bright, swirling green gaze passed over him, the young Lieutenant felt the small hairs at the back of his neck prick up warily, on instinct.. “-It is to my great displeasure that I am forced to announce this round- our first- must also be our last. We do not have as much time as initially thought, so let this speech be brief.” The Captain’s attention turned solely to the Mimic, grin shortening into his everyday smirk. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Ltn. Canis Lycaon Latran Lupis Famillion. You worked hard and played hard, fit right in with this band o’ misfits. Your first few years were hilarious, best entertainment I’ve had since Joe and Ezio began to crush on each other.”

Both parties sputtered, but the dhuuma’s teasing grin was enough for them to keep their complaints unspoken. The Captain continued without acknowledging them, his expression schooling into something more solemn, smirk tightening into something more mature. Canis’ back straightened, and he stood taller. He was now being addressed by The Captain. Not Cpt. Skwells, not even Ethan- but one of the most respected and infamous captains of the SDF.

“You are, and forever will be, a valued member of Jester Platoon. Call on us and we will be there, I will be there. You will always have a place with us, Lieutenant.”

The young mimic’s eyes stung, but he could not discern whether it was due to the pungent odors in the air or the assurances given to him by his Captain. He did not want to know which it was, either. He only managed a nod back, unable to speak.

From the sidelines, there came a snort and suddenly Jaylin barreled her way forward to fasten herself around the Lieutenant.

“Group Hug!” She proclaimed, quickly being followed by all the crew with the exception of the Captain. They remained like that a moment, Canis holding on to his friends, cheeks mysteriously wet as the others pulled away to reclaim their glasses. Cpt. Skwells waited for them to be ready before lifting his own tumbler with a sharp grin. “To Lieutenant Canis! May we many more successful missions together, and may he finally find his beloved peanut butter!”

Somehow, one round turned into three before the Captain, the only one still and forever sober, wrangled his crew towards the docks. Canis had followed them, the good-byes had been long and tearful until finally, all that was left for him to wave at was the dark-red smudge of the Casino Royal ascending through the atmosphere.

Not that he would remember much, as he stumbled off to find shade during the hottest time of the Meldarian day. As it was, Canis found an alley to crash in and nap- mind fuzzy and body heavy from alcohol, until his thoughts were clear enough to explore and find his bearings. Propped against some building’s wall, the mimic felt his eyelids droop, his last wistful thoughts wondering about the crew that he had just left behind...

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (You are here)

Chapter 4 (Coming)

#MoP&D #chasing phantoms #Chapter 3 #Toothless #CanisLLLFamillion #JesterPlatoon #Phantom K. F.#Space Pirate Captain Harlock #Captain Harlock #fanfiction #galaxy railways #SDF #leijiverse

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loki-fanfic-whore · 5 years

Text

Consumed ch.9 (Final)

Warnings: hell and pain and blood and the usual. Bad grammar

I do not own the song sung during this part. It is called "third degree" by movements!!!!

@drakesfiance @jessiejunebug @onceuponagleepottermindlock @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 @imagine-that-100

Yes this is the second chapter for today. I'm really happy with this story...I never use structure for my writing, I just free style until I feel its ended well....I want to thank absolutely everyone who has read, liked, shared, commented and critiqued this story. It means so much for me and my self esteem that you are just taking a few moments of your time to enjoy what I wrote.

Thank you. 💚💚💚💚

Chapter 9 Consumed

"This isn't working! We may not be able to save her" Bruce struggled as he continued the chest compressions. You had a dribble of blood falling from your mouth. An indication they had broken your sternum. As normal of a symptom of CPR as this had been, it terrified them more. You were no where closer to coming back to them. They would have to declare you dead soon if nothing changed.

Loki sat completely unhinged on the ground sobbing into the small childs frame. Upon hearing Bruce's words his head shot up.

Loki stood and darted out of the lab. He was still holding his sweet girls body. Thor bolted out after him.

"Brother wait!" Thor cried out as Loki broke his shackles and opened a portal and jumped through it, Thor jumping in after him.

The landing thor had in this new realm ended up with him on his back panting for air. It was bright out but muted, almost as if a black haze was in the air blocking out the sun. Black wisps flew over head in different directions. Thor stood up and dusted himself off. He was trying to look for Loki, but the haze made it difficult to see.

"Brother mine, to what do I owe this pleasure?" A familiar voice rang out scaring Thor. He spun to see Hela standing on the top of a jagged cliff staring down at him.

"This is hel?" Thor asked staring around.

"It is what you make of it. No two souls see it the same....why are you here Thor?" Hela asked more pointedly.

"I was following Loki...He just lost his- wife and babe in child birth...I assume he is trying to find them and bring them back...he is carrying the babe still." Thor spoke rubbing the back of his neck. Hela sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I knew the child was different....follow me."

Loki stood in a valley of fire. He could see souls being tortured and destroyed over and over, but within the valley stood a small unscathed wooden cottage. Like the one he kept you in in Wales. He approached slowly, still holding his daughter. As he reached for the knob he heard music, and someone singing. It was a soft rock song

"I wanna keep you close to me, so I can feel you be my third degree!" His heart lurched when he realized it was your beautiful voice. A smile eclipsed his face until he looked down to remember his mission here. He was still holding your dead child. He needed you both to come back with him.

He pushed the door open to see you dancing in the kitchen singing into a spoon.

"Burn yourself into me and leave my body charred! So when you decide to leave I can write about my scars!" It was then you noticed him and gave him a huge smirk. You twirled for him to see you in the green sundress, with a black apron over the front.

"My prince, I didn't think I would see you again." You teased. He smiled just staring at your gorgeous face. You looked like you did before he had pushed you. You were healthy and confident and-. He let a gasp wrack his ribs.

"You are utterly beautiful....please tell me you are well?" He sat in a near by chair still cuddling the baby close. Your eyes went to the bundle that was hidden from your sight.

"Loki? What are you holding?" You ask inquisitively taking a step forward.

"This is um...well you never got to meet h-" a loud wail cut him off causing him to gasp. A giggle left your mouth as you turned and removed your apron.

"Someone heard your voice." You cooed as you walked out of sight. Loki stared down at his cold and limp child feeling tears slide unbridled down his cheeks.

You reappeared holding a crying child. You delicately pulled your breast out and began to feed the baby.

"Loki? Would you like to meet your daughter?...your real daughter?" You smiled as the baby suckled from you. Loki stood and moved closer.

"My sweet flame...you lost her due to stress...she never made it to her first breath." Loki spoke softly, his voice cracking. He was holding what was his child as he watched a clone feed.

"But here Loki, she did breathe. She eats and smiles and plays...here I'll show you." You gently unlatched the baby and held her in your arms for Loki to see. She had dark ebony skin with blue heritage Mark's and bright red eyes. She smiled a toothless smile and cooed happily holding her arms up to reach for your other hand which was dancing above her face. Loki let a sob escape as he held his childs corpse.

"My little flame...I need you and our daughter to come back...please...I cant live without you." Loki asked wanting so badly to hold his daughter's soul, but he knew better, if he put the body down she would degenerate to ash. He held her close. Your face fell.

"Loki...I can't go back...I let it consume me...like daddy said to. I needed it to take everything from me before I could control it."

"It has taken everything! It's taken our child from us both and its ripped you from me!" Loki seethed out. A huge smile graced your lips.

"Only once I have lost everything can I take it back and control it."

"What more is there to lose?!" Loki roared.

"Brother stop!" Thor ran between you and Loki.

Loki snarled as Hela joined the party in the livingroom.

"Loki, she hasnt lost everything. You have...its why you came here. You want to bring her back, but you can only save one...take your child back and accept the loss...your daughter is other worldly. She is if many realms and joins us all within herself. One day many eons from now she will rule over all the realms. She is so strong that even I realize her potential." Hela bowed gently to the corpse Loki was holding. Loki moved the bundle so she was no longer tightly pressed to his body. Hela stood and moved to you.

"I have to take your child from you. It isn't her time...and you have to allow her to live...without you." Hela gently took the soul of the baby and walked it to Loki gently pushing it into the body for a gurgled cry to cut the silence. Loki looked down with tearful eyes as the once cold baby was now fidgeting and breathing. He fell to his knees and wept holding her.

Thor looked back to see you standing in the kitchen with black tears running openly down your face. Your body was transforming, becoming the gaunt and emaciated version of you that they all knew. The sundress swallowing your tiny frame. He could see the black webbing up from your fingertips. Deep red cracks erupting along the ebony.

"Uhhh Loki...you need to get her out of here....lady embers is about to explode."

You stepped forward sobbing reaching out for your baby, whom Loki was holding tightly.

"Come with me...you can take it all back! You can have her and me and we can live anywhere! Just...just come back to us!" Loki cried out. You screamed angrily as you and the house erupted in flames. This time they engulfed you and you felt the burning. Loki took a step back fumbling. Thor ripped the baby from Loki's hands and bolted from the house. He would return the babe to midgard and await Loki's return.

"Listen to me! You need to control this! You can do it as I have said before! You have lost everything but here, and now, if you take my hand, let me help you control it!" Loki held out his hand, his body morphing into his Jotun form, his red eyes staring into your black ones as inky black tears slid down your cheeks.

"It's time my little flame. Come home to me. Come be my wife and lover. Help me raise our daughter and carry more children. Help me see the good in the world. I need you. I need to be with you!" Loki hesitated and your body was erupting in shooting flames. It was hurting you. It was going to consume you.

"Say it Loki!" You cried out feeling the power within you destroying you.

"I cant lose you! I-I love you!" Loki roared as you took his hand. An unnatural scream left your lungs as the black flowed from you onto his skin. He shivered as he pulled you hard against his chest. Your flames extinguished as you felt the flame within your heart contained and content. You returned to your mortal form and buried your face into his chest. Loki ran his hands through your hair and kissed the top of your head.

"I love you so much...I have...claimed the throne of Jotunheim for us to be able to live happily..." you looked up to his red eyes to see he spoke the truth.

"I can feel it beating within my heart. I am in control. It's no longer hurting me....take me home...my love."

Loki nodded and called upon the bifrost. Appearing within the lab where your body was still laying beneath Bruce and Natasha. Loki led your soul by your hand until you were beside your body.

"I love you so much...I'll be here when you return." He smiled and stood waiting.

"Yes...my prince." You teased before laying back into your body.

"I got a pulse! Keep the oxygen going. Jesus christ she is back!" Bruce was sweating but he was checking your pulse and then eyes. You laid there breathing until finally your eyes opened.

"Where am I?" You asked hoarsely.

"You are in the medical bay of the lab. You flatlined and we got you back." Natasha spoke softly as she put an oxygen mask onto your face tucking it behind your ears.

"Do you know who I am?" She asked gently.

"N-no...sorry..." you admitted staring at the different faces around you.

Thor entered the room with a bundle in his hands which was fidgeting and then began crying.

You winced as your chest began to lactate.

"Is...is that baby mine?" You asked gently sitting up only to have Thor pass the child to you.

"Yes. She is very special and is very lucky to be alive. She is your first and only child at the moment." Thor continued. Tony elbowed Loki and whispered.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Loki grinned and elbowed him back harder.

"I went to hel and back to get my daughter."

Natasha could only smile as you let the babe latch. You counted toes and fingers grinning wide all the while.

"She is beautiful." You admitted as you continued to look down at her.

"Uh-..whom is the father?" You spoke softly more for Natasha. Tony openly laughed and stepped forward.

"I-" Loki snatched him back by his suit and stepped forward. Tony rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

"I was gonna say Riendeer games!" Tony laughed as Loki hissed towards him then turned and sat beside you.

"Little flame? Do you remember me?"

"I-I don't...I'm sorry...I-I don't regret anything though..." you spoke softly as Loki cupped your cheek wiping away a tear you didn't realize you had shed.

"That's because you don't remember what you were supposed to regret...My name is Loki Odinson...I'm what is called a frost giant and I'm in love with you, I am the father of our beautiful daughter....I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you like I should have been..." Loki held you by the back of your neck as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I swear to you, little flame, I will never allow you or our daughter to be taken away again. Not by anyone. I promise to love you always and never become the very thing you despise."

You weren't sure why, but your chest felt tight. You smiled and closed your eyes as you changed into your Muspel form. Your skin becoming a deep black with beautiful rays of red and yellow light cracking through. Your eyes returning to their natural black as you stared at Loki. Your forehead still against his. He too changed into his Jotun form, the deep blue with light blue lines adorning his skin as his red eyes stared into yours.

Natasha, Bruce, Tony and Thor all watched as the baby cooed and giggled between the bossoms of her parents her own skin glowing from being in contact with her own creators.

They smiled as they drank in the happy sight.

You felt elated that even though you couldn't remember anyone in particular...

You no longer felt consumed.

#loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #im sorry #loki #loki odinson #slow burn #thor odinson #but i hate everything i write #final chapter #bad grammar #im not fucking sorry #im not ready

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katiekoff · 5 years

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When The Plague Comes

Hey guys! Actually I’m an author and write fanfics usually (not drawing, lol). I haven’t write for ages but The Arcana made impossible thing - that game made me want to write again. I write on Russian and I have never ever translated my fanfics. But! The Arcana made impossible thing [2] - it made me translate this. Alas, I’m only imroving my English and I’m not sure if I translated it correctly. So if you will read this and find (and I know you’ll find) any mistakes, please let me know. I tried my best and my only hope is that the translating is understandable.

Thank you for your time!

When The Plague Comes

PG || Drubble || Angst || Asra, fem!MC, Julian, Valdemar is there... somewhere... || Pre-canon

Summary: When the plague comes, everyone has their own reason to stay in the dying city.

Sometimes it seems to her that bright azure sky glows red. That the grass, the trees and even the ground became scarlet with rich ruby shade. People on the street avoid each other fearfully, glare at the faces of strangers, looking for slightest signs of illness. Some houses bare their toothless windows and it’s seems the darkness there takes shape – a human or a demon – and it’s seems the darkness ready to take you, to strangle you, to paint your whites of the eyes with scarlet color of fresh blood.

There are not children’s cheerful laugh on the streets anymore, there are not any strolling musicians with their music; fortune tellers don’t drag the passersby to their booths, don’t spread the bones, rocks or colorful cards. Everyone knows the fortune, both their and the whole city. This fortune flowing through flooded districts with the red water; running along the road with the red beetles; standing at the exit of the city with gloomy wardens – there is no escape from the city, there is no entrance to – even if there will be a madman who would like to get up close to the dying Vesuvia.

She feels the breath of the Death everywhere, even in the shop: tart aroma of the dried herbs mixed with the sweetish smell of rot; this smell rises lump in the throat, lingers in the nostrils. She thinks that this smell has a taste – a taste of rotten fish that covers the coast and the docks. Neither the potpourri, nor water or spiced food can’t kill this taste, - to tell the truth, it seems to her more and more that the food has the same mawkish, nauseous and rotten taste.

She hates the palace and its dungeons, where the brightest minds of the city trying to find the cure. She hates the dark dungeons and their stale air filled with hopelessness and despair. She hates Valdemar’s unwinking gaze – they seem to be the only happy person in the city. Or, maybe, in whole world – she no longer believes there is countries and people anywhere who don’t know what the plague is.

Julian doesn’t sleep for ages and she sees his haggard cheeks, sharpened cheekbones and bruises under his eyes – even his usual grin faded and thin lips fold in narrow line with the suffering fracture. She brings him the new reports every day: the plague is progressing, no survivors, from the first signs to death passes less and less time, there’re only houseless and the doctors in beaked masks on the streets. Julian shuddering at first, looking to her with the hope, but in recent days there’re only despair and muted question in his eyes.

- Ten, - says she today.

- Thirty, - she will say tomorrow.

- A few hundreds, - that will be to the end of the week.

And then they will stop counting.

There is only hatred in her eyes when she watches over the wagons riding to the docks. Everyone knows: this is one-way trip. Next there will be the Lazaret, crematorium and seashore, where they will bury all that remains of you. The doctors look away from the heavily laden wagons: their wheels leave the heavy furrows on the mud, and the horses are exhausted. Sometimes there’re screaming and crying for help heard from the wagons – not everyone loaded in the hastily built carts are dead. These screams haunt her by night and she wakes up, surrounded by ghosts, and almost sees their ruby red eyes.

As Valdemar becomes happier, Julian more pale, and the other doctors – nameless – replacing rapidly, and you don't need to ask where they disappear. The days merge into the infinite change of exhausted faces, groaning, the smells of rot; they coloring in the shades of red – the water, the sky, the ground, the eyes, the ulcers, cloaks and masks of the plague doctors; they fly by like a moment and last for ages and it seems to her that no one could break free from this vicious circle. She almost stops returning to the shop – there is not much time for this, and she spends all her time in the dungeon, and she stays overnight there, in the dark, gloomy dungeon where the blood doesn’t wash away from the floor already. And one day Julian returns from the palace with an unreadable expression on his face and says that the count gets down with plague.

- The eyes only, - says Julian and looks away. – Nothing more.

But she knows: when your eyes turn red, time is running out and all you have is a several days at most.

The Count turns out to be resistant – two, three, ten days pass, and Julian says that he got worse, but he lives.

- Why him? – asks Julian. Everyone think about it – in the palace, in the streets, in the dungeons; the doctors and all the dying patients whispering about it – the rumors spread across the city faster than the plague. The doctors die, the scientists and people around the streets die, but the Count, who is hatred by almost all the city, lives.

It seems that Julian stop sleeping and eating at all, he is locking himself at his office and she knows the Count demands cure from him. But there is no other person who wants to find a cure more than Julian himself and she knows that as well.

Soon the streets become more empty, more houses become abandoned and even ruffians don’t break the windows. One of these days she returns to the shop for changing her clothes and doesn't even try to let fire: she learned to orient in the darkness long ago. Changed quickly, she hears the door’s slam and freezes, turned to the window. They haven’t seen each other… how long? A week? A month? She has already lost the count of these days.

- Selene? – Asra’s voice sounds like he didn’t sleep for ages – just like Julian. – It’s good you’re home.

- I’m leaving, - says she unemotionally, calmly and coldly.

- No, - says Asra and comes closely. – We must leave the city, we can’t do anything here. There is no cure and the city is dying, Selene.

She straightens her back, squares the shoulders and closes her eyes.

- There is always a way out, Asra. Julian will find the cure, definitely. And I will remain with him.

- You can’t really believe it. Come on, grab your stuff and let’s leave. I know how to get past the guardians, - says Asra impatiently. She hears him walks around the room putting his stuff and books in the traveling bag.

- I’m staying, - she repeats.

- No you don’t! – Asra is almost screaming when he puts his hand onto her shoulder. She shakes his soft palm off the shoulder and repeats it again with the same cold in her voice: she’s not leaving.

- But why? – even while she is face away from him, she almost sees the despair in his eyes and feels him runs his fingers through his fluffy hair. – Why do you want to risk your life? I can’t allow you to do that!

- I don’t need your approval, - she says. – I won’t leave the city like a coward. I'll remain with someone who do something. Anything.

- Do you consider me a coward? – Asra asks. Pain, mistrust and emptiness – that’s what she hears in his voice.

- Yes, - she says. – You aren’t worth Julian’s little finger.

- Julian, huh. Is that so? - he says.

- Is it.

It seems her words destroying Asra completely. All she hears are ragged breath, heavy steps while he goes down the stairs and slow, unbearably loud creak of the door.

She exhales and leans her forehead to the cold dusty window. Nothing are reflected in the dark window but it seems to her that she sees reflection of her own eyes – green and unusually bright against the ruby red whites of the eyes.

She works in the dungeon another few days and feels eyes on her: interested and hungry – from Valdemar, sympathetic – from patients. She considers herself lucky – she hasn’t any ulcers, her body doesn’t cramp, all she has is overwhelming weakness. Good fortune smiles at her one more time: when she loses consciousness, Valdemar are busy with something very important and don’t see how one of those nameless doctors lifts her.

Through the fever and insufferable headache, she sees in flashes: a wagon's wooden boards with dried blood drops; a piece of the scarlet sky; smooth surface of water; high walls of the Lazaret.

When she, like the others, brought down to the cold floor, she can smell the rot and burning – suffocating, sweetish smell which soaked the crematorium walls. She wants to live madly, she wants to go to the journey with Asra, make tea for him, pulling his soft hair; in the same time, she wants it will be over – all that pain and fever, compared to which the flame won’t be felt.

It seems the thoughts about Asra completely crush her head – with the shame, guilt and a timid hope that the resentment was so strong that he won't get back, won't looking for her; that he will be in safety in his Nopal sanctuary or somewhere else. That he will be happy – sooner or later. That he will live.

When she sees scarlet flame strikes in front of her, when she smells the burning skin – her skin – all that she can is to hope that someday, in another world, she could tell him the most important thing.

- I’m so sorry.

#the arcana game #the arcana #the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc #the arcana fanfic #asra x apprentice #julian devorak #valdemar #fanfic #the arcana fanfiction #pre canon #my writing #my translation

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kaderp · 5 years

Text

Best Left Forgotten

This story is very very loosely based on @queen-dictator-nevermore’s headcanon on Tumblr. Now this may get kinda dark so I don’t recommend reading it if you can’t really stomach certain deaths

“Hey Toothless, come look at this.” Hiccup motioned for his friend to come over. The thick forest muted any sound that was made and the early morning sun shone through the trees causing trickles of light to seep through, making the plant life around them sparkle off the fresh dew left from the light showers during the previous night. Toothless walked around the trap Hiccup had set off only moments earlier, a clear state of confusion plastered across his face as he looked at the boy holding up what appeared to be a dart. Traces of some sort of purple liquid slowly dripped out of the vile connected to the dart. Hiccup carefully traced his fingers along it and inspected its components. “I guess your Light Fury friend left this behind…..strange…it appears man-made. Wonder what this was doing next to a wild dragon.” Hiccup tossed the dart in his hand and stared intently at his surroundings. “What do ya think bud, any ideas?” Hiccup rested his hand on his chin as he held out the dart to his friend.

Toothless cautiously made his way over to Hiccup and began sniffing at the dart. He stared at it for a couple seconds and rolled it over. Toothless began growling, his pupils constricted and started hissing loudly while backing away from it. “Whoa! Toothless! Calm down! What’s wrong!” Hiccup’s voice cracked as he stood up and tried to ease the panicked dragon, now on his hind legs backing away. Although one of the smartest dragons in the archipelago, Toothless didn’t think he had the memory capacity of remembering that day, nor did he even want those memories to resurface. The ones he tried his best to forget from many many years ago.

Deep within an unknown forest, a rather large family of Night Furies sat together at the base of a tree. A male, a female, and five very young hatchlings, all black as night with bright green eyes. They frolicked and flapped their wings, attempting to fly but bouncing off of the ground as they fell back to the grassy floor. The new parents emitted a low purr as they snuggled up to each other, enjoying watching their new dragons testing out their wings. The oldest three were by far the roughest players, often tackling their younger siblings, the youngest two were the most lackadaisical, most of the time napping under the care of their mother’s wings. The middle hatchling was the most curious out of the bunch; often wandering off from the rest of the family and just as often, finding himself getting in trouble or lost, needing to be rescued by his mother or father. Today was no exception for the small Night Fury, who had gotten bored of playing with his siblings and slowly wandered into the forest. He was easily the stealthiest out of the group and went unnoticed as he slipped under the bushes, wiggling his tail as he became distracted and started chasing a small grouse.

The small dragon chased the grouse, attempting to shoot a ball of plasma at it but ultimately failing. He growled at it. The grouse looked at him and almost seemed to mock the dragon by standing still and fluffing through its feathers right in front of the fury. He crouched down and his pupils dilated as he inched closer to his prey, trying his best to appear like a threat to the seemingly unsuspecting bird. A couple seconds and he makes his move, pouncing from a couple feet away. The bird ended up dodging the dragon’s attack, running away and making the baby Night Fury tumble down a small hill. Moss patches helped slow the dragon’s tumbling, causing him to skid to a stop against a rock. The baby dragon let out a small sneeze in order to get all of the dirt off his snout. He let out a frustrated huff as he began to sit and pout at his failed hunting session.

Back at the family group, the female noticed one of her hatchlings missing, after some examination she sighed. Of course, her middle hatchling had wandered off again. She was about to set off to look for him until her mate came soaring down and screeching commands. The female night fury’s face dropped as she saw her mate struggling to get his balance as he crashed to the ground, making a series of unnatural guttural sounds. His eyes narrowed and barked as if to yell Hurry! Get away! Its not safe! The female quickly nodded and attempted to quickly gather their children. They heard men shouting from above, human men, vikings.

“Bring me the two adults, they’ll make nice suit. I’ll kill the hatchlings, they aren’t worth it, too young. I’ll just sell the bodies. Go get the nets.” A calm, heavy accented, emotionless voiced ordered. Seconds later overlapping shouts were heard, causing instant chaos. The male tried to get up but collapsed to the ground as he felt another dart penetrate his scales, instantly leaving him unconscious.

Meanwhile, the middle hatchling was making his way back to his family. However he kept slipping back down the hill and was tempted to yell out a distress call to his parents. The little dragon shook his head and tried again, this time digging his claws into the dirt. The thick and crisp air made its way through his scales as he gained determination. Several minutes had passed before the young Night Fury finally made his way up the treacherous hill only to be greeted by a terrible noise. An adult dragon screeching loud enough to rupture human eardrums, followed by several smaller yelps and whines. The baby dragon began sprinting and attempting to fly with his tiny wings. He stopped with a harsh skid into a bush as his eyes dilated and let out a small whine.

The little Night Fury watched in horror as his youngest sibling get arrow after arrow shot into her back, slowly becoming covered in blood. Eventually she stopped struggling as the arrows were plunged deep within the baby’s body. He started whining uncontrollably and buried himself deeper within the bushes. He scanned his once comfortable home and noticed his father was no where in sight, his mother was lying down against a tree, two of his siblings weren’t moving anymore and his other siblings were crying out, yelping in pain. A single, slender man holding a crossbow could be seen walking nonchalantly through the dying family of Night Furies. The fury in the bushes began shaking and whimpering in fear. The slim man casually walked past the furies, swinging a sword in circles while whistling a cheerful tune. On the third circle of his sword, he grabbed the grip and forced it down with all his might, stabbing the last remaining baby dragon in the head with a heart stopping crunch. His still soft skull, easily penetrated upon contact. He let out an ear piercing screech before jolting, then going limp. That’s what set off the baby Night Fury, he let out a distressed moan and buried his face into the dirt. He put his front legs over his snout and wrapped his tail over his eyes, trying to hide. All he wanted right now for this to be over, for him to have his parents and siblings back and to have this man, this evil evil man just disappear.

“What do you mean there aren’t big enough nets.” The thin man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know, how many successful hunts I have had without your “help”? All of them. You imbeciles, I have to do everything myself, don’t I.” The baby dragon could hear the firing of his crossbow again but this time followed by several choked words and a few loud thudding sounds. He went up to the female and shot her one last time before traveling across her back and up to her head with his hand. “I’ll be back” His strong accent filled the forest before a pair of Deathgrippers came to his beckoning call and carried him away from the site.

The small fury waited for what felt like hours before he deemed the coast was clear. He cautiously stepped out and assessed his surroundings. There was just...so much blood everywhere human and dragon alike. The hatchling desperately ran to each of his siblings, nudging them with his snout, poking them, even tackling them, but they wouldn’t move. None of them did. Not even whimpering and batting at them would get any of their attentions. All of them still had arrows and darts in them, that’s when he realized they couldn’t get up no matter how hard they tried. He couldn’t take it anymore, he yelled out in despair as loud as he could. Letting all the yelps and screeches out for several minutes. The baby dragon’s throat became hoarse as he continued to screech and mourn. He ended up getting covered in their blood attempting to wake them up but he didn’t care at the moment, he just wanted his family back. After a couple of minutes, the fury noticed his mother was still there; he ran to her as fast as he could and put both of his paws up to her and tried nuzzling her. She wasn’t hit with as many arrows as his siblings, she was however covered head to tail in these strange darts with purple liquid appearing to seep into her body.

He couldn’t tell whether or not she was breathing but he tried to wake her up anyways. Trying to push back and forth against her, he began wailing. A small sound of defeat left his small mouth as he eventually tired and gave up. All he could do was cuddle up to her body under the safety of her partially extended wing. His own whimpering eventually lulled him to sleep as he desperately tried to gain some sort of warmth from her body.

Loud flapping and chains clanking together from above awoke the restless hatchling and immediately sent him panicking. He scurried out from under his mother’s wing and ran to his safety bush on the edge of the circle of grass. The hatchling peered through the holes of the bush- it was the man again, except this time he had metal chains and a large sack. Stepping carefully to avoid his fallen henchmen, the slender man cheerfully hummed as he secured the female Night Fury in a chained net. After signaling to his Deathgrippers to lift the body into the air, he picked up the baby dragons one by one and placed them in the bag.

“I’m sure you all will make me a pretty penny.” He quietly spoke and laughed slightly while throwing the now full bag over his shoulder. The baby’s eyes narrowed as he tried to get a glimpse of where his family was being taken, leaving the bush would mean that he was to be seen as well. The only thing he could do was cower away further into his bush and shake more than a leaf in a storm. That was the last he ever saw of his family.

“Toothless!!! Snap out of it bud!” Toothless’s vision began to focus in on Hiccup grabbing around his neck, collapsed on the ground. Toothless shook his head and made a sorrowful expression towards his friend, yet he wouldn’t be able to explain why to Hiccup. He let the weight of his head force Hiccup to lay down with him. “You had me scared bud. After I couldn’t get you to calm down you kinda just shut down and fell onto the grass….are you ok?” Hiccup held his friend’s head in his hands and hugged him. They stayed together in silence for a couple seconds until Toothless recollected his thoughts. He swiftly picked up the dart, gave it to Hiccup, and threw the still rather small boy onto his back and took off. Hiccup instantly knew, something had to be very wrong.

#httyd #httyd3 #hiccup #hiccup haddock #toothless #grimmel

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neurotic-symbiotic · 6 years

Text

The Color of Gold

The sun had barely set on the horizon when a flurry of activity stirred beneath sands of the desert-scape. Great dunes overflowing with pristine white sand. An occasional rocky crag in the distance. The very few solid footing around. In the heart of this desolate place was an old and withered structure of a long dead civilization. One that might have predated the Trolls that called Alternia home. But the goldmine of archeological finds were lost to the world. This place so out of reach that only the most fool hearty would traverse here. Little to no water, food a scarcity, and yet life still prevailed here.

Beneath the dunes and the limestone walls of the crumbling city’s architect there was the bustling, complex infrastructure of tunnels. Massive insects moved about on thin, bristled legs. A wide verity of them but all moving with purpose and existing without conflict. Some oddly segmented and others with wings. Their colors were muted in the dark caverns but under the effects of the glowing moss above they fluoresce. Buzzing, clicking, chattering to one another. It was beautiful.

Well, so some maybe. Quxzel was one of them. The massive hive was efficient, every single drone had a purpose to fulfill before their short lives ended. All for the best of the colony. That is what his lusus always told him. And the same worked above as it did below. But down here was real order, real team work and purpose. Again, that was what his lusus insisted with him. The reason why he rarely got to see the world above this finely tuned prison. He just wanted to see the world before it was too late.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up moments before loud shrieking filled the massive cavern. The shrill screams signaling an intruder. It also meant breakfast was early. Quxzel clicked his tongue and followed the scuttling bugs. They parted wherever he stepped, taking careful measure to give him space. For good reason too. There was a soft spot for this particular troll that was shared by all the occupants down here. At the gold blood’s feet tiny insects trailed along with him eager to see what fell into their domain. It was always such a spectacle and he absolutely hated it.

As a single minded unit the scores of insects gathered into a massive hollowed out bowl shaped section of their underground home. This place was dug out thousands of sweeps ago and its walls smoothed by time and water that once ran through it. The bugs took their places, some parked in place and others clinging to walls. Ones with wings hovered close to the center of this massive block. And in the center of it was a colossal white insect. Its body white and pulsating like a maggot with a bulbous head. It raised itself up and the cave was filled with humming. In Quxzel’s head he could hear his lusus call out to him.

“Come.”

And so he did. Winding his way through the masses, the bugs parting like the sea. Walking up to the center of the cavern to join in what would be a gruesome display. His lusus greeted him fondly. Large black eyes staring at him, dozens of them. Long, thin forearm like appendages reached out to touch his shoulder. A tenderness one would never see in any other insect down here. The sheer intelligence in the Master Bug’s void like eyes would be mystifying to some. It was always welcoming to the troll. Something cold, familiar, and comforting. But his joy would melt away as he saw what was currently being held down and wiggling by one of the large scouting drones.

Another troll.

The poor bastard never had a chance. The badly wounded oliveblood was dragged unceremoniously to the center stage. Her agonizing cries followed as did a trail of green blood that was eagerly lapped up by tiny skittering bugs. The goldblood mentally shooed them away. They could at least wait till she stopped breathing. This was never the highlight of his day.

The green blood was tossed out onto her belly. The backs of her knees cut wide open and her ankles chewed through. There was no escape. Her clothing was torn and gashes covered her arms. It was obvious she put up a fight before getting here. It was a shame too, beneath the sand and blood caking her face she was rather cute. Making an attempt to crawl away still she made it to Quxzel’s feet. Her hand gripping his leg and he immediately felt her raw fear. It tasted like something cold on his tongue. Her head tilted back, olive eyes in a daze. Her mouth moved as if begging for help. The insects all tensed.

She had been an adventurer. Or a treasure hunter. She wore the getup of one. And he had seen many. He leaned down and carefully wrapped his hand around her wrist. He locked eyes with her and then he twisted it hard. An instant snap was heard and she began screaming again. There was no sympathy in his eyes. Dropping her arm to the ground, the wrist bent in an awkward angle. He took a step back and just stared her down. His mind was devoid of empathy. To him this troll was nothing more than an outsider. Her time was limited here.

Another large insect drone would circle around behind her and drag her back a bit before pinning her shoulders down to the cave floor by violently stabbing both its forelimbs through her shoulders. By now the olive blood couldn’t speak, barely conscious from the pain and blood-loss.

“Watch.”

A voice spoke clearly and sternly in Quxzel’s mind. Of course his lusus would always try to butt in. Yet it knew him well. He would always try to shy away from this part. Watching as the Master Bug lurched its massive body forward and hunched up over the unconscious troll. It’s mouth opening, a toothless dark void just beyond. Stemming from the inner bowls of its suction cup mouth was a long, thinly pointed proboscis. Only it was fashioned into something more like a tube. In a flash it came down on the back of the trolls head effectively splitting bone and getting to the juicy bits beneath. Quxzel was unlucky to be close enough to listen to the sucking and slurping sound his lusus made as it gorged itself. Every bit of brain matter was consumed by the Master Bug. Secrets and experience devoured.

When there was nothing left but wet, sloppy sucking. Wrenching its mouth piece out of the now very dead troll. A chorus of squealing cheers rose up from the insect masses. More knowledge to add to the collective. Just another step to the All Consuming. The drone that was keeping the female pinned down now slid it forelimbs free from her body. Wrapping its mandibles around her leg and whipping her lifeless corpse into the awaiting watchers. She was torn to pieces before she hit the ground. Workers and tiny scavengers picked her apart. Nothing wasted down here.

And Quxzel watched it all unfold as usual. His face expressionless and his body ridged. That’s when his lusus turned its attention on him. Lowering its blood soaked proboscis down to eye level. Reaching up and accepting the offering, he’d cup his hands as grayish green brain matter splattered into his palm. This was another usual ritual. Not hesitating as he plucked the sliver of meat from his hand and popped it into his mouth. Almost instantly he witnessed her memories. The bits locked away in this particular section. Old memories of a world outside beneath the two moons. A soft, warm breeze and the sound of foreign beasts calling out in the distance. It felt real, it felt like it was his own. Stolen bits of life from a troll he never knew. His mind filled with them.

His lusus, pleased with the reaction, reacted its appendage and nudged its ward along. The troll was just the appetizer, breakfast was in the next sector of his underground home.

The only bonus Quxzel ever got when Trolls from above would be brought down was the gear they happened to have with them at the time. And over the sweeps he managed to collect a vast amount of loot from doomed adventurers. Gold and jewels, figurines from shrines he’d never seen in person. Tablets and notepads filled with daily logs. Pictures and gear. Things he never would need but he prized them all. Though what he held above all else were maps and books. Markings and diagrams he knew from stolen thoughts. Delicate drawings of faraway places. He wanted to be there, wanted to experience the real deal. At 7 sweeps he has lived several hundred lifetimes. All of them taken from their original owners by force. And all he had to show for it was space consuming trinkets shiny babbles. He desperately wanted to see the surface and what it had to offer him. With his own eyes.

The gold bloods only contact with the outside was through a husktop he managed to get off of a doomed troll. Though the connection down below was terrible he could still browse but in secret. If his lusus ever found out there would be a terrible price to pay for sure. But at this point in his life he needed more then what a screen and some web browsing could provide for him. He would find a way to see the world even if it meant breaking the one rule his lusus had set in place. At dawn he would make it to the surface without letting his lusus know. He’d see the sky for himself, alone.

The plan was simple. Wait till near dawn when the number of drones working thinned a bit. It would be a dangerous time to be on the surface but he had to do it. Gathering up gear in a small pack while loading up as much as he could into his Modus. He didn’t plan to be long he just liked the feel of the backpack straps and the adventures outfit. It was… exciting. It was excitement he was feeling and not someone else. So he would take the small passages and using his Psiionics to keep the insects from finding him. Getting to the surface would be easy. Trying to keep from being found out wouldn’t.

The only passage he knew was one with heavy foot traffic. But having lived with the bugs long enough he could easily manipulate them. It was his lusus that was the real problem. Slipping from the exit and dashing out into the world he immediately regretted it. So used to the cool, damp caverns that the sun light burned his skin and his eyes. Wrapping a scarf around his neck and head he dashed under a dilapidated building. The air was harsh and dry and the stone structures all radiated heat he wasn’t accustomed to.

This is horrible, he thought. Was this worth leaving the sanctity of his underground hive?

Stones tumbled behind him and then the sound of something scraping stone. He turned, expecting it to be an insect drone to come and fetch him. But instead he saw a shadow run in the opposite direction. Not quite understanding the possible dangers that lurked out here, aside from memories of monsters and beasts. He would follow after whatever it was. Reaching out with his mind to pick up on trace feelings: Trepidation, exhaustion, anger. Not something an insect drone would normally feel.

Following the shadow deeper into the ruins of the lost city Quxzel found himself lost already. The sun blazing high in the sky and winds whipping searing sands his way. Once more he would take shelter within crumbling walls of an old market. Sticking to the shadows where it was much cooler. Suddenly he was intensely curious. Like, just all out wanting to touch-

Quxzel jumped out of the shadows and scampered to the other side of the room. His eyes on the shadows, fixated on them as they moved and formed first the face of a troll and then the body. Like stepping out of an inky silhouette was a fully formed troll. A purple blood judging from the makeup slathered across his face. Well the bit of his face he could see past the wraparound sunglasses he had on. His clothing was dull browns and a white cloak was draped around him. How he could melt so smoothly out the darkness was actually… confusing.

“Hey bro, like, you look like you’ve seen a motherfucking ghost.” His voice was raspy but his smile was jovial. And all that Quxzel could pick up from him was some oddly optimistic vibes. Now he wondered if the feeling he picked up before came from something else. “Well, shit, gonna introduce yourself to this here motherfucker or you going to gape at me all day?”

Quxzel stared at him till it was obviously awkward. The purple blood just seemed to chuckle a bit a shrug. “I guess I mighta spooked you a bit. Name’s Iryzal, and you are?” He waited there silently, still wearing a smile that was honestly too nice. It was freaking Quxzel out big time. But he would try to respond while the high blood quirked his head at him. “Eh, sounds like a whole lotta motherfucking bugs buzzin’ ‘round here to you?”

That’s when it hit him; this whole time the gold blood was trying to communicate telepathically but so used to dealing with insects the translation was skewed. So utterly embarrassed but he would try to speak but using actual words this time. “My name is Quxzel.”

“Quxxel? Cool bro.” Iryzal putt a little too much emphasis in the middle.

“No, Quxzel.” The gold blood would try to correct him.

“That’s what I said, Quxxel.” He did it again.

“No, no it’s pronounced- never mind.” Quxzel gave up, finding it odd and difficult to speak properly. He never had to when in the hive. It was always so simple to just give orders to the workers via mental commands. Feeling rather frustrated, a first in a while. But Iryzal just looked at him with that dorky grin and cocked head.

“So tell me brother, what’s a troll like you doing all up in a damned place like this?” The juggalo pressed on without seeming to mind the name correcting. “Shit, we’re pretty out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Strange place to run into strangers, ya know?” There was a lazy sort of drawl to Iryzal’s voice. One that drew the other troll in. “’Specially one not really suited for travel.”

Quxzel felt eyes rove over his body and he immediately turned away from the high blood which only got a solid laugh out of him.

“Hey amigo, not tryin’ rile you up or anything. Just sayin’ you aint dressed to parade around out in the motherfuckin’ unforgiving sun out there. Too dark. Desert will chew ya up and spit you the fuck out. But like, how did you end up here dressed in that hot ass black and grey shit.” Iryzal said it all in such a matter of fact voice. There was no telling what his eyes said and his feelings didn’t seem to change. “But, hey bro, you wouldn’t happen ta have a bit a food on you huh?”

The gold blood gave him a deadpan look. After trying to judge his clothing, ask suspiciously about his origins than he goes and ask for food? “Are you serious?”

“As serious as this motherfuckers oath to the Mirthful ones. Help a brother out. My spirit quest is takin’ a bit longer than expected.” Iryzal shrugged and grinned. There was something not quite right about how he held himself and it put the other troll on the edge. It didn’t help that most of the memories Quxzel held represented purpleblood as tyrants and all around assholes. But, it seemed like this troll knew how to handle himself if he managed to keep from getting caught by the guard bugs thus far.

“Yes, I have some food. And I would be willing to part with it under one condition.” Quxzel opened his pack and fished out one of a few of the protein bars he brought along. Holding it out to him to take. “Take me along with you.” This was it. He was going to do it. He would push past the boundaries of this underground existence and see what lay beyond the white dunes.

Iryzal’s brows shot up at the proclamation. They went a bit further up when he noticed the name brand of the power bar he was being offered. It was hard to mask his excitement and the way he was drooling. “Mother FUCK bro, I’ll take you anything fuckin were if you had that bad boy over.” He stepped up and was about to snag the bar out of the other’s hands but it was tugged just out of reach.

Quxzel’s eyes burned behind his scarf. He didn’t like how easy this was. And he didn’t like how happy go lucky the troll was acting. Even the waves of emotion coming off of his was sickly sweet. Though he had prior good nor bad interactions with other trolls, aside from eating them, he couldn’t just outwardly trust him. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, trying to kill me or something?”

“Nah bro, aint my time to be spilling blood in the good name of the Mirthful Messiahs. I gotta get through with this quest first. I’ve been put on a glorious fuckin’ mission given to me by the Mirthful ones themselves. Came down and gave me a damn vision. Told me to travel the full length of these dunes, one end to the other. And when I get to the end of my journey they will up and have something glorious waitin for me.” He was so passionate in his words, he seemed to let his mind wander. He snapped back when he heard the other troll speak.

“How long ago was this ‘vision’ given to you?” Quxzel asked, legitimately curious of the event. He had never heard of it in any memories, writing or schoolfeedings.

“Eh, give or take three sweeps. Fuck been putting it off like, a bit.” Iryzal admitted with a careless shrug.

“How old are you?” The gold blood pressed. It seemed odd to have him talk all passionately like that but wait so long after getting such an important vision. Curious if the other troll was nearing his off world date. And if so, was there such thing as a highblood that never killed another troll?

“Now aint that a damn rude ass thing to ask. Here I’m being all friendly like with you and you gotta put me on the spot like that. Doesn’t matter, dunno why you askin all these needless questions. But bro, you gonna cut this motherfucker some slack and hand over that bitchin’ beautiful bar there?” He was just on the verge of begging, not finding it beneath himself at this point. Iryzal has been wondering for days without a bite. Just something to fill the void in his stomach would be a blessing.

“Fine. I don’t trust you but I don’t want to be here either. Just know you’re not the lesser of two evils here.” Quxzel offered up the candy bar again and the highblood eagerly took it. The other troll barely getting it out of the wrapping before he just about inhaled it.

“Oh come on, you and me are best bros now.” Iryzal flashed a wide, toothy smile and Quxzel felt like he made a terrible mistake. And to the gold bloods surprise he plopped himself on the stone floor and looked like he was taking a rest.

“Hey, hey, we can’t rest here.” Quxzel didn’t want to mention the drones that regularly patrolled the ruins. And if the highblood didn’t know of the insects before he would learn of them eventually. And he knew what fate would befall the foreign troll in bug territory.

“Chill bro, it’s too damn hot outside. We gotta wait till the sun sets. Could use a few winks of sleep.” Iryzal even made it more of a point by using his hands to simulate the sun setting. “Besides you aint even dressed to deal with the harsh rays. You’d dry up and die out there. Then rise up an undead piece of shit and try to eat my ass.” He laughed as if it was a terribly good joke.

Not quite able to say he’d eat him even if he wasn’t undead, Quxzel would press on. “Well there are creatures out there that will kill us if we stay here. We need to go.”

They stood there staring at each other for a long moment. Quxzel looked exasperated and Iryzal just smiled dimly. “Look, I will give you another candy bar if we leave right now. No questions asked.” Fishing out another power bar and holding out tantalizingly. Iryzal got up so far he nearly fell over himself.

“Well if you insist bro,” He would eagerly take the bribe. This time he savored it as he looked the other troll over. He was a full head shorter then himself but he could work with that. “Before we go you’re gonna need to wear something less obvious. Like shit bro, did you even think about this before you got here.”

“Well this is all I have. And I don’t have anything more ‘appropriate.’”

“One sec, I got you Amigo.” Iryzal would reach into his pocket and pull out a single of white chalk. Walking over to the corner with the darkest shadows he drew an image with the chalk that illuminated itself. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly until he pulled out from seemingly nothing, a long white cloak that matched his own. Well it was a little worn out but still no worse then what he had on. He’d offer it to Quxzel. “Here, so your bitch ass won’t bake out there.” He chuckled. “You can pay me back with more of those fuck-tastic bars.”

“Wait… how did you-?”

“It’s motherfucking miracles, brother.”

When Quxzel accepted the cloak it seemed to seal the deal between them. Slipping it on and finding it a bit oversized. The highblood just snickering at him. They would leave before the bug would catch wind of them. It was safe to say the weather was not on their side. While the wind may have blown to keep them cool it was filled with sand that cut the exposed skin.

The sand, with its polished and iridescent colors, were blinding if caught staring at them too long. Quxzel would constantly fall behind with Iryzal stopping to let him catch up. Behind them the long forgotten structures and crumbling ruins faded in the distance. The sand shifting under their feet. Hot and unforgiving as it could push through the soles of the gold bloods shoes. Sweat was beading off his forehead and did little to cool him off. He was just filled with emptiness only hours after leaving hive. He thought perhaps he might be able to feel something else while on this trip. But his mind remained empty and blank. Though he felt his body sluggish with growing weariness he felt no real feeling. All the while the highblood took the lead and remained oddly silent.

Normally Quxzel could read emotions of other creatures, well other creatures being the swarm he lived with all his life, but he couldn’t quite get a full grasp of this troll. Strange, since he was able to fully comprehend those he helped dispose of with his lusus. Fear, pain, anger, regret. He knew those clearly but he couldn’t quite get a clear bead of this one. Aside from what he conveyed as happiness there was something else he couldn’t comprehend. And shuffling through memories didn’t help him get clarification either.

For a split second Quxzel was wrapped up too far in his thinkpan that he misjudged a step. The sand swallowing up his left foot and he tangled up with his right, throwing him off balance. He overcompensates to try and keep himself upright. He stumbles and starts to fall off the side of the dune. The glare off the sand mixed with the heat jumbled his senses. His psiinoics unstable. He knew he was going to fall and the tumble down the sandbank would an extremely unpleasant one.

Quxzel closed his eyes and expected the impact and what would come after. But instead he felt like he was gazing into a sea of impossible colors. Each hue having an indescribable taste to them. These feelings were foreign to him. It was a god damn kaleidoscope of emotions that he felt like he would drown in. Images of past lives he buried rose to the surface like hundreds of thousands of hands clawing to escape. Wanting to scream as early ended lives bloomed violently in his head. Voices rose in a horrific chorus of laughter and pain.

“Hey bro, I got you.” Iryzal held onto Quxzel’s arm and pull him up to his chest. Trying to help him onto his feet but the gold blood just struggled with him. Trying as he might to get him to settle he just held him firmer. He looked down into the shorter trolls face and saw two golden eyes stare back at him from behind the scarf: blank and emotionless. That was the last thing he remembered before he was shot back clear across the dune. Iryzal landed in the constant sea of churning white sands in the distance.

The sun was setting when Iryzal would come to. The bright pink moon rising into the evening sky and the green one just a speck in the distant. He was sprawled out on his back, something soft under his head. He’d try to move but felt like was dragged halfway across the desert. Noticing that he was placed under an outcropping of weathered sandstone. The wind kept at bay for now. The temperature starting to drop already. What he didn’t see was his new friend. And all he could recall was trying to catch the motherfucker before he went face first into the scorching sand. When he could get up he peaked around the rock then trudged up the first dune he came across. And there on the other side was Quxzel. The wind battered him while he turned his head up to the sky.

“Yo, you’re not going to believe this but I musta passed out or some shit tryna…” Iryzal’s voice cracked when Quxzel turned around. Their eyes meeting, purple and a deep, searing gold. The scarf he had been wearing was gone and the high blood got a good look at him. Well, not what he expected but not bad looking. Though Quxzel’s eyes burning into him like that answered his question. The bastard had some kick in him and he could respect that. ‘He was going to need it,’ Iryzal thought.

“I’ve never seen the sky before. It’s much more vast then I expected.” Quxzel admitted to him as he started walking toward him. The highblood tensed as he slipped by to head back to their meager shelter. He could feel his untrusting gaze on him. But he could feel something new roll off of Iryzal, an aura that beckoned him to study it closer. Instead he would crawl under the outcropping and settle into the little niche and pull his legs up to his knees. Covering himself up in the white cloak. “It’ll be too cold to travel through here at night. The sand will eat up our heat before we make it over the next dune. That and I know some unsavory creatures stalk the dunes at this time. We’re safer if we stay in one place and keep a look out.”

Iryzal followed silently behind the lowblood till he settled under the modest rock shelter, He would hover over him, casting a deep dark shadow that was unnatural. A prickling chill would travel down the other trolls spine. But he couldn’t quite break into that thick head of his.

“Don’t try that chuckle voodoo stuff on me. What happened was an accident.” Quxzel looked up at him, face blank. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”

“Well damn, shoulda asked before I got all touchy feeling and saved your ass from a mouth full of sand. My bad.” Iryzal’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on the low blood but it didn’t sound right coming from him either. Something about the purple blood seemed too genuine.

“Fine, sorry for hurling you across the desert. There, said it. Is that what you needed to hear?” He remained emotionless, looking up at the high tier. In this position he was at his mercy, he had no clear idea how he used his psiionic’s so aggressively before and it was doubtful he could do the same now. Hopefully that prior experience would keep him safe from any highblood wrath.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard.” Getting the response he wanted Iryzal sat down beside his bud. Barely an inch of space between them. “That was some pretty mean moves back there. Gotta remind this motherfucker to keep his distance.”

Quxzel looked down at the sliver of space between them, up at him, the narrow gap of space and back at him. Really. He cleared his throat and the purple blood just scooted over in the opposite direction a bit. He did it again but this time Iryzal didn’t budge. The two of them sitting in silence. After awhile he’d notice the high blood start to draw again. This time on the ground between his legs. This time what he pulled out of the shadows was a flask. And instantly Quxzel realized how parched he was.

“I’ll make a trade for a sip.” Iryzal shook the bottle tantalizingly.

Quxzel reached into his bag eager to give up another of those nasty power bars. But before he could fish one out Iryzal shook his head. It seemed it wasn’t going to be that easy this time. Perhaps he should have been worried but instead he stared at Iryzal till he spoke.

“Nah, not this time. How about some information instead.” The highblood held the flask tentatively between his fingers and just out of reach of the gold blood. “Tell me about yourself.”

Now Quxzel was caught off guard by that request. It wasn’t like he was on the run or anything of that sort but he didn’t feel like bringing up his life story to a stranger. Instead he turned his face away and rummaged through his own bag again. Of all things to pack he never thought of bringing water. Then again he didn’t think he could have gotten this far without being dragged back hive. “What’s it to you anyway? We’ll part ways after we reach the end of the desert. No reason to push past that.”

Iryzal huffed, shrugged and took long gulp of water for himself. “Fine. That’s damn true words you speak there bro. I aint going to press anymore. I mean, I’m just guiding your sorry ass out of this place for free and all. But a little small talk might be too big of a price to pay, fuck me right?”

As the moons rose higher in the sky the sands grew colder and the winds began to pick up. The rock would protect the two of them from the biting winds but couldn’t help keep them warm. Well at least Iryzal seemed to look comfortable. His cloak tucked around him and his head resting against the rock wall. He never removed his sunglasses so it was impossible to see if he was still awake. Quxzel couldn’t sleep, worry began to consume him. A new feeling that was foreign to the sheltered troll. The outburst of emotion from earlier still roiled in his mind. Having felt so many different emotions at once was almost maddening. He could only imagine how his lusus could handle them on a much larger scale.

The Master Bug. Quxzel wondered how long it would take for it to realize he was gone. And how much longer it would be till it sent out the workers to find him. And what would they do when they found them, which he knew would be the outcome of this. Trying to escape the inevitable. A life of forced servitude without knowing what more he could have. He sighed and pulled out a book, leaning away from Iryzal and assumed he was sleeping. He began to read a bit by the filtering moonlight. It was much nicer then the glow moss and glow worms underground. He’d feel prickling on the back of his neck and oh so slowly he’d turn to see the highblood staring at him. That face paint made his pulse jump.

Iryzal’s sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his cloak and he was watching Quxzel with a sly grin on his face. He looked absolutely enthralled and that same aura from before was rolling off of him. A curious sort of interest he showed in the low blood. “Whatcha readin’ there, Amigo. Looks mighty thick.”

“…” Quxzel turned back around and scooted away more. Space was limited and he was nearing the edge of their shelter. And the night was only getting colder and any attempt to keep reading was too difficult. Shutting the book and balancing it on his knees as he rubbed his hands together and blew in them. This was all new experiences, the heat and cold. As brutal and uncomfortable as it was it was nice to make real memories of his own.

“Listen bro, I aint gonna bite.” Iryzal patted the ground beside him. “I got a blanket if ya wanna scoot your ass this way.” He laughed softly when the gold blood shot him a glare. “Bro, it’s only gonna get more motherfucking cold. And I promise I won’t try anything funny. You can trust me.”

Those words would echo in Quxzel’s mind for sweeps to come.

Bitterly accepting the offer Quxzel scooted closer as Iryzal retrieved a thick wool blanket. It draped over them comfortably. And in a show of good faith the purple blood would pull his arms out of his sleeves and tucked them into his shirt so there was no way he could put his hands on the gold blood. And for the first time in his life Quxzel spent the night beside another of his kind. Even if he didn’t sleep a wink it was still an odd feeling.

At one point during the night Iryzal had dozed off again. This time his head dipped off to the side and rested unwittingly on Quxzel shoulder. Instantly the lowblood tensed. His heart racing in his chest, afraid that he would have another surge of unwanted emotions flood his mind. But it never came. Yet his heart kept beating fast and brought a flush to his cheeks that unsettled him. Thinking of just shrugging him off or telling him to move but he couldn’t bring himself to do either. If anything he craved this more than anything else in this world.

“I’m fucking pathetic.” Quxzel would whisper to himself, his breath coming out in white steam. A little bit of shock to see that. And just like that his mind wandered to other things and left Iryzal to rest.

The purpleblood struggled to keep up his facade. When Quxzel spoke, he wanted nothing more than to speak up and tell him that wasn’t true. It wasn’t fair. That this cute motherfucker was the one. There was no doubt in Iryzal’s mind. This lowblood was the one. This quest was on fucking point. Too bad it had to be this way.

The next few days were a rinse and repeat. They traveled through the day, avoiding detection from the shambling creatures that haunted the desert. Quxzel was able to misdirect any insects that started to stray into their direction. Keeping Iryzal oblivious to their pursuers as much as he could. But as the days stretched on and they grew closer to their destination the two of them found a mutual respect for one another. At least the purple blood would finally share his water.

When the final night came, after four grueling days that pushed Quxzel to his limits, they would reach the end of this seemingly endless desert. Both trolls looked pretty terrible at this point. Iryzal had run out of facepaint and the rest he wore was smeared and some parts of his skin exposed. And he seemed to be on edge about something but would refuse to speak up about it. Iryzal’s jovial behavior started to wane as they had peered over the horizon and saw the emerald green of a lush forest in the distance. This strange quest the highblood was on was going to end soon but he seem reluctant to keep finally reach his long sought after goal. Quxzel was just excited to see something other than sand, rock and more sand. And that night they would find refuge in broken down scuttlecab left out here to rot under the sun. It was much nicer then seeking shelter under rocks and stuck in the open. The goldblood couldn’t sit still while Iryzal sat like a lump. An uneasy tension built between them as the night roll along slowly. Huddled under the blanket they shared it was the highblood that broke the silence.

“This is where we’re gonna have to part ways, Amigo.” Iryzal spoke up, his face blank as he stared at the ruined floor of the once operational motor vehicle. He fumbled with his hands nervously. It was something out of place and it put Quxzel on edge. “It’s for the best really. There’s no way I can fuckin’ go. Not with you.”

That last bit there felt like a cold slap in the face. Quxzel even jerked his head back as if he was physically struck. “Why! Why now? We’re right there! We could even see the trees over the dune.” There was heat in his voice. For once, well ever really, he was showing actual emotion. His eyes locking onto Iryzal when the highblood turned to look at him. That strange aura surrounding him all this time seemed to reach a boiling point. Before the lowblood could react in time Iryzal pull him up to his chest and pressed his lips to Quxzel’s.

All at once Quxzel felt his world light up again with vibrant colors. His heart pounding in his chest and body paralyzed by the intense sensations accompanying the flurry of emotion. That strange energy Iryzal was giving off seemed to seep right into the goldblood’s body. It set off alarms in his mind but dragged out something much more primal. His throat twitching, feeling his secondary jaws tighten. But before he could inadvertently harm Iryzal again the high blood pulled back. Both of them were out of breath. They locked eyes and at once they both leaned in for a kiss. This time it was more restrained but their hands weren’t. The back of a busted up old scuttlecab wasn’t very romantic but it was enough for the two of them. For tonight it would be enough.

#looooooong post #7k words #Quxzel Cortex #Iryzal Orioan #fantroll #homestuck #background story #there was going to be more #but i just couldn't keep going #my bby bug boy #he needs loving #well i mean #Quxzel is sexually attracted to facepaint

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thnks-fr-th-mngs · 7 years

Text

run me over

So... finally got good WiFi to post this fifth part!

Part One: thump

Part Two: melt

Part Three: do you even meme?

Part Four: laugh

Part Five: fall

It’s not a date. That’s what Jack had been telling himself for a week now. It’s not a date. He was going to see Felix again, enjoy his company one more time in complete one sided emotion. They were going to hang out at the arcade. Like the good old days when the two guys were just kids, and the arcade was still a cool place to hang out. Not that it wasn’t anymore, but it was a dying oasis.

Maybe he shouldn’t have worn this shirt. Maybe a different colour would have been better. What was Felix’s favorite colour? Maybe that was something Jack should know by now, he has been working on a friendship for near a month at this point. They had been talking almost every day since having watched the movie with PJ. He was even texting the goof himself and getting advice on how to deal with the Swede.

Thank goodness for that too, because Jack almost blew it a couple times there.

Jack was in the car with Felix now and just a block away from the arcade. They had been talking about video games, and Jack’s favorite game.

“It’s a good game, not gonna lie,” Felix said. “I played it. I just like Dark Souls better.” Jack could almost feel offended at this.

“Shadow of the Colossus is so much better! It’s just boss battles over and over!” Jack looked at Felix and wanted to hold his hand so badly, but refrained. Felix winced at jack’s yelling. He still wasn’t used to it yet.

“Alright!” Felix yelled in mock agreement. “It’s the best game!” Jack faced forward again.

“Damn right it is!” the two pulled into the parking lot of the arcade and got out to walk when the car stopped. Jack was visibly excited. He almost skipped as he walked, giggling when he talked. Felix was amused to see Jack act almost like a little boy. It was definitely endearing to say the least, Felix definitely was comfortable enough with his sexuality to call the man adorable.

Stepping into the arcade, Jack and Felix took a moment to take in the blips and bells and lights from the dozens of games around. This was definitely going to be a good afternoon.

“Wanna make a bet?” Felix almost sings, his eyes twinkling and eyebrow raising. Jack loved his eyes.

“What are ou planning you meatball?” Jack squinted his eyes and put his hands on his hips. They walked to the coin machine to trade forty dollars for tokens.

“Whoever wins the most games by the end of the day wins,” Felix suggested. Jack thought about it, sure that he wouldn’t win. Felix was just as sure of his gaming ability.

“Somethings got to be at stake here,” Jack said. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants. But only one thing!” Jack would make that win count. Felix smiled even more and gave a little laugh. Jack could feel his heart squeezing in his chest.

“Get ready to lose, Sean!” Jack wanted to die right then at the sound of Felix calling out his legal name. It was almost too much for him to handle. Jack smiled through the urge to jump Felix and kiss him, wrapping his arms around him. No doubt he’d lose him uber quickly that way. He just had to wait, lie and wait.

“You have to be cheating!” Felix called out after. He was losing sorely in air hockey – the final game the boys would play. Jack was already ahead by wins, but Felix insisted that air hockey would be the ultimatum. The all or nothing. And he was still losing five to one.

“You are terrible at this,” Jack retorted. He hit the puck once and it landed itself in the little goal. Felix huffed as jack gained another point.

“I’m not, you're just a cheater!” He complained like a child.

“How can you cheat at this?” Jack laughed, watching the puck that Felix was serving. The two of them had genuinely been having a blast, even if Felix was sorely losing. They hit the puck back and fortha few more times until Felix made a lucky shot and gained a point. It was now six to two. If Jack made another point, Felix would lose the whole bet.

“Ha!” Felix threw his hands up in the air. “I got a point! Get ready Irish leprechaun cause I'm about to whoop your ass!”

“Be quiet you goof,” Jack laughed. “There are kids around.” Felix’s arms went down quickly and looked embarrassed very quickly. His cheeks got the tiniest hint of pink and Jack laughed more. In truth he found it to be the most adorable thing ever, but played it off as Felix being funny. “Come on, we aren’t finished yet!” Jack set the puck back on the table top. Immediately it started floating away. He hit it towards Felix, the man whom he was slowly falling for more and more.

The two men kept passing and missing hits for near a minute. Felix tried his best to keep Jack from winning. But Jack was just a little too good. Or maybe it was just luck, seeing as how he’d never heard of anyone who was genuinely good at air hockey. Anyhow, Jack made the final seventh point, signifying he had won the game. He lifted his arms in victory.

“Yes!” He cried out over the blips and shouts from other people. “Irish Leprechaun gets the win!” Felix narrowed his eyes playfully at the gloating shorter man.

“I still say you cheated,” He pointed an accusatory finger at Jack, who just laughed.

“Oh shut up and let’s count our tickets.” Jack led the way to the ticket counting machine. He had a mess of tickets in his hand which he had gotten from most of the games they played. It almost made Felix roll his eyes over the disorganization Jack seemed to have over them. It took a while to untangle them enough to insert them into the machine, and ripping the tickets was necessary at times, but eventually the machine printed a receipt that dictated Jack had over nine hundred fifty tickets.

Felix was smart about the whole issue. He had folded his tickets nicely into rows of ten and kept them in the cup they used for tokens. Neat. Jack wondered how Felix had the patience to do that. It was cute, how he used his head even at the most useless of times. Easily, Felix fed the tickets to the machine. The receipt read six hundred twenty three total tickets. Jack made the pathetic muted trumpet sound that played in old cartoons whenever the character failed.

“Shut up,” Felix muttered playfully. They made their way to the rewards counter to get things. They looked around at different stupid toys for a few minute. Chinese handcuffs, those stupid plastic hands, tops, stickers, sweets. They laughed at everything they saw. Nothing was good enough. They were a bit too old for some of these things and neither of them had enough to get the really good things like the hover boards or wii games to play with guests. Jack’s eye caught on a black plushy the size of a pumpkin.

“Fe, look!” Jack cried out pointing to the dragon plushy. “It’s a Toothless!” Felix looked to the toy. He could tell jack really liked it. Could tell he wanted it. The way Jack looked with wide eyes at the cute dragon was endearing. He was like a child. Felix smiled.

“You should get it,” he said. Jack looked for the tag that said how much it was. Twelve hundred thirty tickets. He frowned disappointed.

“Can’t,” he said dejectedly. “It’s too much.” Felix frowned and looked at the tag. He did some quick mental math. He pulled Jack be the sleeve to get to the counter and got the attention of a girl who was working behind the counter. When she saw Felix she smiled.

“What can I get you?” She said. Felix took Jack’s ticket from him and handed them to the girl.

“Can we get the Toothless thing if we combine the two?” He asked, pointing to the plushy. Jack looked up quickly and looked at Felix. Combine the tickets to get him the Toothless? Would he really do that for him? Felix didn’t look to be joking.

The girl looked at Jack and smiled. “You’re in luck,” She said lightly. She moved to get the Toothless from the shelf. Jack just kept looking at Felix while waiting. It wasn’t such an odd thing to do, but it was so incredibly sweet, so terrifically lovable. Jack’s heart beat perfectly calm and didn’t hurt at all. Different to the usual reaction he had when Felix did something he loved.

That’s when Jack knew his emotions had gotten too strong.

“Here you go!” The girl handed over the plushie to Felix. “That leaves you with…three hundred forty six tickets.” She seemed to do the math in her head. Felix handed Jack the plushy. He took it in his hands gingerly. It was a surprisingly good quality. Had the DreamWorks tag on it. Jack smiled softly when he hugged the plushy tightly. He’d love and take good care of this for the rest of his life. A gift from the first guy he ever loved.

Loved.

“Wanna get a bunch of candy?” Felix asked. Jack could only nod. He was afraid to speak, maybe his loud voice would blow Felix away. Felix turned to the girl behind the counter. “Just fill a bag with different sweets until we run out of tickets.” The girl nodded and grabbed a bag and went to the sweets under the glass counter. She pulled out an assortment of lollipops, sour strings, skittles, Jolly Ranchers, and chocolates.

“Hey whats wrong?” Felix said noticing jack was very quiet.

“Nothing,” Jack said softly. “I just can’t believe you gave up half your tickets for me.” Felix smiled at that.

“No big deal,” he assured. “I’d rather you get something cool you want than we both get shitty little toys.” The girl came back and gave Felix the bag of candy. The two men walked back to the car. Felix was going to drop Jack off at home now.

On the way to Jack’s house, he thought a lot. Perhaps to Felix the gesture was simply an act of kindness or sensibility. But to Jack it was a whole lot more than that. It was something that pushed jack to understand the depth of his emotions. How he could never live without Felix being in his life one way or another. Even if they never got together romantically, he needed him. Without Felix, what was even the point of living anymore? So of course, he had to keep him. Even if it meant never telling Felix he was gay, or admitting his feelings to a man who believed he was incredibly straight.

If this is what love felt like, Jack was in for a lifetime of unrequited love and disappointment when Felix found a girl he thought he loved. It was definitely a fast fall for him. Almost two months since he had first been saved by Felix. Only one month of talking to him. Of course it was an incredibly short amount of time. Most people would say it definitely was not love.

But he was sure it was. How could it be anything else?

Felix reached Jack’s house and stopped the car.

“Well here we are,” Felix said. They had both been munching on sweets on the way. Felix was currently munching on a chocolate. Jack was sucking on a lollipop that he just opened.

“I had fun man,” Jack said with a smile. “Thanks for bringing me!” He unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I had fun too! Still think you cheated but it’s whatever.” Felix shrugged and giggled. That gave Jack an idea.

“Oh yeah,” he started with a mischievous smirk. “About that…” Felix’s smile disappeared. The bet had still been on and Felix just reminded Jack of it. Oh no, he thought. For sure, Felix thought Jack would make him do something horrible. Jack thought about it quickly. What did he want from Felix now? A kiss would be nice, but no doubt Felix would question it and refuse and then wonder what Jack was really around for. But perhaps a kiss on the cheek… but it had to be weird for Felix.

“Kiss me on the cheek,” Jack said with a smirk. “Since you lost.” Felix’s eyes widened and he looked confused at Jack.

“What?” He chuckled nervously. “For real?”

“What?” jack taunted. “You aren’t comfortable enough in your own sexuality that you can’t give a friend a kiss on the cheek when you lose a bet?” Felix blushed a little bit.

“How is this rewarding for you?” He asked moving his hair around on his head.

“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” Jack laughed. It was a good cover for him. No one had to know or suspect anything. Felix thought about tit for a minute. A bet was a bet. He had to pay up. Jack apparently knew exactly what made him tick.

“Alright,” he surrendered. Jack smiled as if he had won – which he had – and closed his eyes. He turned his head and brought his cheek out for Felix to kiss when he was ready. Felix bit his pride and heterosexuality and leaned in to give Jack a kiss to his cheek. He left a small mark of chocolate on his cheek. Felix saw and was tempted to wipe it away but decided against it. Jack smiled wider, probably amused – unbeknownst to Felix he was shining with joy and resisting to pull Felix in for a kiss.

“Not so bad now was it?” Jack joked. Felix blushed a bit.

“The worst thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he playfully insulted. Jack laughed and got out of the car. After a quick goodbye, Felix drove away. It was a strange feeling; kissing a man on the cheek. He had never done that before. Felix shied away from anything that could be considered homosexual, although he could act like the gayest person in the whole city, he never acted on words or phrases he’s said or mimed.

He drove home thinking of the green haired boy and the kiss on the cheek. It couldn’t have meant anything to jack… so why was it starting to mean something to him?

#jelix #fanfic #fan fiction #septicpie #jelix fic #run me over #little fic

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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Theon

The sky was a gloom of cloud, the woods dead and frozen. Roots grabbed at Theon's feet as he ran, and bare branches lashed his face, leaving thin stripes of blood across his cheeks. He crashed through heedless, breathless, icicles flying to pieces before him. Mercy, he sobbed. From behind came a shuddering howl that curdled his blood. Mercy, mercy. When he glanced back over his shoulder he saw them coming, great wolves the size of horses with the heads of small children. Oh, mercy, mercy. Blood dripped from their mouths black as pitch, burning holes in the snow where it fell. Every stride brought them closer. Theon tried to run faster, but his legs would not obey. The trees all had faces, and they were laughing at him, laughing, and the howl came again. He could smell the hot breath of the beasts behind him, a stink of brimstone and corruption. They're dead, dead, I saw them killed, he tried to shout, I saw their heads dipped in tar, but when he opened his mouth only a moan emerged, and then something touched him and he whirled, shouting . . .

. . . flailing for the dagger he kept by his bedside and managing only to knock it to the floor. Wex danced away from him. Reek stood behind the mute, his face lit from below by the candle he carried. "What?" Theon cried. Mercy. "What do you want? Why are you in my bedchamber? Why?"

"My lord prince," said Reek, "your sister has come to Winterfell. You asked to be informed at once if she arrived."

"Past time," Theon muttered, pushing his fingers through his hair. He had begun to fear that Asha meant to leave him to his fate. Mercy. He glanced outside the window, where the first vague light of dawn was just brushing the towers of Winterfell. "Where is she?"

"Lorren took her and her men to the Great Hall to break their fast. Will you see her now?"

"Yes." Theon pushed off the blankets. The fire had burned down to embers. "Wex, hot water." He could not let Asha see him disheveled and soaked with sweat. Wolves with children's faces . . . He shivered. "Close the shutters." The bedchamber felt as cold as the dream forest had been.

All his dreams had been cold of late, and each more hideous than the one before. Last night he had dreamed himself back in the mill again, on his knees dressing the dead. Their limbs were already stiffening, so they seemed to resist sullenly as he fumbled at them with half-frozen fingers, tugging up breeches and knotting laces, yanking fur-trimmed boots over hard unbending feet, buckling a studded leather belt around a waist no bigger than the span of his hands. "This was never what I wanted," he told them as he worked. "They gave me no choice." The corpses made no answer, but only grew colder and heavier.

The night before, it had been the miller's wife. Theon had forgotten her name, but he remembered her body, soft pillowy breasts and stretch marks on her belly, the way she clawed his back when he fucked her. Last night in his dream he had been in bed with her once again, but this time she had teeth above and below, and she tore out his throat even as she was gnawing off his manhood. It was madness. He'd seen her die too. Gelmarr had cut her down with one blow of his axe as she cried to Theon for mercy. Leave me, woman. It was him who killed you, not me. And he's dead as well. At least Gelmarr did not haunt Theon's sleep.

The dream had receded by the time Wex returned with the water. Theon washed the sweat and sleep from his body and took his own good time dressing. Asha had let him wait long enough; now it was her turn. He chose a satin tunic striped black and gold and a fine leather jerkin with silver studs . . . and only then remembered that his wretched sister put more stock in blades than beauty. Cursing, he tore off the clothes and dressed again, in felted black wool and ringmail. Around his waist he buckled sword and dagger, remembering the night she had humiliated him at his own father's table. Her sweet suckling babe, yes. Well, I have a knife too, and know how to use it.

Last of all, he donned his crown, a band of cold iron slim as a finger, set with heavy chunks of black diamond and nuggets of gold. It was misshapen and ugly, but there was no help for that. Mikken lay buried in the lichyard, and the new smith was capable of little more than nails and horseshoes. Theon consoled himself with the reminder that it was only a prince's crown. He would have something much finer when he was crowned king.

Outside his door, Reek waited with Urzen and Kromm. Theon fell in with them. These days, he took guards with him everywhere he went, even to the privy. Winterfell wanted him dead. The very night they had returned from Acorn Water, Gelmarr the Grim had tumbled down some steps and broken his back. The next day, Aggar turned up with his throat slit ear to ear. Gynir Rednose became so wary that he shunned wine, took to sleeping in byrnie, coif, and helm, and adopted the noisiest dog in the kennels to give him warning should anyone try to steal up on his sleeping place. All the same, one morning the castle woke to the sound of the little dog barking wildly. They found the pup racing around the well, and Rednose floating in it, drowned.

He could not let the killings go unpunished. Farlen was as likely a suspect as any, so Theon sat in judgment, called him guilty, and condemned him to death. Even that went sour. As he knelt to the block, the kennelmaster said, "M'lord Eddard always did his own killings." Theon had to take the axe himself or look a weakling. His hands were sweating, so the shaft twisted in his grip as he swung and the first blow landed between Farlen's shoulders. It took three more cuts to hack through all that bone and muscle and sever the head from the body, and afterward he was sick, remembering all the times they'd sat over a cup of mead talking of hounds and hunting. I had no choice, he wanted to scream at the corpse. The ironborn can't keep secrets, they had to die, and someone had to take the blame for it. He only wished he had killed him cleaner. Ned Stark had never needed more than a single blow to take a man's head.

The killings stopped after Farlen's death, but even so his men continued sullen and anxious. "They fear no foe in open battle," Black Lorren told him, "but it is another thing to dwell among enemies, never knowing if the washerwoman means to kiss you or kill you, or whether the serving boy is filling your cup with ale or bale. We would do well to leave this place."

"I am the Prince of Winterfell!" Theon had shouted. "This is my seat, no man will drive me from it. No, nor woman either!"

Asha. It was her doing. My own sweet sister, may the Others bugger her with a sword. She wanted him dead, so she could steal his place as their father's heir. That was why she had let him languish here, ignoring the urgent commands he had sent her.

He found her in the high seat of the Starks, ripping a capon apart with her fingers. The hall rang with the voices of her men, sharing stories with Theon's own as they drank together. They were so loud that his entrance went all but unnoticed. "Where are the rest?" he demanded of Reek. There were no more than fifty men at the trestle tables, most of them his. Winterfell's Great Hall could have seated ten times the number.

"This is the whole o' the company, m'lord prince."

"The whole—how many men did she bring?"

"Twenty, by my count."

Theon Greyjoy strode to where his sister was sprawled. Asha was laughing at something one of her men had said, but broke off at his approach. "Why, 'tis the Prince of Winterfell." She tossed a bone to one of the dogs sniffing about the hall. Under that hawk's beak of a nose, her wide mouth twisted in a mocking grin. "Or is it Prince of Fools?"

"Envy ill becomes a maid."

Asha sucked grease from her fingers. A lock of black hair fell across her eyes. Her men were shouting for bread and bacon. They made a deal of noise, as few as they were. "Envy, Theon?"

"What else would you call it? With thirty men, I captured Winterfell in a night. You needed a thousand and a moon's turn to take Deepwood Motte."

"Well, I'm no great warrior like you, brother," She quaffed half a horn of ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I saw the heads above your gates. Tell me true, which one gave you the fiercest fight, the cripple or the babe?"

Theon could feel the blood rushing to his face. He took no joy from those heads, no more than he had in displaying the headless bodies of the children before the castle. Old Nan stood with her soft toothless mouth opening and closing soundlessly, and Farlen threw himself at Theon, snarling like one of his hounds. Urzen and Cadwyl had to beat him senseless with the butts of their spears. How did I come to this? he remembered thinking as he stood over the fly-speckled bodies.

Only Maester Luwin had the stomach to come near. Stone-faced, the small grey man had begged leave to sew the boys' heads back onto their shoulders, so they might be laid in the crypts below with the other Stark dead.

"No," Theon had told him. "Not the crypts."

"But why, my lord? Surely they cannot harm you now. It is where they belong. All the bones of the Starks—"

"I said no." He needed the heads for the wall, but he had burned the headless bodies that very day, in all their finery. Afterward he had knelt amongst the bones and ashes to retrieve a slag of melted silver and cracked jet, all that remained of the wolf's-head brooch that had once been Bran's. He had it still.

"I treated Bran and Rickon generously," he told his sister. "They brought their fate on themselves."

"As do we all, little brother."

His patience was at an end. "How do you expect me to hold Winterfell if you bring me only twenty men?"

"Ten," Asha corrected. "The others return with me. You wouldn't want your own sweet sister to brave the dangers of the wood without an escort, would you? There are direwolves prowling the dark." She uncoiled from the great stone seat and rose to her feet. "Come, let us go somewhere we can speak more privily."

She was right, he knew, though it galled him that she would make that decision. I should never have come to the hall, he realized belatedly. I should have summoned her to me.

It was too late for that now, however. Theon had no choice but to lead Asha to Ned Stark's solar. There, before the ashes of a dead fire, he blurted, "Dagmer's lost the fight at Torrhen's Square—"

"The old castellan broke his shield wall, yes," Asha said calmly. "What did you expect? This Ser Rodrik knows the land intimately, as the Cleftjaw does not, and many of the northmen were mounted. The ironborn lack the discipline to stand a charge of armored horse. Dagmer lives, be grateful for that much. He's leading the survivors back toward the Stony Shore."

She knows more than I do, Theon realized. That only made him angrier. "The victory has given Leobald Tallhart the courage to come out from behind his walls and join Ser Rodrik. And I've had reports that Lord Manderly has sent a dozen barges upriver packed with knights, warhorses, and siege engines. The Umbers are gathering beyond the Last River as well. I'll have an army at my gates before the moon turns, and you bring me only ten men?"

"I need not have brought you any."

"I commanded you—"

"Father commanded me to take Deepwood Motte," she snapped. "He said nothing of me having to rescue my little brother."

"Bugger Deepwood," he said. "It's a wooden pisspot on a hill. Winterfell is the heart of the land, but how am I to hold it without a garrison?"

"You might have thought of that before you took it. Oh, it was cleverly done, I'll grant you. If only you'd had the good sense to raze the castle and carry the two little princelings back to Pyke as hostages, you might have won the war in a stroke."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? To see my prize reduced to ruins and ashes."

"Your prize will be the doom of you. Krakens rise from the sea, Theon, or did you forget that during your years among the wolves? Our strength is in our longships. My wooden pisspot sits close enough to the sea for supplies and fresh men to reach me whenever they are needful. But Winterfell is hundreds of leagues inland, ringed by woods, hills, and hostile holdfasts and castles. And every man in a thousand leagues is your enemy now, make no mistake. You made certain of that when you mounted those heads on your gatehouse." Asha shook her head. "How could you be such a bloody fool? Children . . . "

"They defied me!" he shouted in her face. "And it was blood for blood besides, two sons of Eddard Stark to pay for Rodrik and Maron." The words tumbled out heedlessly, but Theon knew at once that his father would approve. "I've laid my brothers' ghosts to rest."

"Our brothers," Asha reminded him, with a half smile that suggested she took his talk of vengeance well salted. "Did you bring their ghosts from Pyke, brother? And here I thought they haunted only Father."

"When has a maid ever understood a man's need for revenge?" Even if his father did not appreciate the gift of Winterfell, he must approve of Theon avenging his brothers!

Asha snorted back a laugh. "This Ser Rodrik may well feel the same manly need, did you think of that? You are blood of my blood, Theon, whatever else you may be. For the sake of the mother who bore us both, return to Deepwood Motte with me. Put Winterfell to the torch and fall back while you still can."

"No." Theon adjusted his crown. "I took this castle and I mean to hold it."

His sister looked at him a long time. "Then hold it you shall," she said, "for the rest of your life." She sighed. "I say it tastes like folly, but what would a shy maid know of such things?" At the door she gave him one last mocking smile. "You ought to know, that's the ugliest crown I've ever laid eyes on. Did you make it yourself?"

She left him fuming, and lingered no longer than was needful to feed and water her horses. Half the men she'd brought returned with her as threatened, riding out the same Hunter's Gate that Bran and Rickon had used for their escape.

Theon watched them go from atop the wall. As his sister vanished into the mists of the wolfswood he found himself wondering why he had not listened and gone with her.

"Gone, has she?" Reek was at his elbow.

Theon had not heard him approach, nor smelled him either. He could not think of anyone he wanted to see less. It made him uneasy to see the man walking around breathing, with what he knew. I should have had him killed after he did the others, he reflected, but the notion made him nervous. Unlikely as it seemed, Reek could read and write, and he was possessed of enough base cunning to have hidden an account of what they'd done.

"M'lord prince, if you'll pardon me saying, it's not right for her to abandon you. And ten men, that won't be near enough."

"I am well aware of that," Theon said. So was Asha.

"Well, might be I could help you," said Reek. "Give me a horse and bag o' coin, and I could find you some good fellows."

Theon narrowed his eyes. "How many?"

"A hundred, might be. Two hundred. Maybe more." He smiled, his pale eyes glinting. "I was born up north here. I know many a man, and many a man knows Reek."

Two hundred men were not an army, but you didn't need thousands to hold a castle as strong as Winterfell. So long as they could learn which end of a spear did the killing, they might make all the difference. "Do as you say and you'll not find me ungrateful. You can name your own reward."

"Well, m'lord, I haven't had no woman since I was with Lord Ramsay," Reek said. "I've had my eye on that Palla, and I hear she's already been had, so . . . "

He had gone too far with Reek to turn back now. "Two hundred men and she's yours. But a man less and you can go back to fucking pigs."

Reek was gone before the sun went down, carrying a bag of Stark silver and the last of Theon's hopes. Like as not, I'll never see the wretch again, he thought bitterly, but even so the chance had to be taken.

That night he dreamed of the feast Ned Stark had thrown when King Robert came to Winterfell. The hall rang with music and laughter, though the cold winds were rising outside. At first it was all wine and roast meat, and Theon was making japes and eyeing the serving girls and having himself a fine time . . . until he noticed that the room was growing darker. The music did not seem so jolly then; he heard discords and strange silences, and notes that hung in the air bleeding. Suddenly the wine turned bitter in his mouth, and when he looked up from his cup he saw that he was dining with the dead.

King Robert sat with his guts spilling out on the table from the great gash in his belly, and Lord Eddard was headless beside him. Corpses lined the benches below, grey-brown flesh sloughing off their bones as they raised their cups to toast, worms crawling in and out of the holes that were their eyes. He knew them, every one; Jory Cassel and Fat Tom, Porther and Cayn and Hullen the master of horse, and all the others who had ridden south to King's Landing never to return. Mikken and Chayle sat together, one dripping blood and the other water. Benfred Tallhart and his Wild Hares filled most of a table. The miller's wife was there as well, and Farlen, even the wildling Theon had killed in the wolfswood the day he had saved Bran's life.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind. Along the walls figures half-seen moved through the shadows, pale shades with long grim faces. The sight of them sent fear shivering through Theon sharp as a knife. And then the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

Theon woke with a scream, startling Wex so badly that the boy ran naked from the room. When his guards burst in with drawn swords, he ordered them to bring him the maester. By the time Luwin arrived rumpled and sleepy, a cup of wine had steadied Theon's hands, and he was feeling ashamed of his panic. "A dream," he muttered, "that was all it was. It meant nothing."

"Nothing," Luwin agreed solemnly. He left a sleeping draught, but Theon poured it down the privy shaft the moment he was gone. Luwin was a man as well as a maester, and the man had no love for him. He wants me to sleep, yes . . . to sleep and never wake. He'd like that as much as Asha would.

He sent for Kyra, kicked shut the door, climbed on top of her, and fucked the wench with a fury he'd never known was in him, By the time he finished, she was sobbing, her neck and breasts covered with bruises and bite marks. Theon shoved her from the bed and threw her a blanket. "Get out."

Yet even then, he could not sleep.

Come dawn, he dressed and went outside, to walk along the outer walls. A brisk autumn wind was swirling through the battlements. It reddened his cheeks and stung his eyes. He watched the forest go from grey to green below him as light filtered through the silent trees. On his left he could see tower tops above the inner wall, their roofs gilded by the rising sun. The red leaves of the weirwood were a blaze of flame among the green. Ned Stark's tree, he thought, and Stark's wood, Stark's castle, Stark's sword, Stark's gods. This is their place, not mine. I am a Greyjoy of Pyke, born to paint a kraken on my shield and sail the great salt sea. I should have gone with Asha.

On their iron spikes atop the gatehouse, the heads waited.

Theon gazed at them silently while the wind tugged on his cloak with small ghostly hands. The miller's boys had been of an age with Bran and Rickon, alike in size and coloring, and once Reek had flayed the skin from their faces and dipped their heads in tar, it was easy to see familiar features in those misshapen lumps of rotting flesh. People were such fools. If we'd said they were rams' heads, they would have seen horns.

#ClashofKings

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