#and his journey took him from the range where he was wild to being captured to now living at one of my top favorite sanctuaries

[cowboyshit]

i just want adam to get that community number thing so i can send him links to all the wild horse stuff i follow and introduce him to the mustang side of social media because i think he’d really dig it and also hopefully gush with me about the horses 🥺

#my love language is gushing about horses #but my REAL deep love language is specifically gushing about mustangs/feral horses #i should start writing tcatm again #that was sort of a love letter to mustangs #showing what corruption happens at their expense but how beautiful of hearts they have #and how similar they are to adam in a character sense #.....shit. yeah. I really wanna finish tcatm #okay. finish starlight and then write an actual outline and finish tcatm #ashleys talking again #tbdlater #anyways all this came about because i got so emotional about this mustang ive been following across social media for like 3+ years #and his journey took him from the range where he was wild to being captured to now living at one of my top favorite sanctuaries #like. i REMEMBER how upset i was the day we found out he'd been rounded up #we were scrambling to try and make sure he had a buyer at the auction so we could be sure he was going to a good home #now he's forever free on thousands of acres of land #and i get to follow his life there #i blame the cloud documentary series for my wild horse passion no joke

[rachetmath]

JRY vs Ace-ops

Warning: Long read. This is theory on who would survive a fight. A analyses. In my opinion. So with clear, if you agree, then like or comment. Disagree, fine, go wild.  

Hello, so you must have read the title. Okay you might be thinking, "Ratchetmath, bro, you can't be serious. There is no way Jaune and Ren can ever defeat the Ace-ops. Only Yang, considering her and her teammates did in volume 7." Which I would completely side with you on. However, I've come to realize that the Hound was never a threat, and more importantly the boys could've done more if the Worf effect wasn't in place. So, let's give these guys a fighting chance and see what they along with Yang, could've done if they had to fight Winter and Ace-ops.

First, let's discuss the Hound and why the Worf effect failed. For those of you who don't know what the Worf effect is, it is when a new character is placed in the story and to prove their strength: you make them fight already deemed strong characters and let them win or stand a chance of winning the fight. The reason the Worf effect failed for the Hound is because Oscar is not a very strong character. Oscar skill level as the show presents is random at best. The Hound should have aimed for Jaune. Jaune as the show and writers made clear, has an incredible amount of aura. Seeing the Hound break his aura completely without even trying would've been more terrifying and makes sense. Or Yang, showing that it could fight.

But why? Why the Hound taking Jaune or Yang down first makes sense? Yeah, Yang is fine but Jaune is not strong or a capable fighter. Maybe not much of a fighter, but he is strong. In fact, he holds back grimm twice his size on a regular basis like an Urosa and Nuckelavee. Even Yang and the other characters, well except Elm because of her physical appearance, are guilty of this. The Hound is no different, it's basically a harder version of the Beowulf. Let's face it, Jaune couldn't do anything because the show must go as planned. Jaune could've save Oscar by getting close and blowing it away with his gravity dusted shield. The hound attacking Jaune first would prove it was watching them carefully, seeing their weapons and abilities to find who could be a threat to its mission. Proving its power and intelligence.

Now, the main event, team JRY versus The Ace-ops. The fight starts when the Ace-ops arrive after Jaune told them about the grimm river. Sadly, when they arrive, things were not so good. The Ace-Ops were more focused on finding Penny instead of the river. Now the grimm river destroyed the Atlas barrier and Atlas was under attack. However, the Ace-ops still want to arrest the group. Instead of going down peacefully, Jaune, Yang and Ren won't go down without a fight. Can they win?

Now, let's scan the environment. They were in an open plain field full of snow. There is nowhere to hide and almost no way to escape for team JRY. The motorcycle is not fast enough to outrun Harriet or a plane. But more importantly there was a crater beside them where the grimm river used to be. Now there are two ways this can go down, but I'll explain later. Let’s focus on the characters.

Let’s talk about the Ace-ops. They are elite hunters in Atlas. And from what we got from volume 8, Harriet told us that Marrow and Winter are replacements for their fallen comrades. Meaning Vine, Elm and Harriet herself are the remaining, long term members of the Ace-ops. So, they work very well together unlike with Marrow and Winter. That could give team JRY an advantage, but not much. Do to the fact that it's five against three and with only one of them being the strongest fighter, they need a plan to set the odds to their favor.

Now for team JRY. Beacon students turned hunters thanks to James. Now they’re with adults. However, there are a few problems with this team. There are three people in the team and two of them, barely fight or have barely won a fight at all. Jaune is more on the defensive while Ren... well, he spams his attacks, and relies heavily on long range. Sadly, the Ace-ops over power them with combative semblances and fire power. Their best shot would be to run. However, there still a way to win. This is a fight or flight situation, so what would happen if team JRY choose either option?

For flight, the reason being because they're not capable, it's a waste time and more importantly lives are in danger. First, remember they were on a field of snow. What does Jaune have? A shield that shoots gravity waves on contact weather it's from enemies or to the ground. Jaune was already in front of the bike and with good timing, he could activate and slam his shield to ground, sending snow flying, causing a smoke screen. Giving them little but plenty of time to hop on the one motorcycle and ride, while making sure Winter or Marrow have no time to stop them with either of their semblances. The crater also plays a key role for their escape. They can ride in it, but Harriet, due to her semblance granting her speed, will be on their tail. However, if orderly seated, Jaune can stop Harriet from getting too close. But what about the other members? Well, they'll be back on the ship, but they can't do anything. If they fire missiles, they'll get in Harriet's way and more importantly hurt her in the process. Jaune could also block her path himself with shield bomb.  

Now, for fight. Reason being is Oscar is in danger and needs saving. More importantly the plane is better for traveling around Mantle and saving people than a motorcycle. This will be a difficult battle but not one sided. This is going to involve the team trusting each other. And putting their skills to the test.

First off, they would need to get rid of Marrow. Marrow may be the rookie of the Ace-ops, but he is the most powerful. His semblance can stop time just by looking at his opponent or pointing at them, commanding them to "Stay" in place.

To take out Marrow, they need to knock him out before he uses his semblance. So, before the fight truly starts, Yang should be close to Jaune, grabbing his clothes and amplifying her aura. When she has enough, Jaune, since team JRY will get a plane, launches the bike and Ren shoots the gas tank. The explosion should cause a temporary smoke screen. Yang should immediately get on Jaune shield for him to launch her towards the Ace-ops and activate her semblance to knock Marrow out. Wait a minute, but Yang's semblance doesn't work like that, she needs to take damage to even use it. However though, Blake revealed that Yang and Adam's semblances are one of the same. Meaning, both can activate their semblances any time without the need to be attacked. Yang has done this once back at Beacon and in Atlas considering Elm couldn't even touch her. But this would wear her out. Too bad she was amplified by Jaune, so she may not experience the same negative draw backs when using her semblance recklessly before.

Wait, but what about Aura? Can't aura protect Marrow from harm? Well, sadly no. Aura, as the show so far made clear, is limited to what it could do for its users. If you have a broken arm, get poisoned and/or critically wounded, your aura my not save you. So, a heavy blow to the head is something your aura is useless in healing, especially when you need to be conscious.  

Now, it's four against three. So, what should happen next? Jaune pushes Harriet into the crater, allowing Ren to fight her. Harriet may be fast but with the crater being narrow and deep she'll have a hard time moving around and probably climbing out. This will allow Ren to adapt to her movements and fight in her in hand-to-hand combat. Hopefully, he's still good at that and not relying on his upgrade.

Jaune may have to take on two opponents. They are being Vine and Elm. Don't get me wrong, it took Blake and Yang to beat them, but Vine and Elm aren't really that good. In fact, they are just stronger versions of Ren and Nora, except Vine's semblance is better suited for combat. But let’s be clear, Jaune survived a journey of pain without his aura being broken but a few times. Never mind, only once, do to being tired after fighting a giant mech.

Now, hear me out. Elm is strong, and her weapon is an RPG. But her semblance is useless if the ground is cracked, which Jaune can do without wasting aura, or entering a burst mode. Elm also has not demonstrated any hand-to-hand combat skills. Even if she was willing to still use her weapon without her semblance, it only further proves she will suffer from the recoil from her weapon once fired. Plus, Jaune can block or deflect the missiles back at her using the gravity waves from his shield. Also, though Elm is stronger than Jaune, he's faster, has more movability and a sword. So as the saying goes, "Bigger doesn't always mean better."  

But hey, what about Vine? He beat Jaune before. But who can't beat Jaune? More importantly, didn't Vine need the high ground to fight anyone. In the snow plain field, Vine has no high ground but the ship, Jaune already fought him once so he might know how far his arms can stretch, and more importantly, Jaune is physically stronger than Vine. He might use his weapon but again, the shield can deflect it. And if Jaune grabs his stretchable arm, he basically can throw Vine around.

I will make this quick for Yang. Yang will take on Winter. She would be able to reason with her considering she's friends with her sister. But Yang might have some ways to fight Winter considering she should knows how Weiss fights and been working with Weiss for a while. However, we still must consider that Winter can make an army of grimm, but she has not used any other tactics.

But these are still highly trained hunters. They aren't so easily to be defeated especially against Jaune and Ren. Well, Jaune can assist Ren by knocking out Harriet. How? Ren could use his grappling gun to capture and slow down Harriet. Ren gives Jaune a signal, Jaune goes to him, Ren releases Harriet who was running too fast for her own good with no time to react. Finally, Jaune use his shield to knock her out. They climb out and both can fight Vine and Elm. Same for Ren if to assist Jaune first. Harriet may be fast but won't be able to climb out the crater. Once all four members are down Winter would be the only one left. And sadly, the Schnees despite their abilities, still manage to lose battles.

Well, that’s all folks. Remember this is in my opinion. If there are ways for team JRY to win or if there are flaws to my plan, then please leave a comment. However, despite what I said, team JRY would still lose. Mostly due to what I said about the Worf effect not being used properly. And the villains have way more plot armor then the heroes.

#rwby #Jaune Arc #lie ren #yang xiao long #rwby ace ops #Oscar Pine #rwby elm ederne #vine zeki #rwby marrow #marrow amin #harriet bree #winter schnee #clover ebi #rwby vine #rwby harriet #The Hound

[seancekitsch]

Intended: Chapter 1

Warnings: uhhhhh slight witcher spoilers??? yearning bullshit, kidnapping, implied canon things that happen when an army sacks a city, none of my usual smutty bullshit?

“Do you think we would be like this?” Cahir mumbles, his lips pressed against your shoulder as you watch the smoke from the fire drift into a starless sky. He embraces you around the waist, as close as he can have you. As much as you are the object of all of his affections, he knows that you are something from a dream and nothing he ever thought he could have. As a child, he dreamed of being a great knight, a relic from the stories he’d read, chivalrous and true of heart, winning the favor of a lovely woman and leading his men into noble battles for causes that are just. Earning honor on his name.

“Mmm, what do you mean by that?” you hum, snuggling closer into his embrace on the bedroll, loving how he feels warmer than the fire you'd made, warmer than even the hearth in your chambers in Cintra, the home you'd been rescued from during its burning. You'd been on the run when Cahir in his mighty helmet had found you in your attempt at escape and brought you out of the chaos. He had saved you, and now treated you with the most chivalry as you traveled, on foot because his horse had been lost, to an out skirting kingdom you could start over in. You spent the week learning each other, your fears, your innermost desires, dreams you'd never shared with anyone. Felt more yourself than you ever did in Cintra. While your family fretted that you'd never make a wife, to imagine their faces now as you'd found someone you would easily marry. Your family. If only they were still here.

“Do you think we would be like this,” he says, his lips brushing against you again, “had I not captured you?”

Cahir lifts his head as soon as the words leave his mouth, seemingly recognizing his error immediately.

You rip yourself from his embrace, jumping to your feet as he quickly follows, scrambling to a stand in confusion as you fume. You find a pace, your gait that of any warlord he’s seen, wild and quick. You mutter under your breath, not quite believing what you heard but repeating it to yourself over and over until you whirl around on your heel. You round back to him with anger in your tone as you shout your summation.

“Captured? Pardon me did you say captured? As in, not rescued like you've had me believe for the past week?” Your voice was shrill, and of course you had caught his slip up. Your hands shake as you speak, refusing to look up at his fucking face. The face of a liar. Of course you had. You are sharp as a whip and he had learned this week it was best not to lie to you, unfortunately the entire nature of the events that had brought you together were a lie crafted by Cahir on the fly. Cahir that had guided you out of the piles of bodies, the debris and the destruction. Cahir who told you he was safe, not like the other Nilfgaardians burning your city. Cahir who had given you the contents of his canteen and had stolen a bedroll to sleep on so he would be the only one to sleep on the ground. Cahir that had listened to you as you told him of all of your secrets, things only revealed to a diary that was now probably nothing more than ash. Cahir who taught you how to use the dagger you shared, the man who praised you and was excited at the progress you made in a short week. Cahir that promised you a sword once you mastered the dagger. Cahir that you had stolen a kiss from, and then continued to kiss and kiss and kiss while you traveled further east, hoping to come upon a new home in an allied kingdom. Cahir that had apparently lied to you the whole time. Stolen the kisses you thought you had stolen, reveled in affection that would not have been given to a captor.

“Did you capture me, Cahir? That was my home you stole me from!”

He hesitates, then mumbles. Refusing to meet you in gaze and in words. He bows his head, like a man praying for forgiveness for a grave sin. Like a man at the altar at his most desperate hour. You now realize that sin is yourself, you are stolen and every moment he spent with you was coveting of something he could not possess himself. He took what wasn't his and dared to spit into the wind and the wind blew your intuition back to the forefront to see him for what he truly is.

“Speak, knight! I know you aren't mute you've done a fair share of moving that tongue since I’ve met you.” your eyes burn holes into his skin, and when he looks up into them it's like looking into hell itself, but he would rather blind himself than look away. Before you is not the man you’d tasted in kisses and between baring your soul talking until dawn the entire week you'd been in the woods. Before you is a villain, a wretch who did not give you the dignity of dying in your home, the dignity of fighting to the death with whatever you'd find once you were eventually cornered. Truthfully, to die in battle seemed like a nice way to die, to die with bloodied hands and passion alight beneath your skin.

“I did, I stole you away,” his voice is ragged, panicked, you've never heard it like this, “but you were not who I meant to take.”

“So you meant to kidnap someone? And should that comfort me? Bring me joy that I was not the intended target?” You’re right. That isn't comforting at all. Instead of completing his quest he steals the first woman he sees near the castle who’s not clearly a terrified peasant. What a mess he’s made of his knighthood. He refuses to meet your eyes as he nods, still downcast eyes into the fire beside you.

“I should not have. I just did not want to let you die.”

Cahir pursued the billow of skirts that trailed behind the form in the alley. Could this be the Princess Cirilla? Had he truly gotten this lucky to find her so easily? He chases on foot, abandoning his horse at the mouth of the alley he’d spotted her ducking into.  As the form turns a corner, so does he, hot on the trails of his perceived target. But the woman he pursues surprises him. She turns on her heel, and armed with a letter opener decorated with jewels, she lunges at him, swinging wildly as a feral tears from her throat. As he  dodges her efforts, he realizes this is not Cirilla. This is a woman; a noblewoman, one with fire and courage at that. She’s beautiful. He admires her immediately, even though she has a lot to learn about handling a blade.

“Watch it with that, you will stab me if you aren't careful,” he jests, removing his helmet as he moves from her swinging range.

“And who says” she lunges again, “I don't want to stab you?”

She wont go down without a fight, but is a fight something she could handle? No. certainly not against his men. She doesn't stand a chance. She won't make it out of here, he realizes. With what his men do to women. No. She does not deserve that fate. He could bring her in Cirilla’s place, he thinks. Whatever Nilfgaard needs her for, they need her alive and healthy. They would take care of her, even if her identity was false.

“You will not want to stab me if you want to make it out of here alive, I’m your only chance,” Cahir blurts out, before he can think about the weight of his words. Looking back here he realizes that he threw away any chance in finding the real Cirilla, any chance at not being tortured and executed if his deceit would be found for a woman whose name he did not know at the time. A woman who was swinging a blade at him, howling like a cornered animal. He leads you out of the city in the shadows that night, pilfering some supplies he can find before you make it past the walls of the now engulfed Cintra. Something about that night had clouded his judgement, changed him, but he did not yet understand why that was so. He did not even understand it when he kept up the charade of savoir, taking her east instead of south to where he would be rewarded for the imposter Cirilla.

“I demand the dagger,” you state, hand outstretched and conviction firm. He blinks up at you in confusion. To Cahir, you look like a blazing angel, the light of the fire making your hair resemble a halo. He would hand over the dagger, and should you wish to plunge it into his chest he would not move a hand to stop or delay you. He sighs as he relinquishes the one dagger to you, the only form of protection, your fingers brushing his as your grasp curls around it, a transfer of power and the last touch of your skin he may ever feel. His hand chases yours involuntarily, ever so slowly. You do not trust him anymore. You are not his to touch.

“I also demand the bedroll. We shall not share.” Not like we did last night hangs silently between you and he, and he silently concedes that to you as well. 

“In the morning, I’ll be gone. Do not attempt to search for me.”

“Please, don’t go,” his voice is weak, far away and parchment thin. Walking away from him will be hard, you realize. Knowing everything he told you… the kind of man he is. But also that he lied to you. He lied about your circumstances and interfered with your life. No, you must be strong. You must leave before dawn. If he wakes before you there’s still a chance you would fall into his arms and concede to this fate. You must stay cold. He is no different that all of the intended men you had turned down in the courts of Cintra. He was not a marriage prospect, like the lot of them were not suitable. Man after man you had rejected, scorned, and he will be just another. He will fade away soon like the others.

You tuck the dagger into the bedroll with you under the thin sheet, wrapping it around yourself as you lay down, facing him. He taught you never to turn your back on an enemy, and you guess he probably isn't the only person to say that so there probably is some truth to it. Sleep finds you soon after a half hour of forcing your eyes closed, but it always did in times of stress. Your body seems to know what you need more than you do, and right now its rest for the journey ahead. You slip downward quickly into a night as dreamless as the sky is starless tonight.

Cahir sits at the fire, staring into it, looking for clues, answers, the already fading memory of what it felt like to have you in his arms and have you kiss his face. Already, it slips from him. he steals glances to you every few minutes, to make sure his mind isn't playing tricks on him, to make sure you aren't already gone. You look peaceful, angelic in the same way you did when screaming at him but an hour earlier; the same way you did in the alley swinging a letter opener at his face. If only he could lay down next to you, to sleep peacefully. Had he known last night was his last beside you, he would have savored it more. Buried his face in your hair, held you tighter, kissed your eyelids and tried to will himself into your dreams. Everything feels heavy, as he fights to stay awake, resolving that to go without sleep is better than to sleep cold, without the feeling of you in his arms. If he has to, he won’t sleep ever again. To spare his heart. Now that he knows what it means to sleep with another, to sleep with you by his side, sleeping alone seems like a fate worse than whatever might greet him in Nilfgaard when he returns empty handed. Cahir doesn't notice falling asleep, he’s too consumed in his thoughts.

When Cahir wakes up back aching, the fire is dead and you are gone.

#cahir x reader #cahir the witcher x reader #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach x reader #my work

[letterboxd]

Watching John Malkovich.

To understand better why Letterboxd members set out on quests to watch specific actors’ entire filmographies, we invited Tim Rod to describe her dangerous and seductive journey through John Malkovich’s screen history.

For many film lovers, 2020 has been a year of catching up: on franchises, on directors’ filmographies, on historical gaps and top 100s. But for some Letterboxd members, the year indoors has been an opportunity to hyper-focus on a single actor and their work.

Jeremiah Lambert is on a Bacon Fest, Naked Airplane has embarked on a wild ride through the works of De Niro, Hackman, Hoffman, Nicholson and Pacino. Joey is preparing for next year’s centennial of The Kid by churning through Charlie Chaplin’s catalog (with David Robinson’s biography Chaplin: His Life and Art in hand). A quick Twitter survey found others churning through a performer selection as wide-ranging as Burt Lancaster, Parker Posey, Maggie Smith, Nicolas Cage, Cary Grant, Kevin Costner, Robin Williams, Adèle Haenel, Alan Arkin, Sam Rockwell and a Seth Rogen thirst project.

It can be a bumpy journey. In one performer’s oeuvre the quality will range widely, the genres too. But the rewards are many in a close study of craft, and there are revelations, whether it’s that Australia’s Miranda Otto deserves more recognition, or it’s “the total acceptance, lack of judgment, and vulnerability with which Alan Arkin has played so many of his flawed and wonderful characters”.

With Christian Bale in ‘Empire of the Sun’ (1987).

In 2020, no fewer than three movies and two television series starring John Malkovich have been released: Arkansas, Valley of the Gods and Ava, as well as The New Pope and Space Force. The legendary actor has kept himself busy, and I know this because I have seen most of his filmography—41 films and two series—in the span of a single month. I adore Malkovich, always have, and I came out of this experience with a deeper admiration for him, and with some thoughts about his unique, remarkable skills as an actor. (And, I had a really good time.)

Allow me to begin by saying that John Malkovich is the best part of every movie he is in. No matter the movie, Malkovich will always steal the spotlight, and he can turn a good movie into a masterpiece, or an average movie that wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention into one worth watching, if only to see him do his thing.

He’s starred in movies that are considered masterpieces by many: Being John Malkovich (1999), The Killing Fields (1984) and Empire of the Sun (1987). Movies that may be considered the opposite of masterpieces, like Supercon (2018), Eragon (2006) and the most recent Ava (2020), and he’s also starred in some gems that I knew nothing about but am glad to have discovered, such as The Convent (1995), Eleni (1985) and The Ogre (1996). Malkovich has brought to life iconic characters including Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Tom Ripley, Hercule Poirot (in BBC’s The ABC Murders), the artist Gustav Klimt, and several of David Lynch’s people, in the short film Psychogenic Fugue (2016).

As Mitch Leary in ‘In the Line of Fire’ (1993).

Malkovich has received two Academy Award nominations, for Places in the Heart (1984), in which he played Edna’s lodger, the solitary yet kind Mr. Will, and for In the Line of Fire (1993), where he played the complete opposite: the psychotic Mitch Leary, determined to kill the President of the United States. Though Malkovich is not a classic action-film actor, his work in that genre is driven by logic, intellect and emotion, and the delicacy that he employs to challenge concepts of masculinity and keep us guessing. His soft and collected voice threatening Clint Eastwood over the phone is scarier and more effective than a deeper one would have been.

That voice. Malkovich has admitted that he hates the sound of it, that he would always avoid listening to it, just like so many actors avoid watching their own films, but I’m bewitched by his voice and I could never get enough of it. It can be tender, sweet and calming, seductive when the role requires it, and terrifying. With that versatility, it’s not surprising that he has done some narrating work as well, for films including Paul Newman’s The Glass Menagerie (1987) and Alive (1993).

Malkovich is at his best when seduction and villainy combine, as they do in Dangerous Liaisons (1988). Vicomte Sébastien de Valmont has been performed by many actors over the years, but I find Malkovich’s take to be the most memorable and exquisite. He captures perfectly the depravity and evilness of Valmont, but also the nuances, his journey from womanizer to man genuinely in love and, ultimately, his tragic redemption. He even brings a comedic aspect to the character that adds more depth and dimension.

With Glenn Close in ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ (1988).

Valmont is an awful human being, a monster even, and yet, every time I watch this movie, I find myself fascinated by his mastery of the deception, his sensuality and complete control of the situation, until the situation is “beyond his control”. In her review of the film, Catherine Stebbins calls John Malkovich “a sexual force of nature”, and I completely agree. If you want to see more of Malkovich’s sensual side, other notable mentions include The Sheltering Sky (1990), The Object of Beauty (1991) and Beyond the Clouds (1995).

And then there’s Being John Malkovich (1999), in which ‘John Horatio Malkovich’ displays so many facets of his craft. The fictionalized Malkovich is possessed by different characters, one of them a woman. Catherine Keener’s character falls in love with a subtly different version of Malkovich, when he is a vessel for Lotte (Cameron Diaz). Even though Lotte doesn’t have full control of Malkovich, he uses his femininity to bring the character-inside-the-character to center stage, delivering a subtle-yet-perfect performance. Even when we don’t see Lotte, we know she’s there.

John Malkovich as John Horatio Malkovich possessed by Lotte, in ‘Being John Malkovich’ (1999).

Not many actors could pull this off as brilliantly as John Malkovich does. To be fair, not many actors have been given the chance that Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman gave Malkovich: a film with his own name in the title.

I’ve discussed some of the most well-known of Malkovich’s performances, but I’d like to mention an overlooked one that I found heartbreaking and noteworthy. I didn’t know of the existence of The Ogre (1996) until I took a closer look at Malkovich’s filmography. It’s not without its flaws, but I found myself absorbed in the fairy-tale story of Abel, a naïve French prisoner of war who is taken to Nazi Germany and used to recruit children for Hitler’s Youth. Once again, the actor’s duality is on display, as Evan writes in his Letterboxd review: “Malkovich is both queasy and endearing as the (ig)noble simp who just wants to save the babies.” The Ogre tells a tragic story, but thanks to Malkovich’s tenderness, we can’t help but have sympathy for his character. At times it reminded me of the innocence of Lennie in Of Mice and Men (1992), another of the actor’s more noteworthy performances.

One of Malkovich’s great contributions to cinema is elevating an average movie just by being in it. One such role is as English conman Alan Conway in the bizarre true story, Colour Me Kubrick (2005). Malkovich admitted in an interview that he thought his performance was good, and I agree. If there’s one reason to watch that film, it’s to see Malkovich playing an eccentric conman who poses as Stanley Kubrick, using different voices and accents. As TajLV writes, “if there were anything to commend this film other than Malkovich, I’d happily rate it higher”.

As Alan Conway in ‘Colour Me Kubrick’ (2005).

One fun fact: I sometimes forget John Malkovich is American. Maybe it’s because he has starred in many European productions—out of the 41 films I watched, 18 were European. Malkovich is of European descent, has lived in France for a decade and speaks fluent French, which allowed him to star as the mysterious Baron de Charlus in Time Regained (1999), with entirely French dialogue. He also delivers lines in French and Portuguese in A Talking Picture (2003) by Manoel de Oliveira.

You’ve probably heard Malkovich use words, expressions and even entire lines of French dialogue on more than one occasion. He does this often, which gives him a certain European vibe, consistent with his own character, mannerisms and dress sense—elements that he sometimes brings to his characters. Maybe that’s the reason he has played so many intellectuals and artists: professors, scientists, detectives, painters, writers, a scientist and a robot, and even the Pope… It seems there’s nothing John Malkovich can’t do, including directing.

To end my marathon, I watched his directorial debut, The Dancer Upstairs (2002), an assured movie adapted from a novel about the Maoist uprising in Peru in the 1980s, starring Javier Bardem. It was a nice surprise, and a strong start to what could have been a career as a film director, if not for the fact that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. I recently read an interview where Edgar Wright revealed advice he always gives to directors, which is to make their second movie the one that will define them. I wonder if we will ever see John Malkovich’s second film, but for now, I hope he keeps gifting us with more unforgettable performances. At least we know that in the distant future, along with all the movies he has already appeared in, people will enjoy a never-seen-before performance when Robert Rodríguez’s short 100 years is released in 2115.

If there’s one thing I have learnt after watching most of his filmography, it’s that John Malkovich is one of the best and most versatile actors of our time, with the most unique voice I have heard in cinema, and with a rich filmography that encompasses every genre. And he’s not only a brilliant actor, but also someone I find personally fascinating. I truly find comfort in him. I hope we all get to enjoy his art for years to come, because his talent is limitless and I know he still has so much more to give. John Malkovich deserves all the praise for being a force of nature in the theater and film industry for over 40 years.

Tim is a Letterboxd member based in Spain, who has recently moved on from her John Malkovich marathon to a Sacha Baron Cohen quest.

#letterboxd #letterboxd community #john malkovich #actors #actor #acting #craft #acting craft #dangerous liaisons #most watched actor

[gothighunicorntolerance]

Lord of the Wild (one shot)

AO3

His journey had been uneventful so far- that is, until his horse had reared up and he had fallen off. 

“Indigo! Indigo, come back sweetie!” Patton called out to his horse who had run off into the woods. Brambles and beaches tore at his clothes, drawing pinpricks of blood on his uncovered arms. He could only imagine how terrified the horse might be! 

Patton knew that starting off the path was unsafe, but he needed to find Indigo! And besides, he could just retrace his steps! 

“Ind- agh!”

A net sprung from underneath the leaves where it had been hidden, trapping him inside as it dangled from a tree.

“Hey! Help!” Patton shouted, suddenly afraid. But this was only a hunter’s trap for game animals, right? The hunter would surely be along soon to help him out. Right? 

Suddenly, Patton realized that in his capture, his glasses had fallen to the forest floor, which must have been ten feet from where he dangled in the net. 

“Help!” 

Patton kept shouting until his voice was hoarse and the sun had gone down. Resigned to his fate that he wouldn’t be getting down until someone came to check the net, Patton attempted to close his eyes and sleep. But every sound kept him awake, every gust of wind made the net swing and spin. 

Then, just as his eyes were about to close, he heard the crunch of leaves below him. 

“Hey!” Patton looked down and saw a hooded figure. “Help!”

The figure looked up at him, their face obscured by the heavy black hood. Patton watched as they walked to the tree, and suddenly he plummeted to the ground.

He bit back a help of pain as his ankle twisted on the impact. 

Still tangled in the net, Patton looked up at the hooded figure.

“Gosh, thanks! I don’t know how long I could have been there if you hadn’t come!”

He attempted to wiggle his way out, the figure still standing, unmoving. 

“Hey, uh, a little help here?” Patton asked, pointing to the knot that held the net together. 

The figure moved, and instead of undoing the knot like Patton had expected, they grabbed the rope that had been attached to the tree branch.

“What are you doing?” Patton shouted, hoping the waver in his voice didn’t register with them.

The figure remained silent as they dragged the net with ease, even though Patton thrashed and grabbed foliage in an attempt to stop them. 

“Please! Where are you taking me?” Patton cried, wincing when his ankle was hit by rocks or branches. 

They must have had enough of his pleas, as they stopped walking and turned to Patton. 

Instead of an answer like Patton expected, they drew out a long metal staff from inside their robes. 

Patton didn’t have time to shout before the staff connected with his temple and his vision faded to black.

***

Patton woke to the sound of voices. Struggling to open his eyes, he saw a crowd had gathered around where he stood, all of their faces hidden, all dressed in identical black robes. Even though he could see none of their faces, he knew they were all staring at him, and as he realized that he also suddenly realized that he was now shirtless. 

He tried to take a step back, but found his hands were tied above his head to a wooden post, the tips of his toes just barely reaching the ground. 

“Prepare the offering, Brother.” Someone in the crowd said. 

A jolt of fear ran through him. Was that what he was to become? An offering for some higher power? Patton had doubted the existence of the powers religions and cults worshiped, but he had no doubt that he would die because of their belief. 

“One for the ground, uncaringly trod,” a sharp pain ran through Patton’s back as a sharp crack sounded in the air. Biting back a scream, he felt blood begin to drop down as the gravelly voice rhymed. 

“Two for the birds, fearfully awed.”

Another crack. 

“Three for the fish, painfully caught.”

Patton couldn’t tell if it was the crowd or himself repeating the verse as another crack split the air. 

“Four for the horse, unwillingly bought.”

His back had gone numb, and Patton couldn’t choke his screams down anymore. 

“Five for the fire, painfully tamed.”

How long had it been? It seemed like it had been an eternity since he found himself tied to the post.

“Six for the floods, unfairly blamed.”

Another lash, another welt on his back.

“Seven for the winds, shamefully rang.”

“Please… stop!” Patton cried, unable to hold back the tears or the shrieks. How long would his pain last? Was this how he was going to die? 

“And eight for the quakes, to bring you all down.”

If there was more, Patton couldn’t tell. His head slumped to his chest, and though he could feel himself being moved, he could do nothing to stop them. 

He was powerless. 

He was alone. 

He was going to die. 

That was the only thing he was certain of now: that these people would bring him to his end, whether it would be infection or blood loss or some gruesome way, there would be no getting out of this alive for Patton. And there was absolutely nothing he could do except perhaps prolong his suffering. 

So still he fought as cloaked arms dragged Patton to what looked like a giant shepard’s hook. Every injury became tenfold as painful as the cultists-was that what they were?- forced Patton’s arms above his head once again, the cuts in his back becoming worse as he was hoisted off the ground, kicking his feet in vain until a two grabbed his ankles while a third wrapped thick rope around them to stop him from thrashing. 

Patton continued to scream for help, to shriek at them to stop, until a gag was shoved into his mouth, rendering him almost mute except for the muffled grunts he managed to get out. 

He shook his head, resisting his hands getting tied to the curve of the hook until someone took a clump of hair in their fist, fighters digging into his scalp, while tied a blindfold around his eyes, digging into the back of his head. 

The hands holding him down finally let go, and Patton's face paled as he realized what had happened. 

They had hung him there like cow’s meat at a butcher’s shop. 

That last thing he heard was “The Lord of the Wild will be pleased with his offering.”

***

Patton hung there for- seconds? Hours? Days? Every breeze swung him in a different direction, every caw of a bird seemed to signal that his time was up- and when it was, would he go peacefully? Relieved? Ready to be rid of the pain? Or would he keep fighting? What would he do? Drifting in and out of consciousness, he wondered. 

His wrists strained at the weight of his own body, and Patton felt as if his arms were about to snap off and let him plummet to the ground. How fitting of an end that would be, to be rid of the pain in the same way he had brought it upon himself in his stupidity. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed before he heard a sound below him- on the ground! By now, the feel of grass seemed like a distant memory. Before he died he would have liked to run on the grass barefoot one last time, just as he had done as a child with his brothers, their only care being who could catch the most fireflies. Patton had always lost, always a little too slow to catch one.

Now the hope of living became just as distant as those fireflies had seemed. 

Still dangling there like a worm on a baited fishing hook, Patton heard another sound identical to the first- a grunt of pain. No, they couldn’t have kidnapped someone else already! They couldn’t subject anyone else to the pain Patton had been through- sobs hacked at his throat, the full wave of despair crashing into him. These cultists would continue to kidnap and kill people until they were all dead-

“I’m going to get you down. Please stay strong.”

What? Had he heard that right? That must be Death himself talking to him. And in that moment, Patton knew what he was going to do. He would let Death take him, let Death ease his suffering. Patton had always wondered about where you went when you died, and he supposed he was about to find out. 

He felt a tendril of… something… wrap around his waist. He briefly attempted to shale off his blindfold, but like so many previous escape attempts, it was in vain. 

The pressure on his wrists suddenly released, his arms numb and stiff. 

Something solid pressed into his side, and- was that grass? Yes! Patton had never been so glad for the grass that prickled around him, pressing into his cheek and side. 

Just has suddenly as it had been taken from him, the pinprick light of the far away stars returned to his vision. 

Patton angled his head to see the person who had saved him. 

Attempting to speak, he realized the gag was still shoved in his mouth, so he could only grunt. 

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m going to help you,” they said, pulling the gag out.

“Tha- thank you,” Patton replied, his voice hoarse. Was it from screaming or disuse? 

“It’s okay,” they said again, cutting Patton’s wrists and ankles loose from the rope. “You’re safe now. Can you stand?”

Grunting from the effort, Patton eventually got on one leg, then the other- he shrikes as he put pressure on his foot, the one that had been twisted in his first fall. Stumbling back to the grass, his savior caught him. 

“I’ll carry you, then.”

Patton looked around as he was picked up, moving his eyes as it hurt to turn his head, and saw for the first time what had caused the grunts he had heard. 

Scattered around the cleaning were a dozen corpses, all cloaked in black. Weeds and vines covered them, as if they had died a hundred years ago and had been grown over. 

Patton immediately retched into the grass. 

“S-sorry-” he trembled. He had thought this person his rescuer, but would they simply kill him, too? Choke him with vines as they had done with the cultists? 

“I swear I’m not going to hurt you,” they said. And though Patton didn’t quite believe them, he allowed himself to be carried from the clearing that had become the site of a massacre, if only because he was too exhausted to fight back. 

He could have imagined it, but Patton swore he heard the person carrying him say, “Thomathy, find some bandages, please.”

***

Patton lay on his chest in an unfamiliar bed. Was this the afterlife? Surely the afterlife, whatever it was, would have comfortable beds like this one? 

He looked to his left, and saw a man sitting in the corner. Groaning, Patton tried to see what the man was doing. He suddenly looked up and smiled. Patton became acutely aware of the bandages wrapped around his torso. 

“You’re awake! You probably don’t want to move too much, you got messed up pretty good,” he said, standing. In his hand he held a block of wood and- a knife!

Patton gasped in fear. This man really was going to kill him! Trying to move somewhere, anywhere else, the pain began to set in again. His back was on fire, his wrists screaming for him to stay still. 

The man’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening. He dropped the knife and stepped back. 

“Listen to me, okay? You’re safe here. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.” 

Patton let his words sink in, and relaxed after a moment. 

“Am I dead?” Patton whispered, his throat sore. 

“No, I don’t think so. But then again, we never really know.” 

“Who are you?” If this man wasn't going to hurt him, then what was he going to do? Patton wanted answers, and he wanted them now. 

“My name is Remus, what’s yours?” 

“I- I’m Patton.”     “Hello, Patton. Is there something you’d like to talk about? Your injuries will likely take a long time to heal, so I hope we can be friends.

“Injuries? What- what did they do to me?”     Remus sighed. “Well, they’re a cult, as you’ve probably figured out. They think I’m some kind of deity or sorcerer or whatever-”

“You? That’s you? The-”     “The Lord of the Wild, yeah, that’s what they call me. They think I’m some malevolent entity or something, which is all bullshit, of course. I’m not even that powerful of a sorcerer. Anyways, you probably really don’t want to hear about what happened in detail, but you lost a lot of blood and have several broken bones. Your back looks like shit. No offense, of course, but they did horrible things to you. And I’m so, so sorry that you had to go through all that on behalf of someone’s delusional beliefs.”

“How long has it been?” Patton dreaded the answer but needed to know.

“They kidnapped you five days ago.” Remus answered, apologetic.     Patton said nothing for a moment, thinking. Five days… less than a week ago he had been happily on the road, no destination in mind but going where he wanted. Now? Now he had been kidnapped and tortured and sacrificed! He should be afraid right now, but… he wasn’t.

“Who’s Thomathy?” Patton asked, breaking his silence. Was there someone else here? From what Patton could see, the house, if it could be called that, seemed to have the back half inside a small cave where he lay now and the front half almost like a log cabin. Surely there couldn't be room for three people? 

“Oh!” Remus said, brightening. “This is Thomathy!” 

Remus slowly walked over to where Patton lay on the bed of animal furs, his hand cupped around a- rat?

“He’s my assistant,” Remus said proudly as the rodent in his hands squeaked. Was Remus delusional? Off of Patton’s confused look, Remus explained, “I talk to rats and mice. I give them protection, and they give me help!”     It made slightly more sense, but Patton had never heard of anyone talking to rats. In the stories it had always been princes or princesses talking to birds, or perhaps deer.  But Patton never heard of talking to rats, of all creatures. 

Thomathy squeaked and climbed out of Remus’s hands onto the bed where Patton lay. “Hello there,” Patton moved his hand, a task that felt almost impossible, and pet the small rat on the head. The rats he had in the village where he lived before deciding to go on a journey had all been huge, mean, ugly things, but Remus’s rats were so cute! They were just tiny little furry babies! 

“Rats are actually really smart! Thomathy knows how to count to thirty, which is the highest any rat knows how!”

Thomathy seemed to stand up a little straighter at Remus’s praise. 

“I’m going to go get some food. Thomathy, keep Patton comfortable for me, okay? Patton, if you need anything, just tell Thomathy. He’ll know what to do,” Remus walked toward the cabin part of the house after giving Thomathy a pat. 

The rat curled up beside Patton on the pillow as Patton drifted off into a dreamless yet restful sleep.

A moment after Patton woke, Remus walked in with a wooden bowl, his hand covered in red. Red- so much red- red blood- 

Patton started to breath rapid, shallow breaths as he saw the redness drip down Remus’s palms, the stickiness of it clinging to his green tunic-

“Patton! Patton, look, it’s just berry juice. Patton, take a deep breath for me, that’s it.” 

Patton shuddered as he did as Remus said. 

“I- I’m sorry…” Patton’s voice hitched as his eyes watered. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Remus reassured him. “I know what it’s like, to have your mind hate you, to be afraid of things that don’t make sense. Tell me what I can do, Patton. Am I allowed to hug you?” Remus grabbed a water jug and washed his hands of the red juice.     Patton nodded, and Remus wrapped his arms around Patton, careful not to disturb the bandages. For the first time in what seemed to be forever, Patton felt safe. 

There, in Remus’s embrace, Patton could finally breathe. He could finally, finally stop fighting for the chance to live, because at that moment, he knew he would. 

Patton would survive.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #whump #angst #hurt comfort #sanders sides fic #sympathetic patton #sympathetic remus #patton sanders #remus sanders #ash writes #one shot

[trashfor-imagines]

If There’s Light There’s Hope | 1

Bakugou x Fem!Reader (BNHA)

Summary: U.A. High School was your dream. You wanted to save people. You never expected how wild your journey would be and you certainly never expected a hot headed boy to play as large of a role as he would. Warnings: Swearing

Reader’s Quirk: Celebration - reader can absorb energy from light sources and create explosions that look like fireworks. Overusing this power can cause heat exhaustion or sometimes heat stroke.

[1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7]

-

Getting into U.A. was a dream come true. You were originally placed in General Education, Class 1-C. Your performance during the entrance exams was a mixed bag. You had aced the written exam, but your performance during the practical wasn’t as high as you wanted. Luckily for you there was opportunity to move into the Hero Department - so long as you proved yourself.

The U.A. Sports Festival was your moment to shine and you did just that. Hesitation and overthinking had been your downfall during the entrance exams. With the right Hero recommendation, you could get back on track to becoming a Pro-Hero. You managed to make it to the Battle Tournament where you had your first real interaction with the hot tempered student you had seen throughout the day, Bakugou Katsuki of 1-A.

In fact, he was your first opponent and you were determined to win, however you were quickly knocked out of there by a large explosion created by the two of you that sent you flying into the stands. Quickly thinking on your feet, you did what it took to avoid hurting any of the festival spectators, using your quirk to redirect your body’s projection. You weren’t going to be able to stop your body, but you could change where you’d make impact.

Thankfully, you’d been saved by Endeavor of all heroes. He caught you with ease before you hit the staircase, an annoyed expression on his face. He certainly wasn’t going to allow All Might to save you; he’d seen the Number One Hero start to make his move. This also meant you were officially out of bounds. It was the serious expression you wore that caused Endeavor to share these words with you. You still had the will to keep fighting within you.

“Remember this moment and keep that fire burning within you. If your fight had been outside of this fishbowl, you’d still have your chance. There are no boundaries in the real world.”

He was right. When he put you down, you bowed deeply, thanking him for being a hero you could aspire to be.

“Thank you, Endeavor. I promise to continue fighting and make it into the Hero Department; that way I can work to become a Pro-Hero like you.”

Two days later you received a letter waiting for you at home.

Dear (L/N) (F/N),

It is with great pleasure that we inform you it is due to high recommendation of your recent performance at the U.A. Sports Festival that you have been accepted into the Department of Heroes at U.A. High School beginning Monday...

You didn’t need to read the rest! This was it.

The first person you called was Hitoshi. He managed to become not just a friend from junior high, but your best friend, and there was no way you wanted him to find out any other way. Despite the risk of him being jealous, you knew it was the best. His response actually surprised you.

“Don’t worry (Y/N), I’m right behind you. I’ll join the Hero Department soon enough, just watch.”

Monday came soon enough and you were sure to make it to class early. Your instructions were to wait outside of the faculty room for your new homeroom teacher. You expected Vlad King from 1-B, but when he simply gave you a smile that morning and walked off, you realized with great shock which class you had made it into.

You stood with a calm and even demeanor in front of the class; inside you were racked with nerves. The boy who beat you in the Battle Tournament, Bakugou, sat staring out the window, his chin propped up by his hand, disinterested in you. Eraserhead introduced you unenthusiastically.

“You may recognize (Y/N) from the sports festival. She was in class 1-C, but has been invited to join 1-A,” he said simply to them. He turned to you. “Go ahead and introduce yourself. You can have a seat behind Miss Yaoyorozu in the back.”

Taking a step forward, you bowed and spoke, your voice gentle yet firm. “Good morning everyone. I’m (Y/N) and I'm thankful to be in your class. Let’s get along.”

As you walked to your seat, you felt a chill run down your spine. Bakugou’s eyes had quickly snapped to the side glowering at you. You avoided eye contact with anyone else and quickly took your seat, doing your best to focus on Eraserhead.

He shared the class’s tally of nominations from Pro-Heroes and you were excited to see that you had done quite well with 416 nominations. Apparently you had been impressive to many heroes with how you managed to divert your point of impact during your Battle Tournament match. Being conscious of your surroundings and quick to think on your feet wasn’t something to brush off; apparently not everyone had the capability to be aware. He continued on about getting work-place experience and explained that we’d be deciding on our hero names with Midnight to which several students cheered in excitement.

When Midnight arrived, you were immediately filled with dread, realizing you had to present your name to everyone.

“Jubilee.” You stood in front of the class, doing your best to hide your discomfort under their gazes.

“Interesting! Now tell me why.” Midnight hummed thoughtfully at your name.

“Because of my quirk. I can...” you trailed off deciding not to explain and instead showing them an example. “If you’ll turn off the light please?” Midnight flipped the classroom’s light switch, dimming the room; the only light streaming in from window. Reaching outward toward the classroom windows, you made a single grasping motion with your hand. Your hand faintly glowed and with a simple motion, opened your hand and a small light shot up, exploding just above your head, like a golden firework. There were hushed aww’s from your new classmates as the lights came back on. “My quirk looks like fireworks at night and who doesn’t like a celebration?”

With Midnight’s approval, you gave a bow and returned to your seat.

The rest of the day seem to pass quickly after that. You’d gotten a list of agencies to choose from for your work-place internships. The Endeavor Hero Agency. It brought tears to your eyes as you stared at the name. Had Endeavor really drafted you? You guessed being blasted into the air and then caught by the man would leave a lasting impression. Your decision was easy and you quickly turned in your choice along with several other students.

Lunch time came around and you were thankful. The content some of their classes consisted of were just topics the General Education Department touched upon. It was going to be hard to keep up for a while, but you knew you could do it. Your gaze wandered over your classmates, subconsciously analyzing them and their behaviors.

A fuzzy pink girl bounded up to you as you grabbed your bento and made your way to leave the classroom. “(Y/N) why don’t you come have lunch with us?”

You were touched, your hand finding its way over your heart. “Thank you, but maybe tomorrow.”

Bowing politely, you quickly made off to meet Hitoshi in the courtyard where he sat under a tree waiting patiently for you. He gave a lazy wave and began digging into his lunch, chatting about your individual mornings. You went into depth about what Hitoshi would need to focus on for when he finally made his way into the Hero Department. He soaked this information up, taking what you had to say seriously. Despite his proclamations that other students were simply obstacles, you knew the truth behind your friendship which made you value it more. You’d known him since junior high after all. Soon the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

“Hitoshi, I’m expecting you to join me soon, okay?” You smiled at him warmly to which he returned the expression.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful and classes were over. Iida asked that you stay behind to help with cleaning the classroom, to which you complied by cleaning the windows. You recognized the few others helping, having picked up on their names throughout the day. Kaminari and Kirishima were sweeping the floor while Hagakure and Ashido were wiping down surfaces. Then there was Bakugou who was also on window cleaning duty. Pausing briefly, you observed the brute for a moment. Looking away before you could get caught staring, you quickly finished up and left.

You had just made it past the walls of the school when a rough voice echoed out from behind you. Stopping in your tracks, you refused to look back, your grip on your backpack tightening.

“What the hell do you want? Stop fucking staring at me in class would you!” his voice aggressive and angry.

Turning around you looked him dead in the eye, catching a look of surprise as it flashed over his face. “I’m going to beat you. One day soon, Bakugou. There aren’t boundaries in the real world.”

Life after that day seemed to accelerate. You barely spoke to Bakugou after that encounter. Slowly, you got to know your other classmates and found most of them to be quite pleasant and tolerable. Your internships seemed to fly by. You had gotten to know Todoroki as he also chose his father’s agency and found you enjoyed his calm and silent demeanor.

The night Stain had been captured, you had gone on patrol with Endeavor and Todoroki. You listened and stayed with Endeavor while his son ran off to help Midoriya. After Endeavor and Gran Torino defeated the Nomu, you were given instructions to stay with the sidekicks and learn something from them, leaving you behind. After the events of that night, Endeavor had you participate in filling out incident paperwork with his sidekicks where you learned Todoroki had to be hospitalized. You made sure to visit him in the hospital during your lunch break the next day. The rest of the internship went by uneventfully, thank goodness.

Soon it was final exams and then you were off to quirk training camp.

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki

[utanoprinces]

Dragon Route: Natsuki

After a long stretch of months in the creative pit, I have been very busy on my selfship blog but otherwise quietly sticking to work I have emerged with one of the first of my written commissions! Commissioned by the very kind and longsuffering @eldritchdoctor, who waited far too many months for it to be completed, the first of the Starish routes is here to be read at your leisure. This one, like Reiji’s, will not be in narration-player format like the others but is instead a very long one-shot. I hope you enjoy!

Tale of: the Merchant and Citrine Dragon

The first time you met him, you thought it’d be the last night you’d walk the earth. To this day, you wonder if—had you not crossed paths with him—it would have been. Your cart had broken down in the middle of the mountain crossing, right on the curve overlooking a valley. Normally, that would spell doom, as the kingdom at large is well aware that the area is rife with the Fae and all their mischief, tricks, and traps laid to ensnare unlucky or unsuspecting mortals. It’s said that even straying a meter from the man-made path is enough to get yourself caught up in a wild goose chase after false lanterns or end up some unknown creature’s meal, so when you’d nervously sat down on the grassy hill beside your broken cart in despair only to minutes-later be met with a sudden, gentle voice, you had immediately assumed it was the end.

“Cute, little human~!” The voice called. “Did your wheel box fall apart?”

Wheel box? You thought to yourself very absently, unable to think much else with a chill running down your spine. Realizing he meant the cart, you looked up—and froze in place.

He was tall, so tall. Broad-shouldered, but with a softness about his entire demeanor that nearly made you forget the danger you were in, and clad in a long, smooth coat that graduated from rich yellows to soft browns. Farther up, you were briefly entranced by the green of his eyes, like grass in sunlight, framed by a pair of filigree spectacles and wavy, beige-gold hair that twisted in so many shiny, pleasant ways that you were nearly bowled over by the very unprecedented desire to dig your hands into it and run your fingers through to the ends.

However, the most arresting part of the open, inviting face gazing down at you was not any of the features you’d normally consider yourself familiar with. Instead of his pale skin, his gentle smile, or those eyes that threatened to capture you once more, it was the twisting, bronze horns curling across his forehead that most caught your eye. 

He tilted his head, face shifting into a concerned expression with wide, owlish eyes.

“Hm? Can you not hear me…?” He kneeled before you to reach your eye level, still smiling far wider than was appropriate. He waved his hands in front of your face—his fingertips had claws!—and hummed. “Are you all right, human~?”

“What are you?” You blurted. His face broadened in surprise before he smiled once more.

“A friend. Here to help you.” He turned his attention away from you and tapped his face, standing straight as he approached your fallen cart with an appraising eye. Your attention zoned in on the golden tail behind him, crested with feathers near where it disappeared into his coat and at the end, where it splayed into beautiful long plumes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. You quietly decided that—whatever he was—he was certainly the most stunning creature you'd ever seen.

It went on like that, with the strange being waving his hand in a seemingly random pattern and somehow pulling your cart together again. When he finished reassembling it, he returned to you and helped you up by gripping the back of your clothes as if you were a kitten and settled you on your feet.

“Are you traveling alone?” He asked. “That seems so lonely!”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” you replied carefully. “I have to make a living somehow.” He hummed in awe, face turning once more to that innocent, wide-eyed expression. You almost wondered if he was teasing you, but he just seemed so… guileless. It was hard to gauge, so you kept your guard up, even as his tail swayed with interest.

“What is it you do exactly? I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to many humans! Syo always tries to drag me away when I see any.” 

You frowned. ‘Syo’? You shook your head and walked down to your cart, carefully brushing over the joints and straps and making sure nothing had fallen out when it broke down. You took up the straps again. “I’m a merchant. Traveling, usually but… I’ve heard of some opportunities near the capital that seem profitable.” 

“P… profitable?” The being squinted, as if testing the word in his mouth. You stared at him.

“Do you… know what commerce is, er…?” 

He brightened. “Natsuki!” His face fell again. “...and no… but I’m very curious to learn.” Somehow… something about the way he seemed so knowledgeable and yet so childish at once… it struck you. You couldn’t help breathing a small huff of amusement as you straightened the straps over your shoulders and took a step.

“You’re right, Natsuki. The journey has been pretty lonely, so far.” 

He easily caught up and fell into step beside you, politely and thoughtfully folding his hands in front of him. “I can keep you company! I’m so curious about humans, you know!” You smiled awkwardly at him.

“As long as you don’t try to snare me or take my name or anything…”

“Take your name?” He blinked. “Is that something humans do?” He gasped. “Is that what bandits do? Now I know why I always see people running from them!” This guy… was he really Fae? That was what you had thought until his eyes had lit up with understanding… moments before he seemed to shrink in on himself. “A-ah… I see. You’re… afraid.” You flinched. He sounded so, so terribly sad. You weren’t expecting a being like him to care what a human thought… or maybe you’d even thought he might show his true colors if you were blunt with him. However, to your surprise, he genuinely seemed concerned. He lowered his eyes, looking out over the swathes of forest that stretched away down the side of the path as you both trudged forward. “I… understand. Tokiya says humans avoid the valley because they are afraid of the Court, but… please believe me when I say that dragons and the Court are not entirely alike. We don’t wish to hurt humans.” He paused and frowned. “Well… most of us.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond. Court? Dragons? He was a dragon? But dragons hadn’t been heard of in over fifty years! Still, his tail, his horns, the casual way he’d used magic… it matched the legends you’d heard. What in the world were you meant to do with such information, though?

“I’m not afraid,” you blurted, and immediately snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face heat up. Okay, maybe that was impulsive. Maybe you’d just wanted to reassure him that you didn’t hate him, with him looking so gentle and wounded like he was. Almost instantly, his gaze snapped back to you, face splitting into an overjoyed grin that seemed to glow brighter than the moonlight itself… or perhaps that was the faintly-shimmering, golden mist that very subtly bloomed from between his lips and surrounded you both. Your heart stuttered as you were overcome with imagery, sensations… something you’d never quite felt before.

Biting into sweet pears and feeling the juices run down your hands but knowing that it would be washed away by clean water. Licking honey from your fingertips, surrounded by the scent of fresh bread and butter and the laughter of people you love. Being held in a pile of soft cushions, fingertips brushing down your skin.

He was golden. He was radiant. He was celestial. 

He… was the most beautiful thing you’d ever experienced and—you blinked. Wait just a moment; what was all that? You stared up at him, faltering in your steps as your brows knit and you attempted to gauge his demeanor. Natsuki simply smiled, his eyes soft and distant, his energy overall serene and unthreatening.

“I’m happy if that’s the case,” he said carefully, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m happy if you trust me enough to take you wherever you’re going.” He blinked slowly and tilted his head. “You are… incredibly fascinating and cute.”

The heat in your face had increased, your walk had continued, and finally, after many hours, you’d reached the end of the mountain pass. Before you reached the outpost, Natsuki regaled you with tales of his interactions with pixies, of the annual revel of the Fae Court and all the dragons that met there, of his home, his love of animals. He also asked plenty of questions, both mundane and vast, about humans and human life. Little by little, he entertained you and kept you at ease and—strangely—in a way, he kept you safe the entire while. Finally, he glanced up towards the wall of the outpost cresting over the distant trees and looked back to you, lifting a hand to gently brush through your hair.

“I hope you stay safe on the rest of your journey, cute Merchant,” he said, leaning down to smile at you directly. “...and I hope you keep me in your thoughts.”

With that, he waved as innocently as a child and faded before you could reply, leaving you alone on the path with a mended cart and entirely stunned. 

⁂

With the city bustling around you, you sigh quietly and look up to the mountain range at the edge of the horizon. The sky is bright and blue, nary a cloud in sight; the air is the perfect temperature for traveling… and you are traveling light, so everything is in place for a pleasant journey aside from the usual possible hazards of being abroad. You lick your lips, glancing up at the smudges of grey-green in the blueness once more, the distant peaks only just showing over the top of the city walls. 

It has been some time since you’ve journeyed through the mountain pass. Years, even. You’ve led a relatively calm life moving your wares between the capital and surrounding villages, but now it's once again time for you to leave your roots and start somewhere new. Whether it's because you've heard rumors of new, even-more fascinating items to sell in existence beyond the mountains or simply because your heart is yearning for the road, you haven't decided. All you know is that you are called to go… and so you do, though it's lighter this time than the last trip, with only the gear you need to camp safely along the trail and the items you plan to sell on the other side.

As you take the first steps out of the city and onto the path towards the mountains, an errant thought flits through your mind; you wonder if you’ll meet him again… that strange, golden-colored being. With the way the wind is tugging at your clothes enticingly, you get the sense that anything—and especially something incredible—could happen. That in mind, you hike your pack higher on your shoulders and begin the several-day trek to the base of the mountain pass.

⁂

By incredible, you hadn’t really meant ‘earth-shattering’.

Of course, you should really know by now that things rarely work out exactly as you expect them to, for better and for worse. 

You hold onto your pack tightly, doing your best to press yourself under the rocky outcrop you’d managed to scramble to when the first roar echoed across the horizon. The very earth seems to shake with another agonizingly-loud bellow, a sound you’ve never heard in your life, so ear-splitting that you think it might have the power to kill you just from the vibrations it’s sending through your body. You squeeze your eyes shut as small pebbles and sand pour down around you. Something in the air thrums—subaudible, thunderous pulses… a chorus of them in various pitches. You pull your legs up, whimpering quietly as you continue to hide, unsure if you should be praying to the powers that be, and look up just in time to see a jaw-droppingly massive figure of gold go crashing into the forest below the path. Another rumble echoes through the ground as trees fall around the impact. You stare, unable to close your mouth in your shock as the figure is followed by several more, some pausing in the air to hover. 

Dragons.

You realize the pulse in the air is the sound of their wings, big enough to cast a full district of the capital city in shadow each. There are seven of them, including the golden one that had fallen to the ground before, each a different color and almost glowing in the sun. In fact, there’s one who seems to glow like the sun itself, judging by the halo of light around its wings. You watch as they fly around each other, mouths opening and closing as different sounds fill the air with their wingbeats. Roars, growls, noises not unlike echoing wolf yips. Explosions of colored light shoot upwards from where the golden one had fallen, crackling outwards like the sparkling explosions seen around festivals in the city. Despite your fear, you can’t help but crawl forward, looking on in awe. The closer you get, the more the roars seem to take shape in your mind, almost as if they aren’t mindless sounds at all, but a true language being thrown back and forth. 

“Someone bind him! Tokiya… Tokiya your spells!”

“I’m trying my best! I wasn’t prepared for this today.”

“Who would be, Ichi?! Just get on it!”

“I’d like to see you try harder yourself, Jinguji!”

“Stop arguing and hold him in place while Syo gets his glasses!”

The group descends as a smaller, rosy-pink dragon darts in like a falcon. Shortly after, a cloud of rainbow smoke as big as the palace rises from the impact. The roars decrease to smaller sounds, more human sounds. Shouting and arguing below the pathway. You take a hold of your pack, gingerly slinging it back over your shoulders before crawling out farther to peer over the ridge. With the rocks strewn around the path biting into your palms, you bend down, carefully looking down between the trees. You see an array of richly-dressed men scrambling around, clothes flashing and glittering in the patches of sunlight that manage to stream through the trees. Two dark-clad members of the group stand over the figure on the ground, hands raised and shifting between movements. One is writing in the air furiously with a sleek, black quill. Dripping purple coils of light follow his pen, sinking downwards like silt before fading from sight. The other, a man whose robe resembles the night sky, complete with glittering stars, uses a silver finger cuff to claw glowing, white runes into the air over the figure on the ground, who is growling and thrashing against a violently-bright, purple light barrier over him. A smaller figure in pink and white dashes left and right around the barrier, holding something delicately in his hands.

“You”—he stumbles and curses—“you have to hold him still! I can’t get through the barrier if he’s thrashing!”

The man with jet-colored hair and the black quill hisses, “What more do you want us to do? This is already the limit of Hijirkawa’s and my power!” There is a flash of light and another of the men comes into view, hair strikingly red. Seemingly without thought, he drives his foot down hard through the light barrier, immediately crying out in pain but staying firm with his foot on the bound figure’s chest.

“Ikki!” “Otoya!”

As it all unfolds before you, somehow the beings move in such a way that the crowd parts for an instant—just long enough for the man on the ground to make eye contact with you through a ripple in the barrier. 

Green… like sunlight through leaves.

You clap a hand over your mouth as the realization hits you.

It’s him.

Natsuki is distracted long enough for the smallest man to force his hands through the barrier, hissing in pain as he shoves a distantly-familiar pair of glasses over Natsuki’s eyes. Immediately, the barrier ripples and shatters apart, making a sound like cracking crystal before dissipating. Natsuki’s shout of anguish is cut off by a sharp silence; he falls limp on the forest floor. The group of men shares a collective sigh of relief, each slouching or closing their eyes as though exhausted. Shaken, you move to crawl away from the ridge but accidentally send a cascade of debris down the side. The jet-haired man looks up, eyes narrowing as he scans for the sound before widening when they land on you.

“We’re not alone,” he says sharply. The others follow his gaze, each pair of jewel-colored eyes landing on you in turn. You feel an alarming stab of dread lance through you and you recoil in fear, but not before you hear a crackle and shuffle. You scramble backward, still blinking hard in surprise and making sure you have everything you need. Unfortunately, you turn around and run right into the arms of one of the taller men—an orange-haired man clad in little more than an abundance of sheer ruffles. He catches you firmly around the waist, pack and all, and smirks, tilting his head and batting eyes bluer than a summer sky.

"Are you lost, little lamb~?" His voice is smooth and sinuous, rich and low as it sinks into your ears. Without even moving, you can tell you won’t be able to break his hold, so you simply fall silent, glancing back to where the others are slowly gathering Natsuki off the ground before looking back to the one holding you.

“W… what did you do to him? ‘Natsuki’, right? Is he okay?” You swallow uncomfortably. “Are you going to kill me?”

The man blinks several times before laughing, a pleasant, breathy chuckle. You hear a hiss from behind you and the man clothed in the night sky robe (Hijirikawa?) speaks. 

“Jinguji, is now really the time to be laughing? A human has seen us… and worse, has seen Shinomiya on the brink of—”

“Quiet,” the jet-haired man murmurs firmly. “We shouldn’t speak of this in the open. If word gets out, the Queen will want an audience… and none of us want that.” He glances among the group, taking in their equally-cowed faces and lowered eyes. His eyes return to you, narrowed suspiciously. “We should bring the human with us. They’ve seen too much and they know his name… We can wait for him to regain consciousness and then decide what to do with them after.” You open your mouth to argue that it’s insensitive to discuss your fate as if you aren’t present as well, but before you can get a word out, the man who is holding you extends a claw before your face. A small flame springs to life on the tip of his finger and it draws your attention just long enough for him to snap his fingers, sending the flame up into a shower of sparks.

You black out instantly.

⁂

The time of day is uncertain when you wake again, but judging by the heat, you assume it’s after midday. It’s almost uncanny to wake with no side effects from your sudden unconsciousness. In fact, you almost feel better than you did before you’d been so rudely knocked out. All the same, you habitually rub your eyes as you sit up to peer around you.

Sunlight filters through a canopy of leafy trees overhead; a few birds are shifting and twittering in the branches. You take a deep breath—wherever you are, you’re outside, lying on warm stone. There is a very distant sound of… music? But it’s not an instrument you’ve heard before… airy and whimsical and reverberating… not unlike the tuning forks you witnessed an alchemist use once during a visit to the palace court. There’s a quiet rustle of fabric behind you and you turn to see the smallest of the other men you’d met, perking up from a stone chair not far from the bench you’re lying on. He’s dressed in a strange, white, two-piece bodysuit with pink sheer draped over him. It’s more revealing than the fashions in the cities and villages you’ve seen, so you can’t help but feel a little flustered over it and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you some sort of courtesan?”

He flushes pinker than his clothes—it makes the blue of his eyes pop—and growls, “What? No! Of course not!” You blink at him several times, surprised by his embarrassment, then laugh once. Twice. You decay into little giggles and sit up all the way while he huffs and crosses his arms. “Oi, I was generous when I offered to watch you and you’re havin’ the nerve to laugh at me! You got any idea who I am?” You choke down your mirth and look at him after noticing your pack carefully stowed away beside your bench. His tail is a deep, dusty pink and flecked with scales that resemble splotches of gold leaf… and it’s thrashing subtly, much like an annoyed cat. You breathe an amused sound once more and tilt your head.

“Nope. No idea. Are you someone important?”

“Imp…! Important!” He splutters, standing up abruptly. He stalks over to you and, despite the danger you’re clearly capable of falling into, you don’t feel scared. He simply narrows his eyes and blows his bangs out of his face, standing tall. “Syo Kurusu, of the Starish Weyr, where you’re currently being held.” He sniffs. “Who are you? Don’t look like a princess.” You smile with vague interest.

“‘Syo’, huh. That’s a curious name.” You stand up, still looking around as you straighten your clothes. You tell him your name and explain you’re a humble, traveling Merchant. He frowns as he listens to your concise explanation and nods when you’re finished.

“Eh… That explains why you were traveling through the valley, I guess. Shame you had to…” He wrinkles his nose, looking unsure. “...shame you had to see everything. But… You said Natsuki’s name.” You lick your lips and nod slowly.

“We’ve met before… It was a long time ago.” 

Syo snorts. “‘A long time ago’. Heh. You’re really a human.” He rubs the back of his head as his eyes bob around thoughtfully before going wide. “A… a Merchant, you said?” You frown.

“Yeah… nothing special, like I said, but—”

“You’re the one he talks about all the time! You have to be!”

You blink. “What?” Syo grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards an archway that disappears into a hall. 

“Come on, come on! I’ll take you to see him.” He turns back and gives you a surprisingly bright grin. “We can get this all cleared up without Tokiya wanting to wipe your brain or somethin’. He’s careful, but honestly? He’s a little hard on humans.” He releases your hand as you enter a high-ceilinged hallway, lined with equally high windows. The walls are carved of a cream-colored stone; it causes the sunlight to suffuse the entire structure with a richly-golden shade. Syo continues to chatter aimlessly as you pass various crossroads in the seemingly-endless… castle? Manor? You’re actually not quite sure what to call this building aside from the term your guide had used earlier, ‘weyr’. Best you can tell, it’s easily as big as one of the grand council halls from the capital and, consequently, one of the largest structures you’ve been inside. You pass a hallway and see a flash of inky tail slide along the stone, disappearing into a doorway you only can catch a glimpse of at the pace you’re traveling. 

Eventually, you realize you’re slowly ascending, whether by stairs or grand, spiraling staircases, to higher and higher levels until you—quite suddenly—step out of a stone archway and find yourself knee-deep in lush grass. You lift a hand to shield your eyes at the change in lighting and glance at Syo, who is stretching casually. A light breeze ruffles his clothing and hair and he sighs before stepping out towards a stand of trees in the middle distance. You follow, stepping carefully, unsure of the new territory. 

“So… what’s this about Natsuki mentioning me?” You ask lightly. Syo’s tail lifts and ripples as he climbs onto a log, treading down it while lifting his arms for balance. 

“Ah… A few years back, he mentioned meeting a human,” he explains. “And uh… We actually haven’t had any dealings with humans since…” He frowns. “Well, it’s been a long time. At first, we got worried. Natsuki doesn’t always… know his own strength. With how excited he gets, he could easily hurt one of you guys. You’re all so small and fragile.” You hide a laugh with a false cough, thinking it’s funny for a man so small to be talking about humanity’s stature. Syo hops down off the log towards the end, beginning to lead you to where the trees grow a little thicker. The sound of wildlife increases and the air itself seems to thrum with some unseen energy. It tingles in the base of your spine and makes you feel a little stronger, a little fuller. Syo continues, “Anyway, when he told us about how calm you’d been, we were pretty amazed. What with the way dragons used to be known, you… seemed to take us pretty in stride, heh.” 

You shrug gingerly. “I was scared, I won’t lie, but… I figure if some Fae is being kind to me and helping me out, then I have nothing to complain about. I got to see magic up close!” You take a measured, excited breath as the rush of the memory returns to you. “Not even Trickery or the typical Spellweaver stuff, like… Real magic! He just waved his hands and my cart came together again!” Syo’s ears lift slightly before he winces.

“R-real magic….” You nod. “Are all of you like that? I saw some of the magic being used earlier… the guy with the quill and the one with the finger cuff. You’re all dragons, aren’t you? Just like he is…” 

“Mm…” He agrees vaguely. “We’re all dragons, sure. Not all of us are like Natsuki, though.” He pauses before some draped branches of some species of willow tree. You lift a brow.

“Oh? What… what makes him different?”

Syo looks back at you. “Natsuki’s… the strongest magic user I’ve ever seen outside the Queen’s Court… and maybe even then.” You can’t say that anything goes against your expectations at this point, considering you’ve been existing in a vacuum of spectacle for who knows how many hours now, yet still you feel your heart drop. Syo pulls the curtain of branches aside and steps through and you follow dazedly. Light blinds you for a moment and you lift your hands while your eyes adjust once more. When you lower them again, your jaw drops.

The mountain rolls before you for a great distance. You’re amazed that despite being this high, there’s no snow to be seen. Instead, there’s an expanse of the same grass you’ve been wading through, along with splashes of wildflowers and trees, and—most eye-catching of all—a lake. It’s so clear and gentle that the surface is almost mirror-like, reflecting the slowly-reddening afternoon sky, peachy clouds, and the brilliant sun. The wind ruffles it every few moments, causing the trail of the sunlight to shatter into glittering patches. Still, it’s not the environment that makes your breath catch.

It’s the massive, golden, feathery dragon sleeping on the bank of the lake.

You blink rapidly several times, going completely still as you drink in his looks. A great mane of feathers begins at the crown of his head and hugs his jaw like a lion, descending down his spine in a small trail before bursting into another crest of feathers at both the base and the end of his tail. A strange contraption extends from his ears on either side: filigree bars that hold glass disks to his eyes, a dragon’s replacement for human spectacles. 

He breathes in deeply, eyes closed, and exhales again, causing the grass in front of him to flatten. 

The comical interruption of your admiration makes you laugh, drawing Syo’s gaze. 

“C’mon. Looks like he’s still sleeping, but… He should be waking up again soon.” He trudges down the hill towards the bank and you all but stumble after him, eyes still trained on Natsuki… or… you assume it’s Natsuki.

“He… he’s as big as the town square!” You say breathlessly.

“Mm? Oh. Yeah, Natsuki’s also one of the largest of us.”

“I thought he was… still in his… human form?” Your voice falls to an awed whisper as you finally reach him and marvel at the jeweled, almost lacquered look of his scales. His chest rumbles with the sound of his breaths, louder than the quiet tide of the lake. Syo smacks a clawed hand on the side of Natsuki’s neck and hums.

“He kinda got put through a lot earlier; that binding spell by Masato and Tokiya was no joke. After somethin’ like that, access to the other plane can get pretty volatile, so we brought him out here in case he shifted back and forth… and so he could absorb some of the properties of the lake.” He points to the small waves that are washing up on the pale sand and you notice small whorls of colorful iridescence in the water that seem to be drawn to the bits of Natsuki that are partially submerged. His scales glitter visibly as the whorls sink into him with every breath. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion rocks the air and Syo’s eyes widen as he turns back towards the direction of the weyr and curses under his breath. He waves at you with both hands in a frenzied manner and lurches into a run.

“I forgot I had something waiting for me—messy—uh…! Stay right here and try not to startle him if he wakes up!” He bursts his way back up the hill, calling over his shoulder to not tell Tokiya you were left alone. When he’s gone, you turn back to Natsuki, whose eyes are still heavily shut. Up close, you can see that the scales over his eyelids are so fine they almost appear velvety. The quills of his feathers are as big around as your lower legs. Before you’re even aware, you’re resting a hand on his cheek that’s as tall as you are at least. 

His scales are warm… 

You drag your hand over them gently, feeling the strange, stone-like texture with unimpeded inquisitiveness, flexing your fingers against the curves and ridges as you take steps towards his snout to watch his breaths bend the grass. One of his paws is beneath his chin, massive fingers and claws extending outward and digging into the sand. Seeing him this way, you can hardly believe such a behemoth could fit into the man that’s only a few inches over average height… and such a gentle one at that, or so you’ve experienced. After staring wondrously at the grass in front of him, you make your way back, studying the size of his eye sockets, the ways the folds of skin around his ears grow thin and smooth for flexibility, the places where his feathers are joined to his body. All at once, you’re overwhelmed by how cute he seems to be despite his size and the dangerous glimpse you saw earlier that you’ve yet to understand. You can’t resist burying yourself in the side of his mane, suppressing an excited squee as you ruffle your limbs and face in the surprisingly soft feathers. You’re so enraptured, you don’t notice his breathing come to a stop before resuming at a more subdued pace. You’re about to pull away when you freeze up as his entire body shudders and you hear, no… think, no….

“Don’t stop,” a polite, gentle voice appears in your mind and surrounds you. “I’ve never felt anything so soothing....!” You lift your head from the feathers and lean back enough to peer at the eye closest to you, which is open at last and vivid green and very much looking back at you as best it can. He blinks slowly and you see the scales of his muzzle shift into what can only be a smile. His lower eyelid bunches up. “I think this is what dragons used to experience from princesses. Waah, what a wonderful feeling! I could keep you like this forever!” You jolt away from him in surprise and his eye follows you as you point up at him.

“Y-you’re awake! ...I hope I didn’t disturb you…” Your words die in your throat as he lifts his head, impossibly high; extends his arms out, impossibly long; and yawns. He shakes his mane loose and then lowers his head onto his paws again. His entire body ripples as he shifts to face you better. After a few moments, his eyes clear, then bloom with a warm expression that makes you feel more adored than you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Oh? It’s you,” he says contentedly. “You’re as cute as you were when we met before. It’s so good to see you again; it’s like my heart has filled up with cherry blossom petals!” He extends his head forward to nose you and you think he might knock you over, but you’re surprised to feel that he’s as gentle as a building-sized creature can be and nudges you with the same force a hungry, curious horse might. “To think we’d meet again with you adoring me in such a way~ Please… please continue while you tell me how you found me here!” You glance back at the direction Syo had departed unsurely. Should you really give in so easily? You get the sense you aren’t meant to be interacting with him alone after whatever it was that had happened earlier. All the same, his eyes are massive as he stares down at you, and still full of that adoring look that’s making your legs weak. 

You cave.

When you rest your hands on his nose and stroke him gently, his eyes fall closed. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Natsuki,” you murmur, the warmth in your voice undisguised. “You stayed in my thoughts.” At your words, he releases a sharp chuff like a big cat and a cloud of glittering, golden mist pours from him, surrounding you in an instant. Immediately, your senses alight with tastes, smells, visions, sensations. Sweet, lemon cream bursting on your tongue from a festival pie. Dazy, midday sun warming your skin after walking in the shade for some time. Sinking into freshly laundered bedding after a long day at work. 

Your body melts under the wash of feeling and Natsuki catches you with one scaly finger. You hug the digit instinctively and he carefully drags you to his other hand, placing you in his palm. You shudder breathlessly and press a hand to your forehead.

“W-what…” You take a deep breath as the sensation clears away. “What was that?” Natsuki shifts his head to the side and hums lowly. 

"S-sorry… When you mentioned that you've been thinking of me, I couldn't help but suddenly feel… as if I really could spend forever with you." You blush immediately and gawk at him, eyes wide.

"What, uh… what exactly do you mean by spending it with me…?"

"You know~" Natsuki singsongs and traces the end of his thumb claw up your legs before lifting you and pressing you to his cheek. You stutter quietly, scrabbling at his paw in surprise and the rush in your system from the unfamiliar feeling of being lifted so high, so easily. As you sink against his scales, you hear a purr-like sound thunder up from his chest. "Seeing each other every day! And watching the stars together… Oh!" He smiles a toothy, dragon smile. "I have to take you to meet all my friends! Especially Syo-chan. He's so cute and small~ I'll be able to invite you both to stay on my hoard while we watch the stars!"

As he prattles on with increasingly obscure and fanciful suggestions, you can't help but wonder if he really told you the whole truth about the mist, or if he really meant his suggestion of staying together so innocently, after all… but you’re helpless against the warmth he exudes. Even beyond your surprise, you feel a swelling in your chest and a sweet, peaceful buzz along your spine. It’s almost as if you’re feeling the same sensation he described as you were petting him before.

All in all, you can’t really complain.

⁂

The pair of you continue catching up as the sun sets. At times, you wonder whether Syo or one of the others will come back to check on you, but as soon as the thoughts spring up, they’re ebbed away again by Natsuki’s genial disposition. He asks you questions about how your journey ended, what you’ve been doing in the time since he last saw you. It’s strange; despite years having passed since you met him, he talks about it like it’s only been a fortnight or so. As your conversation passes back and forth easily, the sun dips to the edge of the mountain, lilac twilight overtakes the sky, and the lake and bathes you both in purple. After a while, Natsuki’s eyes widen as he notices the time.

“It seems to be getting late…” He hums in disappointment. “I was enjoying seeing all the birds today… but!” He turns his head to peer at you with visible glee. “Do you know what this means? We can go to my hoard and you can see the stars. Oh…” He pauses as he hears your stomach grumble faintly. “Perhaps we should find you something to eat first…. All right!” You’re about to ask what he plans to do, but a cloud of colorful smoke pours off of him, obscuring him from vision even though you can still feel his grip on you. You cough and splutter, narrowing your eyes and waving your hands.

“N-Natsuki?!”

It’s not long before the air clears again and you—once more—feel your face warm as you realize it’s no longer a dragon before you but the man you met first. Natsuki beams at you as he keeps you tightly-held around your waist, his eyes scrunching up cutely. 

“Are you surprised? I look very different like this, don’t I? But look!” He squeezes you in an iron-gripped hug. “It’s so much better for being close, isn’t it? Now I can hold you with all of me!” Your heart skips several beats at his words and you splutter, half bewildered and half smiling. You pat his back where you can reach and agree with him that it’s better if only to encourage him to loosen his hold just a bit. He does so, but your settling exhale is short-lived as he merely dips down to scoop you into a princess carry. Before you can even respond, he presses his forehead to yours, laughing quietly, and waves his hand.

You appear in an entirely new environment: a large dining hall, lined with beautiful sconces and a large fire pit in the center. There is a bustling energy around you and it takes only a moment to notice the group of the dragons you’d briefly met before are seated or loitering around you. Natsuki adjusts his grip on you comfortably and sings.

“Hi~!”

Chaos erupts. Heads snap in your direction. Syo, as soon as you see him, splutters in his drink as the jet-haired man’s eyes flash at him.

“You left them alone? After earlier?”

The man with the starry robe passes by and lightly brings the blade of his hand down on Syo’s head, frowning. “We told you to watch over the human until further instruction. Kurusu.” Syo grabs the top of his head with a pained wince.

“O-oi, Hijirikawa…! One of my circles erupted. It was an emergency!”

“And having a human in our midst isn’t?”

The orange-haired man, sitting at the end of the dining table, laughs into a hand, swirling a tall glass in his other. “Typical Shorty,” he mutters. Syo stands up, slamming his hands on the table as he glares down the length of it.

“Say that again? I’ve told you I’m not—” “Syo~!” Natsuki says brightly, approaching the table with you still bundled into his arms. The others each stiffen as you’re brought closer, as if you might be more dangerous than them. However, Natsuki only sits down on the bench beside Syo. “Will you watch the stars with us later?”

Syo looks nervous. “I… I dunno about tha—”

“Wait, wait.” The jet-haired man breathes irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Natsuki." He looks up at Natsuki flatly.

"Mm? Tokiya?"

Tokiya (you assume?) blinks slowly, his sleek, black tail lashing subtly against the floor. "We need to know how this human knows your name." Natsuki’s face lights up in excitement before Hijirikawa sets a gentle, elegant hand on his shoulder.

“Shinomiya. It’d be best if we discussed away from the influence they could be having on you,” he says gently. You look up at him and his violet eyes slide your way, narrow but not necessarily judgemental. Under such a gaze, you suddenly feel like a child, so you say nothing as Natsuki is led away by the stoic pair.  Watching them sit in a huddle together at the far end of the table, Syo sighs and gestures for you to sit beside him and—having no other options—you sink down beside him. 

“Natsuki brought you here to eat, right?”

You blink and smile as good-naturedly as you can, considering the situation. “That’s pretty perceptive.” Syo turns pink and shrugs awkwardly as he takes a piece of white chalk from his clothes and begins to draw some symbols on the tabletop.

“I’ve read a lot about humans. Plus, Natsuki knows more than he lets on. He wants to take care of you, too, I bet.”

You hum, watching him with tired interest. “Actually… can I ask you something about that? I… I still don’t know what’s going on here, really, but he’s said some things and…” Syo lifts a brow, pausing his scribbling for a moment.

“What kind of things? Natsuki… eh, he talks a lot. He can be kinda… head in the clouds.” 

“W-well…” You feel sheepish about it now, but your curiosity wins out in the end. “He says things that… could be taken romantically, among humans… but then he talks about me like I’m… a pet?” Syo snorts and slaps the table over the symbols he’s drawn and you almost fall off your seat when an array of food appears in their place. He waves at it all vaguely and tucks his chalk away again.

“Eat up. Anyway, that’s kinda how he is, so it’s hard to say. He’s never courted anyone before, I can tell ya that.”

“O-oh…?” You blurt while gingerly assembling a plate from several of the dishes. It all looks fairly normal, which you’re a bit intrigued by. Where did it come from? Or did he bring it into the world by magic alone…? You glance at him as you begin to pick at your food. “Wh… why’s that, you think?” Suddenly, Syo looks nervous and coughs as he hurriedly assembles his own plate. 

“It’s… kind of a long story….” 

You look back to where Natsuki is flanked on either side by Tokiya and Hijirikawa. He keeps glancing between them as they speak with rigid motions, looking a bit like a scolded dog. Your eyes meet and his look immediately softens, lower eyelids bunching up with a faint, reassuring smile. Even his tail reacts, lifting from the stone floor and rippling its feathers hopefully. You bite your lip to suppress a smile and wave. His eyes scrunch up the rest of the way and he lifts both hands to wave cheerfully before Tokiya snaps his fingers in front of Natsuki’s face… and dread shoots through to your stomach. 

It’s just the smallest instant, but Natsuki’s eyes flash with something… an energy you’ve certainly never seen from a human before. It looks cold and distant and predatory… like seeing lightning crackle beyond storm clouds. You swallow heavily, but then it’s all gone the next second, replaced by Natsuki’s usual innocent look. You turn back to Syo.

“I think I’d like to hear it…” You mumble. However, when Syo opens his mouth, the orange-haired man slumps onto the bench across from you with a melodic sigh. You and Syo both look at him questioningly and he shrugs with his hands, closing his eyes lazily.

“Such a cold reception, you’ll hurt my feelings. I just wanted to introduce myself to our dear, new companion.” He shoots you a suave wink and extends a hand to you. “Ren Jinguji. The Clinohumite of the Starish Weyr.” You take his hand and he leans across the table to ghost his lips over your knuckles. You shiver and he allows you to pull your hand back. Syo rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, like that’s really all it is….”

Ren’s eyes narrow, distantly cool. “Perhaps I also want to make sure you aren’t spilling secrets, Shorty. I, for one, don’t care who knows what about us, but I don’t want to spend an evening getting lectured by Hijirkawa because you’re too loose with a pretty face.” 

“‘Shor’—!” Syo splutters. “Listen, I’m just trying to make things easier for us. It’s not like we officially decided to lock ourselves up here, like those guys.” He nods in your direction. “What if they can help?”

“What’s a human going to do?” Ren glances at you. “Uh… no offense.” You hunch your shoulders noncommittally, wishing you could just get some answers. Unfortunately, Syo can only pout at Ren’s question and finally lowers his head without saying anything. Ren hums absently and nods to you. “Enjoy your stay… little lamb.” He gives a vague wave and slips off the bench, slinking away back to where he’d been sitting before. 

It’s not long after that Natsuki is released from his questioning and happily bounds over to you and you do your best to hide your growing trepidation while he chatters happily, seemingly unphased by whatever had occurred before.

⁂

When you’re done eating, you look up to see Natsuki gazing at you fondly, his chin resting in his hands in a childish way. He looks cute with the little, curling tendrils of his hair pressing up against his cheeks and between his fingers like that. His eyes glitter and you find your heart rate speeding up before you look away, feeling a rare case of shyness overtake you. 

“Y… you’re staring…”

Natsuki hums and nods brightly. “We get visitors very rarely! It’s exciting to see how carefully you eat the food… and how adorably your face lights up when something tastes good.” He peers at you through contentedly-slivered eyes. “It makes me want to cook so many things for you and see all your expressions.” You meet his gaze, more boldly than you have all day, almost as if to challenge him to continue. He doesn’t look away, only stares at you equally unabashedly, his eyes almost hypnotic in the depth of their color and the unquestionable happiness he feels from making eye contact with you.

You’re only able to hold his gaze for a minute.

“S-so…” You cough after breaking his gaze and look at the table. “You mentioned watching the stars?” He stands so abruptly that you squeak and lean back, bumping into Syo and rousing him from his post-meal drowsy state. Natsuki offers you his hand in a surprisingly elegant gesture. 

“Please join me, won’t you?” He tilts his head and smiles at you. “Finally, I’ll be able to share my most valuable treasure with you.” Syo snorts from behind you and then crosses his arms and looks up at Natsuki, raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you really sure you want me uh… intruding on your….” Natsuki steps around you to bend down, throwing an arm across both Syo’s and your shoulders and humming a pleased, high-pitched sound.

“Of course~! I want to spend the night with my favorite people!”

“F-favorite?” You blink in surprise. “But… this is only our second time meeting…” Natsuki hums with a smile, pulling back to clap his hands together and fix you in an earnest look. 

“Mm~! And I can already tell we’re going to be great friends!” Saying this, he slips his arms under your knees and along your back before you can protest and gathers you to his chest, turning to grin over his shoulder. “Coming, Syo~?” Syo grumbles but gets to his feet anyway, scratching at the back of his head.

“Yeah... Fine, fine.”

Natsuki takes you through winding halls, just like you’d journeyed with Syo earlier in the day, with Syo following close behind. For a few minutes, you wonder if he’s going to take you back out to the area above the weyr, but then you recall he’d mentioned showing you his hoard and if there’s one thing you know about dragons, it’s that their hoards are always hidden away safely. As you might expect, he takes a sudden turn down a hallway and you arrive at a massive, circular door that’s painted a cheery yellow. You can’t help but smile when you see it’s inlaid with a pattern of bronze vines and ducklings. Natsuki adjusts his hold so you’re safely cradled in one arm for a moment while he waves his hand and the doors creak open. Over his shoulder, you see Syo frown for a moment, but then Natsuki is hugging you again, giggling and dancing you around in a circle as the dim hall suddenly changes to a bonfire-bright glow. You look around… and your jaw drops in amazement.

His room, lit by a sea of yellow, white and pale-green floating lanterns,  is… more than anything you could imagine. 

The ceilings are tall enough to hold him in his dragon form and dusted with varying shades of moss that follow the curved, etched arches and frieze-like carvings along the ceiling. The far walls are barely walls at all, mostly just open archways out to the mountain. You see the shapes of deer and other twilight creatures flitting about the edge of the room without fear, grazing on the grass that seems to be encroaching on the room proper. However, what’s most amazing to you is the alarmingly vast pile of plush toys, pillows, cushions, and blankets in every size, shape, and color filling the room. Your breath gets lost on the gossamer, lacy curtains that art strung up in seemingly random places, yet it all draws your eye to the deeply-colored ceiling itself, so dark you can’t tell if it’s pure black or not.

“Welcome to my room…!” Natsuki stops spinning and looks at you with a bright smile. “It’s full of my favorite things, so of course I had to bring you here.” You splutter quietly, unsure how to respond, but Natsuki is as carefree as ever and continues walking until he finds a good place atop the pile of plushies. He sets you down, waiting for you to get your footing. “Please get comfortable! I’ll make the stars appear!” You turn to Syo, who has crawled up on his own on your other side and is already plopping down in the arms of some giant, pink, round plush. He yawns cutely, his tail curling over his feet, and you find you don’t want to disturb him with more questions, so instead, you settle down yourself. Natsuki waves his hands over the room like a conductor of a grand orchestra and you watch as the curtains all come undone, lowering into sheets of fine fabric. The lights dim and, near the true center of the room, a strange table begins to shift. A panel opens in the top and a bronze globe slowly emerges from the center. When the room is properly dark, Natsuki lies down beside you, close enough that the ends of his hair brush yours. He sighs contentedly and waves one final finger upwards.

You gasp as the previously-inky ceiling comes to life with a sea of stars, constellations, galaxies… It’s as if you can see the real sky clearer than you’ve ever seen it. You glance down to the globe, seeing it glitter as it turns in its frame. “Star projector,” Syo mumbles from beside you. “One of Natsuki’s greatest accomplishments as a magic user; it can match the sky from anywhere in the world with a wave of his hand.” You’re rendered speechless, only able to stare up in true amazement. 

Time passes in relative silence aside from your gasps of awe when a handful of shooting stars streak across the display. Natsuki remains still beside you, his hands folded over his stomach and tail tip flicking occasionally. You glance his way every now and again, getting caught on the way the stars reflect in his eyes. Eventually, Syo falls asleep, leaving your spirit to flutter shyly at the thought of being alone with Natsuki so close. After a while, Natsuki draws your attention with a hum. 

“May I confess something?”

Your heart skips a beat. “S… sure.”

His lips curl faintly, but his eyes remain on the stars overhead. “Perhaps… it isn’t unfair for the others to worry about my intentions towards you.” Your mouth goes dry at such an ominously-worded statement.

“W-what?”

His eyes slide to meet yours, his expression a strange mix of gentle… and almost concerned. “I’ve never courted, before, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t yearned for it every now and then. The idea of… someone who I love beyond all else… and who loves me. It’d be…” He shifts bashfully. “It’d be lovely to have someone to experience this with… who doesn’t just humor me. W-who accepts all of me.” You’re still debating what to say when his eyes flash green in the darkness and he looks at you intently. “Could… Do you perhaps think… that person could be you?”

Your heart stutters and you lick your lips, hands flexing nervously at your sides. His stare bores into you.

“I’m not entirely sure why, but when I’m with you… I feel like I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Natsuki….” You want to tell him that it’s way too soon to ask a question like that, that you can’t possibly know what you can be for him since it’s only your second meeting, and sure it’s been incredible, but you’re just a human and this is a very different world than you could ever dream up and you’re still not entirely certain what’s happening… 

But you are interested. In fact, you’ve never felt so right about hearing such a thing from someone before. However, before you can give him a proper answer, Syo yawns again, shifting around in his sleep to curl around the plush he’s snuggling, and Natsuki loses focus entirely. His face lights up at the sight of his smaller friend and he all but pounces across you to catch Syo around the waist, squeeing about how adorable the smaller dragon is. Syo wakes up in a frenzy and you watch them wrestle, half amused and half still flustered by the conversation that had been cut short.

It takes you too long to see Natsuki’s glasses slip, bumped by Syo’s flailing hands, and fall into the pile of Natsuki’s hoard.

All at once, the very earth seems to shatter apart. The temperature of the room drops as an explosion of electric yellow light fills the room. You hear Syo shout, voice still raw from sleep, and you’re blown back, down the pile of plushies. The air seems to crackle with a pulse of energy as a cry rises above the noise. You hear the stone floor cracking and you scrabble frantically for a handhold in the pile until you manage to hook your hands onto something and try to look up.

Natsuki has collapsed to his knees and is clutching his head as he writhes and convulses in place, his eyes glowing green and his scales rippling with light as an aura forms around him, pulsing out and in with a dull, audible thud. You watch as light flickers through his clothes, as the air seems to split them into frayed holes at the seams and thinner parts. The shout that seems so unending pours from him in anguished streaks, so deafening you can scarcely hear your own thoughts. You think you yell his name, but you can’t be certain. Over the cacophony, you hear Syo shouting for help and names, some familiar and some unfamiliar. Mixed into his words, you hear strains of him calling for you, asking if you’re all right, but all you can think of is to try to help. You think if you can get ahold of his glasses, you might be able to help, to put a stop to this like you saw the others do earlier. If you can only get close…

You begin the arduous process of climbing, dragging yourself up by a fearful, iron grip even as the aura surrounding Natsuki seems to fight you every inch. The air claws at your clothes and limbs; something beyond the perception of sight shoves at you as if to push you away from him. Your eyes water from the pain of the blinding light, from the horrific sound of his screams. You’re almost relieved when you crest the top of the pile, believing you’re making true progress, when Natsuki’s cries form words.

“No! Leave them alone!”

You look at him, attempting to see through the light. Does he mean for you to ignore the glasses? His body shakes, spine contorting as his face twists.

“Don’t hurt them!”

You watch, horrified, as his head creaks in your direction, eyes overtaken by the green glow.

“Why shouldn’t I?” A voice that is not entirely his own leaves his lips. His face shifts back to terror.

“Please! Please, I want to keep them!”

You shiver, burrowing into the blankets in fear.

And then, he smiles.

“Keep them?” It thunders in your head… and everything goes dark.

⁂

You open your eyes to see you’re in a glen at night; the moon is bright and full and low-hanging over the horizon, and all is quiet. There’s a small breeze, warm like a caress, but your heart is still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“Keep them?” The low voice repeats quietly… and you look up to see Natsuki. Except it isn’t Natsuki… or at least, it doesn’t look just like him. The eyes are too narrow, the hair too wild, the expression too cold. Not-Natsuki tilts his head, glaring at you in a coolly appraising manner. 

“Who are you?” You ask. Nothing more than a faint breath.

“Satsuki,” he replies flatly and takes a step toward you. You try to move, but you’re frozen in place like the worst kind of nightmare. He stands in front of you, only inches away, and then prowls around you in a circle like a pacing wolf. “And who are you? Why does Natsuki want to keep you so badly?”

“I-I don’t know.” You lower your eyes, feeling your knees tremble. “We’ve only met a second time today, but it’s… it’s been wonderful. I’m not sure how he feels but… I feel like we could be good if… if we stayed together.” Satsuki pauses and fixes you in a predatory, inhuman stare.

“Oh?” He chuckles bitterly. “Sure, sure. Humans fall for dragons easy.” He growls softly. “Maybe dragons fall for humans easy, too….” Suddenly, his hand flashes out, sinking into your hair and pulling your head up to look at him harshly. His claws prickle your scalp and your eyes open just to terrified slivers; you’re afraid to resist at all. Satsuki scoffs. “Yeah, you’re his type. Even looking at you, I…” He catches himself and flinches. “...I definitely can sense something beyond your humanity…” You frown weakly.

“Like what?”

He pulls his hand away and shakes it like he’s just brushed it through a campfire. He hisses under his breath. “Like… like you’re just this… void. A magic sinkhole. A drain in the magic plane.” He curses under his breath, remarking about a stinging sensation. Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he looks at you again. “A conduit.” He laughs, although it’s a sharp sound, more resembling an exclamation of surprise. “You’re a conduit.”

“W… what’s a conduit?”

He grins wolfishly. “You’re our ticket out of this pit. Mine and Nat’s. That band of unimpressive idiots callin’ themselves Starish. With you…” He trails off and reaches for you again, poking your forehead roughly. “We can finally seal all the leaks in Natsuki… keep him from hurting anymore. From breaking things.”

You ask him to explain… and he does.

He explains that Natsuki didn’t hatch quite right. Something scarred the egg before he could and left scores in it that weakened the innate ropes to the magic plane all dragons are born with. When Natsuki was born, he was born unable to control how much magic could flow through him at a time, resulting in a destructive force… and the creation of Satsuki, who was Natsuki’s subconscious’ last-ditch effort in protecting those around him. 

It makes your heart throb with sympathy.

He was ripped from his parents, contained only by the Queen’s Court until a proper group of dragons could form that would be strong enough to keep Satsuki from taking over entirely each time Natsuki’s only protection—a simple, crystal barrier in the form of glasses—managed to fail… and so they had lived for hundreds of years, bound eternally to Natsuki’s care… and Natsuki to them. 

Naturally, resentment bred well in such an environment, which only served to strengthen Satsuki’s anger… and thus, the destruction each time he was given control. 

When Satsuki finishes explaining, you ask him what being a conduit means.

“A human that absorbs magic,” he grouses. “At a heavy rate. Most of the great Spellweavers through history have been conduits, though… I dunno if they knew it themselves.” You fall silent, head rushing with the overwhelming revelation of knowledge. He looks away, seemingly calmer than he was at the start. “Y’know… If you stay with Natsuki like he wants… you could probably learn a lot. If… that were somethin’ you were interested in. I know it’d mean he’d be able to leave, since you’d be able to keep him in check. Probably… would go a long way to makin’ him happy.”

You stare at him, watching as all the harsh lines of him soothe away the longer he stands near you. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Just a suggestion.”

You blink and then the glen is gone. You’re lying on top of Natsuki’s hoard in complete silence, the only thing lighting the room being the moon filtering in through the curtains. You shift around unsurely, expecting your body to hurt, but you… Oddly, you feel better than before. You feel like you’ve had a week of good rest, like you’re body is more fit than it’s been in years. You rub your eyes and look around, heart thudding in shock when you see Natsuki, face down in the cushions a few feet away from you. In the distance, Syo’s voice is echoing through the weyr, still calling for help. You crawl to Natsuki and do your best to turn him over, cautiously, as though the energy might erupt again at any moment.

He groans quietly, face wrinkling up and smoothing again as he comes to and opens his eyes blearily. Belatedly, you realize his glasses are still nowhere to be found, but… but this is Natsuki, right? His draconic pupils widen, then narrow, then widen again before adjusting to the light and focusing on your face. Immediately, his expression melts into adoring relief. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes, a large hand lifting to weakly cup your face. “Thank goodness… thank goodness he left you alive.” You smile, leaning into his touch.

“Yes… he was actually… very helpful.”

Natsuki looks distant for a few moments before his eyes clear, flickering with realization. You’re not sure how, but, looking at him, you’re able to understand that… he knows. He knows everything Satsuki told you while you were inside the magic plane. He breathes a fragile sort of exhale as he pulls you down against his chest, holding you with a far more insistent, mature care than he has all day.

“...will you stay?” He asks. You find your hands settling against his chest, gently fisting into the fabric there. 

“I want to,” you admit. “But it’s so strange I… I’m not certain how our future would look together. I’m just a Merchant… and even though I feel more at home here than I ever have, in just a single day….” You tilt your head side to side, contemplating. “I always find myself wanting to travel… but… if what Satsuki said is true…” You lift your eyes to look at him, feeling your face heat. “Then… you could join me. We could go together.” Natsuki looks uncertain at first, brows knitting as he considers your words before his face slowly blooms into joy. He leans forward to nuzzle his forehead with yours; you chuckle at the awkward, gentle bump of his horns on your head. 

“Traveling with you… I think I could enjoy that forever.” 

You giggle softly and pat his hair. “Gives us plenty of time to get to know each other, hm? Who knows what can happen. It really might turn into forever.” Natsuki’s cheeks tinge pink and a puff of yellow mist streams out of his lips, sending you both into a very flustered fit that bleeds into pleased giggles.

Starish finds you like that minutes later, still hugging and excitedly chatting about all that the future can hold with a shared hope, shared anticipation in your hearts.

You get the feeling that everything is going to be okay, as long as you have him.

End

#uta no prince sama #utapri #dragon au #Shinomiya Natsuki #Shinomiya Satsuki #dragon!natsuki #dragon!satsuki #dragon!starish

[stanbillyhargrove]

Closer

Based off the song Closer by the Chainsmokers

"Hey, you know, I was fine before you. Perfectly fine," Billy slurred, voice catching on his message. "I'm fine without you. Have been, will be. Don't need you anyway."

Billy had been drunk for a week after Steph left. Packed up her bags and said she was leaving, leaving Hawkins behind, leaving him behind, for something better, bigger, brighter. More fitting to her wild personality, somewhere nobody knew her. She'd offered once for Billy to come with her, once, but he couldn't. Not yet, he'd said, begged her to wait for him, pleaded for a little more time. He still wanted to go back to California, had to go back. But she couldn't, wouldn't wait for him, had to go right away, in the dead of night when nobody would realize. Billy had left drunk messages on her cell all week, some angry, some pleading but all slurring, tripping over his words.

Drunk calls turned into drunk texts. I miss you, I can't believe you left without me. I hate you and I don't know how you could do that to me, like I meant nothing. Did I mean nothing? Did we mean nothing?

"Why'd you come into my life anyway? Just to fuck me up some more? Cause it didn't work, I'm fine. I'm always fine, peachy fucking keen."

Drunk texts became less frequent, became depressed middle of the night texts and even those dwindled. Those became weekly and then monthly check ins. Steph only answered occasionally, when the depression and the loneliness was threatening to eat her alive. She'd answer you're drunk and go to sleep. Didn't give him too much, only told him she lived in New York now, had met some people. Never called him, never answered when he tried to call.

"Hey, how's your car? That thing always was a piece of shit, hope it's not giving you too much trouble."

And it's been four years now and the texts are only on special occasions. Happy birthday, I still think about you and Happy Halloween, I know that was your favorite, do you remember being huddled up on the couch watching horror movies all night? God, I miss you and I'm thinking about coming out to New York, if you want to get together.

"I'm coming to New York, gunna drive across the country again. Don't know if I'll actually run into you or not, but uh.. hit me up."

Steph worked in a hotel bar now, one of hundreds in the city, didn't think Billy would have any luck finding her if he came. She didn't answer him, hoped her silence would steer him away. Hoped that his image of her wouldn't fade by seeing that nothing had gone her way since leaving. She'd been homeless for a while, jumping couch to couch of coworkers until finding an ad for a roommate. Her car had died after a year out here, left her stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Oh how she wished she had Billy with her then, with his knowledge of vehicles and his protective nature. Instead, she'd hunkered down in the backseat, doors locked and waited until the sun came up to call for help.

After two years she had a second hand Range Rover that she hadn't been able to afford, had scraped by for weeks, getting rides to and from work with coworkers and living off instant ramen to put together just enough cash. Steph had kept a mattress one of her roommates had left behind, traded it with the one she'd found online, at least it was a bit more comfortable.

Steph strode into work with a withering sigh, adjusting her too small skirt and too low shirt. Everything here was too much. Too small, too big, too grabby, too lonely. She missed her friends, real friends, not one night friends. With raised eyebrows and a twisted stomach she took stock of the man sitting alone in the corner of the bar. Remembered a boy that she had left behind, a boy who called her drunk at two in the morning to yell about how much he hated her. He had grown up a lot since then, dirty blonde hair shorter now, cut close to his face. Golden muscles popped, strained against his skin like it was too tight. There was a softness though, like he had finally come to peace with his life, had accepted and moved beyond his past, healed. His face was relaxed, easy as he sipped on a coffee. Eyes no longer burning with rage.

"Billy," she whispered, soft and unbelieving.

He turned, blue eyes bright against the dim light of the bar, "Princess," his breath hitched in his throat.

Billy moved to stand up, was stopped by Steph's raised hand.

"I can't, not while I'm working."

Those bright blue eyes flicked down to the table, sad, "right," a beat of silence before he looked back up at her, "you look good, as good as the day we met, Steph. A little different but still my Steph."

She placed a small hand on his shoulder, felt the muscles jump when she gave it a squeeze, "you look good too, Billy. Really good. I'm off at ten. If you want to catch up after."

Billy's face cracked with a smile, "I can wait."

--

"How have you been?"

"Fuck, Steph. I've..well I've been okay," he sighed, "moved. Got the fuck away from Neil."

She smiled at him, took a drag off her cigarette, "that's really good, Billy. Where'd you run off to?"

"I floated for a while, drove across the country. Ended in California."

Steph nodded, "knew it. You were always going back."

There was a moment of silence while they puffed their cigarettes.

"I forget why I left you. I was insane, stupid, too eager to leave. I should have waited."

"It wasn't stupid, Princess. I think we needed it, needed to grow a little."

"I broke your heart," her eyes got dewy as she chewed her lip.

"Yeah, you did," he smirked, "but that's okay. It was good for me, figured out who I am, what I want outta life."

"Oh yeah? And who are you?" Steph dropped the butt of her cigarette and stepped closer to him, "what do you want?"

Billy smirked, tongue darting out to wet his lips and ducked his head down, close, so close to hers, "I want you."

--

Billy was close, so fucking close to Steph's face, had captured her between his warm chest and the back seat of her Rover. And it's been years, four fucking years since she's felt heat like what rolled off his body and they're together, in the back of her stupid expensive Rover. The stupid expensive Rover that she had to get because she left Billy behind and her old car had left her stranded and she'd spent the night wishing, wishing that she could have him with her and now here he was. He had crossed the fucking country to look in every bar, wishing to catch a glimpse of her. And he was different now, an easy calm had taken over where he used to feel nothing but rage and he had more tattoos, had collected them as he crossed the country. He could map out his journey with his skin, the journey it took to find himself so that he could could turn around to find her.

And Steph was different too, was comfortable and resigned in her loneliness. Had a tattoo on her shoulder, orange poppies for California and tiny blue forget me nots. Because even though she had left Billy behind she had never forgotten him, would never forget him even though sometimes she wished she could. Wished that she could forget the way those bright blue eyes shone in the dark, the way they looked framed by thick dark lashes. But she was lonely and grown up now and had realized she would never forget the warmth that radiated off his skin like he had captured the sun in his veins.

"God, I fucking missed you," Billy groaned into her neck.

Steph fisted her hand in his hair, pulled him as close as she could, not close enough, "I missed you, Billy, fuck, I missed you."

Her eyes were dewy again with tears threatening to spill and her breath hitched in her chest as she tried not to sob. Billy leaned back to look at her, his blue eyes just as misty as hers.

"Steph, Princess.."

Her tears fell down her cheeks, "I n-never stopped..thinking about you. I figured you would hate me after I left and thought it was best if I let you move on. Then I was scared, so fucking scared to reach out to you...I'm sorry I was so stupid."

Billy pulled her with him as he rolled to lay across the back seat, letting Steph clutch his jacket as she sobbed. His hand trailed through her hair, a few tears spilling down his cheeks as well. So they held each other, clutched each other desperately like they could stop themselves from falling apart if the just held on hard enough.

"Sshh, Baby, it's okay," he cooed, "it's okay, I don't hate you. I was just angry, I could never hate you."

Steph's sobs racked her body, making her begin to hyperventilate. Cause she left with nothing but her shitty car and it was the biggest mistake of her life that she wore on her shoulder.

"Steph, please, you need to calm down," Billy pulled her into him with all his might, wrapped his legs around her too just so he could squeeze tighter.

--

"Billy," Steph cried.

They had made it back to her shitty apartment after she calmed down, Billy in his old Camaro that he loved so much and her leading the way in her Rover. Had torn each others clothes off in a fit of desperation once they had barely made it in the door.

Billy groaned into her neck, slowly pumping his hips into her as they rode out their orgasms. With a content sigh he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to bury his nose in her hair. Steph hummed, a small smile on her face as she breathed in the scent of sweat, cologne and cigarettes before reality came crashing down on her.

"When do you go back?" She whispered into his shoulder.

Billy sighed again, long and withering this time, "in a couple days."

Steph felt tears prick her eyes again and her throat started closing up while she untangled herself from Billy and sat up on the edge of the bed. Billy sat up behind her and laid his face on her shoulder.

"Talk to me, Princess," he whispered, pressing light kisses on her skin.

"Billy, fuck, this was a mistake."

"What was?"

"Us. This. We're just going to be apart again.."

He was quiet for a moment, "well what if we weren't?"

"What?"

"I don't want to be left behind again, Steph. If you want to stay here and you ask me to move here with you I will. Or you could come back to California with me. Just pack up our vehicles and we could leave."

Steph sniffed and looked at him with hopeful eyes, "are you sure?"

"Steph, I know you got all my messages. I never stopped thinking about you for four fucking years," he ran his hand across the tattoo on her shoulder, "I know you were thinking about me too."

A small smile stretched across her face, "y'know, I fucking hate New York."

#billy hargrove fluff #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargove imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #fanfic

[lucyhblack]

It's time to talk about our dear Prof. Stretch!

Stretch

Species: Monster

Age: 21 when you meet Blue. 23 when he takes over the lab. 27 when Papyrus arrives at his laboratory.

Profession: Pokemon researcher specialized in Pokesans. Responsible for the Swapville laboratory.

Initial Pokemon: Blue

Other Pokemons: Sans (originally from Papyrus), Cherry (Originally Red), Geno (is in his care), Lust (captured to be handed over to a Coordinator), Berry and Edgy and other wild pokemons he takes care of.

“Welcome to the Beginner’s Guide for Master Pokesans. I’m Prof. Stretch and I will be your instructor in this fascinating world.”

Stretch has always loved pokemon since he was a child. As most young people dreamed of being a coach, but because of a lecture by the renowned Dr. Gaster, a genius among researchers, he soon realizes his vocation was to study them and not train them.

He then applies himself to studies and moves on to a renowned college specializing in training researchers. It is in college that he meets his best friend Dynne, a Fish Monster who is on the same course as him.

He decides to specialize in pokesans (being a skeleton has more affinity with them) and as soon as he graduates he goes on a research trip with Dynne.

They choose a forest known for its wide variety of pokemons as a starting point for research and before long they are approached by an energetic pokesans Swap.

Stretch is excited, but the pokesans soon lose interest in them and disappear, but not for long. Stretch soon notices that the pokesans are watching them (he tries to be sneaky, but he sucks at it) from afar (sometimes not that far). He's fine with it, as he watches them he watches him back.

In fact he is very happy, after all that is what he graduated from, studying pokesans and the company also makes him feel safer in this great forest (Stretch lived all his life in the city), even though he does nothing to save them from the poisonous pokepastrys or the badly regarded Pokealphys with whom they came across at a given moment.

One day the pokesans approach again and take them to a cave. He and Dynne discuss the pros and cons of entering (they only have a Escape Roupe and the last of their Repel was spent to pass the pokepastrys nest), but since they are being invited by the pokesans (and the Swap are well known for not being the type who play tricks) they decide to follow him.

The place is a scientific find! It's covered in magic crystals and could be a cave with more magical crystals since Cave Temm. Dynne is terribly excited and despite her own excitement about the discovery, Stretch is happier with the pokesans' rapprochement than with crystals. It is a pity that they were not the first Monsters to find the place. An unknown Monster was tearing the crystals out of the cave without any care.

Outraged by the damage, they try to stop him, only for the Monster to throw his Pokémon at them.

The pokemons start to fight and although the little one doesn't have much technique, he has power. Stretch tries to give some advice and warnings in the middle of the fight (he may not be a coach, but he had watched hours and hours of tournament broadcasts in his childhood). It looks like they can win, and the other Monster also notices this and uses a mysterious artifact to strengthen the pokemon.

Whatever it is ends up with the Pokémon attacking its own master, who runs away. He convinces Dynne to go out for help while staying to help the pokesans.

He tries to convince him to abandon the fight, but the little one is determined to stop his opponent. To protect him from a serious attack, Stretch ends up launching himself on the pokesans and ends up unconscious, only waking up already in the hospital, where he is informed by a tearful Dynne that the moody Pokealphys in the forest had saved them.

Dynne tells of her plans to stay in the forest and study the cave. At least that was the reason she had given it, and Stretch may not have seen what happened there in the end, but he could see that a connection had been established between Pokealphys and Dynne.

He's happy for his friend, but he can't stay. He has to continue his research. Hoping that he also managed to reach the young pokesans he decided to take a risk and invited him to travel with him. To his satisfaction, the little one accepts his invitation and enters the pokeball Stretch offers of his own free will.

Stretch names his new friend Blue (not very creative, but the little one liked it so what's the problem?) and cannot contain the almost childlike joy of finally having his own pokemon (one that chose him and not that he was given).

He cannot deny that for much of the trip his “research” consists of his own pokemon.

Thanks to his studies of Blue he is invited to take over a laboratory (since he would never have money like Dynne to set one up) which he accepts immediately (Blue may be happy walking around, but he is more than ready to abandon the sleeping bag, Center beds, or Laboratory sofas).

The place is great, and is reputed to have a good range of pokesans. He realizes that Blue is not very satisfied (by now he has realized that his pokesans have very different aspirations and starts to worry about it).

He takes advantage of having the equipment and time to put into practice an idea that he had a long time ago, and designs an armor for Blue in order to strengthen it. The prototype is simple, but it works well and if everything goes well he can present it to scientists in the future.

A few years pass and as he thrives on his research (and his laziness) he realizes Blue's dissatisfaction.

One day he receives a visit from an Officer who delivers him a damaged pokeball. She was found at an apparent crime scene and as it was closer than the Center she took him to him.

Stretch puts it on some machines to heal the pokemon inside and to prepare a forced opening. In the meantime he is visited by a young skeleton Monster in search of his coaching license.

The young man already has his own pokemon (one less problem), but while Stretch went over the terms of the license with the boy the pokeball is opened releasing an out of control pokesans that begins to destroy the place.

Amid the confusion the boy's pokemon is injured and Blue and Papyrus, the aspiring trainer, unite to stop the uncontrolled pokesans.

Stretch manages to heal Sans, Papyrus's pokemon, who returns to the fight. In the middle of the combat, Sans evolves and manages to pass out the opponent's pokesans.

Stretch is impressed by the trainer who, even young and inexperienced, shows great talent (battles have never been his forte, but he can admire the skill). He also realizes the connection between him and Blue and even though it breaks his soul, he knows it is the best for his pokesans.

He is willing to give one of his pokeagendas (one of the few built by Dr. Gaster himself) and Blue to Papyrus when he is surprised by Sans who decides to stay in the laboratory.

He sees Blue go on his long-awaited training journey with a heavy soul, but certain that their future will be bright. In the meantime he has two new friends to make.

Sans is very calm and suits his personality well and soon the two get along very well. Geno, the uncontrolled pokesans, on the other hand is a source of concern.

The pokemon was irreparably injured, physically and emotionally. He is clearly entering Fall and Stretch feels his soul tighten just thinking about this sad creature turning to dust after having suffered so much.

He does everything to get Geno back or at least keep him as comfortable / happy as possible.

Later, while doing research to help Geno, he ends up rescuing a fire-type pokesans in the middle of a blizzard.

He takes the pokesans who are also in a state of Fall, but there is something blocking the progression of the disease (to the point that the pokesans himself seems to be unaware of his real state).

Fascinated, he takes care of the pokesans while trying to discover his mystery and if it can help Geno (and several other pokemons).

He baptizes Cherry's pokesans (even though he was clearly a trained and abandoned pokemon, and probably should have a name) and soon the little monster becomes his companion, following him like a nervous little shadow for Sans and Geno amusement.

He captures a Classic Class Lustwhich he will hand over as a starter to a young aspiring Coordinator and much later will have his laboratory invaded by 2 electric Bitty pokesans, who will live there.

There are also several pokesans and other wild pokemons that he knows and helps in the Forest including a mysterious ghost Pokémon that has been haunting his lab (or more precisely Geno).

He relies on the help of Papyrus and Pink (the young Coordinator) to collect data on several pokesans while giving them tips on gyms and pokemons.

Lazy and somewhat sloppy with himself, he is very dedicated to his research and the pokemon in his care. He wears a white coat (symbol of pokemon researchers / scholars) over an old orange sweatshirt, beige capri pants and wide-slippers.

Curiosity: As one of the functions of every researcher, Stretch has to prepare and teach classes, one of the functions he detests in his work and has been running away for years until he is forced (as punishment) to record an entire initiation to the world pokesans to be distributed schools and added to the pokedex data.

He did this more than once, because on the first recording he mumbled so much, and put so many smart comments that he was forced to re-record everything a second time (with the threat of doing it again until he reached the standards of the League Committee).

#undertale #underswap #us!sans #us!papyrus #us!alphys #us!undyne #ut!sans #geno sans #uf!sans #ul!sans #ul!papyrus #bittybones #bitty sans #pokemon pokesans #ut!gaster #my fic my au #fanfic #sansdex #From Pockets to Monsters

[yellowcanna]

Stray Dogs

Summary:

When Nakahara Chuuya opened his eyes, he had expected everything to be the same as it did for the past five years. The jingling sound of chains rang through the air as he slowly pushes himself from the cold ground. He brushed off some dirt from his cheeks—not that it will make him any cleaner. When he sat up and took a proper look at his surroundings, he realized it was not the same... 

“Great, of all things it’s a fucking leech.” He groaned. 

“As if I want to be roomed with an animal that looked like it hadn’t bathed for a decade,” said leech fired back. 

This was the beginning of their long journey. 

The story of how two stray dogs met.

Pairings: Soukoku (Dazai x Chuuya), Shin Soukoku (Akutagawa x Atsushi)

Rating: T

Author: Canna / Yellow Canna

Series: Part 2 of Those with Claws and Those with Fangs

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◅ PART 1                               Main Page                               PART 3 ▻

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The same pitiful cries.

The same foul stench.

The same depressing atmosphere.

When Nakahara Chuuya opened his eyes, he had expected everything to be the same as it did for the past five years.

The jingling sound of chains rang through the air as he slowly pushes himself from the cold ground. He brushed off some dirt from his cheeks—not that it will make him any cleaner. When he sat up and took a proper look at his surroundings, he realized it was not the same.

Ocean blue eyes stared flatly at the other existence sharing his room.

“And here I was wondering when the kitty would wake,” said the raven-haired boy seemingly his age.

The boy had a metal collar on his neck and hands as well. Thick iron chains stretched from the cuffs with the other end nailed deeply into the stone wall. He was covered in grimy bandages with ragged clothes like everyone else in this cursed place.

Chuuya furrowed his brows as he tried to process what his new roommate had said. It's been like this ever since he was shipped to this foreign land. The lack of having someone to converse with also didn't help his language improvement. After all, humans didn't need him to speak their language to become their source of entertainment.

“Great, it’s a fucking leech.” Chuuya groaned. Why of all things did he get locked up with a vampire? Was this some sort of new torture method?

“As if I want to be roomed with an animal that looked like it hadn’t bathed for a decade.”

“What was that?! I’ll beat the shit out of you, brat!” Chuuya shouted out of reflex, only to freeze when he realized that he understood the other just now. The vampire was speaking Japanese.

Chuuya really looked at this vampire for this time. His eyes scanned over the vampire's delicate Asian features that he hadn’t bother noticing before.

“You’re a brat as well!” The vampire countered. Burnt umber eyes looking over Chuuya in a way that made the redhead wanted to slam his fist into that smug face. “Not to mention you’re just a shrimp! Should have drank more milk when you had the chance!”

“Mind your own business!”

The two glared at one another. They could already tell that they were not going to enjoy rooming together.

Their glaring contest was interrupted when the metallic door to their confinement slammed open. An old, shaggy gruff man stomped in. He was someone Chuuya seen regularly during mealtime. As usual, the man threw a chunk of raw meat at the redhead's feet before he turned to leave.

The heavy door slammed shut, leaving the two in silence.

"Is there discrimination against vampires here?" The vampire asked in a bored tone. "Why wasn't I given a meal?"

Chuuya ignored the vampire and grabbed the piece of meat that barely got any blood left despite being raw. The meat was covered in dirt and the flesh was an unhealthy dark brown hue. A sour stench was practically emitting from the thing. The meat was spoiled, that much was obvious even to the vampire who was scrunching his nose in disgust.

Chuuya didn’t even bat an eye as he bit into the old meat and tore it apart with his teeth.

“I’m amazed you can eat that.” The vampire commented after Chuuya had already devoured half of it. “No wonder you’re short.”

The sound of knuckles cracking echoed through the tiny room.

“Do you even know the situation you’re in?!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The vampire responded blankly. “I got captured while testing out a new suicide method in a well. Now I’m stuck here with a werebeast.”

Said werebeast’s brows twitched. This was just perfect. Not only was he locked up with his race's sworn enemy, the said enemy was suicidal. Just great!

“Go hang yourself and die.” The redhead went back to eating what little food he had left. After that, he began to lick the sour blood off his dirt-covered hand. 

The vampire appeared thoroughly grossed out by his action, but Chuuya couldn't care less of what his roommate felt. He had long thrown away the pride he once had. To survive in this hellhole, he had to lower his head to these humans that captured him. His body has been worn down over the years. Now, he was practically just a skeleton wrapped within a thin layer of skin. 

That was what this place does to them. They were beaten and starved until submission, then used for those veil creatures’ entertainment.

Chuuya could still remember that night eight years ago when his village was raided by humans. Older werebeasts were killed off and the young ones were all captured. Chuuya didn’t know where the other kids got sent off to, but he was the only one they bothered shipping across the ocean due to his unique bloodline.

Apparently, humans found it entertaining to watch monsters like him kill one another.

“So? How did you get captured?” The vampire suddenly asked.

Chuuya glanced at the vampire from the corner of his eyes before turning away to ignore him. Sadly the raven didn’t get the message, or perhaps he chose to ignore the fact that the werebeast did not want to talk to him. “Did they wave some catnip at you and let you jump into a cage?”

“I ain’t a house cat!” Chuuya barked before being hit by a wave of dizziness. He collapsed against the cold floor as his ears started to ring and his vision spinning.

“Hey,” the vampire called, but Chuuya ignored him. He closed his eyes to fight off the wave of nausea. After lying still for a bit and having some blood flowed back into his head, Chuuya felt mildly better.

“You dead?”

“Are you an idiot?” Chuuya grumbled before sluggishly pushing himself up. The vampire frowned as he examined the werebeast’s movement.

“You’re starving.”

“No shit.”

Chuuya leaned back against the wall. He didn't have the energy to argue with the vampire. 

“Do they only give you that much to eat every day?”

“Every day?” Chuuya huffed. “That was my meal per week. Now shut up unless you want a rotting corpse next to you. I heard you leeches hate the smell of dead things despite sleeping in coffins.”

“We sleep in actual beds. Those are just human superstitions.” The vampire deadpanned.

Chuuya didn’t bother with him as he closed his eyes. He needed to store up energy if he wants to survive to get next week’s proportion. It didn’t take long for him to submerge into the familiar, welcoming darkness.

Chuuya didn’t know how long he has slept for. Being low on energy like this, it wasn’t unusual if he slept for days or even a whole week. Time was something impossible to tell when trapped in a small room with no window. The only thing he could tell was the number of years he has been trapped here for from the passing seasons every time he was let out.

When Chuuya woke up, it was from a harsh kick to his side, knocking him into the cold stone ground.

An angry voice shouted something, but Chuuya couldn’t understand the language.

The werebeast slowly opened his eyes. He stared up at two men standing over him, clad in heavy-looking armours. A black cat was perched on one of the men's shoulders. Its tiny head tilted up haughtily as golden eyes looked down upon him as if looking at a piece of filth.

As usual, Chuuya wanted to know how that cat would react if he were to gouge out those disgusting eyes. His raven-haired roommate just sat there, watching silently as Chuuya was dragged out the door by the chains on his neck.

The humans sitting around the large stadium cheered when Chuuya was thrown up onto the stage. Torches were burning brightly, illuminating the field and the hideous faces of the humans. A barrier was soon cast over the stage, preventing both creatures from escaping.

Chuuya’s eyes were dilated as he tried to make out his opponent this time. He was starving and his head still hurts. He flipped around and got onto all four. He couldn't see his opponent properly due to the hunger that's making his vision blurry, but that didn't matter. It was pointless to see who or what he's going to kill off anyways.

With a roar, Chuuya began to transform.

The crowd went wild as crimson glow shrouded the werebeast’s body. In a burst of blinding light, the petite boy was gone. In his place was a tiger that was all skins and bones, yet the ferociousness it was displaying made anyone that saw at a close distance cowered.

The cheering from the crowds went up by ten notches at the sight.

“…So noisy,” A certain vampire mumbled as he sat in the small, confined space. The entire room was pretty much shaking from the intense cheers coming from above.

He continued to count the seconds in his head. Picking up a pebble next to him, he slowly drew another line to the tally chart next to him.

As of this moment, this marks the seventh day since he got been thrown in here.

The noise eventually died down after half an hour. Soon, he heard footsteps and the jingling sound of chain approaching the room. When the door was kicked open, a familiar redhead drenched in blood was thrown ruthlessly onto the ground like a ragdoll.

The human secured the werebeast’s chain to the wall and left without giving the broken youth another look.

Chuuya curled into a ball, shivering and panting as he cradled his right leg that has been ripped off at the knee. The redhead tore what little piece of clothing he had and tied it around the wound to slow the bleeding. 

The vampire’s eyes gleamed the moment he sniffed the werebeast’s blood.

He reached out, pale hands extended towards the other boy only to be stopped by a sharp tug with metallic rattling sound resonating throughout the room. The raven looked down at the chains preventing him from going any further. His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t even realized he had reached out like that.

Chestnut brown eyes observed the alluring blood pooling over the ground. Unable to resist, he stretched his hand out as far as he could. He was able to reach out just enough to brush the tip of his middle over the edge of the crimson puddle. He immediately withdrew his hand and licked the small red stain off his fingertip.

The blood was so rich and filled with vitality that just a small taste filled him with strength. Just a tiny morsel and it left the vampire desiring more. It was a feeling he had never felt in his entire life.

This was the feeling of being alive.

Unable to contain the thirst for blood, the brown in the vampire’s eyes were completely gone. His pupils were dilated and gleaming in the purest, uncontaminated red.

Chuuya sluggishly opened his eyes when his instincts flared up, warning him of danger. He squinted his eyes at the other occupant in the room and was met by a pair of predatory gaze.

For the very first time since their meeting, ocean blue eyes softened.

The werebeast slowly uncurled his body. He stretched the stump of his leg towards the vampire. A pool of blood began to form as it expanded towards the vampire. 

The raven looked at the werebeast with a flicker of surprise in his glowing eyes before he hid it. Pale hand reached out once more. He was nowhere near touching the werebeast, but a good half of his hand was able to touch the blood. Hot red fluid bathed his hand as he ran his tongue over his palm, savoring the sweetness of the divine blood.

Chuuya observed the vampire for a while before finally closing his eyes. Completely worn out from the battle and injuries, he fell into a deep slumber…

When Chuuya woke up, it was to the smell of food.

Without even thinking, he reached for the source of the smell and grabbed onto a piece of old meat. He practically gulped it down without chewing. The fight and losing a leg took a huge toll on his body. If he doesn’t eat, he won’t be able to last much longer. Thankfully his captors knew that as well, so the meat he was given this time was a tad bit bigger than what he usually gets.

After the food rested in his stomach, Chuuya laid there with his eyes closed. He wasn't going to drift back to sleep, but the less movement he makes, the easier it'll be for his body to store up lost energy. He wiggled his toe a little, just to confirm that his leg has completely regenerated. He wondered how long he had passed out for this time…

“Why did you do that?”

Chuuya reluctantly looked to his roommate who just can’t seem to get the concept of leaving someone alone.

The vampire was still sitting against the wall like before. He didn’t even look like he had shifted from that spot at all. The easy-going look he wore on his face was gone. He stared at the redhead with those dark eyes that didn’t reflect a spark of the dim like hanging over their heads. His face was expressionless and impossible to read.

Chuuya wondered if this was what the vampire’s really like under all that façade.

“Did what?” Chuuya shut his eyes again and rolled into a more comfortable position with his back to the vampire.

“Your blood.” The vampire pointed out with a deep frown on his face—not that Chuuya could see. “You could just let me starve. It’s not like I can do anything to you.” To emphasize his word, the vampire held up his hands and shook them, causing the chains dangling off the metallic handcuffs to jingle.  

"You were hungry," Chuuya muttered, more like telling that to himself than to the vampire. "Do I need more reasons than that?”

His response seemed to have caught the vampire off guard.

The silence dragged on as Chuuya waited for a response, but it didn't come. Just when he was pondering of going back to sleep, the vampire finally spoke. 

“…You don’t make any sense. We’re technically enemies.”

“Hah?” Chuuya impatiently snapped open his eyes and glared at the vampire from over his shoulder. “I don’t care about whatever stupid grudge is between werebeast and vampires. It got nothing to do with me. Don’t group me with the rest of those idiots.”

That seemed to spark the vampire’s interest as he looked over the redhead.

“You’re an outcast of your clan.” The vampire said certainly as his sharp eyes relaxed by the slightest bit. “Werebeast has intense training right at birth to drill the hatred of vampires into the younglings. For a werebeast to say something like that means you've never gone through those training."

“For a leech, you sure like to blabber to your enemy," Chuuya said dryly. “I’ve never heard of a vampire drink a werebeast’s blood. You didn’t even hesitate. I thought leeches rather die than drink from animals.”

“Oh? Were you testing me?” The vampire’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

Chuuya clicked his tongue and looked away, refusing to answer to that. Truthfully, he had forgotten about that until the vampire started giving him a lecture about his own culture. All he saw was that the vampire was hungry and needed blood, so he gave it to him.

It was just as simple as that.

Unknown to Chuuya, the vampire was grinning as he looked over the werebeast.

“I’m an outcast as well.” He suddenly said.

Chuuya looked back in surprise.

He hadn’t expected to hear that. Then again, perhaps he should have expected it. Chuuya met a vampire once. It was right here on this very stage humans set for them. When the vampire laid eyes on him, the look of disgust and excitement to kill was something Chuuya was all too familiar with. It was the same look on the villagers’ faces back home whenever vampires were mentioned.

Chuuya never understood why.

Just like the raven-haired vampire had said, werebeasts educate their young ones the moment they’re born to hate vampires. Vampires do the same. When asked why, nobody can give out a proper, non-racist answer. All they knew was to hate one another. No one remembers the reason that started it all, nor do they care.

It had become a part of who they are to hate each other. It was stupid.

“The whole werebeast and vampire fuel got nothing to do with me. I just wanted to find a quiet place where I can painlessly die." The vampire sighed. "Of all places I ended here, where I'll be tortured for the rest of my life."

"After they starve you enough for about a month, you'll get your first match," Chuuya informed him curtly. “Just let your opponent tear you into shred and die.”

“No way.” The vampire chided as if Chuuya had suggested something outrageous—which he probably did, but the moron’s suicidal. “I hate pain! Why else would I say painless?”

“…I’m starting to see why you were kicked out of your coven.”

"Well, you're wrong about that!" The vampire announced proudly. “I wasn’t kicked out. I left on my own.”

“Yeah right.” Chuuya wasn’t buying it.

"So what did you do to get toss out?" The vampire seemed pretty interested in the werebeast’s backstory.

Chuuya leveled the vampire a look. He remained silent for a while before finally speaking.

“Ever heard of Arahabaki?”

“The God of Calamity.” The vampire’s expression turned serious as he looked over Chuuya. “You’re from the royal bloodline?”

“Yeah.” Chuuya snorted, his tone filled with sarcasm and mockery. “Only one out of a thousand to possess it. I drew that lucky card.”

Arahabaki was this ancient bloodline that brought immense power and fame to the werebeast.

It was said that Arahabaki was once the god of werebeasts. Only those with royal bloodline—the ones that made contracts with Arahabaki—can use its power of destruction. It was this power that allowed the werebeasts to climb up the food chain and stand next to the vampires at the top of the pyramid as equals. In the past, werebeast with the royal bloodline were worshipped because in a sense they are god’s vessel.

Nowadays, everyone just viewed this bloodline—viewed him—as a curse.

Throughout the long history of werebeasts, the method to control Arahabaki had been lost. Any werebeasts that uses its power would just go on a rampage. Their powers will increase immensely and they will go on a rampage until the user dies. They will destroy everything in sight, regardless of allies or enemies. Nowadays, Arahabaki is simply known as Corruption.

Ever since the villagers discovered he got the cursed bloodline, they treated him like the plague. The only fortunate part was that although Corruption brought him scorn, it also brought him protection. As much as his entire village wanted to kill him, they feared that it may unleash Corruption. They fear him more than their hatred for him. Every day when Chuuya went outside, he was faced with loathing and frightful looks from everyone around him. When the adults weren't looking, he would even get rocks thrown at him by kids his age.

That was why when the village was raided by the humans, Chuuya didn’t particularly felt anything. He didn’t care about the villagers that were killed, nor did he care about the fate of other kids his age.

That was how detached he was from his race.

“That’s why I was sent here. Werebeasts with royal bloodlines are more durable and won’t die too easily.” Chuuya’s tone was filled with mockery as he said that. "There were witches among the humans that attacked my village. They were able to detect my bloodline with some sort of device. Put some sort of spell on the collar to seal away my ability and Arahabaki.”

Chuuya wondered why he was telling the vampire all these things. Perhaps it has been too long since he had a decent conversation, or perhaps he was lonelier than he thought…

“You saw that black cat, didn’t you?” Chuuya continued. "That's the witch responsible for keeping us under control here."

“Witch huh…” The vampire hummed before a smirk graced his lips. “I’ve heard some interesting things during my travels. Would you like to hear, chibi?”

“Who’re you calling chibi?!”

“The humans are plotting to start a Witch hunt.”

“…What!?” Chuuya blinked, unable to believe what he just heard. “That’s ridiculous! Witches are the only humans that can combat the other species!”

“Exactly.” The vampire nodded. “Once the human conquer all the other species, they will exterminate the witches.”

"You sound like the humans will win." Chuuya frowned.

"They will." The vampire nodded certainly. "They may lack power, but their numbers greatly surpass all other races. Of course, if all species unite, the annihilation of humans would be a breeze, but each species are too invested in their priorities and got too much pride to set aside old grudges. Even with humans raiding and capturing us, we're still fighting one another rather than ganging up against a common enemy. The human knows that, which is why they will win this war. Once they do, we'll all be under their control."

Chuuya wanted to argue. He wanted to say that’s impossible. After all, of all species on this planet, humans are the weakest. Sure they have witches, but every species got veteran fighters that know exactly how to deal with them.

However, he couldn’t deny what the vampire said was true. After all, his village was the perfect example. Had their village’s warriors not set off to the border war against the vampires, the humans wouldn’t be able to invade his village and massacred them. Even with the humans attacking them, they’re still fighting vampires at every chance they get.

Wait a minute…

Chuuya inhaled a sharp breath when he registered something Dazai said—specifically that last part.

Now that he thought about it…why did those humans choose night time to attack them? Werebeasts may come in many kinds, but they’re all nocturnal creatures. That was because they have higher advantages during the night with their superior senses, but most importantly, it was to defend against the vampires that are only active during nighttime.

Why attack them during the night when it's at their disadvantage? Chuuya could only come up with one answer. The humans masked their attack as an attack from vampires. They are using both species' hate for one another to their advantage.

Chuuya laughed.

He couldn’t believe how it took him this long to realize the truth.

Perhaps it wasn’t just the werebeasts. Perhaps the vampires will go home to find their coven slaughtered with evidence of werebeasts littered all over the place. The two idiotic races will continue to bite at each other’s throat while the real culprit walks free with a bunch of new slaves.

“What about the witches?” Chuuya asked curiously. “Why get rid of the only protection they have?”

“Once human wins this war, witches will be hailed as their specie's saviors." The vampire replied. "Despite being so weak, human are proud creatures—especially males. In their culture, males are the dominant creature. They will never accept or allow females to have more power than them."

“Just for that?” Chuuya gapped in disbelieve. Now that he thought about it, aside from the witch, all the humans he saw in this place are males. Even in the audience seats, there weren't any females around. 

“Just for that.” The vampire smirked. “To oblivious citizens, they’ll just say that witches are no different from us, and the mass will agree that they should be eliminated.”

“Heh!” Chuuya cracked out a smile as he flipped onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “If that’s the case, then I’m starting to feel sorry for that witch.”

He snickered for a while before sitting up.

“I take that back. Witches can all burn in hell for all I care.”

“Chibi—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“You never gave me your name, what did you expect me to call you?”

Chuuya paused a bit, remembering that they never did exchange names.

“…Nakahara Chuuya.”

“Dazai Osamu,” the vampire—Dazai responded, “So, Chuuya—”

“Who said you can call me by my given name?!”

“—what plans do you have after leaving this place?”

“Who knows?” Chuuya leaned back against the cold wall. “Well…for the time being, it’s to eat my fill. I’ll think after that.”

“How like an animal.” The vampire commented with a smirk. “You don’t seem weird out by my question.”

“Like hell I’ll stay here forever and play games with those humans.” Chuuya spat as he glared down at the chains around his wrists. “I’ll leave this damn place. And when I do I’ll rip them into shreds—exactly the way they wanted me to on that stage of theirs.”

“What a brat.”

“Hah?!”

“But that’s not a bad idea~”

The vampire held up his hands with one hand readied in a snapping motion.

The werebeast looked at him weirdly.

With a snap of his finger, the metal cuff around the vampire’s wrists and neck suddenly opened up and clattered onto the floor.

Chuuya’s jaw almost hit the ground as he stared at the vampire who was up on his feet, rolling his shoulders around with his joints making satisfying pop.

“It’s only been twelve days and I’m already getting sore muscle~”

“H-how did you—?!” Chuuya stammered as he looked at the open cuffs lying on the ground. From here, he could see the written incantation on the inside of the vampire’s metal collar. Chuuya is certain that's the spell used to suppress their abilities. He had even tried to pick the lock in the past only to find that there's some sort of protection spell preventing him from sticking anything into the keyhole. So how did this vampire get out?

“I’ll give you two options.” The vampire said as he stood over the chained werebeast. “One, you will come with me. Two, you stay here and wait for who knows how long until your next chance to escape.”

Chuuya frowned as he glared up at the vampire. “What are you plotting?”

"Whatever do you mean?" The vampire's tone was so sweet and innocent that it was just reeking with ulterior motives.

"You could leave any time you wanted," Chuuya pointed out. “What are you playing here?”

“You make me sound like the bad guy here.” The vampire heaved out a heavy breathe as if the redhead was some unreasonable kid. “I simply want a collaboration.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, not believing a single word the vampire is saying.

"There's a huge barrier cast over this place. To nullify the barrier, I need to find the witch. But as you can see, I don't have that kind of fighting power to survive until I can find her in this place."

“What do you mean nullify?” Chuuya demanded, sharply catching that keyword.

"My ability allows me to cancel other abilities with a touch." The vampire explained. “Abilities and spells are useless against me. You should know what that means don’t you, Arahabaki?”

Blue eyes dilated as the werebeast stared at the vampire. Chuuya didn’t speak for a long time. He just stared at the vampire and the vampire stared back, waiting for his response.

"...How can I trust you to stop me?"

“You don’t.” The vampire replied tersely.

“Tch.” Chuuya clicked his teeth. He didn’t like not being in control, but this was the first chance he had gotten in years. Who knows when his next chance will be?

“I’ll kill you if you’re late. Even if I die I will drag you down.”

“I much rather want to die with a lovely maiden.” The vampire gagged as if the very thought of dying with the werebeast disgusted him.

“Take this off.” Chuuya tilted his head back, giving the vampire access to the collar around his neck.

Dazai’s hand reached down. When the tip of his fingers brushed by the collar, Chuuya felt whatever magic binding him disappeared, leaving just the cold body of the metal tightly gripping his neck. His keen ears picked up the sound of a lock being picked. Then, the weight around his neck vanished as the heavy collar fell off, hitting the stone ground and creating a rather impressive dent in the shattered rock.

The vampire whistled. He wasn’t showing the slightest bit surprised that the werebeast has been moving with such tremendous weight on him. It was as if he somehow already knew.

The redhead cranked his head, testing his new range of movement before looking up at a small pin the vampire was holding between his fingers.

“Need help?” Dazai drawled as he waved around his lock picking tool.

With a huff, crimson light outlined the metal cuffs on the werebeast’s hands. The thick metal began to deform, wrenching off the werebeast’s slender wrists and crashing into the stone ground with such force that a huge crater with a size that nearly took up the entire room was formed.

Chuuya sucked in a shuddering breath. A droplet of sweat rolled down his forehead. Using just this tiny bit of power was already taking a toll on his body. It was utterly pathetic.

“I won’t last very long.” He warned the vampire as he got onto his feet.

“Yeah, I know," Dazai responded with a smirk before he stepped back against the wall and melted into his own shadow.

Chuuya stared at the place where the vampire disappeared into. He could still feel the vampire's presence within the room. The other was hiding quietly in the shadows like those humans in the audience seats, watching the entertainment that's going to play out.

Crafty bastard.

The werebeast looked down at his wrists. The skins underneath the metal cuffs were red and wrinkled from years and years of abuse. Hearing the sound of roaring cheers coming from above, Chuuya looked up to the ceiling. A wide smile spread over his lips as he gazed at the ceiling.

He crouched down as crimson light outlined his silhouette. The werebeast crouched down as the ground under his feet was ripped out and suspended in midair—supporting the red-head.

“Better keep up, shitty Dazai.” The werebeast scoffed before he shot towards the ceiling. With a kick, he smashed a hole right through the ceiling.

The loud cheering was immediately stopped when a hole suddenly appeared at the edge of the stage. A boy with reddish hair flew out from the hole and into the sky, stopping just inches from the giant barrier covering the entire stadium.

Chuuya took a deep breath to calm his speeding heart as he stared at the full moon before his eyes. It was weird. He has always seen the sky whenever he was thrown up here on this stage, but for some reason, it felt like this was the first time in years that he was finally able to see the sky.

“Freedom, huh?” Chuuya mumbled as his eyes focused on the wall in front of him.

The barrier was made out of a layer of transparent membrane that is barely visible unless looked closer. It looked very thin and fragile, but a foul aura was practically radiating off the thing. There was even a weird attraction coming from this barrier as if it was alive and tempting him to touch it.

Chuuya felt his hair stood up as he realized what it was. He had seen it once, and it was when those humans invaded their village. A barrier like this was cast over the village to prevent anyone from escaping. 

Just a simple touch and this barrier will suck out the souls of any creatures that aren't human. The barrier itself was made purely of these unfortunate souls. The moment it sucked out a soul, the soul will be merged with the barrier, becoming one with it and enforcing its power. 

The one Chuuya has seen before was much weaker compared to this one. This barrier must have killed off a lot of creatures. Perhaps they were even fed to it for that sole purpose.

“Damn witches.” Chuuya cursed before another thought came to him.

If this is a barrier that sucks out souls of its victims, then what Dazai said about being unable to leave was a bunch of bullshits! Vampires were the only creatures that don’t have souls. They are creatures that dwell on the life force of other life forms to stay alive. Since they got no soul of their own, this blasted barrier wouldn’t have worked on that guy! The most it’ll do was probably make him feel even hungrier after walking through it!

“DAMN IT!” Chuuya snarled as he realized he’s been played.

That lying, scheming, son of a scoundrel!

If this barrier was an obstacle for the vampire, then they can call it even after he gets rid of it. However, if the barrier was never a problem to the vampire, then it won’t be a collaboration, but just the vampire one-sidedly helping him!

The first was freeing him; the second will be saving his life from Arahabaki.

These aren’t debts that he can easily brush off. The vampire must have done this knowing that he won’t be able to just walk away without returning some kind of favour to call it even. In other words, the vampire wanted something from him, but it wasn’t breaking out of this place.

With a frustrated scream, Chuuya shot down like a meteor and crashed into the stage, completely obliterating it. 

The two creatures fighting on the stage and blown off by the force.

Chuuya reached out, easily grabbing onto the tail of a giant lizard thrice his size and held it over his head like it weighed nothing. 

"This is perfect." Chuuya glowered at the hissing Basilisk desperately trying to break free. “I was just feeling hungry.”

In a blink of an eye, Chuuya transformed into a tiger. He slammed the Basilisk into the ground, breaking its neck before he used his sharp fangs and tore off its flesh.

The audiences cheered, believing this was part of their nightly show. The guards on the sideline were in a mixture of confusion and panic, not certain if this was a special event the higher-ups decided to host or not.

Chuuya knew he couldn’t stall. He swallowed the flesh of the Basilisk and drank its blood. Once he had enough, he transformed back into his human form. He wiped the blood staining his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed at the oblivious humans in the audience seats.

When his keen ears caught a string of gibberish, Chuuya used the power of gravity and leaped into the sky just as a yellow beam of light shot by where he stood, denigrating ground and the half-eaten Basilisk in a blink of an eye.

Chuuya landed next to the newly formed hole and glared at a woman dressed in all black with a pointed hat. Like all witches tend to be, she was a plain-looking woman—though probably beautiful by human standard—wearing a black dress that looked like a cheap rip-off from fairy creatures.

In Chuuya’s eyes, the woman was no less hideous than a blobfish.

Her lips that were painted in the colour of fresh blood were rapidly moving to cast her next spell. She twirled her twig and Chuuya took off into the sky as chains shot out from the ground in an attempt to capture him. Even now, she wore an arrogant look on her face, like she was dealing with a pest and not a werebeast that could potentially kill her and everyone else in the vicinity.

The witch was strong, but just from two attacks, Chuuya could tell she’s an amateur in battle. Perhaps this was the first time she even engaged in a fight. She was most likely put in charge of this place due to her high magic affinity. The witch was too full of her power and after years and years of governing these chained up creatures that lost their ability to fight back, she has forgotten just how strong they were. Even veteran witches don’t engage in combat without proper preparations and a bunch of human meat shields she could hide behind.

This dumb woman just charged in to show off how strong she is.

Chuuya had always thought that when this day came, he would tear the woman apart with his claws the second he gets the chance. Maybe he’ll also go up to those humans cheering from the audience seats and snap off their heads and rip out their hearts.

He expected a lot of anger and rage…but never did he expected calmness.

As he jumped around to dodge the chains, he felt nothing inside him. He looked at the faces of the humans, then to the guards that regularly abused them, and finally at the haughty witch.

He felt absolutely nothing when looking at them.

In his eyes at this very moment eyes, they were all just dead objects.

That was all there is to it.

“Grantors of dark disgrace,” Chuuya chanted as crimson markings appeared over his sickly pale skin, “you need not to wake me again.”

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

"Do you have four stomachs or something?" Dazai wondered as he watched the weretiger shoved food into his mouth. Well, he supposed he couldn't say shove, as the other was quite elegant in how he ate…astonishingly.

Still, the speed he was displaying was not normal.

Chuuya ignored the vampire as he cleaned every single plate without leaving a morsel of food behind. At first, the humans around them would stare at the redhead with their jaws slack, wondering just how much the petite boy could eat. Eventually, they got bored and went back to minding their own business.

The waitress ran back and forth, taking away the empty plates and bringing up new ones.

"Bring another basket of baguette—actually make that two basket, five shepherd's pie, some more roast lambs, chicken, pork, beef, whatever you got," Dazai told the waitress as his eyes roamed over the menu. "You know what, just bring everything that is filing, no need to bother with the taste. If you can stuff him to death, I'll pay triple the amount."

The waitress screamed when a knife flew right past her and towards the raven's head. The vampire didn't even look up as his hand shot up, grabbing the knife by the handle before hurling it back. The woman's knees were shaking as she watched the red-head catching the knife with ease and stabbing it into the chicken.

"You got that?" The vampire asked disinterestedly, eyes never once lifted from the menu.

Nodding hastily, the waitress scurried away to have the cook prepare the next round of feast.

The vampire let out a long sigh. "I'm helping you order food and you tried to skewer me."

"Don't think that just because I don't understand that you can talk shit about me," Chuuya growled with a vein throbbing in his forehead. There was just something he didn't like about the vampire's attitude just then, so he acted.

"Animal instincts huh?" Dazai mumbled as he looked at the way the werebeast was glowering at him. He could almost imagine a small orange cat, hissing and puffing itself up to look big and threatening. The vampire suddenly felt a strange urge to tease his companion more.

Unfortunately, a hushed whisper soon brought his attention elsewhere.

Chuuya took a bite of his chicken while Dazai ran his finger over the rim of a wine cup. While neither of them acted out of ordinary, both of them focused their attention to the back of the restaurant where a group of soldiers sat. Usually, these human soldiers were loud and noisy, but this group here was unusually quiet.

They chatted quietly among themselves, all of their faces serious and some even started to get anger the more they conversed. After listening to them for a while, Chuuya turned to Dazai who had picked up a cup and was playing with the dark fluid inside.

"They're talking about your masterpiece from three days ago," Dazai informed him with a sly grin. "Since the witch is missing, they're convinced that the destruction of the fighting ring was her doing."

Chuuya lightly bit on the tip of his fork as he looked over those soldiers. "This is why you got rid of that witch's body?"

"I told you, humans don't trust witches. All you need is to give them a reason and they'll push all the blames onto the witches."

"How stupid."

Dazai set the cup he was playing around with in front of Chuuya. Chuuya looked at the weird liquid inside for a moment before picking it up and taking a sip.

He quickly spat it back out.

"What the fuck is this?!" He coughed, feeling the sour and bitter aftertaste sensation in his throat.

"It's call wine," Dazai sniggered, "Human makes it with fermented grape juice."

"Fermented? It's rotten?!" Chuuya choked in disbelieve. After eating rotten food for so long, he wouldn't even care if it's crawling with bugs. But why would human willingly eat rotten food?

"That's why you're a kid." Dazai deadpanned.

"Who are you calling a kid?!"

A man came by just then, dropping a large barrel right next to their table, saying something to Dazai before leaving. Confused, Chuuya looked down to the barrel. He could hear water sound coming from inside it. When he smelled the familiar scent coming from it and that iconic cow mark drawn on the wooden surface, it didn't take a genius to find out what it was.

The damn leech had ordered an entire barrel of milk for him!

People screamed as a table flew across the restaurant—along with the body of a raven-haired man—right into the group of soldiers at the very back…

Half an hour later, Chuuya and Dazai walked out into the busy street.

The restaurant workers and the owner lined up at the doorway, wide smiles on every one of their faces as they waved goodbye to the two youngsters walking away from the restaurant.

"How much did you pay them?" Chuuya questioned skeptically. He didn't understand human currency, but he could tell it's not a small amount. After all, he did nearly take apart the restaurant. The bodies of those idiot soldiers that tried to hack him with their swords were still piled up in the middle of the dirt road with white foams gushing from their mouths.

Dazai was humming as he twirled a brown leather pouch around his index finger. It was the same pouch he had swiped off those human soldiers when the werebeast threw him (and the table) into them.

Chuuya's blood boiled at the thought of being used by this bastard…again.

"Enough to let them buy a new restaurant," Dazai replied. "For mere foot soldiers to have so much money, it seems the higher-ups of this town are quite corrupted."

Chuuya couldn't understand the concept of money. Werebeasts never needed those kinds of things. They live pretty much like wild animals. They hunt for their food and make their own home. Whenever anyone needed something, they just share what they have.

Well, at least that's what it seemed to him anyways.

"Now what?"

"What do you mean?" Dazai was feigning innocence.

"You tell me, you're the one that made me come with you!"

"I never said you had to." Dazai countered, causing the vein on Chuuya's head to throb.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm just repaying the favour. The sooner we call it even, the sooner I can leave!" The werebeast grumbled. "You got something you want me to do, don't you?"

Dazai looked up to the starry sky, exposing his delicate pale neck wrapped up in bandages. His face was serious, lips slightly parted as he let out a long, thoughtful sound.

"Aaaaah…nope."

"What?" Chuuya blinked, wondering if he heard wrong.

"I don't have anything I want you to do."

"Then why the hell have me come along with you?!"

"Now, now, you're making a scene!" Dazai chortled, gesturing to the humans gawking at the odd Asian pair. "There's an inn just down the street! We should hurry before they run out of room!"

"Hey, bastard! Hold it!" Chuuya swore as he chased after the vampire.

In the end, there was only one room left—or that's what Dazai claimed anyways. That was fine with Chuuya since they still have unfinished business.

Once they've settled in their room, Chuuya was instantly on the lanky vampire.

"Explain yourself." He threatened dangerously.

Dazai sat on the soft bed, looking up at the werebeast standing over him with arms crossed over his chest. Sad that it's only at times like this that the werebeast would be taller.

Chuuya didn't know why, but the way the vampire's looking at him made his blood boil, so he slammed a foot into the side of the bed and loomed over the vampire.

"What games are you playing here? You can't expect me to believe you want me to follow you around without any reason."

"Of course not!" Dazai said in an offended tone. "You're going to be my dog after all!"

"…Hah?"

"If I tell you my leg is itchy, you scratch it! If I want to drink blood, you go kidnap a beautiful blond woman in her early twenties and bring her to me!"

CRASH

The entire bed was crushed into pieces as Dazai fell into the pieces of broken wooden frames and fiber fillings of the mattress. When he looked up, Chuuya has his foot hovering over the vampire's face.

"They say that vampires can live as long as their hearts are intact." The werebeast muttered, tilting his head to the side as murderous glint flickered within his eyes. "Want to test that out?"

"I hate pain, so I'll pass." Dazai sighed, putting both hands up in surrender. "You can't take a joke, can you? If you want a reason, you can say that it's to survive the war."

"What do you mean?"

"Since you were locked up pretty much all your life, you wouldn't know, but we're close to the final war."

"What final war?"

"The world war."

"World war?!" Chuuya gapped, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"A worldwide war involving every single species. The entire planet will become a warzone" Dazai spoke in such light-hearted tone it sounded like he was discussing the weather rather than an incoming apocalypse. "This is what will happen when you keep slaughtering and enslaving other species. Once they finally realize the peril they're in, every single species will see everyone and everything else as enemies that need to be eliminated, then a full out war will emerge."

"And human will come out victorious." Chuuya narrowed his eyes, still remembering what Dazai had told him. He slowly pulled back his foot, allowing the vampire to sit up. "You're saying this war will come soon?"

"In two years, to be precise." Dazai hummed. "When the war comes, nowhere will be safe. Money will mean nothing and survival will only be for the fittest. If you want to live, then we need to collaborate."

"I thought you wanted to die." Chuuya kindly reminded him.

"I rather die at the hands of a beautiful lady than some barbaric, racist animals."

"You want me to kill you off right now?" Chuuya gritted his teeth before pushing his anger back down. If what this vampire said is true, then he'll need this bastard alive. Being the only one that speaks his native language and the ability to keep Corruption under control, he needed Dazai.

And with only the ability to nullify other powers, the vampire needed protection.

It was a fair deal…given that everything he said was the truth that is.

"So, what will it be, Chuuya?" Dazai wore that knowing smirk on his face as he held out his hand.

The bastard was so certain the werebeast will take his deal. As much as Chuuya wanted to prove him wrong, he can't. He got no other choice but to accept this deal. He slapped his hand against the vampire's and held it in a brutal grip.

"If I catch you doing anything funny behind my back, I will put a stake through your stomach and roast you in the sunlight."

"Such a brat." The vampire grunted, causing a huge vein to throb as Chuuya applied all his strength into the handshake. The cracking sounds of breaking bones resonated throughout the room.

"GAAAH! You're such a brat!"

"You're a brat too!"

"Tell me that when you grow taller!"

"I'm only fifteen, I'm still growing! You're like what, fifty?!"

"I'm fifteen as well!"

(ﾉꐦ ⊙曲ఠ)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

"Wow…so that's how you and Dazai-san met?" Atsushi said in fascination after listening to his mentor's story.

Chuuya sat on the barstool, sipping on a glass of wine as he regarded the young tiger's excitement. "You're more invested in this plain old story than I am."

"I just think it's amazing." Atsushi smiled sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head. "I know what happened during the Dark Age, but hearing Chuuya-san's story made it feel more real."

"Well, it was hundreds of years ago." Blue eyes drifted down to the wine in his hand. "To you brats, it might as well be a fairy tale."

"But Chuuya-san and Dazai-san lived through it, right? In that case, it's not a fairy tale."

Chuuya looked at his disciple with a small hint of surprise before a smile lifted his lips.

"But why was Dazai-san in Switzerland?"

"To escape from his coven," Chuuya answered. "That shitty mackerel came from a strong coven of pureblood vampires. At the time, they ruled over Yokohama and got connections all over Japan. After deserting his coven, he had to leave the country."

"Yokohama?" Atsushi's eyes widened. "You don't mean…?!"

"Yes. The same place where Akutagawa came from. That coven has merged with other species over time and turned into one big organization. That is the Port Mafia."

"Then is it safe for us to be here?" Atsushi asked with worries lacing his voice. "What if the Port Mafia—"

"Calm down, kid." Chuuya chuckled at the frantic look on his face. "We struck a peace treaty long ago. They won't bother us as long as we don't bother them."

Atsushi let out a sigh of relieve, glad to hear everything was alright. "So then…was Dazai-san captured by the humans the moment he left Japan?"

"Capture?" Chuuya snorted as he remembered the ridiculous reason that landed the vampire in the cell as him. "That moron didn't get captured. He let those humans take him."

"Eh?!" Atsushi was dumbfounded. That was certainly not what he had expected, but then again this was Dazai they're talking about...

"He heard rumours about a werebeast with royal bloodline in the dueling ring, so he came to find me." Chuuya rested his chin against his palm. "The bastard planned everything out from the beginning, just so I would team up with him for the Dark Age."

There was more to that though.

What Dazai had planned wasn't only for the survival during the Dark Age. Even back then, the vampire was looking even further to the future. Dazai had sought Chuuya out for the creation of Double Black. With their combined powers, they were quickly made known to the world. It didn't matter what species they were. Whenever people caught wind that Double Black might be nearby, they will flee the vicinity, fearing to get caught up in their battle.

It was due to this that they were able to live peacefully right now.

After human came out victorious during the Dark Age, life became harsher for all other species. It was only in recent years that they were getting fairer treatment, but many were still slaves made to serve the humans. A good example would be that creep Tatsuhiko Shibusawa. How many different species suffered at his hands? How many were tortured, wishing for death that just wouldn't come?

These kinds of humans exist all around the world.

Dazai being Dazai, had another reason to form Double Black. Perhaps that’s his ultimate goal from the beginning. Everything he did was simply to pull free from his old coven—the current Port Mafia. With Chuuya by his side, Dazai has a chip to bargain for his freedom. It was thanked to this that they were able to form a contract

Everything went exactly as that arrogant vampire had planned.

The only thing Dazai hadn't accounted for was the change in their relationship…as well as raising two kids. These two things were probably the greatest surprises that scheming mind wasn't able to predict.

"Honey~ we're back!" An irritating voice sang as the front door flung open, revealing the tall and lanky vampire carrying multiple bags of groceries with his disciple in toll.

"Oh, you're back," Chuuya said disinterestedly as he continued to swirl the wine around his glass.

"Welcome back, Dazai-san, Ryuu!" Atsushi greeted as he hurried over to take the load off the vagabond vampire.

"Did you miss me, darling?" Dazai pounced towards Chuuya, only for the redhead to shove a palm into his face to stop his advance.

"Don't touch me!" Chuuya snarled with veins popping up from beneath his forehead. "I told you not to come near me for a month!"

"Chuuya! Don't be so cruel!" Dazai whined. "If I keep sleeping on the couch like this my back won't be able to take it!"

"And my back can?!" Chuuya snapped, now using both hands in an attempt to push the vampire away. "You kept going even when I told you to stop!"

"That was Chuuya's fault!" Dazai held his hands to his cheeks and swooned at the beautiful memories of last night. "What kind of man would stop when their mate is looking at them with those teary sapphire blue eyes, cheeks blushing in cherry blossom pink and hiccupping when—"

BAM

With a simple push of his hand (and the power of gravity), Chuuya slammed the vampire face-first into the floor. Thankfully, he still remembered that they're at home, so he held back on his strength. Otherwise, they'll need to replace the finely polished floor. This was one good thing about moving to a new home. If this was back in their dusty old manor, Chuuya wouldn't have cared.

When Chuuya's sharp eyes snapped up, he saw Atsushi and Akutagawa sorting out the groceries bags and putting the food into the fridge. Akutagawa looked like he couldn't care less (or rather, too used to the scene), while Atsushi was desperately pretending not to have heard anything and failing miserably. The kid's entire face was burning up and his movements were very robotic.

"So Atushi-kun, what did you two do while we're gone?" Dazai appeared right beside the younger weretiger, surprising the poor boy and causing him to drop the carton of milk he was putting away.

Dazai stood there with his hands in his pockets, smiling brightly as if he hadn't kissed the floor just seconds ago.

"O-oh, Chuuya-san was just telling me how you guys met!" Atsushi spluttered, eyes darting every now and then at Akutagawa, signaling for help. The young vampire spared Atsushi half a second of his precious time before he returned to whatever he was doing, completely brushing him aside.

This caused a vein to pop over the white weretiger. He'll remember this.

"Ah, brings back memories." Dazai sighed blissfully. "Chuuya was so adorable back then~"

"AH?" Chuuya glared daggers at his mate.

"I don't mean anything bad!" Dazai hurriedly explained. With his mate mad at him like this, anything he says would be equivalent to stepping on a landmine.

He only wanted to tease his mate a bit last night, but he went overboard and pissed him off instead. This was all Chuuya's fault for being so cute though. Not his.

"Atsushi-kun!" Dazai spun around dramatically to white-haired boy cradling the milk. "Next year will be your eighteenth birthday! You'll finally be legal to bond with Ryuunosuke!"

The carton of milk fell back onto the ground. Atsushi's face was burning up to the point where steams could be seen rolling off his skin. Behind him, Akutagawa had frozen up. In fact, it wasn't just him. Rashoumon seemed to have frozen as well with how stiff the fabric became.

This spiked Chuuya's interest as he set down the wine glass he had been playing around with.

"That's right!" The redhead agreed as he leaned over the table. "Have you two talked over yet? Vampire's thirst for blood will increase during sex so you should—"

"CHUUYA-SAN!" Atsushi screamed, mortified that the older weretiger was going to give him the talk.

"What, don't tell me you're getting shy over something like this?" Chuuya teased.

"W-we um…" Atsushi fidgeted, embarrass and uncertain of how to tell their mentors.

"We decided to take more time," Akutagawa said as he came to stand beside his lover. Atsushi looked up at Akutagawa. There was a small look of surprise on his face before that surprise melted into warmth. With his lover beside him, he regained his confidence and nodded firmly to Chuuya.

Chuuya looked back and forth between the two. He smiled at how uptight they were being.

"Take all the time you need." He waved at the pair. "Once you perform the bond, it'll be for life. It's normal to need time to think about it. Took me fifty years to finally decide to bond with this mackerel." He said, jabbing a thumb at his lanky companion.

"Chuuya, you wound me!" Dazai cried with a hand over his heart, yet his expression didn't have a hint of sadness for someone being hurt. If anything, his burnt umber eyes were twinkling in amusement.

"You two are worried whether or not you can stay together for the rest of your life, correct?" Dazai walked over to join own mate's side. He gently placed a hand onto Chuuya's shoulder. To his delight, the weretiger didn't throw him over his shoulder and allowed the contact. "The fact that you're worried about this means you won't have any problems. After all, werebeasts and vampires are destined to become mates."

"What do you mean?" Atushi exchanged looks with Akutagawa. This was the first time they were ever told of this. Since when did the two sworn enemies become destined mate materials?

"Oh, that's easy to figure out if you think about it," Dazai told them. "The difference in our body temperature is one. Vampires are creatures born in coldness. Unable to come into contact with sunlight or fire, it’s impossible for us to feel physical heat. Werebeasts, on the other hand, have unusually high body temperature due to their regenerative cells constantly being produced in their body.”

Dazai didn’t need to say the rest as the two already knew this. The huge difference in their body temperature was what made them want to be near each other in the beginning. It was this difference that made it so comfortable when they hold one another because it’s only with each other that they can feel the warmth of another living being.

"Werebeast's blood cells carry high regenerative properties. A single cell holds twenty times more nutrient than a normal blood cell. That's why their blood will taste sweeter and richer than other species. When we drink from them, werebeast's blood will help heal our body. And due to the werebeast's regeneration power, their body will instantly restore any blood that was lost."

"Meaning as long as we have food, we're an all you can eat buffet for them." Chuuya chipped in from the sideline. "There are many more examples…"

"But werebeasts and vampires can't see that." Atsushi finished for Chuuya.

"When you're trained to hate and kill from a young age, you will lose the ability to think rationally. When Ryuunosuke first met Chuuya, the first thing he did was to attack him~" Dazai chuckled, causing Akutagawa to flinch as if something invisible had slapped him across the face.

"Really?!" Atsushi gawked at his lover. He then turned to Chuuya who seemed so fond of the memory that he started cackling.

"I beat him up pretty bad." Chuuya snickered. "I even offered some blood to let him recover, but he said he rather die than to drink from me. So, I broke all four of his limbs, dislocated his jaw and just poured my blood down his throat.

"E-eeeeh…?" Atsushi looked back to Akutagawa whose face was scrunched up in what looked like shame. He suddenly felt very sorry for his lover…

"That is the hate drilled into young werebeasts and vampires." Dazai explained. "Chuuya and I were stray dogs in our clan. No one bothered to educate us. Ironically it's thanks to this that we're able to find out the truth."

At the mention of stray dogs, Atsushi looked over to Dazai. He knew why his mentor was an outcast, but he knew nothing about Dazai.

"But why?" Atsushi asked, unable to understand how these two strongest species fell so easily. "How did werebeast and vampires ended up like this?"

"…It's not hard to guess." Dazai shrugged. "If werebeast and vampires are allies, then this world will long be under their rule. Someone decided to break them up and turn them against one another, and they did for centuries to come. That's all there is to it."

"But—"

"While we're on this topic, allow me to tell you something more interesting!" Dazai cut off the young weretiger. "Atsushi-kun, what do you think is the most important quality between mates?"

"Uh…love?"

"Atsushi-kun sure has a pure teenage girl's heart."

"No! That's not—"

"The most important quality is rivalry!"

"…Rivalry?" Atsushi was dumbfounded. He did not expect that kind of answer.

"Your answer may be true for human, but for us it's different. Love alone won't maintain a relationship past a century. Humans wouldn’t know that, as their lives are too short. Atsushi-kun, has any of the other species you've encountered performed a mating bond?"

"No…" Atsushi replied after some thought.

During his travels with Chuuya and Dazai, he has met quite a bit of other species. He met agents working for the government, and then those that hid within the underground world. When he thought over all of them he had met, none of those species had bonded with anyone else. His and his lover's mentors were the only one he knew that bonded.

"For now you may love someone, but that love will eventually turn into boredom with time. Because of this, there are rarely any species that perform mating bond. After all, once you've mated, it'll be for life. Depending on how long they live, it could be for centuries or millennia. Even back when vampires and werebeasts were still thriving, they only mate to reproduce. Pure, sappy love doesn't exist in a fantasy world like ours. Those only exist within human's imagination. For us, a hundred years could pass in a blink of an eye and before you know it, the love you once felt got reduced to nothing.

That's another reason why werebeasts and vampires are suitable to become mates. Because not only are they lovers, they are also rivals. No matter how compatible their bodies may be, their personalities will never match. There's always one thing or another that will make them butt head, but that's what helps them understand each other beyond what pure lovers are capable of. That's the important quality you'll need if you want to be together."

"That's what you meant by destined?" Atsushi sweatdropped.

While his and Akutagawa's relationships were way better than when they first met, they still argue over a lot of things. Sometimes over small things, sometimes over bigger things…oftentimes their arguments ended up with them going at each other's throat.

There were many times where Atsushi couldn't put up with Akutagawa, and he's certain the vampire felt the same way. Yet strangely, never once did Atsushi ever stop loving Akutagawa despite all the issues going between them.

He supposed it's the arguments and fight that made them closer and able to understand one another so well.

Without it…

Atsushi's face turned green as he shuddered at the thought of a kind, patient and cheerful Akutagawa.

"What is it?" Akutagawa asked when he noticed his lover bending over the sink.

"I think I threw up a little…Ouch!" Atsushi cried when Akutagawa kicked him in the back of his knees, causing him to knock his chin against the hard counter. "What was that for?!"

"I just felt irritated." The vampire replied as if the answer is obvious.

"You!" Atsushi pounced towards his mate in an attempt to get him back, but the vampire easily side-stepped him. Atsushi already knew that's what the vampire would do. He knew him too well after all. He kicked his leg out, to trip the vampire, but Akutagawa had predicted his moment and already summoned Rashoumon.

"You two! Take this outside!" Chuuya bellowed when Atsushi bumped into the cupboard, causing the glass and ceramic tablewares inside to rattle.

"With this, life won't ever get boring, don't you agree?" Dazai said softly as he watched the two youngsters going at one another. Atsushi's arms have transformed into his tiger parts now.

"Not ready huh?" Akutagawa's word flowed back into Chuuya's head as he looked at the two's interactions. Chuuya wanted to laugh. He knew exactly what these brats were thinking.

Bonding was a sacred mating ritual that binds two people's lives together.

With the bond in place, the mated couples can feel one another at a higher level of intimacy.

The feeling of bond isn't easy to explain. If Chuuya had to describe it, it's like seeing a spark of light for the first time within a world of darkness.

The light wasn't blindingly bright or overly hot. It was a soft mellow light that carried only a tiny bit of warmth. Despite how tiny it is, its presence was impossible to ignore. That speck of light was so fragile and precious that it just makes him want to carefully cradle it within his hands and protect it.

Once a bond was formed, there was no way to undo it.

A bond was a blessing for two people in love. However, if that couple had fallen out of love, then the bond will become a curse. Despite no longer loving each other, they were forced to always be aware of the other's presence. No matter where they go, they won't be able to shake off the yearning in their heart to be reunited with the ones they never wanted to see.

Loving someone else will become impossible, as no matter how hard they try, they won't be able to shake off the longing to seek out their bonded mate.

The only way to break the bonding was through death. However, if one was to die, then the other will always follow shortly after. After all, to suddenly lose that speck of light and return to the world of darkness is a frightening process. It was enough to drive the one left behind insane.

Chuuya has seen failed examples of bond couples before. All those examples led to only one result.

Death.

When Chuuya looked at Atsushi and Akutagawa, all he saw was two dumb brats desperately trying to protect one another.

They love each other, so they were afraid of tying each other down. They were afraid that somewhere in the future, their partner would get tired of their relationship and wanted to leave, but can't because of the bond.

They were afraid that one day the other will hate them for it.

Hell knew how many times Chuuya wondered over that question. Even someone as smart as Dazai dragged it on for years.

In the end, the answer was always simple.

Neither of them was able to imagine a life without one another. Until they decide to bond, they will always yearn for something more, something that will connect them closer. It was just a matter of who will take that first step.

These two brats were more than ready, but that was something for them to figure out.

Chuuya grinned as he thought back to that night when Dazai extended his hand to him. It was the moment he decided to take that hand that both of their fate intertwined.

"…I suppose you can sleep in the bedroom again. I'm feeling quite generous right now, you better be grateful."

Dazai looked down at Chuuya in surprise before stars shone within in his eyes.

"CHUUYA!"

"Just this once!" Chuuya warned as Dazai nodded frantically with the face of a puppy that finally got the treat he deserved.

Chuuya couldn't stop the smile blossoming on his face despite knowing that this may very well be a part of his manipulative mate's plan. No, Chuuya is certain this is part of Dazai's plan to climb back into his bed. Why else would he be talking these bullshit lover qualities for no reason?

He wasn't going to believe his mate was genuinely doing it to educate their students. If anything, watching the two fretted over a problem that was never a problem had always been an enjoyment to this bandage wasting mackerel.

The worst part was, Dazai must have expected that he would figure it out. If Dazai wanted to keep something a secret, it stays a secret. No matter how long Chuuya had known him for, he would never be able to figure it out. The bastard didn't bother hiding his intention because he knew, either way, Chuuya would give in.

Sometimes, Chuuya hated how he could understand his mate so well. Many times he wondered just how he got bonded to such a bastard, yet he couldn't find himself to regret this decision. If anything, it was the best decision he had ever made—setting aside how he wanted to strangle the leech three times a month.

Well…he supposed he can follow through with his manipulation once in a while. He'll just have to properly beat up the damn mackerel the next time he tries pulling something like this.

"What did you guys get?" Chuuya asked as he crossed the kitchen to open the fridge. He let out a small, delighted hum when he saw how it was stacked full of food.

"It's been a while since we had some traditional food," Dazai said as he leaned over the weretiger and started picking out some ingredients out of the fridge. Chuuya's mouth watered when he saw three large packs of sashimi.

"Chuuya."

"Wha—hmph?!" The last half of the redhead's words became muffled when a Dorayaki was shoved into his open mouth.

"Eat that for now. I'll have food ready soon." Dazai purred into the redhead's ear, causing colours to crawl up the weretiger's neck as he nibbled on the overly sweet treat.

In that distant, he heard the sound of crashing coming from upstairs, but Chuuya couldn't bother to care. He sat back down on the barstool, slowly nibbling on his treat as he watched his mate grabbed a knife. Dazai was in an extremely good mood as he flipped the dangerous weapon around his fingers before getting to work…all while singing that dumb suicide song he came up with decades ago.

"Hey, shitty Dazai."

Dazai turned to see a Cabernet Sauvignon glass flying towards him. The vampire caught the glass by the stem, elegantly twirling it around the air to prevent the beautiful crimson fluid inside from spilling out.

"Drink that for now." Chuuya threw the vampire's word back as he took another bite into the Dorayaki.

Dazai swirled the thick blood around in the glass before bringing it up to inhale the sweet aroma of his mate.

Smiling, Dazai set down the knife and walked over to the weretiger.

"Chuuya." He called the name of his mate tenderly.

Chuuya looked up, meeting the vampire's soft brown eyes before he picked up his glass of wine. Smiles graced both of their lips as they tapped the rim of their glass against the other, creating a crisp ringing sound.

"To stray dogs."

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

Extra – "Osamu"

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

"Chuuya-san."

"Hm?"

"I've been wondering for a while now…why don't you call Dazai-san by his given name?"

"Pfft!" Chuuya spat out the wine he was in the middle of swallowing. He coughed heavily, trying to get rid of the fluid that entered his lungs before looking over to his disciple.

"W-what's with that all the sudden?!" He spluttered.

Atsushi thought his mentor's face looked oddly red, but it was probably from the choking. He swiftly handed over some napkins which the older weretiger took.

"I was just curious…you and Dazai-san are together for so long but I've never heard you call Dazai-san by his given name."

"Who the hell would call that bastard's name?!" Chuuya snapped, bringing the wine glass back to his lips. Instead of slowly savoring the taste of the wine which was what he had been doing, he was gulping it down like water. "His name is Osamu! It's just lame! I'm surprised he even kept such a plain name for three hundred years!"

"Oh? I had no idea you felt that way, love." A dark voice suddenly whispered right next to his ear, breathing icy breath down the soft curve of his neck.

"PFFFFT!"

"Dazai-san!" Atsushi shouted in surprise at the appearance of the vampire standing behind the choking redhead. "Y-you were here?!"

"Yo, Atsushi-kun~" The vampire greeted merrily, but for some reason that smiling face brought chills down the young weretiger's spine. "If you’ll excuse us, Chuuya and I will have some adult talk.”

“Hey! Put me down, shitty Dazai!” Chuuya shouted as he was thrown over his mate’s shoulder. He trashed around, but the vampire didn’t loosen his hold as he went up the stairs and disappeared into their shared bedroom.

A long silence followed.

Atsushi stared at that closed door for a long, long time before only one thought came across his mind.

Tomorrow’s training with Chuuya will be hell.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

◅ PART 1                               Main Page                              PART 3 ▻

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

#soukoku #shin soukoku #dazai x chuuya #akutagawa x atsushi #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction

[sarissophori]

Hither Yonder, Chapter 5

The Wild Roads

Halli awoke soon after sunrise, roused by the warming air and ground. She stirred, still sore from the night’s run and the fall that ended it. She sat up stiffly and listened for a while. Aside the pleasant sighing of boughs in the morning wind and distant bird calls the forest was silent, serene. She no longer feared capture, overtly at least, and took time to eat some of Sador’s provisions before starting off again. Climbing out of the ditch, she consulted the map as to her course. The Irdon forest, as it was named, stretched off west and south along the slopes of the Adorn mountains, the spine of Dumbria, running with them for many miles before ending at a sundered range called the South Spur, which formed the mountain-gap watched over by the fortress of Lake Tirgon. Rather than going immediately south-west and risk becoming lost in the forest, Halli went due-west toward the mountains, where she thought to have a sure marker to follow beside. Using any roads as a runaway slave was not an option.

      This was the first course of her journey. Two days she spent walking into, then through, the heart of the forest, the mountains ever before her. The land rose gradually for the most part, then more so as she neared the pine and spruce-covered foothills of the range, rising in folds of green up and up to the bare flanks of the mountains proper, cloven by dales and valleys sheltered between rocky arms. Halli now went southerly west, on ground high enough to see down the surrounding lands, but low enough to avoid steeper terrain that would only hinder her.  Away back east, in the fading light, she thought she could almost see the topmost battlements of Thargorod tiny and black on the far horizon, and thought of Sador and Siri in that moment. She wondered what punishment they stood to suffer because of her escape, if it would end with them. Here on the third day, more than on the previous two, the weight of her actions pressed on her shoulders as keenly as her roll-kit, and it was brought to her, concisely, what it would mean to be alone and to carry on. The sun set, leaving her under a blanket of night and stars.

 The fourth day unfolded very much like the others; calm, boring even, in the shade of tall and ancient trees high enough to shut out the world beyond the forest. The air was scented with pine sap when the wind came in from the west. Northward, it smelled crisp from the mountain airs. Her aloneness was so apparent, the fear of being found completely left her.

      By late afternoon Halli came to the source-waters of the Olgon River, the largest in Dumbria; a river she crossed once before, when the wagon train carrying her and Yuta rolled past its lowland fords to Thargorod. Here she refilled her water-skin, for it was fresh from the mountain springs, and stood about to take in her surroundings. The Olgon roared and splashed down bare stony banks worn smooth by its tide, falling downhill as rapids through ravines into the deeper forest. The foam glinted in the sunlight. The mountains were to her right, marching onward out of sight, catching the sky on their peaks as if they alone suspended it, keeping the separation of heaven and earth. The trees, clustered among the rocks, swayed in the mildest breeze, and she breathed it in.

      Downstream from her, near the brink of the rapids, an ibex emerged from the trees and trotted to the river, fairly large, with great curved horns. Halli crouched low and watched him drink before deciding this an opportune time to test her bow. She unfurled her roll-kit and pulled it out slowly, bending it to notch the string. She had an arrow ready when she saw, lying stealthily on a shelf overlooking the bank, a mountain lioness in wait from above, her hind legs tensed for a jump. She sprang from her rocky perch and landed squarely on the ibex, who collapsed from the attack. He kicked and bleated, but she pinned him with a bite to the windpipe as he fought, then feebly writhed, then stilled. There was rustling in the trees behind; his pack heard his calls and bolted, bounding up to the safety of the steeper slopes. The lioness looked at Halli, who stood awestruck with her arrow slacked impotently on its string, suddenly feeling like prey herself.

       “The kill is yours. I offer no contest.”

      The lioness hauled her meal back into the wood, toward her mountain den undoubtedly nearby. That in mind, Halli crossed the shallow arm of the river by the spring and continued on her way.

 Halli walked on in caution for the remaining day and those thereafter, while the forest lasted. Her bow was out, and she made a nightly shelter to help shield her from predatory eyes. Her guard lessened, however, when the forest began to open out, the hills only partly covered. Shrubs took advantage and grew in bunches in the glades, those that flowered and those that prickled. Ivy curled through them here and there, and little rodents scurried.

      Nine days after entering the Irdon, the forest’s bulk finally thinned out to a few solitary pines along tumbled lands, and Halli could see the plains below. To the immediate south ran a separate range of hills, green and roving, the peaks grayish-brown and bare; the South Spur, a bulwark of rock across the neck of Dumbria. Just before her, a league away and beside the hills, was the fortress of Tirgon, unceasing in its watch of the plains. Calvary was afield in exercises, and white smokes wafted from the chimneys of barracks. There were no trains of slaves today, but Halli knew many more had come this way since she and Yuta went through its gates that summer long ago; Hananin from the steppes and the Kundish Mounds, and others from Ipsaria, Doria and beyond from Wilderland to the north. Halli backed into the sparse protection of Irdon’s westernmost reaches and went on her way, nursing blunted fantasies of revenge against that hated fortress.

        Halli followed the flanks of a great shoulder in the range that hid her from the fortress, and down she went into the lower hills. Here Lake Tirgon sat against the mountains, buffered by a narrow and rocky land populated with holly bushes, beds of dry grasses and rough thickets. Trees were sparse, and were old and stunted. Nevertheless, this was Halli’s road as she chose it. The only other way, across the plains south of the lake, would mean almost certain capture while the cavalry was out.

      She scrambled down the slopes and into a defile, going along ground that alternated between sandy, gravely, rocky, and sandy again. Her bare feet were sore before much trudging, yet on she went, walking through what grass she could find, stopping only a few times to rest. The lake at least was a beautiful bluish-gray, spanning many leagues south and west, ruffled by spouts of wind, otherwise reflecting mirror-like the mountain tips under a sapphire sky. The risk of exposure in this landscape was plain to her, but she took solace in one thing: there were no trails along Tirgon’s north banks, meaning this part of the mountains were seldom visited by the Dumbrians, maybe their soldiers too, despite the presence of their fortress. Halli certainly hoped it.

 For two and a half days Halli plodded through that strip of waste, her palms, knees and soles callused by the rocks, and white from a chalky powder that coated the boulders and pebbly expanses. By noon she came to the eaves of the Farrow Wood, and her spirits lightened, not only because it meant an end to this unpleasant land, but also because past the woods was the West Reach, the extent of Dumbria’s borders. The borders of her own country were near.

      The difference between the Farrow Wood and the mountain waste was abrupt. Up a few shelves of layered rock hung the roots of the outermost trees, stout and gnarled, at least by the lake. Further on, Halli saw taller, leaner trees as the land became less stony further west. She delighted in feeling the softer grasses under her feet again and decided to make camp early, resting and sleeping a long while.

      Halli remained in the forest’s northern marches, to keep the mountains at her side. Then, after nearly fifteen days of constant hiking within the shadow of the Ardon range, over lands easy and difficult, they began to run down into a descent, hilly with many valleys, to the adjacent lowlands of the Hananin Steppes. The forest ended, and the Ardon sank into gentle rises. Here sprawled the West Reach, the beginning of the expansive, near featureless grasslands of inner Hinterland, bare under the noontime sun. Flatness, with subtle rolls, went off as far as the eye could see, except to the north where the Morrow Wood lay, a line of green against the wheat-color of the plains, and the Kundish Mounds further on. In the north, too, were brooding cloud fronts gray with rain, as colder airs from Wilderland mingled with warmer airs from the Sea of Ahn, rising to cumulus towers black-bottomed and foreboding, as far as they were. But this was not Halli’s road. From the eaves of Farrow, she turned south in a gradual meander westward, and came after a few day’s march under the Hinterland sun to the old Imperial Road.

        The Road was built ages ago by the auxiliary legions of the Tarmaril Imperium in the years of its greatest extent, to connect the conquered lands with the mother-kingdom; to speed trade, culture, and the armies not the least. In those times the Imperial Road extended unbroken from the Sheerim Mountains to the gates of Tirgon, was tended to by a dedicated legion, and was punctuated every twenty miles with manmade watering holes. Every forty miles, or every other watering hole, was a courier station with inns, stables, and a fortified garrison.

      In these later times, the Road was little more than an overgrown track of stones choked by weeds and grass, covered over entirely in some sections, marked along its way by the ruins of those courier stations and reed-studded pools frequented more by wildlife than any rider, much less a cavalry of thousands. Decay and disuse aside, the Road was not completely abandoned. After Tarmaril’s fall and the decline of Dumbria, the Hananin reclaimed their country and took from the Road what purpose they could find for it: irrigation ditches were dug to drain the watering holes for farmland, then blocked up for the spring rains to fill again, then drained as before. Stones were removed from the crumbling garrisons to build bridges and homes, though not from the Road itself. The Road was never repaired to its first glory, but parts of its length between villages were tended to and cleared, especially those parts near the Hills of Hanan and Lake Onu, where Hanan’s chief villages lay.

 So Halli went west, following a way as sure as the mountains, though subtler. However, she walked along beside it at a distance, staying in the long grass; the threat of Dumbrian raiders still patrolling the West Reach was too great to ignore, making it unwise for her to travel directly on the Road. She remained a furlong’s breadth away day and night, far enough to dart and hide in the grass if need be.

      And on she walked, and walked. The miles were covered in good pace, but there were many of them, each identical to the last. The occasional acacia tree was approached and passed, Halli using its dry, umbrella-like canopy for the shade it offered against the relentless sun when she rested, maybe twice a day for eating, seldom at length. She also came by several watering holes, or delves in the ground where one once was. They were brackish and warm, gathered over by birds and beasts; wild oxen and kingfishers, caribou and white flamingos migrating from the wetlands of Ahn. Even if she wished to use them, she doubted room would be made for her through their herds with so many young about, and under watch. Worse, the banks would be horribly muddy and mucked with filth by their tramping, making her think better of it than wasting one of Sador’s purifying tablets. And on she walked.

 There was no marker or indicator to show where the West Reach ended and Hanan proper began, besides the words on her map. Halli guessed she was close; the lands here, hardly distinguishable to a traveler, were familiar to her as a local. She knew these fields. Her village was near here. As if to remind her of her present danger, not far off the Road was the site of a small homestead of yurts and tents. Their remnants, at least. Halli dared approach for a closer look. Burnt, brittle timbers and torn cloth were strewn everywhere. The people and their flocks were gone, the ground gouged and scorched in places. A few arrows stood staggered in the grass. This was not a fresh scene of massacre, however. The pillaging of this homestead was months ago, the bones of the slain picked clean by scavengers and carrion fowl.

      Halli stood silent a moment, then pressed her hands together and bowed low, speaking softly and backing away. In Hananin tradition, a place of murder not purified remained unclean, and perilous for the living to trespass. This site would remain unclean for a long time yet, and Halli, in a mix of reverence and wariness, dared not disturb the uneasy sleep of the ill-rested.

 Halli moved on, with no other sign of Dumbrian menace for the day’s remainder, or much of the next. She noticed that game was starting to become scarce around the watering holes, and that her food supplies were running low. Before she lost the chance, Halli camped by one of the pools and, after a short stalk, shot a heron through the reeds. She spent precious hours plucking the carcass and preparing a modest fire, gutting the entrails (an old chore she hadn’t really missed) and holding it suspended for the blood to drain, but it would be worth it. A good catch earns a good preparation, she remembered her barn’s caretaker telling her, and a good catch it was. Aside what she would eat today, there would still be enough to last her three or so more days, if she rationed it so.

      Just as the bird was ready for spitting, Halli looked behind her shoulder to see a thin black line on the Road, growing to become a rank of black forms in the twilit evening. In the stillness, she heard the beat of hooves and the snorting of horses. It was Dumbrian cavalry, and they were riding fast, in her direction. Halli quickly blotted the fire and darted into the reeds, leaving her catch in the open.

      The troop of horsemen, twenty with their captain, steered their horses to where they saw the faint wisp of smoke spied from afar, and dismounted to investigate. Halli watched them while hidden away. The captain sifted through the cinders with his boot, giving the plucked bird a kick into the soot. The rest ambled about, scanning the ground for clues to this riddle. Some murmured and pointed to imprints in the grass. They were fresh, meaning the one who made them, and made the meal, was nearby –but the light was fast fading, and Halli was well hid. They paced the spot a few more times, then as the stars outshone the slender gleam of orange against the west, they remounted and continued down the Road, leaving their riddle unsolved. What was one lowly Hananin vagabond to them? Their job was to scout the outer fields and return to Tirgon, and return they would. They galloped off in speed, leaving as swiftly as they approached.

      Halli waited until the thudding of hooves was gone before coming out, checking over what was to be dinner and extra rations. It was dirty but salvageable, were she bold enough to start another fire. She risked her luck terribly already with the first, and decided not to again. Instead she resumed walking, feeling more secure in the cover of dark, wanting to put as many miles as she could between herself and the reach of Dumbria before the night ended.

 On the days went, drawn, hot and trudging as before, with one noticeable change: the northerly thunderheads ever present against the horizon rolled down in haste on a southern gale, darkening the afternoon. Halli was relieved at first by the sun’s veiling, despite the thunder booming overhead, and welcomed the rain. She held her water-skin open to collect some of it, and it poured, and it blew. Then, it hailed. Halli wrapped her cloak tightly about herself and hunkered down, muttering as she was pelted, watching through her hood as the plains were pelted with little stinging balls of ice, waiting for it to pass. That was how the rest of that day went, shifting between rain and hail till early evening, when Halli found a battered acacia tree to sleep under. The night proved cold in her dampened cloak, her only protection against the wind. Come morning, she would welcome the humid sun.

 Then, on the fourteenth day since leaving the Adorn range, Halli saw the rising shapes of the Hills of Hanan in the distance, and her heart lifted at the sight. An afternoon’s march, and she would come to villages outside Dumbria’s reach (she hoped) who could help her, refresh and restock her, give her rest and a little friendship. She was sick of being alone. By late afternoon she was at the Hill’s eastern ends, and wandered to the southern slopes toward Lake Onu blue and placid, crowded in by pockets of forest.

      Halli looked on and frowned. The villages scattered across its banks appeared empty. She investigated each in turn, walking the dirt tracks branching to and off the Road openly, if cautiously. Long lanes ran beside tilled farmlands between fingers of forest, prepared for the planting season. The fields were abandoned, as were the villages; home, hut and barn. The livestock were also gone. Halli didn’t think this the work of Dumbrian raiders coming to collect slaves for Thargorod’s markets; none of the buildings were looted or torched, none of the fields ravaged. It was as if every villager to the last child had simply vanished.

       Not quite. They had fled, and taken their livestock with them. News of incursions from the West Reach would have spread far and wide soon after the initial raids that took Halli and Yuta as spoils. That was almost a year ago. So the Hananin, most being semi-nomadic, gathered their livelihoods and mobile goods, and dispersed to wherever hope or safety led them within the Hinterlands, be it north to the eaves of Wilderland, or south to Kundanar, with whom they had a common ancestry. Anything that could be resown, rebuilt, or replaced was left where it was.

      Halli lingered among the ghost towns, partly wanting to scavenge what supplies she could yet find, partly because she wanted to believe that they weren’t as empty as they seemed; that she might still find someone to give her tidings, or just talk to her. She peered into the houses, even exploring inside them, but saw only field mice nibbling on crumbs, and a few broken jars. The docks on Lake Onu were bare, moored with empty fishing rafts. Finding nothing else, Halli took some water from the wells for her water-skin, and continued on.

 Westward on from the Hills of Hanan, the Imperial Road slanted a little north while keeping its heading, still dotted by watering holes, still watched over by crumbling outposts. The days were consistently bright and sunny without the threat of rain, a monotonous continuum of sunrise and sunset, with all the hours blurring into a plodding haze. Halli reckoned she was getting rather good at solitary marching, and even better at food rationing.

      Before the Hills fell from sight, the long grasses gave way to shorter prairie ones, then failed altogether. The lands got tougher, with pasture shrubs becoming thistle thickets and other hardy weeds, and the occasional wildflower grove. Animal herds were sparse to nonexistent –though vultures could at times be seen wheeling about hither and yon, gliding on the high winds in a perpetual search for carrion. Now and again, Halli heard their lonely cries.

      So came and went another eleven days; but on the morning of the twelfth, she saw rising suddenly over the flats of Hanan, purple in the wan light of dawn, the rugged peaks of the Sheerim Mountains, the border separating the Hinterlands from the Hither. Taller and mightier than the Adorn range, The Sheerim, where Halli stood, spread out in a great arc stretching north and south, falling with the bend of the horizon to immeasurable leagues. Though it didn’t mean an end to her journey, Halli was glad to see some change, any change, to the landscape, even if it was an obstacle so great, it suffered no rival formation this side of the world. As the map showed, it spanned over five hundred miles arm to arm, nearly sundering the two halves of the western continent. This would mean two-hundred and fifty miles just to go around, no matter which way she took –more months of joyless wandering, if not for one curious feature: right through the middle of the range was an opening in the mountains, called the Mistgap, which offered itself, on paper, as a most convenient shortcut. Halli didn’t have the rations to last going around the mountains, nor the patience at this point. It was either risk an unknown way, or possible starvation. As far as she made out, there wasn’t really a choice to be discerned. Besides, the Imperial Road continued right on up to the Mistgap on the map, and so maybe went through it as well. She put her faith in that.                        

#story #fantasy #hither yonder #sarissophori

[noahreids]

Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 14/14

Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, runs. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Rated: M (Sexual content & some Irish whiskey along the way).

Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 | Ch.3 | Ch.5 | Ch.7 | Ch.9 | Ch.14

A/N: I can’t believe we're here, the final chapter. This has been an absolutely amazing experience, beyond anything I could have ever imagined. And it’s honestly because of everyone that’s read, liked, reblogged, left comments, tweeted and just really simply being awesome amazing people. I know I’ve said it before but I appreciate the heck out of each and every one of you. You have no idea. So thank you, thank you, thank you. I wish I could take each of you out for a Guinness or hot chocolate, your choice ;) xoxo

So much love to everyone at @captainswanbigbang your encouragement, patience and work to put this event on is out of this world. Thank you. Thanks to @shippingtheswann, @imagnifika for amazing collaboration and to @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. 

And last but not least, please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. We are one lucky fandom!

And now will Killian find Emma?

Chapter 14

Emma tightly grasps the arms of her chair, whitening her knuckles and holds on until the tips of her fingers begin to hurt. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest as she turns her head, eyes wide. And there, just across the room stands Anna in all her spirited grandeur, hair damp and frizzing from the rain, cheeks pink and eyes bright with elation, like she’s just come in from a race.

Emma isn’t sure if she wants to throw herself into Anna’s arms or collapse into her chair and cry in relief. She’s momentarily frozen, simply trying to find her voice that is currently nowhere to be found. The how and the why and the do you know where he is are all clamoring hard to come out first that they get stuck in her throat, forcing Emma to remain silent instead, blinking at her friend, a new tear escaping.

“Oh, Emma. It’s okay!”

Anna rushes to her side and grabs hold of her hands.

“Yeah?” she squeaks out her question.

Anna squeezes her fingers and her expression gentles from excitement to understanding.

“So, okay. I promise. Let’s call Killian right now, he’s sporting the same expression you are, although with a little more self-loathing.”

Emma’s face scrunches in confusion.

“But he doesn’t --”

“Have a phone? I know, what a dummy! But listen to this, Kristoff and I were on our way to grab a bite to eat at the Brazen Head, and there was Killian, pacing outside a coffee shop. He was trying to figure out how to connect to the Wi-Fi on the phone he’d just bought, muttering over and over that he must have missed a hostel as he looked for you. So anyway, I run over to him and--”

“Anna,” Emma interrupts, eyes pleading. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Uh, we only called you about a thousand times,” she says, shaking her phone in front of Emma’s face.

“What are you talking about? My phone never rang.”

Emma fishes her phone out of her pocket, only to find the screen dark. Her stomach drops. She presses the home button and the dreaded dead battery image flashes across the screen.

“Oh look, here’s Kristoff.”

Kristoff’s grinning face fills Anna’s screen and all Emma wants to do is steal the phone away, she wants to ask more questions, she wants Killian to suddenly appear directly in front of her.

“Kris, are you with Killian? I found her. At Abrahams on Lower Gardiner. You’re where? Oh!”

Emma tries to follow the conversation, she really does, but when she hears that Kristoff is with Killian, all she wants to do is be where he is, now. She frantically stuffs everything back in her pack, unaware Anna has stopped talking or that the front door has opened once again.

She just needs to get to him and everything will be alright. She’s sure of it.

“Anna, you need to tell me where he is.”

She is met with silence.

She looks up to find Anna watching her with that same soft smile. One she doesn’t have time for.

“Swan.”

She drops everything. Her bag lands with a loud thump, falling precariously close to the end table, rattling the tea cup and saucer but she pays no mind because he’s there. Killian is in the lobby, eyes a little wild and hair even wilder. His chest heaves with quick breaths as they stare at each other.

“Killian,” she says with relief, with a small gasp before her feet are moving her across the room. He keeps them both upright when she reaches him, wrapping her arms around his neck, lips meeting in a hard desperate kiss.

His arms come around her, and hold her tightly, as she changes the angle of the kiss, wanting more, breathing him in. She only pulls a breath length away, hands gripping the collar of his jacket, eyes closed, words rushing out.

“How, how did you find me?”

“I’ve been to every hostel in the city, some twice and when I found Anna and K--” his explanation breaks off on a laugh as she peppers his face with kisses.

“You really found me,” her voice comes softer, surprise tinting her words and she watches as he turns pensive, eyes searching hers for the words she isn’t using.

He cups her face, thumb catching fresh tears on her cheeks, gently wiping them away.

“Of course. I will always find you. Did you doubt I would?”

She doesn’t want to say yes, or to admit to all the fears and worries that had threatened to overwhelm her, not when he had been looking for her as frantically as she, but he must have read it as clear as day on her face. He has always teased her about being an open book.  

“Emma, where did you think I went?”

She opens her mouth but how does she explain such a thing? Her grip on his jacket tightens and she tries again to explain that there is a little voice that whispers to her when she is at her most vulnerable. One that tells her she isn’t good enough to keep anyone around for very long, one that tells her she doesn’t deserve him, but the words don’t come. She also wants to tell him how badly she wants to fight that little voice, how she didn’t want it to be true with him.

The front door opens and a group of young women tumble in, carrying with them their giggles and a current of cold air.

Emma shivers, tucking herself against Killian. His hand drops to her back, running up and down.

“Emma, you soaked through, sweetheart. Let’s get you dry.”

She buries her nose into his shirt, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

“I’m fine.”

Another shiver and he tuts in disapproval, and she is grateful for the distraction from his question, for him not pushing it further, for now.

“We have to find a place to stay. They might have rooms here, we can ask,” she whispers as the girls pass and disappear up a staircase, dropping them into silence once again.

“I’ve booked us a hotel, with an ostentatiously large comfortable bed, eternal hot water, and room service. Come on,” he explains, finding her hand against his chest and giving it a squeeze.

“But? Why?”

He shakes his head and leans down to capture her lips in a slow, sure kiss. She chases after his lips when he finally pulls away, and looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I never want you to wonder where we’ll be sleeping again. We’ll keep it for as long as you want.”

“Killian,” she whispers, a touch of awe.

His lips brush her forehead before dropping her hand and walking over to wear she left her bag. He hikes it onto his back and comes back to join her, lending his hand out to her.

“Let’s set sail, love.”

She grabs on tightly but takes a last glance around.

“Wait, where’s Anna?”

“She slipped out with Kris. We’ll meet up with them tomorrow.”

Emma nods to herself but glances quickly towards the front desk. She finds the clerk, watching her over his book.

“Thank you, so much. Especially for the tea.”

He smiles and nods.

“Any time, the door is always opened.”

She leaves him with a last smile and lets Killian guide them to their hotel, never once letting go of her hand.

xo

The room is only dimly lit by the small bedside lamp, casting a golden glow across the white duvet. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking the outside world from intruding in and muting the late night sounds. The quiet calm, only disrupted by the central air kicking on in a cyclical fashion. Emma takes it all in with long, slow looks and deep even breaths.

She sits crossed-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed, comfortably sinking into plush blankets. Her skin is pink from the hot water, fingers a little wrinkled from the generous amount of time she took in the shower and her hair sits in a messy bun a top her head. She is wrapped in a thick terry cloth robe, practically disappearing into the soft cotton and in no hurry to get dressed.

She spots her bag across the room, slumped on a chair and knows she could find something dry to sleep in but she doesn’t want to. All she wants to do is to crawl under the covers, feel the warmth of Killian’s skin against hers and sleep for days, but that would require Killian being back by her side.

She listens and hears the water still running in the bathroom, he too choosing to luxuriate in the first real shower they’ve had in a long time.

She’d tried to convince him to join her, but for once he stood his ground.

“If you’re in there with me, my mind will only be focused on one thing.”

She’d pouted but followed him into the large bathroom.

“But,” she’d tried but he simply silenced her with kiss.

“Most importantly, we need to warm you up and then we can have a nice chat.”

He turned the water on and the bathroom slowly filled with steam. Satisfied he’d turned and helped rid her of her wet clothes. Each layer he’d peeled away, he’d kissed a new spot. Her shirt came off, a kiss to her shoulder. He knelt while pulling her leggings down, he’d pressed his lips to the jut of her hip, warm breath lingering as he looked up. He’d given her a little amused head shake as she whispered please.

“Come here, just for a second,” she’d tried a new tactic and pulled him up. Her naked self, deliciously pressed to his clothed front.

She’d kissed him hard, feeling him hard. She’d sighed and it had been his turn to shiver.

“Emma,” he’d warned. “This is why,” he’d added, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath before pulling away and pulling back the shower curtain.

“In you go. I’ll call for room service so it’s here when you get out.”  

She’d finally reluctantly agreed and here she is now, waiting for him.

She spies the plate of goodies besides her and while she really isn’t that hungry, she can’t resist the hot chocolate, a sprinkle of cinnamon still decorating the top of the whipped cream.

And that’s how he finds her, in the middle of the bed, hands wrapped tightly around a mug, mid-sip.

When he hesitates at the edge of the room, clad only in boxer briefs, she finishes her sip and drops the mug on the end table, licking her lips and encouraging him to join her.

It doesn’t take much convincing before he’s pulling the covers back, settling against the headboard and before he can protest or explain why it’s not a good idea, she’s straddling his lap, her shy smile quieting any words of concern.  

Her fingers trace his features, tucking a damp lock of hair behind his ear.

“You’re sure you won’t eat anything?” he asks, eyeing the barely touched plate.

She shakes her head slowly, finger tips running along the shell of his ear, down his neck and resting over his heart.

She likes that it beats just as wildly as hers.

“And you’re warm enough now?” he asks, hand running up under her robe to rest on her thigh.  

A nod.

He gives her a wry smile.

“So am I going to have to guess why you were so surprised I found you? Or was it that I was looking for you at all? Or are you going to tell me?”

Her eyes leave his lips and look up, worried she is going to find a trace of anger or disappointment but what she finds is a smile and patience and something that might be love. She thinks of the words on her postcard.

And thinks it might be time to be a little brave.

“I -- for a moment I thought maybe you left. That you realized what a mess I was. That you’d had enough and it was the perfect out.”

“Emma, I’m not going anywhere.”

She looks for the lie and doesn’t see any.

“We could teach surfing in Doolin and eat fish and chips at that little diner every night,” he offers with a squeeze to her thigh.

“You were terrible at surfing.”

He shrugs, not offended.

“Eh, I was improving by the end.”

That gets a laugh out of her and a thought pops into her head, her own suggestion.

“We could run boat tour in Dingle.”

“And visit with Fungie every day,” he finishes for her, inciting another laugh.

But soon she falls quiet, eyes on her hands in her lap.

“Or,” she starts and stops.

He parts her robe just a bit and rest his warm hand over her frantically beating heart, her next suggestions on the very tip of her tongue.

“Or? Or what, Emma? Your heart is racing. Tell me.”

“Or we could go back to Storybrooke?” she finally asks, voice small, full of nerves, eyes downcast but his hand leaves her heart and trails up her neck, tipping her chin up.

“Okay.”

Emma blinks, the word barely registering. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Just like that?” she asks.

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“You just -- you’ve never mentioned it.”

“Neither have you.”

“Killian.”

“Emma.”

She huffs and attempts to move off but his hand and wrist fall to her hips, keeping her in place.

“You just, you talk of all these exotic and extraordinary places that you’ve already been to and all these new places you want to see. But you’ve never once mentioned anything in the US, never mind Storybrooke.”

Now he does look at her like she’s at least a little crazy, so she forges on.

“I know Storybrooke may not be as glamorous as Rome or Bali or wherever, but I need to go back.”

“Emma, those are all places we can visit someday if we want to, but now? I just assumed I’d be going back with you. Did you not think I would be by your side? I’ll follow you anywhere, if you’ll have me.”

He looks away and seems to contemplate his next words.

“And perhaps I’ve been a little reluctant to talk about leaving because in one way, it means saying goodbye to Liam but--”

“It doesn’t!” she interrupts, cupping his face, passionate, sure of her statement and he smiles, turning his head to kiss her palm. “This is definitely not goodbye. This trip felt like a beginning and he’ll always be with you and any trip we take.”

“Thank you, I hope that’s true but that’s only part of what I need to explain. Perhaps you aren’t the only one with fears, Emma. I’ve quietly held onto my own worries, that you may not want me--” before he can finish his statement she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Take that back.”

And she doesn’t move her hand away until she sees the smile reach his eyes and the rumble of a chuckle in his chest.

“So does that mean you’ll have me?” he asks, hand slipping down to the knot in her robe.  

“Of course.”

His fingers deftly undo the loose knot, warm hand parting her robe further, slipping it off her shoulders to pool around her waist.

“When do we leave?” he asks, moving closer, mouth finally, finally, moving along the curve of her neck, bringing goosebumps in its wake.

“Not right now.”

She feels his smile as his lips reach her jaw and move to her ear.

“How long do we have this room for again?” she asks, her voice grows softer with each press of his lips. She arches as he cups her breast, fingers finding her nipple, teasing, pinching and making her gasp.

“As long as you like.”

“A few days then, just you and me.”

Her hips rock slowly.

And she feels his groan against the curve of her shoulder before he flips them, hovering over her.

“As you wish,” he whispers as she helps him with his boxers, lowering them over his hips.

He moves against her, where she’s wet and aching for him, they both sigh.

“I’m sorry for running,” she whispers, voice tight with emotion.

He shakes his head, before capturing her lips, grounding her.

He pulls back, finding her eyes before sliding home, they both groan.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry. We’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He pulls out before sliding back, stealing her breath and taking them late into the night, together.

xo

The next few days tumble into a week, and while she would like to say they visited all the sights, explored Dublin, got lost in history and legend, in reality they barely left the room. They rarely got dressed for that matter and it was more than okay.

They did manage to see Anna and Kris once, where Emma pulled Anna aside and thanked her for everything.

And they did get dressed to taste some whiskey at the Jameson Distillery before tumbling back into bed, a little warm, a little drunk and full of laughs that melt into moans.

But catching her breath on her final days in Dublin, Emma thinks that she might remember those days and nights caught up in each other, just as clearly as some of the most beautiful cliffs and ancient castles.

She’ll remember the comfort she felt, waking up each day, knowing there was no end no matter what happened next.

It’s this comfort that allowed her to finally pick up the phone and reach out to David and Mary Margaret. With Killian by her side, nodding encouragingly, it had been easier to not hang up when someone picked up after the first ring. It was his hand in hers that helped her apologize for taking so long to call and when Mary Margaret had protested immediately, telling Emma to take all the time she needed, it was his smile that had her asking if they could and meet and talk when she got back home.

“Any time, any where, anything you need. Oh, thank you, Emma,” Mary Margaret had whispered and Emma had known it was finally time.

They booked their flight the next day.

And as their plane climbs higher and higher into the sky, and Dublin slowly disappears from view, she knows they’ll be back again one day.

“Okay?” he whispers as they reach cruising altitude. Emma casts a last look out the window before pulling down the shade.

“Perfect. Just tired.”

“Sleep then, I’ll be here when you wake.”

She drops her head to his shoulder and does just that.

xo

“So this is where Emma Swan calls home,” Killian says as she lets them into her little apartment, flicking on a light and breathing in the familiar smell. She glances back to him as he drops his bag and kicks off his shoes.

“I think wherever you are is home.”

She says and quickly retreats further into the house, shaky hands holding the flowers that were on her doorstep when they arrived. She had told Mary Margaret and David when they were getting in and they had kindly sent a welcome home gift.

It was surreal. She couldn’t believe things were going this smoothly, that maybe she was allowed to be this lucky.

“Swan, are these all the postcards you wrote?”

His voice is distracted, far away. She freezes as she fills a vase with water but then after a beat she lets out a slow breath.

“Unless someone else was sending me post cards.”

“Will you allow me the honor of reading them?”

She smiles at his words and then thinks of what saying yes would mean.

Should he? So many of her truths are on there. So many words to him. Now that she thinks of it, they weren’t so much postcards as love letters to Killian.

“Now?”

“Mmm,” comes his distracted reply, maybe already glancing at the back. Although she knows if she says no, he’ll drop it. It’s that truth that makes her say yes.  

“Sure, go for it. I’ll just be in my room, second door on the right,” she finally responds, not like he won’t be able to find her in the small space.

She thinks maybe she can unpack, maybe she should shower, maybe -- maybe she can’t do anything until he comes to find her or she hears the front door slam shut after he runs away. She shakes the image right out of her head. She knows he won’t do that but what will he think?

Minutes pass and she settles at the edge of the bed, lying back and letting her legs dangle over the edge. She counts her breaths in an attempt to stay calm. After awhile she hears his quiet footfalls down the hall, until they come to a stop in her room.

“Emma,” he whispers but she can’t bring herself to move. She closes her eyes and he walks in further. She feels him standing at the edge of the bed, knees brushing her bent ones.

“Is it too much?”

She peeks up at him through one eye.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters in the most loving way possible and then he tells her to wait and disappears. She hears him unzip his bag and rummage around.

He comes back, still only her postcards visible in his hand.

“I love all of these. Thank you for letting me see a little glimpse into your thoughts but I have to admit, there is one I like one most of all.”

He holds up the last one, the one holding the words ingrained in her mind. She holds her breath.

“I do, I do,” he echoes the last line to her and she scrambles to sit up.

“You do?” she whispers, her question imbued with hope, with awe.

“I do. I love you too.”

She’s not going to cry again, she not going to -- he tosses the postcards onto the bed, scattering beside her and reaches into his pocket.

“Whoa.”

He smiles indulgently, fingers holding a small black velvet box.

Holy shit.

“Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing but this is a promise. That it’s you and me, Emma, as long as you’ll have me. I don’t want you to worry about --”

“Yes.”

His words trail off and his eyebrow pops up, a grin she loves so much, pulling at his lips.

“Swan?”

“I’m not worried, not about you. It’s you and me.”

He opens the box and gently removes the ring, and even though it’s not a proposal, when he slips the delicate claddagh ring on her finger, she knows it’s forever.

“I’m so glad you found me.”

“Always.”

“And not just that day in Dublin.”

“I know, Swan and I’m pretty sure you found me too.”

He kisses her again and again, following her onto the bed.

She cups his face, pulling back long enough to make sure she has his attention.

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

She pulls him down again, vowing to never ever let go.

THE END.

---

My goodness. That’s it. 

Thank you for reading, I loved writing these two and thank you for coming along on their journey. 

It’s possible I may write a look into their future because I don’t want to say goodbye but... we’ll see.

Have I said thank you! <3

#cs ff #cs fanfic #csbb #csbb 2018 #captain swan #cs au #captain swan big bang #lana writes cs #fic: beauty in the aftermath #dear god it's done #i can't even believe it

[alchemisland]

The Antiquarian and the Devil's Dog

April 1928.

I, Martin Bryn-Kolkiln, wish to commit to paper the strange events of Friday last, April 9th 1928. For what seems an age I have been chasing time, little tempting pockets of freedom peppered throughout the week, but the crafty seconds evaded capture. My rest too, like the proverbial snoozing hound, has been disturbed to much chagrin, prolonging the day's drudgery.

I had been away for several weeks prior to the incident, pining for home on the sun-cursed dig sites of the Nile delta. Aerial raids destabilized the region, yielding formerly guarded treasures to the gloved hands of fevered antiquarians, creating a scramble the likes of which beaurocrats had not seen since the African pile-on. At one such site, in the frame of a ruined mosque we found an idol, stark and malignant in its shadow-haunted grotto, providing ample fuel for speculation among my uneducated workforce.

My postprandial scribblings, so long a staple of my working week that no servant dares scurry past my quarters upon seeing the glow neath the door signalling occupancy, go neglected of late, my notepad chastely going without flourish.

I have been much beset by idleness, my usual studious nature replaced by bouts of extended procrastination. I do not fear that you will judge too harshly my slovenliness once I recount my adventure in full.

The journey from London towards Matfield is punctuated with occasional wondrous natural vignettes. A journey I had taken many times before, I spurned heirs for comfort and slid far down on my seat, staring out the window. Wild horses cresting grassy knolls against the backdrop of God's own country.

I had informed colleagues of convalescent intentions, two weeks bedridden to document my trip, so it came as a reluctant surprise when a letter arrived requesting my urgent presence at the Powers Estate. It spoke of a strange discovery as work began on a proposed pleasure garden "to rival Xanadu". The author supposed the discovery would be pertinent to my historical interest, and suddenly I was keen to reevaluate my proposed hermitic fortnight.

I set off that same evening with only a light jacket tossed overshoulder. The note's concluding statement disturbed me most. The scribe, generously an amateur, was firm that they had uninterred the skeleton of an enormous hellhound.

I cycled to match Nike's record laps and barely caught the evening train. Upon alighting, a short preamble along a pleasant pebbled path paired with pastures carried me to the estate, its foreboding walls stark and unmissable against the sweeping hillocks. Overhead, through a bore in the wounded firmament, a lance of otherworldly pearlescence triumphed.

The moon in its wane sat stop the rounded domes of the main compound like a crown's centrepiece, its design an eclectic mix of Eastern and Western classical art, rounded arches twinned with dappled pillars, obsidian grotesques with forked tongues freed of their pursed half mouths. Inside, French tapestries decorated the walls, Greek marbles on every landing, enormous canvas features depicting glorious hunts in gilded frames tacked lavishly on every capable surface. Looted Pictish stones inscribed with mysterious runes decorated the fish pond. This was wealth. Old money.

Casement Power, younger brother of late Lord Richard, inherited no property, instead reviving a modest annual wage to fund his excess. The scurrying fox and the baited badger that presumably made up his cost of arms could not satiate his warrior spirit, so he traveled to Africa where the large game roamed.

It crossed my mind while tracing its mighty girdle that perhaps a secret exotic pet had been disinterred, cyclopean only to an amateur.

I found myself frozen at the gates. Some fuedal conditioning told me my sort still weren't welcome here, and I stood hypnotised by its granduer A fortress fit for a martial family.

A buried phalanx of ghoulish hoplites raised their jagged spears to form the gate rails, fearsome black rods as a ward to the timid, a black bas relief in its centre. Pushed its hinges dragged and howled in dull flight, which I took as a sign of reluctance on the house's part.

Once inside I turned right, veering from the cedar-lined drive down a snaking path of trodden grass towards a distant glow. With my forearm raised to tide the eye-hungry branches, I came to stand in a copse offering a clear vantage of the fiddler's kirkyard, where four beacons crudely jammed into the soil guttered, illuminating a profession of loiterers. One waved my shade closer, evidently the letter's author.

The grass grew sicklier in the albumen of my redoubt, tusks of jagged rock bursting through the topsoil. Little wonder this field alone was designated the plebeian pit, it must have been the only infertile patch inside this splendid garden of bulbed delights.

A terrible scream rang out as I took my first ginger step forward. It crowed shrilly, razorlike against the eardrum. Wretched as banshee's wail. Mighty as the seven trumpets sounding to toll the seventh seal's opening. The Djinn's howl. When the screaming stopped, an orb of light rose and hovered about the hungry mouth of an open grave. Unaccustomed to the light, its radiance blinded me, and when finally those briny trickles tamed enough to pry them back open, I found myself back in the copse where I had stood a moment before, the kirkyard beacons up ahead.

I stared to my hands, unable to discern their shape in the darkness. I needed to be positive I wasn't dreaming. It was bitterly cold. Does one feel true cold in the nightland? I surmised then I was not sleeping and in fact alertly experiencing high strangeness. Sudden nausea stole my legs and I keeled over retching.

Prone on the lawn I watched the distant beacons ignite and extinguish in sequence, casting strange shadows, then in unison they doused. Plunged into void, I felt the grass against my cheek mutate into something harder, with many sharp points. I lifted one eyelid and saw the gates. I was outside the compound, as if I had never before entered!

The bas relief's dark contours adopted an ominous aspect, moreso than previous observations yielded. Their bulbous forms tricked me with feigned normalcy. Brushing the stones set in my palm like jewels, I winced to my feet.

One idle lance shone directly on its centre. Beings that at first seemed grecian effigies altered in the pale moontorch. The icons, lacking perspective, still bulged with taut muscle. Lacking the vocabulary to describe the 'otherness' of its shape, Revelations must serve as an imaginative stimulus. The beings were contorted demons with men's bodies and genitals, coated head to toe with coarse black hair.

Where their mouths should have been jutted jaws like that of the snapping Nile crocodiles. One figure above all I was hypnotically drawn to carried by his shoulder a noxious stinger slick with venom poised to strike. Alone was he armed with a pestilent whip, distinguishing him as a leader of sorts, if rank existed within an anarchy of grotesques.

Even as fantasy, this folly was gratuitous, a remnant of the freakshow. The metal itself gleamed as if slick, though no hint of varnish my nostrils scented.

I pushed open the gate as a matter of promptness, again it screeched, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee - like a vixens wail. Events were unfolding like theatre beats, precisely as they had moments ago, only now where I was sure I had steered right, the dig site was to my left.

I thought voicing the skeptic aloud to might steady frayed nerves. Marsh gases were spirits to feudal farmers before wise men dispelled their ignorance, replicating in micrcosm the binding of the primal flame which elevated our kin above the fierce descendants of Echidna. Perhaps what I experienced was a phenomenon as yet unexplained, wholly within the realms of fact.

Seeing the skeptic permitted entry, the coward tried his charms on the doorman, a masculine fellow with traps the size of roset chickens. Without baudy company to mock my yellow belly, I thought of home, there was time enough yet. Sure, the trains wouldn't run until morning, but a man still might still safely walk the tracks in these leafy byways, and at the station Bucephalus waited.

Whether the men disturbed the rest of a hellhound or bones of a dead doe expanded by the ceaseless freeze-thaw action could a question remain, a chilling inkling to ponder on the Samhain.

A faint dust was visible in the air. A golden sporehaze like foundry sparks taken flight, shifting breezeless. Whether it was the unholy residue of occult practices blighting the gloam or a warning of impending spiritual disaster from the universe itself, I don't know, but I knew to follow my gut, instincts hard-honed.

I sped out the open gate, avoiding its siren keen, and kept a blistering pace until the lane melted where gravel gave to slick grass, then further on nearly stumbling were the tracks, a steel corridor of gnarled teeth. Stemming from negligent workers, trackside grasses growing unwieldy cast ominous shadows, obscuring assailants from the side. I slowed briefly, ensuring my stride matched the distance between planks.

After a time ambling I heard from behind the definite sound of paws plodding, four distinct footfalls increasing pace to match my own, causing me to sprint forward with surprising intensity, flapping like a disturbed bird to keep upright.

Paws clacked against the timbers quick as knuckles on a tabletop, dull heavy thuds, then something emitted a low growl that released the auxiliary adrenaline stocks. Without regard for form I reached my maximum possible speed, tissues, coins and paper scraps falling from my pockets all the while.

I was sure no fevre dream had taken hold, that what gave chase was tangible evil, an anamalous malignance out of another world, an oppressive presence. Some distance at last came between I and it, or least the sound of its routing, but still the aroma of fetid meat wrinkled my nostrils. Intense heat flared across my shoulder blades, as the footfalls came closer than ere before it flared to a searing agony.

I imagined an enormous fissure somewhere along the rows of planks behind, a tunnel hewn from riven flesh, from where mangled fingers rose to grasp my tails, bidden aid Cerberus. The beast thundered along now, terrible jaws searching the air. Teeth, dagger sharp and serrated for tearing flesh clean off the bone, came within inches of my ankles. I felt drops of reeking saliva raining down when the beast's tongue whipped at the empty space I occupied a moment earlier.

In truth I cannot recollect much further, gripped by adrenal berserk time held no meaning. New memories ceased forming. All non-critical faculties were off.

After an eternity I emerged into the dirty light of the station and dared to slow, coughing a lung by a signpost, the chase had not been so rabid these last lengths. The spell which coated those bones in living flesh expired as Sol threatened her wakening divinity, bleaching the hills.

The horizon turned red as iron ore. Hours faded like charcoal met by floodwater. Dawn arrived, silent and chorusless. I found no snapping Cerberus or terrible mastiff, only a dizzying corridor of shifting darkness stretching to infinity, for the dawntorch did not pierce the thicket there. In relief I howled, noting aloud to none in particular that this was likely a record time for this journey, surpassing even the no-stop trains that carried resources to the Hebrides overnight.

In spite of everything, I had to question if a creature ferociously pursued me at all, or merely had some friendly dog trotted alongside for a time. As to whether my own footfalls quickening sent me into a panic I was unsure. Should I be terrified, relieved, embarrassed or a combination of all three?

Next came the darkest revelation. I sat, legs dangling over the lip of the platform, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, held it as if the smoke would absorb my woes.

A draft met my back and the sodden shirt plastered thereupon. No, more than a breeze, a pain. I gingerly pawed the raw area, if the phrasing can be pardoned, and found three scrapes stretching hip to hip. At night they vomit pus onto the swanfeathers corset of gauze I have taken since. Another paroxysm sent me spiralling into blackness.

I suppose it was near enough morning when I woke. Some kindly commuter or station man had taken notice and fetched a doctor, I have no memory of this.

The doctors informed say it will be some time before the wounds heal, that I may never recoup my former vigour, and even in miraculous circumstances, there is danger of tetanus.

Tetanus.

The lacerations were proved to have been canine in origin. Doctors, veterinarians and trappers consulted have been completely baffled by their length, stating no native creature is capable of inflicting wounds suchlike to a man grown.

With this nightmare put to page I hope the oily tendrils of it are scraped from my mind. I must retire to steam the wound again. Most, my spirit is shaken. I have not felt anxiety like it since the war.

I cannot complain overmuch, but blast sleeping on my front! How anyone finds solace in this repose is beyond my imagining, I feel like a lizard basking on hot stones.

April 20th, M Bryn-Kolkiln

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[doomedandstoned]

SÂVER: Raging At Darkness, Stepping Into Light

~By Billy Goate~

When I heard that former Tombstones members were forming a new band called SÂVER, I knew it was going to be doomy, but I don't think I was prepared for an album of such immense breadth and ferocity. You think Slomatics or Conan can command a hall? Well, let's just say with S VER you're in the Hall of the Mountain King. As I listen, it's not hard to imagine an apocalyptic scenario where the SÂVER's powerful strains break out in the dead of night, echoing through nightmarish forests, over majestic mountains, and into the impenetrable dark of Norway's wild. I can't believe how perfectly this recording captures size, scope, and grandiosity of their sound.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

A deep, quietly percussive bass note opens up "Distant Path" and is joined in short order by menacing reverb of the synth. Two minutes in, the guitar and drums join in the layers of crescendo. At last, Ole Christian Helstad joins the fruckus of this brewing storm, ever building, building, building towards its inevitably violent release. Five minutes into the song, a torrent of rain swells down, accompanied by a hail of steady notes on guitar. At the eight-minute mark, a terrifyingly grandiose symphony of raging vocals and the combined force of Helstad's explosive bass, Markus Støle's drums, and Ole Ulvik Rokseth's guitar brings us the apocalyptic moment we've all been waiting for. Simply put, it is jaw-droppingly huge. 'They Came With Sunlight' (2019) has officially begun.

The following track, "I, Vanish," would make a fine companion to Yob's "The Screen." It ticks and tocks and grinds its gears like the mechanical clock of some mad horologist, who watches each finely tuned movement closely to see if we are nearer to Doomsday. This and the succession of tracks that follow take us on an ethereal journey of sorts. The music gives a continual sense of flow -- whether with the echo of chords, the precise rhythms of repeated notes, or the fury of blinding tremolos, we are always moving, moving, moving. The complexity of movement may find some drawing comparisons with Black Cobra, Mastodon, perhaps even Tool and Meshuggah.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

"Influx" breaks with this form just long enough to make us question what we thought was real. Are we awake in the real world or in some kind of a dream where the rules still aren't known? It feels like we are floating in a state of suspended animation. The lyrics throughout the album are obscure, making it hard to get a straight answer one way or another. Perhaps the point is to ponder the larger themes exposited by these opaque words, to free our minds to wander and explore the possibilities. I will say the interview that follows helps to clear up at least one or two mysteries for us, but overall the material remains high concept, abstract, and surreal.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

"How They Envisioned Life" is the most heart-wrenching song of the lot. There is real pain here, as the singer lashes out with some of the purest rage on record at everything he believed to be true and faithful about his reality. There's also what appears to be a tug of war. The light wants him, the dark wants him. Is this a near-death experience? I'll let you be the judge.

"Step out of light!" - Dark Frozen by fright, left to survive Under the sky Leave!! Leave my soul to him!

They came - They saw How they envisioned life Embrace the warmth that I have left you with

Please let us stay Through depths and stone I see light

Leave – Leave my soul to him

They came - They saw How they envisioned light Your rage - minds covered This ancient hollowed out fight I have left you - Light

"Dissolve To Ashes" gets even stranger with references to "cosmic shuttles" and panicked attempts to find a path that will lead to light. Come to think of it, this is actually is starting to feel like the kind of things I dream about on the regular!

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

The ancient archetypal struggle between light and darkness comes to a head in the album's longest track, the twelve-and-a-half minute "Altered Light." There are hints that maybe the light isn't quite what it seems and that a little sleight of hand is involved when some people promise to show us the way.

I'd like to point out something I've not mentioned up to this point: melody. The riffs on this album are, for lack of a better expression, very "hummable." This means these little earworms will be working their magic on you long after you've walked away from the record. I've found myself humming or tapping the theme to this song at the grocery store, at work, while doing laundry, you name it. Look, I don't have the answers to the riddles presented by They Came WIth Sunlight. What I can offer you is SÂVER. Oh, and if you dig this kind of sound, be sure and check out Markus Støle and Ole Rokseth's other project HYMN.

Photograph by Adrian Kraakefingar Vindedal

Interview with SÂVER's Ole Rokseth

~Photographs by Pål Bellis~

“It sounds like war.”

Congratulations on a successful album launch via Pelagic Records and for debuting at the #10 spot on the Doom Charts with 'They Came With Sunlight' (2019).

Thanks, Billy! The response has been overwhelming. We are super stoked.

The last time we checked in, Tombstones had just disbanded and then I think I lost track of the story for a good two years after that. What was going on in the backdrop leading up to the formation of SÂVER?

We spent a year, more or less, in our rehearsal space after Tombstones, just writing new material without having a plan. I don't think it took that long before we knew we had to make something of it, so we talked alot about what type of band we wanted to start and what type of music we wanted to play. We all knew we wanted to do something different. So it's been a lot of experimenting with sounds and gear to get to where we are now.

What does the band’s name signify?

It means "sleep" or "sleeping" in an old Norwegian dialect, from out in the woods where Ole Helstad is from.

“We wanted to just leave.”

The opening line from “Dissolve To Ashes” starts with: “They came with sunlight” -- it’s also the title of the album. I’m used to song and album titles that refer to the menace of darkness and those that prey in the shadows, but here you’re anticipating the arrival of something with the dawn. Can you illuminate this?

I think that line, in particular, is spoken through someone or something else “on the other side.” The clean singing sort of amplifies that. At some point during the writing process, I painted this picture in my mind of three dudes just leaving the earth towards a better destination, in search of “The Light.” So most of the lyrics is based around that journey. I think people relate to that and that's why it's equally heavy as the typical “metal lyrics.” It's just about life, man.

“It's just about life, man.”

So much of metal is focused on pain, misery, death, subjugation, and very little is written about “the light” -- especially not in a style as heavy, so it really intrigues me.

Yes, well, I don't think there is any point in writing about stuff thats not from your own experiences and thought. We just sort of turned it all around and wrote about our journey away from death, shadows, and battleaxes. It was really about what all of us went through at the time. We wanted to just leave.

The tracks on They Came With Sunlight are huge. This and the recent Yob album are among the few that have been successful in writing cohesive long-form compositions that carry an effective dramatic arc. How does a piece like “I, Vanish” come together?

That song is based on a bass riff that Ole brought to the table one night. And I guess we just wrote it the way we know best. Weed, beer, and a sweaty rehearsal space with low lighting. We are all believers of repetition in music, and that song is all about that for sure. This whole album really came together naturally and I think it's because we all had a need to express ourselves in a different way than in other bands and we had a clear vision of what we wanted to do early on.

The production value is very high on the new album, capturing the depth, range, and power of your sound admirably. What have you learned about recording your sound now that’s different from when you first started recording albums with Tombstones a decades ago?

I always have all of these different ideas and thoughts on how to record the next album to make it better than what we have done before. But we always, at least in these types of bands, conclude that recording live is the only way. And having a studio tech that can provide good recordings of all the instruments is key. So we basically just do what we have been doing at rehearsals and know that the guys behind the desk just captures it at that moment. Joona Hassinen at Studio Underjord in Sweden was that guy, and he couldn't have done a better job. Everything sounded really good straight out of the mixing board, so we knew early on that this was gonna be a super heavy experience. That being said, we had a lot of weird accidents on this album, as well, that Joona decided to just leave in. Art by accident, dude. Always cool. We obviously added stuff after recording it live, but it's not really that far from it.

“Three dudes just leaving the earth towards a better destination in search of The Light.”

If nothing else, doom is surely infamous for its “low ‘n’ slow” approach. How in the name of Hades did you get such a damning sound on this record? What did you tune to, for example, on “Distant Path”?

It's that whole year of continuously hitting the rehearsal space, practicing and trying out different sounds. We knew we wanted to try and distance ourselves from all the other “doom” bands that are out there, but yet not losing ourselves and what we think sounds cool.

We tune in drop A, and the guitars have pretty thin string gauges to get that open, heavy sound. Not that much distortion either, to be honest. Most of the fuzz comes from Helstad's 215 bass cabinet. A Lot of the sound also came together after I bought a Fender Telecaster Deluxe and combined it with an older Peavey transistor head. Bringing a synthesizer to mix also opened a lot for us. I inherited a real passion for old and new synths from my brother. His collection of synths is out of this world -- thanks Pål.

As Joona said after re-amping the fuzz bass, “It sounds like war.” I will never stop trying out new gear and trying new weird shit, and that's a big part of me evolving as a musician.

Picking up from that last question, the level of tonal depth you were able to capture on this recording is truly remarkable. Without ever feeling muted or distorted, you’ve managed to capture the grandiosity and rumbling low-end of those bruising chords.

Joona basically just recorded -- with great technique and experience -- what we played then and there. If the song is heavy, and you believe in it, it's gonna come out heavy. No matter what amp you use or what pickup you have in you guitar. I'm pretty sure Jimi Hendrix would make a shitty B.C. Rich Warlock from 2009 sing and penetrate your soul in the same way he does with his Stratocaster.

What amps and gear did you use in the recording?

We recorded it live with the same set-up as we use at gigs and rehearsals. I won't get into all the pedal details. On guitar, I played through a stereo setup with 412 cabinets. Peavey Century Bass Series and and old Simms Watts 100. Well, bass was actually reamped, but Helstad uses his Rickenbacker 4003 through a Ampeg SVT Classic with an 810 cab and a Peavey Standard with a Peavey 215 cab. Markus, of course, can make any drum kit sound amazing, though I don't remember the particulars of what he used in this recording.

To record the synth parts, I borrowed his brother's Korg MS10 from the '70s. One of our all time favourite synthesizers, but it's old, rare, and not cheap, so recently I bought a Moog Sub Phatty that I bet you will hear more of on our next record. If people want to know more, we love talking gear. Come check us out live and have a chat.

How did you arrive at the decision to use synthesizers in these compositions, anyway?

I've been active in two other electronica-based bands: Gundelach and Hubbabubbaklubb. I got inspired by these two acts and my brother, who plays synth in those two bands, as well. As mentioned, he's got an enormous collection of vintage, kickass synthesizers. All of us love the sound of it and also electronic music, and we wanted to use that as a tool to divide our sound from the common doom band. You can expect more synth on the next album.

"Art by accident, dude. Always cool.”

How have your live performances gone so far? We’d love to have you back to the States sometime!

Really good! Again, the response has been overwhelming. As a band, it's really important to set goals, and we have met almost all of our goals to this date. It's crazy. We are really looking forward to next year! Playing the US has been a goal for all of us forever and is something we definitely want to make happen with S VER. Hopefully next year, Billy, we can meet up and have a beer.

The Great SÂVER Giveaway

The band has been kind enough to offer 15 free downloads of their new album to 15 lucky souls. Redeem one code below at pelagicrecords.bandcamp.com/yum.

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[odysseusmyth-blog]

Galactic Odyssey

Odysseus Myth Assignment.

Past Cicones’ moons and the shining radiance of Helios, they turned their bow and set a steady path into the black. Odysseus, captain and chief navigator, stood alone on deck. The crew had long since retired to their cabins, yet Odysseus remained, troubled and pensive. Odysseus was not ignorant to the hardships of space travel. His father Laertes had been a Galactic Argonaut. From Odysseus’ home planet of Ithaca, Laertes participated in expeditions journeying to the far edges of the known universe. Odysseus had heard many times over the stories of his father: the capture of the mighty Calydonian alien, the venture across the Hellespont Nebula and the turmoil of the Stymphalian meteor strikes. All these exploits came to mind now, as Odysseus struggled with his own decision.

The ship’s provisions could last only a week longer. Deep space scans gave hints at the possibility of an unexplored planet, possibly a moon, that existed within their fuel limits. If this planet was desolate and barren of life, they would surely perish. It was a risk then, a risk they could not afford. Odysseus dreamed of returning to Ithaca, if only to see the Neritum mountain range and the boundless lush forests that covered it. He would first have to go forward if he was to return. Days passed and the crew were informed. There was no disagreement among them, for there were no other choices than this. After another half’s day of blasting the thrusters, they rounded a small cluster of jagged hurtling asteroids and came into view of the planet. A cheer rose from the men as it appeared on the ship’s visuals. The planet was a green and orange blob, textured with crisscrossing streaks of deep blue. The blue was water, and with water came life.

Odysseus immediately ordered preparations to enter the planet’s atmosphere. The thrusters fired slowly at first but the crew hastened Odysseus to accelerate. The ship pressed forward, nose-diving as the wings buckled erratically from the force of entry. Nearer they approached and faster they squeezed against the atmosphere, speeding up in high spirits of good food and drink, until fear of crashing compelled Odysseus to pull up and slow down. The deceleration was too late, and the ship was thrown headfirst into a shallow body of water a few hundred metres short of land. A mechanic had not strapped himself down and now lay in a small crimson puddle across the deck where he had landed.

The crew did not have time to mourn the man. The medical staff were dispatched, and Odysseus gathered twelve of the bravest men to come ashore and search for supplies. The planet’s air was tested for toxicity and it was found to be as clean as Ithaca’s. Three sturdy blow-up rafts were taken from storage and placed into the water. Although shallow and up to knee-height where the ship was grounded, the body of water grew deep and opaque in its centre and the twelve men did not wish to swim where no man had swum before. Odysseus beckoned into the middle raft and urged his men aboard. As they paddled through the water, Odysseus observed the surroundings. Thickets and undergrowth wrapped the shoreline and a row of tall trees blocked visibility. Looking above the wall of arrowhead treetops, Odysseus was able to make out an outcrop of steep and craggy cliffs that lay just beyond the forestry.

Upon tying the rafts to the shore and walking through the woodlands, the crew’s botanist searched and found no evidence of cultivation, with neither planting nor plowing but wild and unknown variances of wheat, barley and grape vines growing near the trees. It was a short while later that the thirteen men came across a three-legged beast, with two short and sharp horns, like a goat, and a furry exterior that coated his back and hind-legs. More of the beasts were discovered and the crew leapt at the opportunity. Odysseus cautioned the men from using fire power, as they did not wish to scare off the beasts nor bring unwanted attention to themselves. Short blades and rapiers were used, and the men dragged the carcasses of the small goat-like creatures to the shore. Some of the men were sent back on the rafts to fetch the rest of the crew, and Odysseus bade the men bring the wine they had bought from the interplanetary merchant Maron, son of Euathanes, which was to be used on a special occasion. Once the crew had assembled, a pyre was made from nearby firewood and the beasts were set alight. Each man gave a small portion of his meal in sacrifice to Zeus, the mightiest of the gods, and a portion of their wine to Dionysus, for his love of wine and merrymaking.

Having partook in food and drink, while also replenishing the ship’s water holds from a nearby spring, Odysseus led his men back to the ship for the night. A knock on his cabin door from one of the engineers woke him. The engine was damaged, and the engineers would need time fixing it – at the least, they had said, a few days. This did not altogether displease Odysseus, as he wished to explore the landing site. The twelve most courageous men again volunteered and for as long as the light lasted, they explored the woodlands. Three days passed and no new discoveries were unearthed. More goat-like creatures were found, who were duly put-down and brought back to the ship, and the botanists began to map out the landscape. They located the lake’s position to be in fact at the base of a large valley with the forestry masking the sloping mountains around them. At the bottom of these mountains, from what they could see through basic scanning, there appeared to be cave entrances.

Odysseus, hearing no new progress on the engines, planned an expedition to the caves. All but the thirteen men were to be left at the ship and an assortment of rations were divvied between them. Odysseus decided to bring along a receptacle of wine, seeing as he did not want the crew to drink the rest without him. They left at morning and arrived at the entrance of the cave nearing nightfall. Camp was set just outside, and the men prepared their libations to the gods before supper. As the morning light seeped in through the treetops Odysseus noticed the thirteen companions had dropped to eleven. Two of the men were missing. The cave took in no light from the outside world, as it was covered by the mountain’s overhang, and so it resembled a screen of black tar. Odysseus reassured the men by explaining that the two missing companions must have left to explore the cave early.

They entered the cave and followed it downwards as the walls grew further apart and a large cavernous ceiling extended above them. Small flashlights were used to light the way and Odysseus now cursed his decision to leave the crew’s firepower back at the ship. They still possessed their rapiers for the goats and each companion now clutched his in their right hand. A soft scuttling sound, of dozens of tiny feet echoing on the cavern’s floor, was the first they heard of the creature. It was only moments later, after hearing this sound, that the companions discovered two white cocoons plastered to the rocky floor. The crew’s cook, one of the bravest, led another man over to the cocoons. They began to unravel the outer layers of the cocoon, revealing the pale cadavers of their former companions. It was in their moment of realisation that the creature, in pitiless spirit, pounced upon them. Dropping from the ceiling, the creature’s long talon-tipped legs darted for the men. It clasped each man and swiftly threw them back and forth between the cavern’s walls. Frozen from fear, Odysseus and the other eight companions could only watch helplessly as the creature beat the men and then wrapped the two warm bodies into cocoons.

The creature resembled that of a gigantic arachnid in appearance, with sharp long legs and prickly skin, and its only distinguishable quality being its large singular eye. It moved meticulously between the four cocoons, tapping and feeling for movement, and after a short while, taking no stock of Odysseus or the others, it bit down into the two original companions and supped on their flesh. After taking its fill from the men, and leaving the two fresh cocoons for later, the creature’s pulsating eye wandered to the group. With the speed of Hermes, it jumped and clung to the cavern’s ceiling. Odysseus reached for his rapier, but the creature was uninterested. It crawled along the ceiling past the group of terrified companions and headed for the entrance. Odysseus deliberated on whether to chase the creature. He chose, rather, to run to the cocoons. Lifting his blade, he cut open the silk and checked the two men’s pulses. They were both freshly dead. Thinking fast, Odysseus unhooked the container of wine attached to his belt and poured its contents over the two cocoons. Having completed this task, he got up and resumed a tight circle with his companions.

The creature scurried back along the ceiling, returning after a few minutes. The men waved their rapiers up at the creature, but it crawled past unconcerned. The group, slowly and timidly, edged further away from the creature as it passed. When they could no longer see the creature hanging from the ceiling above the cocoons, the men broke into a sprint towards the cave’s entrance. Reaching the top of the cave, they were met with a ghastly sight. A great white web had been thread across the exit. One of the younger men of the group lunged at the web and began hacking at the bonds furiously. His strikes were futile as not even the smallest cut or incision from his rapier appeared on the web. Odysseus halted the man and told the group of the wine and his plan. Odysseus made the men cast lots as to who would accompany him back down into the pit. The lots fell upon the four very men Odysseus would have chosen, and with himself as the fifth, they crept their way down.

They found the creature slumped over the two cocoons asleep, its long talon-tipped legs holding the bodies close. One of the cocoons had been half-eaten, and Odysseus knew the wine had done its work. Quick to observations, Odysseus realised the torso and head of the creature were protected by a thick body plating. Only the middle of the legs, from what he could see, were unprotected. Without disturbing its slumber, Odysseus urged the men forward lest they feel fear and cower before the creature. He directed two men to slowly, ever so softly, lift one of the creature’s many legs outright. He then tapped two of the other men on the shoulder to lift their rapiers as he was. In hushed whispers they counted down, and with heaven filling their hearts with courage, three great whistling swipes struck the leg.

The creature immediately woke and recoiled from the pain. The two men holding the leg wrenched it from the slither of flesh that kept the leg intact after the three cuts inflicted by the rapiers. The creature drew itself to its full height and screeched a sharp agonising scream. The companion pulling the leg was immediately dashed against the wall by the creature. The other man with him managed to reclaim the leg from the ground and, in his last effort before being dashed himself, he threw the leg to Odysseus. Odysseus clasped the leg against his chest, heaving as he ran, and the three remaining men scampered up the cave. Barging his way through the rest of the group waiting in agitation, he held the sharp talon-tipped end of the creature’s leg and tore a hole through the web. The men burst from the cave and stumbled over each other to the tree line.

The creature did not leave the entrance of the cave. Looking back as he ran, Odysseus watched the creature sit down on its haunches and begin to caress its severed leg. Believing he was safe out of arrogance, and full of hatred for his companions’ deaths, Odysseus jeered and spat at the creature. The men begged him to run. Seeing no reaction, Odysseus ignored the men and lifted the broken leg and threw it at the creature. The creature looked up and hissed, spitting an acidic bubbling projectile that barely missed them. Odysseus did not need more prompting; he swiftly turned and fled with the men. Crossing the lake and re-joining the crew, Odysseus was informed of the repairs and immediately took off.

And as a more ancient Odysseus once spoke, “Then they took their places and smote the grey sea with their oars; so we sailed on with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades.”