#i generally try to not tamp down my thoughts and feelings but at what point is it 'being open' and at what point is it 'stewing'

[adhdphilosopher]

im so full of anger every day that it makes it hard to function. what do i do

[noahtally-famous]

Alright looks like we’re doing this. Let’s talk abt Chase! I’m ready to dissect this guy like a frog.

Pretty sure it's already thought up, idk, but this thought randomly popped into my head while in the shower so I’m making it everyone’s problem :D

So Chase. Oh, you dumbass child. Keep in mind I’ve only watched the first four episodes so these are based off of them and the posts of Chase I’ve seen on here.

Let’s start with why ppl don’t like him: he cut the brakes of his (current at that time) girlfriend’s car while doing a stunt and didn’t know why she’s still mad at him. (this is as far as I know—if there's any other reason, lmk!)

I decided to start with that in my quest to delve into aspects of Chase’s personality and analyze certain actions he’s done.

(disclaimer: I'm not saying I'm picturing him in a good light for what he did and with this analysis. I'm just trying to figure out just why he would do this. Bc no one just cuts the frigging brakes of their girlfriend's car and not tell her abt it. So everything here is as objective as I can get unless otherwise specified.)

Chase is a stunt person. He has his own yt stunts channel and stunts gang who do crazy stuff along with him. So if you look at it that way, it’s no brainer that this guy is a huge adrenaline junkie. A thrill-seeker; a danger-lover. Even his name fits--Chase--because of his hobbies, he always seems to chase that thrill.

Characteristics of ppl like Chase can be: impulsive, irrational at times (not all the time), and almost always trying to 'get that high' no matter the costs.

(In real life, most ppl (there are always exceptions) who share these traits would also be more easily interested in drugs/drinks, sex, relationships in general, etc, along with doing physically dangerous stuff, and bounce around a lot in regards to them, just to get that feeling of thrill--but we're not talking abt that rn as it’s not part of this post)

As far as I've watched of the season, you can see these characteristics, the thrill-seeking part of him who loves the idea of danger, in certain things Chase does. When he's one of the ppl blindfolded instead of safely above calling direction in ep1; when, instead of staying back and holding the fort, he's at the front lines trying to get the other team's skull in ep4. You can see that side of him rear its head almost constantly. He's not as impulsive in the season so far as many thrill-seekers may be, but that could be bc he's tamped that side of him down so well due to past mistakes. Either way, he's an adrenaline junkie. That's obvious.

Moving on to my reasoning of why he cut the brakes.

Being a thrill-seeker isn't necessarily a bad thing. Some ppl just like to hover at the edge of the cliff rather than stay safely back, and while that can be concerning if done consistently, it's a valid characteristic of a human being. It only gets worrying when it's taken too far, which I feel like is the case with Chase (oh that rhymed!). I'd even say it can be considered a major flaw—a fatal flaw, if you will—of his.

He loves danger, to such a point that he forgets to prioritize other people and their lives over it. He's on the extreme side of thrill-seeker.

He cut the brakes of Emma's car likely bc he was at the crest of that wave of high--that thrill of danger, the adrenaline, it was one of those moments that made him think irrationally and strive to stay on that ride of adrenaline despite the consequences. He forgot abt the fact that it wasn't him at the wheel, but Emma, his girlfriend. Or maybe he may have considered that fact, but not deemed it as important bc 'hey Emma's in this gang too, so she must feel the same way as I do abt danger and adrenaline!'

(Sorry dude, not everyone thinks the same way as you).

Which I feel is another aspect of Chase's personality that creates a greater flaw; his first priority is himself, it's a habitual thing, so when he sees other ppl in the same situation as him (fellow competitors in total drama, the gang in Three Guys And A Girl In A Beach House) his instant conclusion is that they're also thrill-seekers like him, so he shouldn't give them much 'special treatment' or consideration. In his mind, other people will always be secondary bc that's just how his mindset has been honed. He can be a bit of a narcissist and/or selfish.

This portrays him as a Major Asshole, but, to him, he genuinely doesn't understand what he did wrong. Bc like aren't these people like me? why are they so upset when I just helped them feel more of that adrenaline?

Nope. It just makes you look rlly shitty, mate.

Hence why he doesn't even think abt apologizing to Emma. In fact, his words were "You're still mad about that?!" as if he actually cannot understand why she was so mad that he'd cut the brakes. He thought she would laugh it off and revel in the 'high feeling' like he would. And in the confessional when we first meet Chase, when he's talking abt Emma breaking up with him, he sounds annoyed—the kind of emotion someone who doesn't know/understand they're in the wrong act/sound like.

To him, he feels like they can handle themselves. Maybe he'd help if worst comes to worst (I'm giving him the benefit of doubt bc I haven't finished the season), but not right away bc he thinks there's no reason to. It could be seen as a "positive" bc he deems them 'capable' of facing extreme danger, but it's a very twisted positive--it's such a warped positive that it's considered a negative lmao

Some examples: cutting the brakes of Emma's car, and not warning Priya and Millie of a potential Emma Attack in ep4 when they were going to take the other team's skull.

Again, I'm not at all saying that's a good thing in fact, I did say these two aspects are his fatal flaws, but I think this is a reasonable dive-in abt his character. These two flaws of his make up a huge part of his character, and ties into the reason why ppl don't like him a whole lot. I tried to analyze these actions more bc despite how much of a dingus he's being, I can't help but be interested in his character. He’s not just Some Nice Guy, he’s smth more and that’s the interesting part.

idk if this analysis will hold up once I finish the season and actually know what happens lmao

BONUS!!

Based on this character analysis, I feel like the type of relationship best suited for Chase is not someone like Emma.

(And no, it's not bc of my hc that Chase and Emma end up like fanon stranger things stancy, and remain friends (after much-deserved apologizing on Chase's end) and become mlm wlw solidarity; I'm remaining unbiased here, shhh)

Idk much abt Emma but I do know she’s fricking terrifying abt Chase. She literally said she wants to get a huge screen so she can watch Chase get hurt over and over, like any relationship they have would not be healthy nor long-term, realistically. It’ll be like Duncan and Courtney getting together in All-Stars after all that shit that occurred. It doesn’t make sense. And I’m pretty sure Chase didn’t even apologize either?? If he did, my bad. But overall, it’s not even just their pasts, it’s their individual traits that aren’t compatible.

Emma was a part of that stunt group too. So I’m assuming she’s into stunts, doing crazy stuff, shit like that as well just to a lesser degree than Chase. To me, Chase does not need another danger-lover, no matter if they’re not as extreme as him. The guy’s already a one-man powerhouse of adrenaline-adoration, he doesn’t need someone else to encourage him to dismiss his well-being and other ppl’s.

What Chase needs is someone who can ground him. Someone laidback enough to not want to make him change the parts of him that make him Chase (bc that wouldn’t be healthy either), but steady enough to hold him back when he starts to go off the deep end. Someone who will help him realize that prioritizing danger over lives is not cool, and who is patient enough (without being patronizing) to help him or let him work things out. Having someone like that by his side will not only help Chase try to be the best he could be and become a better version of himself, but also it’s healthy and two-way if Chase decides to help them with any of their emotions too.

Not only that, it’ll be two-way in the sense that they’ll ground Chase and make him realize that his extreme thrill-seeking isn’t super healthy, but Chase can also get them to ‘feel the wind in their hair’ and face danger head-on and be brave. Now that’s a solid relationship and I want it to happen so fucking badly.

Oh, Kit. But what abt Emma? What sort of person would work for her? Someone who isn’t Chase!

I hope td portrays abusive relationships correctly bc that’s what this is. And I’m hoping in the next season, they break up bc nothing abt that is healthy at all.

No but bisexual Emma lives rent-free in my head and so does bisexual Chase

[ronearoundblindly]

sending this w love but it's really hard to read ur comments if they're purple *and* tiny

First and foremost, thank you. That is good to know, that is a great example of constructive criticism, and I appreciate you helping me make what I write more user-friendly for readers.

Second, this has stirred something in me that I cannot tamp down, and so here goes a well-meaning rant. Sorry in advance (especially if this is one of my moots on anon).

There are several reasons I do the tiny, purple text; among them are personal esthetics, good conditioning, and bad conditioning.

I don't know why I've sorta chosen purple/lavender/etc as a theme for a while, but meh, I like it, and to have purple text show up works with the theme. Speaking of themes, Tumblr has various ways you can see your dash, called 'palettes' I think, and mine is set to idk 'goth rave' or something which has purple text on black as the default. It's easier on my eyes and makes the tiny, purple text stand out nicely in my draft posts. Because that's how I see them when formatting, I didn't notice it might be much harder on a white background or any of the other palettes. Thank you for pointing it out! I hadn't thought of that.

This might also be me as a distracted person, but the visual of a divider such as this:

...doesn't seem like enough of an end-cap to the actual story portion of the post, so I change the way the A/N looks afterward to really separate the two. (Special shoutout to the fact that the divider's message seems utterly useless in encouraging/reminding readers to leave comments or reblog. You've all heard that tirade. Let's just say I know the reminder is ignored, so I gotta try something else as a transition.)

Writing/posting on this platform, as you may have heard, is a bit of a crapshoot mixed bag. Readers feel limited both in number and in time, so we creators tend to try various things to make our posts stand out, to make them appealing. Color or text variation is one of those ways. Now, I have no flippin' idea how to get rainbow or gradient text; I barely figured out how to put hyperlinks into my bio, bless my heart, so there's little chance of my blog looking super unique or fancy. Instead I vary the look between actual prose and my notes/warnings/summaries, which leads me to the sad bit.

I am conditioned by this site and others to understand that you are here to consume content. That content is the writing that I have curated and edited into a story which doesn't involve me, just the character of 'you' and other OCs or canon IP, so my thoughts and opinions are not and never have been the reason anyone follows me. Those are quite literally small compared to the actual work I generate.

I still think of comment reblogs as flooding your dash with stuff most of you have already seen. I think I'm being annoying--even though I know it's the only way to have my writing go farther on this site--and because I will do so very, very much IRL to *not* annoy anyone, I put opinion and random side comments and little thoughts in small text that is color-coded so you can ignore it as "not-story bits."

It is taking everything in me to NOT make this small text or purple. Honestly, my palms are sweating so badly, I've wiped my computer keyboard four times.

No, I don't want anything to be hard for you to see or read. Yes, I am really grateful you pointed this out. *Do* please remember that we are all doing the best we can to get the experience we want from Tumblr by customizing what we can.

*

The comment I posted in tiny, purple text immediately before this was sent to me has been changed to regular, default color. Hopefully that helps, and I will try to keep in mind how things will look in the future.

**

I did purposefully choose to not put a readmore in this post fwiw.

[captaingondolin]

here, have a beginning of this that I have no actual plot for (and that's heavily leaning into the Anakin/Cody of it all so far):

Cody’s deep sigh is not audible outside his bucket. It does not matter to Darth Ananke - he knows him far too well.

“Don’t spoil my fun, Commander.”

“I would never. Sir.”

Ananke throws his beautiful head back and laughs, throat exposed, curls bouncing off his shoulders. Cody could never get him to wear proper armour.

“You are such a bad liar, Twenty-four.”

“I learned from the worse,” Cody deadpans.

It’s true. For all the effort Darth Tyranus and Darth Sidious put into training him, subtlety and deceit are not Darth Ananke’s strong suit. Not that it matters, not when he has the raw power to reshape the whole galaxy.

Pity he wastes it on toying with a single Jedi.

“I can hear you judging me,” Ananke whines.

Spoiled brat, Cody thinks very clearly at him, and Anakin turns to give him a smile and a wink, pulling the myriad of scars around his cybernetic eye into zigzag patterns. He’s always so proud when Cody fucks around with the Force. Despite being a null, he’s picked up a trick here and there. And he’s better than Ananke at meditating, that’s for sure.

The aforementioned Jedi picks that moment to regain consciousness. He’s tied to a chair, a Force-suppressing collar around his neck that Cody knows damn well won’t stop him. It hasn’t before. And yet somehow Kenobi is still alive.

You have a soft spot for him.

“I do not!” Darth Ananke lies, very poorly.

Kenobi’s pale grey gaze flits between the two of them, trying to follow what is, from his perspective, a one-sided conversation. One eye is swollen shut, and there’s blood on his lips. He looks positively delectable - but this thought Cody keeps close to his chest, since Ananke does not always like to share his toys. Cody being one of said toys, of course. A cherished one, maybe, but he knows his standing. And so is General Kenobi.

“The Count sends his regards,” says Ananke pleasantly.

Kenobi only frowns.

“He really does miss you, you know?”

“He should have thought about it before becoming a Sith!” Kenobi spits out.

“You could always join us,” he offers tiredly. It never works.

Cody is only there as background intimidation. In this situation, he’s not a Commander, he’s just muscle, just the guy with a big gun standing back. His grade would allow him to send someone else, but he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Ananke alone with a Jedi. The guy might have the power of a star about to go supernova, but Cody - human, non-Force sensitive Cody - still feels protective of him. Sue him.

But this game of tooka and mouse with Kenobi is getting tiring. Cody can still see Ananke favouring his left leg after Kenobi broke his right in multiple locations during their last fight. A fight that Kenobi himself didn’t leave unscathed: the burn scar from where Ananke’s red lightsaber nearly took out his hand peeks out from the dirty tunic sleeve.

So Cody decides to take a risk. He points his rifle to the ground and leans on it. “We could always decide not to let you go, this time.”

“Let me…?!” The Jedi sputters.

Darth Ananke whips around in a flutter of black and red, gaze fixing on Cody. Even with the helmet, he knows exactly where his eyes are. Cody shrugs.

Ananke frowns, but it’s not an angry frown, not yet. He’s thinking. Then, ever so slowly, a smile appears on his face like a sun coming up from the horizon.

“Actually,” he says, turning once again towards their prisoner, “I think we will. Let you go, I mean. As a show of good faith.”

He leans down towards Kenobi, and Cody tenses again, fingers at the ready around his blaster. He’s so close to the Jedi’s face their noses are almost touching. Maybe Cody doesn’t like sharing so much either, because the scene sends an unforeseen spike of rage through him. It’s so quick he doesn’t manage to tamp down on it, and he knows Darth Ananke has noticed. But first he puts a sleep suggestion on the prisoner, so that he won’t try to kill them as soon as they free him.

Then he stalks towards Cody, making him back down all the way against the wall. His duraplast armour clanks dully against it.

“What was that?”

Darth Ananke is prone to fits of rage. He’s thrown even Cody around once or twice, but that doesn’t scare him. He always figured he’d die during the war - not much of a difference if it’s friendly fire. This, however, is different. Ananke is calm, his tone measured. His lips are almost touching the white surface of the armour.

“Apologies, sir.”

“No. You won’t ‘sir’ your way out of this. I want to know what made you so angry,” he licks his lips, “I want to do it again.”

me, talking to a friend, explaining how Savage is a poor little meow meow: well, he did almost kill Obi-Wan with his brother, but I can forgive that, all my faves nearly kill Obi-Wan: Anakin, Cody…

my friend: I sense a pattern

[inkymagpie]

The Star in the Field Pt.3

Morpheus X Fallen Star! Reader

Chapter Rating: General

Overall Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Slight Angst, minimal descriptions of y/n, reader uses they/them/she/her pronouns.

Chapter Synopsis: “Well maybe he’s jealous of me.” You're so used to teasing Hob that the jab just comes out before you even have time to process your thoughts. Though as soon as the words lay bare before you bite your lip and cringe.

You chance a peek over at your guest and he blinks at you in surprise. Why did you have run your mouth in front of the strange man that was somehow in your dreams?

“An empty threat my friend.” Hob smiles, drawing attention back to himself and leaning back looking rather pleased. “You’d be back here again in a century I’m sure.”

Note: Morpheus calls the Star Astraea which means star-maiden.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The next thing you know, Hob has rushed over to you and is picking up the bags you had dropped, luckily you managed to keep a grip on the dessert you had bought him.

“Finally met your match with trying to carry everything in one trip ya?” He says jovially but then he shuffles a bit closer, his nonchalant posture changing subtly so only you can see. “Are you alright? Did something happen?” He whispers in concern.

“I…no nothing, I just…” you give a quick glance over his shoulder to the man, he’s still seated, though he’s observing you cautiously, posture pristine. 

You realize you’re probably making a scene in front of the few customers in the sitting area and your attention quickly snaps back to Hob. He catches your gaze and looks back over his shoulder realizing who you’re staring at. 

“Do you two know each other?” He turns back to you brow furrowed. 

“What?” You’re somewhat still dazed.

“Do you two know each other?” He nods to his companion and then cocks his head at you. 

“Oh… errr no, no we don’t.” You quickly try to salvage the conversation and not sound like a fool. “No we’ve never met, sorry my mind was just spacing out haha.” Wow that was the most convincing thing to ever come out of your mouth… said no one ever.

Hob gives you a pointed look but you wave him off and then hold out the dessert you got for him. 

“Here I got this for you as a thank you for the early paycheck.” You clear your throat and peer around him to face the man. “Sorry if I knew he had company I would have gotten something for you too!” Hoping you can make things less awkward. 

“There is no need to apologize, though I appreciate the thought.” His voice is like warm honey, rich and inviting… soothing and a curious feeling of relaxation falls over you despite your apprehension.

Hob takes the dessert and gives you another look as if to double check that you are indeed okay and you give him a small smile with all the reassurance you can muster. 

“Sorry, how rude of me.” Hob says, turning to walk back over to the table, a quick nod of his head for you to follow. “I should introduce you two.”

You shuffle after him, your gaze down cast as you eye the man through your lashes who watches you approach with a look you can’t quite place. 

Hob places the boxed dessert on the table, pulling up an extra chair beside his own and motioning for you to sit before scooting back into his seat. Gingerly you sit down.

“Y/n this is Morpheus- who so nicely finally told me his name.” He chuckles. “Morpheus this is Y/n.”

You jerkily stick out your hand; the man no Morpheus eyes it curiously for a moment before sliding his palm against yours, his grip is cool and surprisingly soft and you can’t seem to tamp down the crackling energy that zips down your spine as his skin brushes your own. 

“A pleasure to meet you Y/n.” He says, you feel your face flush and you hope that your palm is clammy. 

“Thank you, it’s wonderful to meet you as well…Morpheus.” You know you’ve heard that name somewhere before but your brain is so scrambled that you can’t put your finger on it. You pause to try and think of where… where you know that name from.

Hob suddenly clears his throat and you look at him startled, his lips quirk and his eyes subtly gaze down, you follow and oh! You're still just holding on to Morpheus’ the brief shake long since done. You release him with a small sound and a quick quiet apology; as you duck your head to avoid further embarrassment you catch a very small smile tugging at his lips; you want to sink under the table and disappear.

“Y/n has been helping me out around the Inn, and as you can see, spoiling me.” Hob eases back into conversation, his fingers drumming on top of the to-go box. 

“Have they; how long has that been?” Morpheus asks, his near perfect posture relaxing a bit, looking a bit more at ease.

“Not long, about a month; didn’t really realize I needed all the help I could get until she showed up!” He laughs and opens the box. “Y/n you shouldn’t have” he practically groans at the sight of the decadent slice of cake you had brought back for him.

“I know it’s your favorite.” You say perking up a bit, as he leans over to the table beside you and steals the rolled up cutlery off of it, quickly unwrapping it from the napkin cocoon. 

“Like a gift from the heavens.” Hobs says a look of utter satisfaction when he takes the first bite. You roll your eyes, he can be so dramatic.

Morpheus eyes you both with scrutiny. 

“The two of you are in relations then?” He asks plainly. 

If you weren’t so shocked you would have laughed at the idea, Hob actually chokes on his mouthful of cake.

“No we aren’t.” You reply quickly.

“You can’t just ask people that!” Hob sputters. Finally managing to clear his throat he eyes his companion a smirk growing on his lips. “Why? Would you be jealous if I was?”

“Oh my god Hob shut up!” You whine slumping in your chair.

“I could walk out again; end this conversation .” Morpheus replies, his tone is serious but you catch a small glimmer of playfulness in his eyes.

“Well maybe he’s jealous of me.” You're so used to teasing Hob that the jab just comes out before you even have time to process your thoughts. Though as soon as the words lay bare before you bite your lip and cringe.

You chance a peek over at your guest and he blinks at you in surprise. Why did you have run your mouth in front of the strange man that was somehow in your dreams?

“An empty threat my friend.” Hob smiles, drawing attention back to himself and leaning back looking rather pleased. “You’d be back here again in a century I’m sure.”

You cock your head at that, a century? He notices. 

“We’ve been meeting every hundred years since… what 1389?” Hob says thoughtfully, pushing the cake towards Morpheus, urging him to at least try some, Morpheus pushes it to you instead. 

“1389? I knew you…” you look around the sitting area at the patrons before lowering your voice. “I knew you weren’t exactly human, but that’s over six hundred years.” 

“And what a fascinating six hundred years it’s been.” He smiles. 

“I take it you would like to continue our little meetings then.” Morpheus replies, a small pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course! As if you have to ask.” He nods “I wouldn’t even mind if you came around more often.” 

Morpheus cocks his head. 

“Once a month we have trivia night.” You offer, stealing a quick glance. 

“That is… a kind offer, I shall consider it.” He replies after a moment before standing.

“What? leaving already?” It almost looks like Hob is pouting.

“I’m afraid I have some business to attend to…perhaps I will take you up on your invite to meet sooner.” He replies, his attention falling to you and you feel yourself being pulled into his gaze. “It was a pleasure, perhaps we will meet again as well.” 

It's a certainty rather than concept; you can feel it in his eyes, the inevitability of it. You nod knowingly, and you feel yourself growing excited at the prospect. 

Morpheus bows his head to the two of you before turning; you follow his elegant strides, watching as he leaves the Inn, retreating into the chilly September air of the late afternoon. 

“Taking a gander are we?” your head whips back to Hob who is waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Excuse me?” you sputter.

“I caught you staring while he strutted away.” he replies, quite enjoying the reaction he’s getting out of you.

“I was not! He’s just …interesting.” that did not sound as convincing as you wanted it to sound.

“Interesting, suuurrree Y/n.” you’ve had quite enough of him; quickly you grab the to-go box which was previously pushed in front of you and you begin shoveling the rest of the cake in your mouth.

“No! That was a giiiffftt!” Hob cries, grabbing the box back half of the cake slice now gone and you looking pleased with yourself as you slowly chew on your pilfered prize, cheeks covered in chocolate crumbs.

“That’s what you get.” you say after you swallow, smiling at him triumphantly. 

“You can be such a gremlin…” he grumbles and tucks in to the rest of the cake. “And you have crumbs all over your face,” he adds.

—

You settle down in your bed, having had your late night tea and biscuits with Hob. The sheets are cool against your skin and you sigh resting your head against the pillow; you wonder if you’ll be seeing Morpheus again tonight. You still really didn’t know who he is or what he is, but the fact that he was in your dream before you even met him…

You roll over onto your side, facing the open window like you do every night; closing your eyes you try to reach out to your sisters.

When you were still in the heavens with them, you could reach across the cosmos with but a thought, but now…like every night since you had landed they were quiet and your calling remained unanswered. 

Letting out a deep sigh you try to relax. Tonight you would sleep and if you were lucky you would dream; and perhaps find out more about the strange company that Hob held for over six hundred years. 

—-

When you open your eyes again you find yourself in a bed of flowers instead of your own; the sound of trickling water a soft melody and the shining warmth of the sun upon your skin. You slowly sit up, observing the world you awoke in. 

It appeared to be a garden, with beauty the likes of which you had never seen before; a few feet from your waking spot was a large intricate fountain who’s water was so clear and silvery you thought it might be starlight. The wind picks up suddenly and you watch as the trees that dot the landscape shiver with jewel-like emerald leaves and the archways of iridescent flowers shed some of their petals in the breeze.

As a Star you had seen some truly beautiful places. You had seen the Silver City in all its glory, The Nebula, the birthplace of all stars, The Asterism Center where stars would congregate and hold court. But this…this place was unlike any other, with a beauty that filled your heart and warmed your soul. 

“Hello again.” you startle at the familiar voice; turning to look over your shoulder you see him…Morpheus.

“Morpheus…” you say softly. “You’re here.”

“I am.” slowly he walks over to you until he’s standing before you. “Meeting sooner rather than later it would seem.” he gives you a slight smile and offers you his hand. 

You pause only for a moment before taking his hand; he's warmer than before but just as soft as he gently pulls you to your feet. This time you release his hold without the awkwardness of before. 

He tilts his head, observing you, he’s so close, closer than he had been at the New Inn, and with no Hob to take the attention away you can’t help but notice how otherworldly he is; but the thing that pulls you in the most is his eyes. They reminded you of home, the place where you were born, the place that you danced before you fell; the endless cosmos of the night sky.

“I am glad to see that you found your way back.” his voice is just above a whisper as he speaks to you. 

“Where is here…exactly?” you finally manage to ask.

“The Dreaming, my realm.” he replies. 

It all falls into place suddenly and it’s then you realize why his name sounded so familiar; you blink at him owlishly.

“You are an Endless…The King of Dreams.” you say in realization.

“I am, and you are a Star.”

You step back from him, surprised that he somehow knows that…you wonder if she had told him? 

“How do you know that?” you glance around, wondering if you had to if you would have to escape. 

“You need not be scared Astraea, no harm will come to you here.” He soothes and you feel your body becoming less tense, you give him a small nod. “ It’s hard not to notice a Star entering the Dreaming, your kind are a unique people, even amongst the otherworldly beings.”

“So I’m like a bull in a china shop.” you huff out a little laugh.

“Nothing so crude.” he reassures you.   

You turn from him then, looking around the garden again.

“I never thought I’d see this, be here.” you spin to face him again. “I tried for so long, since my creation in The Nebula, but…”

There was a pause that filled the air and you couldn’t help but notice the shift in his posture; he ducks his head, jaw drawing tight.

“I was away from the Dreaming…imprisoned.” he says finally looking up at you, you feel your heart clench at his watery gaze. His soul was hurting and it was nearly too much to bear.

“I’m so sorry.” you say, hoping that your eyes will convey even an ounce of the truth in your words, you couldn’t imagine not being free, being someones prisoner. 

“Thank you.” he replies after a moment, before straightening his posture once more. “I have been rebuilding the Dreaming since my return, it has taken some time.”

“Is that why it looked so…sad the first time I dreamed?” you ask hoping to not offend, he nods.

“I had just recovered my tools, I had only started to repair the damage that was done.” 

“Well you’re doing an amazing job! This place…It’s amazing, I’ve never seen anything like it!” you smile at him and he gives you a small smile of his own in return.

“Would you care to join me?” he asks suddenly.

“Join you?” you tilt your head.

“So that I might show you what you have missed all these years.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest, he wanted to show you the Dreaming personally, you had never heard from any of the other Stars that the King of this realm had given them a personal tour. You know it must be a great honor to have his attention, but you can’t help but think…maybe he wanted your attention as well? No stop that.

“I would like that very much.” you reply hoping that your voice sounds steady despite your growing excitement. A genuine smile tugs at his lips, soft and sweet and you feel your cheeks burn, you like seeing him happy.

“Come with me Astraea, you have much to see.” 

—

You had thought the gardens were a wonder but the rest of the Dreaming, it was beyond what you could have ever imagined, a beauty so sublime that you believe it will forever be imprinted on your soul.

The grand palace at its center, cut from ivory-like marble is an imposing structure with golden spires that glitter in the sunlight, you think might rival that of the Silver City. Inside it’s halls gleam like the vastness of space, with soaring pillars of ebony that lead to a ceiling that looked as though it was a portal to The Nebula…it almost…it almost felt like home.

“It’s beautiful…” you know your voice sounds watery and frayed as you take everything in; Morpheus looks at you with a frown.

“Why are you sad?” he asks in a soft, soothing voice.

“I- I don’t know…I don’t think I’m sad? It’s hard to explain?” you wish you could describe the feeling to him. A feeling of nostalgia, home sickness but at the same time. warmth and peacefulness. You look up to the twinkling ceiling above you and smile sadly; he follows your gaze.

“It reminds you of home.” he states simply and you nod. “I could change it if you like, if it hurts your heart so-.”

“No!” you are quick to cut him off. “No…I would like to see it…to be reminded.” 

His eyes are gentle as he watches you and you feel yourself gravitating towards him, until you are standing before him nearly toe to toe, looking up into his eyes.

“Morpheus…Than-” you are cut off by the sudden fluttering of wings and voice calling out in the vast corridor.

“Hey Boss! Lucienne said that-!” a raven comes flying around the corner with such speed you almost worry he’ll collide with one of the pillars. “Oh! Well hello there.” The raven comes to land on the ground not far from you and hops closer, looking at you curiously.

You catch a brief flash of annoyance in Morpheus’ eyes at the interruption.

“Hello, um.” you blink, you know you shouldn’t be surprised to see a talking raven, being a Star and all but you’ve never had the pleasure of meeting one.

“Oh I’m Matthew, at your service.” he bows his feathered head, and you giggle and bow your head in return.

“I’m Y/n.” you reply, at the mention of your name he perks up and then quickly looks at Morpheus.

“Sir! She’s the Star!” Matthew says excitedly and you look at him in surprise.

“How do you know that too?”

“Yes Matthew I am well aware.” Both you and Morpheus end up talking over each other, startling you new companion.

“Uhhh, well a book appeared in the Library with your name on it and Lucienne told me to come find you.” He looks from you and then to Morpheus. “I thought I would bring you the news but it looks like you’re already ahead of it.” you think you hear him add ‘for once.’ under his breath but you can’t be sure.

“There’s a book with my name on it?” you ask, curiosity piqued by the idea that you have a book.

“Anyone that enters the Dreaming has a journal, a story of their dreams, of their thoughts and ideas.” Morpheus replies.

“Can I see it?” you know it’s about your dreams, which has been a grand total of two but the notion is so fascinating that it wouldn’t matter if your book was two pages long or two thousand.

“Sure!” Matthew chimes in but quickly realizes he’s jumping to conclusions when Morpheus gives him a sour expression. “I mean, if the boss man says it’s okay that is.”

You turn to the Lord of the Dreaming, eager for his verdict.

“Of course you may.” he replies with a small bow of his head. “I’m sure Lucienne would be quite interested to meet you as well.”

With that you are being led further into the opulent palace, your excitement and curiosity building with each step that you take.

Thank you so much to everyone that has been enjoying this! it really means so much to me!  

Taglist: @boofy1998​ @gnnnne @deniixlovezelda​ @oo0lady-mad0oo​ @imma-too-many-fandoms​​ @melancholypancakes​

AO3: Link​

[jmdbjk]

Attention new Armys

It wasn’t THAT long ago that I was new too. I feel the need to reiterate when it comes to Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship, especially since there’s a lot of new Armys trying to soak up all they can: it’s all the consistent little things that just keep adding up, not the quantity of big moments. The big moments are BIG and important, but it’s the small actions and words that make the mountain. 

You will see them interact during live performances or official content like when they record clips for accepting awards and such... their body language “tells” are evident even during those situations, but it is more of the small things that you see in the behind videos and the bombs and the other sources where they are not actually “on-camera” that just confirm that they do things together, they’re connected, they seek each other out, they look at each other for reactions and responses. 

Seems random: Jimin getting a bite of food from JK. See them behind Jin and Yoongi? Add this to the huge pile of “insignificant” moments and the pile becomes very significant and very pointed. And then you start looking for it, and it’s there. All. The. Time. 

And then the many instances of how they speak to each other (their tone of voice), how many times we’re shown that they’ve waited for each other to “go home” wherever that may be for each of them, how much they speak for each other or the things they mention when they do speak about things regarding each other’s habits, likes or dislikes.

And then there is the body language. There are whole university courses on their body language. Not really but as much as we talk about it, there could be. The body language speaks even when their voices do not. This blog post by @stormblessed95 

In that video (from May 2019), the glances, the licking of the lips and the lip biting... those mean significant things and they both did them. In general, we lick our lips when we see things we desire. Generally, lip biting or chewing means stress and uncertainty. (Nowadays, JK has a habit of chewing on his lip ring like a fidget spinner.) I just rewatched that moment in the V Live here at 2:04 in the video. I think JK was holding back something he wanted to say. 

Jimin was saying “I bid you farewell” etc, they say their goodbyes and after this moment, Jimin was appearing to leave the room but we never actually hear any doors...JK turns to the camera, we still hear what sounds like Jimin’s footsteps on the tile floor, then an audible phone notification...then a doorbell and both Jimin and JK saying “what” (I thought Jimin left?). I guess Jimin answers the door?? then Jimin laughing and then Jin and Tae entered the room again....?? It’s all very...I don’t know what’s going on. 

Then Jimin’s moment is at 7:45 in the video:

The scene he is looking at is Jin, Tae and JK play-acting about JK’s suitcase on the floor laid out like a street vendor’s display on a sidewalk and Jin is the one who made the comment about “hey you there, you’re handsome, come over here.” I think after what just transpired with the scolding he got from JK, Jimin was having a hard time tamping down some sort of feelings he was having...just sayin...knowing what I’ve seen to date...just my hunches but now is not a time to discuss that here.

Anyway, I think whatever JK’s plan was for turning on the V Live in the first place got seriously derailed by everyone else. By the end of it, he was pretty much done and was ready for Tae to leave. There was nothing in the body language between JK or Tae that was significant. 

Another topic of huge debate is the car sharing. This recent post by @humblestart1ao3 is a good example of applying real life knowledge to this situation. Many instances of them waiting on each other and riding together, though we’ve also seen they ride with others occasionally. 

The stuff that gets fabricated for the sake of living out some sort of fantasy is out of control and has been since almost the beginning of BTS. But “shipping” happens, its a form of escape and entertainment. If you do not want to see it, simply use the tools in your social media to block users and topics so you never or rarely see them on your feeds and timelines. 

As always, new Armys should seek out original content and try to stay away from fan-edited “feel good” or analysis videos at first. Those are great to watch after you’ve seen some real interactions! Many are very well done and definitely can give you the emotional feelies. And the V Lives are a great source of more candid interactions as well as a good read on their body language. Also watching the Bon Voyage series and In the Soops on Weverse or V Live and Behinds and Bangtan Bombs on BangtanTV on YouTube offer a little more candid content. Watch and make your own conclusions! You will get to know all the members and laugh and have fun the entire time!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Speaking of recent Disney movies that deal with generational trauma (I haven't seen Turning Red yet at the point of typing this ask but would like to) I've been DYING to know your thoughts on Encanto. Like I've been low key hyperfixated on it ever since I saw it the first time, and I've been wanting to know what you thought about the movie because I like hearing your opinions on things, regardless of whether I personally agree with them or not, and you haven't yet made a post talking about Encanto, not to my knowledge anyway, sooo... here's me asking. What are your thoughts? What's your favorite song from the movie? What's your favorite moment? Who's your favorite character?

Oh man, I am so ambivalent about Encanto.

To answer the last question, which I think answers the first: Antonio is my favorite character. And I think Antonio should've been cut from the movie.

I love the sequence between Mirabel and Antonio just before his coming-of-age ceremony, because it works on so many different levels. When Antonio's going up the stairs and holding Mirabel's hand, we know there are a million things going through her head:

She wants him to succeed, because she loves him and wants what's best for him.

She doesn't want him to succeed, because his success will separate them and further isolate her.

She wants him to succeed, because he's obviously scared and she feels for him.

She doesn't want him to succeed, because his success will mean that there's something wrong with her.

She wants him to succeed, because she wants him to fit in with the family the way that she does not.

She doesn't want him to succeed, because she doesn't want him to fit in with the family the way she does not.

On and on. It's such a wonderful sequence and does a lot to establish Mirabel as a character in a way that makes us feel for her. No matter what happens at the top of those stairs, it will be bittersweet for her and she will try to tamp that down to be there for her little cousin.

That said... there are too freaking many characters. It's not even that I had trouble keeping track of them but that there was way too much going on in that movie for any of them to get fleshed out properly. Antonio has a ginormous reveal of his animal-powers... and then those powers never come up again. Luisa sings the best song in the movie (there's that question answered!) and then her conflict gets sort of hand-waved in the third act. Isabela's almost the opposite, having a moment of revelation and resolution for a conflict we didn't know she had because the idea of her being "perfect" was never set up properly. I think Augustín, Pepa, Julieta, Félix, Camilo, and Osvaldo have storylines that lead to character development as well, but it's hard to tell because they mostly also happen way in the background of other events.

There's just too much going on in that movie. The miracle house is never really explained, and thus the way that Mirabel saves it doesn't get set up enough for the audience to get what happened. Her abuela's pressure to be everything for the entire town is... hinted at, I guess, but not fleshed out enough for us to get why it's so important that everyone keep using their gifts. Although we can see the implication that the arguments are what cause the house to fall apart and the resolution is what fixes it, that's also not fleshed out properly. The "bigger on the inside" set pieces with Antonio's and Bruno's rooms are cool, but Mirabel's whole side quest for that broken picture comes out of nowhere and doesn't appear to fit with the rest of the house's logic.

So I'd have loved Encanto if it'd been a 12-episode TV show. Or I'd love a version of the movie that has just Mirabel connecting to her grandmother and uncle, without the cousins or siblings. Or one that has just Mirabel mentoring Antonio and helping her sisters, without the older generations' drama. But I just think there's too dang much happening in Encanto to give the cool stuff the screen-time it deserves, within the span of a ~90 minute movie.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 125.3 Accidental Bonding (Part 3)

You can start at Part One, if you'd like.)

"Piss off, Malfoy," Jenkins snarled from across the room at the end of the training exercise, drawing Harry's attention from the conversation he was having with Ron. "You are such an arsehole. You think you're so clever, so much better than us," he shoved Malfoy's shoulders, "but you're just a slimy Dark Lord worshiper-"

"Oy!" Harry shouted, darting forward and physically putting his body between Jenkins and Malfoy, "Don't talk to him like that."

"I'll talk to that fu-"

"You need to back down," Harry growled, his body thrumming with energy, fingers tingling with the urge to punch Jenkins in the face, his magic racing hot and bright under his skin.

Malfoy put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Don't," he said. "He's not worth it."

He glared at the other man for a moment before taking a step toward the locker room.

"Oh, I get it," Jenkins sneered, "some people are so possessive of their pets. He's letting you fuck him now, so-"

Harry spun around so fast that Jenkins didn't have a moment to see what was about to happen as Harry's fist connected with his jaw. "Watch your mouth," he growled, low in his throat. "We aren't sleeping together but even if we were that wouldn't change the fact that he is twice the auror you will ever be." He took another step closer, "He's smarter, faster, and has better instincts. And everyone knows that your pathetic attempts to belittle him are out of jealousy. So you can fuck off before you make an even bigger arse of yourself."

"Alright," Ron said, holding out his hands between them. "That's enough."

Jenkins spat blood at Harry's feet but had the good sense not to say anything more as he left and slammed the door behind him.

Harry turned to see Malfoy storming away from him. "Malfoy," he shouted but the other man threw him a two fingered salute and stalked off.

"What the hell?" Harry grumbled.

(Read more below the cut)

Ron shrugged, "Beats me, mate." He slapped him on the shoulder, "but I wouldn't want to be going home with him. He looked pissed."

-------------

Regrettably Ron was right, Malfoy was pissed. Harry couldn't understand it and the other man wouldn't say a word to him about it.

They went home and Malfoy shut himself in the bedroom without a word, leaving Harry standing completely confused in the living room. "What the hell?" he repeated.

Hands on his hips, he stared off after the other man and replayed what he'd said to Jenkins for the fiftieth time, trying to figure out what had made Malfoy so mad.

Giving up on trying to puzzle it out seemed like the only course of action so he headed into the kitchen and started dinner. In the past week and a half, Draco had cooked, they'd cooked together, or ordered take out. Harry hadn't cooked anything on his own since he's arrived and honestly, he was glad for the chance to cooking now.

He chopped up an onion, diced a carrot, chopped up a stalk of celery, and minced several cloves of garlic. Then he turned to the stove and heated a frying pan, pouring in some olive oil before tossing in the veggies and letting them cook down while he chopped up lettuce for a salad.

After about ten minutes, he added the ground beef, salt, and pepper into the frying pan and uncorked a bottle of Merlot, pouring himself a generous glass and dumping a few ounces in with the beef and veg.

He cast a simple spell to keep the spoon stirring while the beef browned and he turned to cut up tomatoes and onions for the salad and made a simple vinaigrette. When the beef was brown and fragrant, he added in tomato paste, diced tomatoes, basil, oregano, and a dash of nutmeg before stirring it all together.

With a pleased hum, he put the lid on the pot and cast a spell that would condense the simmering time to about thirty minutes instead of three hours.

While the sauce cooked down he baked brownies, tossed the salad, and prepped the water and spaghetti. Boiling the spaghetti, cutting the brownies, and plating everything was easy after that. Harry topped the bowls of bolongese with freshly grated Parmesan and basil.

Then, after a moment of debate, he decided to bring dinner to Malfoy instead of the other way around and laid out their salads, bowls of bolognese, glasses of wine, and brownies onto a tray. He levitated it down the hall and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Malfoy called, sounding bored and detached and Harry had to take a steadying breath to tamp down the irritation that tone of voice invoked before opening the door.

"Made dinner," he said casually.

Malfoy turned his head from where he was laying on the bed, idly catching a snitch and releasing it. He sat up, his blonde hair trailing behind him, "It smells good."

"You don't need to sound surprised," Harry teased.

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but Harry continued as he set the tray in the middle of the bed.

"I'm just kidding," he assured quickly.

"Do you really think that it's wise to consume red wine and pasta on a white bed?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow arched at him as he climbed onto the bed across the tray from Malfoy.

"It'll be fine," Harry assured as he picked up his salad bowl and speared a tomato. "We're wizards, we'll magic it away if we must."

Malfoy hummed but picked up his own salad. "Thank you."

He shrugged a shoulder, "No problem. I like to cook, actually."

"Do you?" Malfoy asked curiously.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. Once we left Hogwarts and I was living on my own, I was eating out all the time and it wasn't doing me any favors. So I learned how to make some simple things that taste good." He tilted his head, "What about you? You're not a bad cook."

His cheeks turned a light pink and he cleared his throat, "That's Granger's doing actually."

"Sorry?"

He sighed, "She made a really good case about house elves. I didn't want to be who my parents wanted me to be so when I moved out and joined the aurors, I basically shunned anything that whiffs of pureblood bullshit. It has no place here," he said gesturing to his home with his fork.

Harry blinked, "That's amazing."

"Shut up."

"No, I'm serious," Harry said. "You're amazing and I had no idea."

"Stop," Malfoy said. "Please, it's not-"

"Is that what earlier was about?"

Malfoy stilled, "Excuse me?"

"Is that why you were upset?" he asked. "You thought that I was taking the piss?"

"I thought that you have an insufferable hero complex that makes me want to vomit," he growled.

"You're a hedgehog," Harry said, finally understanding.

Malfoy froze, "Who told you that?"

"Told me what?" Harry asked.

"That my patronus is a hedgehog," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry laughed and Malfoy flushed cherry red, his eyes narrowed. "No, sorry," Harry said holding out a hand, "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I had no idea, honestly!"

"Then what made you say it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just," he paused and took a bite of bolognese as he searched for the right words, "When you start to feel vulnerable or like someone is going to hurt you, you curl into this defensive ball that will stab at someone no matter what they say or do."

"I-"

"You are genuinely one of the best aurors in our class," Harry said earnestly, steering the conversation to something more tangible that they were less like to fight over. "I was serious."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "You're just saying that because the bond-"

He shook his head, "I've always thought that," he protested. "It's annoying as fuck because it always seems like everything comes so easily to you. I used to complain about it to Ron all the time."

"Says you," Malfoy protested. "You're always doing everything right; throwing yourself into danger to protect people." He shook his head, "By all accounts, what you do shouldn't work but it does. You're a good auror, Potter."

Harry swallowed, "Thanks, Malfoy. That means a lot coming from you."

"Yes, well," he said as he took a sip of wine, "Don't let it go to your head."

Harry chuckled and they took a few bites in companionable silence before Draco started to talk again.

"You didn't have to come to my rescue with Jenkins, you know."

He waved the thought away, "He's an arse. We've had it out before."

"I'm just saying," he argued, "I was fine. Honestly what he was saying wasn't even that bad."

"Not that bad?!" Harry yelped. "He-"

Malfoy shook his head, "It's the bond, Potter, don't you see that? Jenkins has said a lot worse, other trainees have said a lot worse, and you've never felt the need to jump in and defend my honor before."

Harry frowned.

"You're being swayed by what the bond wants you to feel about me."

"I'm not sure you're right," he said. "Because you shouldn't be treated like that at work. No one should be treated like that."

"Be that as it may-"

"I'm just saying, even if the bond brought it to my attention, I would have done that for anyone. If he'd been saying shite like that to Ron, I would have decked him, too."

Malfoy looked like he was going to argue with him, before visibly changing his mind, "You do have a wand, you know. There's no need to resort to brute force."

Harry shrugged, "But there's just something so satisfying about punching someone."

A laughed forced it's way up Malfoy's throat and Harry grinned at him. Shaking his head, Malfoy replied, "You're ridiculous. And this is good, by the way," he added, pointing to his pasta with his fork.

"Good," Harry said with a pleased little smile.

The conversation turned lighter as they bickered about the training exercises and the best approach, but the bickering held none of the animosity it had a week and a half before.

And Harry couldn't help but wonder how much of this was the bond's doing and how much was simply him.

-----------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Complete 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation, harassment, general hatred, allusions to death, toyplay, binding/restraint, whipping.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: Think we got one chapter left after this one but don’t worry, we will eventually have more Birch beyond that.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 6: Wait and you'll see

💀💀💀

Your ankle bent for the fifth time as you entered the small county hospital. Loki kept his hand covertly on your elbow after you jabbed him several times in the ribs on the drive over and noticed the way your eyes searched around. You couldn’t help it. Even if Jerome’s life was in the balance, you wanted nothing more than to be away from this man; if you could call him one.

The halls were sterile and the bright lights added to the sting in your eyes as you were shown to your brother’s room. A motorcycle accident, the nurse said, but Jerome’s bike was destroyed with everything else in your shop. You knew what happened was far from an accident.

His eyes were closed and tubes ran down his arms and across his face. It was a sobering sight. It reminded you of your father’s last months. You dreaded seeing anyone like that ever again. Even if Jerome was a cowardly weasel, even if he let those men trade you like livestock, he was still your kin and he was all you had left of your father.

You wiggled away from Loki and he let you as he pinched you in warning. You went to Jerome’s bedside and glanced over at your escorts. Korg actually showed an ounce of empathy as he stared at the bed.

“Can I have some privacy?” you snarled.

“We’ll be right outside. Don’t think of trying anything,” Loki reproached.

“I just want to be alone with my brother,” you curled your lip, “not everything is about you.”

You waited until you stepped out and you leaned on the bed rail. He looked so frail just laying there with machines pumping life into him. The nurse said he might wake up but they were still waiting. The only good news she had was that the surgery on his spine was successful.

“I don’t forgive you,” you whispered, “I never will but I love you.”

Your eyes pricked and you rolled them to force away the tears. The machines beeped and fanned. You shook your head and gave a grim smile.

“I want to ask how we got here but we know. We knew life would be like this. Daddy said it would. He knew you were gonna be a club man like him and he told you to hold onto your soul. He’d be so disappointed.” You sighed, “Do you know what that man is doing to me? What he’s gonna do?”

You looked away and huffed. You were angry, hurt, but not broken. Not yet.

“I can’t stop him, I know that,” you confessed quietly as you reached for his hand, “I was stupid to think I was different from those other girls. To think I’m above them. No, these men are all the same and we just gotta deal with it.”

You swallowed and pushed yourself up.

“Yeah, yeah, we know what happened to mama. Same thing’ll happen to me now,” you said, “and you’re gonna go see daddy. I hope he’s at peace, I hope you find that too.”

You turned and wiped your wet eyes. You wouldn’t let Loki see you cry. He wouldn’t have that pleasure. You would play along until you could act. You would pretend that you believed Jerome would live. You would fake, you would take, you would survive.

💀

The car ride was silent as you stared out the window. You were quiet, still. Even as Loki’s fingers wandered to your skirt and played with the fabric, you did nothing. You were tired and fighting wasn’t doing nothing but draining your energy. You leaned back and played with the button of the jacket. The clothes were entirely impractical against the winter.

The main road of Birch passed outside your window and Korg drove by the sidestreet where the Victorian house stood. You saw the moniker with Cleopatra and you didn’t need to ask where you were going. You didn’t even wonder why. You knew.

“You think you can behave?” Loki asked, “for your brother’s sake?”

You turned to him and resisted a snarl. You nodded and tensed as he squeezed your leg.

“Darling, I mean it. You go in there and you show the boys how tame you can be,” he smirked, “show off your new clothes.”

“I got it,” you said through gritted teeth, “but you touch my brother again and I will never stop. I won’t stop until you kill me too.”

He raised his head in triumph and flicked your chin with his finger, “we have an understanding, don’t we, darling?”

You turned and reached for the handle. He let you and followed you out smoothly. He was quick to hook his arm around your waist as Korg led the way to the bar and opened the door ahead of you. You entered and focused on keeping one foot in front of the other as your instinct told you to throttle the man at your side.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision cleared. Steve sat with his girl and Bucky with that waitress he was fucking. You saw in her eye a feeling you knew well. Her and the mousy one shared that brittle complacency. Your sights narrowed at Bucky as you got closer and time seemed to slow.

When you reached the table, Bucky looked over and stood. He smiled between you and Loki, the amusement plain on his face. You felt the flicker inside of you. You couldn’t hold back as you slipped quickly from Loki’s grasp and around the side of the table. You latched onto the front of his jacket. You hit him across the jaw with your fist and were ready to lay another as someone caught your fist.

The voices rose around you as you kicked out and caught him in the stomach as you were wrenched away. You looked up as you growled a slew of curses and found Steve and Loki both clinging to your arms. You continued to flail.

“You fucking piece of shit,” you grunted, “I swear to fucking God, I’m going to end you!”

“What did I say?” Loki hissed as they tried to rein you in.

Bucky was just as fast as he approached you and drew his gun. You didn’t still even as he aimed the muzzle at you and stared down the barrel. 

“She’s fucking rabid,” Steve uttered, “Christ.”

“Do it, you fucking bastard!” You spat.

There were no thoughts, no fears, only pure rage as you stomped your feet and tried to wriggle free. You glared back at Bucky as the gun hung before him. He exhaled loudly and put it away.

“You gotta put a leash on that bitch,” Bucky said, “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Darling,” Loki said as you yanked against his hold, “that’s enough. Surely you didn’t forget so quickly that yours is not the only life in the balance.”

You looked over at him and blinked. You unballed your hands and stilled. You were stiff as the anger tensed your entire body but you tamped it down with effort. The men slowly released you. You peered around as you seethed, the two women at the table watched you in shock but beneath, you saw intrigue.

You raised your hands in surrender and looked at Bucky. Your jaw locked but you forced the words out. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” he raised his brows as his own anger receded, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” you enunciated, “alright?”

He laughed and looked you up and down dramatically, “didn’t think you’d get this far,” he said to Loki, “she looks like a woman.”

It took everything you had not to try again. You backed away as Loki removed his jacket and you mirrored him. He pulled out a chair and pointed you down with sneer. He sat beside you and rolled his shoulders as he fixed his blazer.

“Apologies for our lateness, we did have to make a detour,” he said, “I promise, I will keep her in line for the rest of the night.”

Bucky poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth, “you better,” he grinned.

You looked to your lap and unbent your fingers as your nails dug into your palm. You peeked around and caught the eye of Bucky’s girl and for a moment you just stared back. She was pensive and tilted her head before she looked away. You might not be entirely alone.

💀

“I am unimpressed with that scene,” Loki hissed as Korg clung to your arm and angled you up the stairs ahead of them, “but I will give you a choice. Do I punish you or your brother?”

You reached the top and turned down the hallway. You entered the bedroom without resistance as the burly toady kept his grasp on you. You turned with him and watched Loki enter.

“I’m sorry, really. I deserve… punishment. Not him,” you said stiffly as you swallowed. The words were like bile in your throat.

“Oh, darling, that is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say,” he slithered, “Korg, get her clothes off.”

You blinked and looked up at Korg. He returned your gaze doubtfully and glanced back at Loki.

“Sir?” he asked.

“You heard me,” Loki said as he went over the chest of drawers and pulled the top one out, “get her naked and put her on the bed.”

“I can do it myself--”

“No, Korg, do as I say and hold her down,” he turned as he held some leather straps and you scrunched your nose as you tried to decipher all the crisscrossing.

“Sir, I--”

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself and I’ve already done so once,” he snapped, “so do it.”

Korg let you go and you bent quickly to undo your boots. He watched you take them off and you put your back to him, “the zipper,” you said quietly. He pushed it down and you held your arms straight as he tugged the sleeves past your wrists. He jerked you unintentionally as the dress gather at your waist and apologized.

You steeled yourself and stepped out of the fabric as it fell to your ankles. It felt like giving up but it was the only way. It was a means to an end. You bit down as Korg fumbled with your bra and stuttered. You reached back to help him and the cleared his throat.

“Hurry up, you fool,” Loki growled.

Korg hesitated as he pushed down your stockings one at a time and then slipped your panties off your hips. He stood and gripped your arm, lighter than before. You let him move you to the bed and Loki stopped him.

“Raise your foot, darling,” he bent and opened the leather straps. 

You obeyed and he nodded to the other. You lifted your other foot and put it back down. He pulled it up your legs and zipped the harness up to your waist. The leather straps wounded around your pelvis and thighs but offered no cover, just a strap along your cunt. 

“Put her arms back,” Loki demanded as he rose and came around you. He pointed behind you and your wrists were buckled into the cuffs attached to the thickest strap on the harness, your arms bound behind you. “Very good, now on the bed… face down.”

Korg gently guided you down and you wiggled onto the mattress. Loki dismissed him curtly and the door closed, marking a stolid silence. You kept your face away from Loki and tested the resistance of the harness. Even if you could get free, you wouldn’t get far.

“What is the matter, darling?” he taunted as you heard the rustle of fabric.

“You know, trying not to wretch at the thought of you touching me,” you snipped.

“Oh, is that what you think your punishment is?” he mused and the air was cut with the bite of leather before it lashed across your ass, “you’ll be begging for my touch when I’m through.”

You held your breath as he laid another strike and another and your body jostled on the bed with each. You knotted your fingers and every muscle in your body was rigid. You felt the welts rising on your skin but you focused on the pain. It kept you from crying, from thinking. It kept the humiliation from drowning you.

Was it worth it? Could you live with the shame when it was over?”

He stopped as you panted shallowly. He snickered and you heard him moving around again. He tutted and the mattress dipped as he pushed your legs apart. He pulled on the strap along your cunt and slid a smooth, slightly curved object between it and your skin. He tightened the buckle at the back of the harness so that the silicon was snug to your clit.

He poked his finger along it and it began to vibrate. You sucked in your breath as your body responded to the pulsing. He retreated off the bed and you pushed your legs together. That only made the sensation more intense and you tugged desperately at the cuffs as you rolled onto your side.

“It said about twelve hours battery if kept on low,” he said, “just enough to keep you awake but not enough to do much else.”

You bared your teeth as your eyes threatened to roll back and growled. Your feet arched as you bent your legs slightly and tied to shift the vibrator. You crushed your hands as you wiggled onto your back and dug your heels into the mattress.

“I am patient, darling, you’ve helped in that,” he taunted, “but oh, it is worth the wait to see you squirm.”

“Oh, you prick, why don’t you just… get it… over with?” your breaths caught as the toy buzzed against you.

“Where is the fun in that?” he ran his hand down your thigh and you flinched, “and you kept me waiting long enough. You will know the same pain.”

“I fucking hate you,” you sneered as you rocked back and forth and pushed your head back into the bed.

“I know,” he said gleefully, “it makes it all the better.”

[asweetprologue]

my burden to bear

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Piggyback Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets hurt during a hunt and Geralt has to carry him back to town. Jaskier has mixed feelings about this. ao3

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said. Jaskier groaned from his position on the ground, more at Geralt’s tone than any amount of pain.

“I think I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. When they’d come to the woods, they’d been working under the assumption that the creature plaguing the nearby village was nothing more than an overactive godling or maybe a hag. Neither of them had been expecting a leshen, and no amount of staying back from the fight did any good when your opponent could sense your location through the ground. While Geralt was valiantly slaying the beast, Jaskier had been darting away from roots shooting up from the ground and attempting to impale him. They’d not succeeded, but they had managed to send him sprawling as he tripped over an exposed root. He’d feared he was done for when suddenly the writhing plant life had collapsed. Though he was pleased to be still in one piece, his ankle throbbed traitorously where the root had tugged his feet out from under him. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously and offered him a hand up. 

Jaskier took it and allowed himself to be pulled to standing, only to stumble as soon as he put weight on his left leg. Geralt caught him as his knees buckled, one hand snapping out to grab him by the elbow. Jaskier’s face lit up, heat spilling over his cheeks in an embarrassed flush. “Ah, shit,” he cursed. 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, looking down at the offending appendage with a stormy expression. “No Roach.” 

“So true,” Jaskier said morosely. They’d left Geralt’s trusty steed behind for this venture, as the brush was generally too thick for her to navigate. The village was a good mile or two away. Jaskier’s ankle seemed to throb even more intensely at the thought of the walk. “Well, nothing for it I suppose. I’ll manage.” He tried to pull out of Geralt’s grasp, gingerly testing the weight on his ankle. It felt like being stabbed in the tendon with a razor, but he would be alright. He had plenty of experience limping along beside Geralt on the Path. This time it would just be a bit more literal. 

Geralt did not release him, much to Jaskier’s surprise. “You’ll make it worse,” he said, mouth tightening. Jaskier’s pulse, only just having begun to settle down now that the leshen was dead, began to rise again. Angry Geralt he was plenty used to, but angry-at-him Geralt was not something he enjoyed. They both knew that Jaskier was a liability at best on hunts, and he was well aware that he was only ever one misstep from being left behind, at least for the truly adventurous moments. He hadn’t realized it would be an actual misstep that did him in. 

“I can manage, Geralt, I swear,” he protested. “What else am I meant to do? Stay here forever? I’m sure I could make a nice home out of the leshen’s abandoned burrow. House. Whatever.”

“They don’t have those,” Geralt said dismissively. “I could get Roach.”

“Sure. So I can be eaten by the wolves that ran off when you killed the beastie. I’m sure they’ll be eager to finish the fight once the huge man with the swords fucks off. I’ll walk, it’ll be fine, I’ll -”

“I’ll carry you.”

Jaskier blinked, and then blinked again. He must have heard wrong. “Come again?”

Geralt glared at him, as if daring him to offer up a different solution. “I’ll carry you. It’s not that far of a walk, and I still have Thunderbolt in my system. It wouldn’t be hard.”

If Jaskier had thought he was flushed before, it was nothing compared to now. “Ah, well. Um. Are you certain? I suppose - I really can walk, truly -” He took a step backwards, away from the warm hand that still cupped his elbow, only to nearly drop to the ground when a bolt of pain shot up his ankle. Even his knee ached with it. Geralt caught him around the waist, hauling him upright again and, unfortunately, directly into the witcher’s space. Jaskier gasped at the contact more than the near tumble, though he hoped Geralt thought it was just the surprise. 

“I can see that,” Geralt said dryly, their nose barley inches apart. Jaskier swallowed. 

“I take your point. How, uh, how do you want to do this?”

Geralt released him, allowing Jaskier to take a deep, fortifying breath. Leaning all his weight on his good leg, he waited while Geralt turned around and knelt down on the mossy forest floor. Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Put your arms around my shoulders,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier ran a hand along his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “This is so infantilizing,” he grumbled, but he leaned over and pressed his chest to Geralt’s back, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. He was extraordinarily grateful for Geralt’s armor, separating him from the heat of his body. As it was, he still felt like he might spontaneously combust when Geralt’s large hands came up to grip under his thighs and raised him effortlessly into the air. 

Holy fuck. “Melitele,” he said, “do I weigh anything to you?”

“No,” Geralt said with an amused huff. He began to take sure steps through the clearing and back the way they’d come. Jaskier shifted to find a more comfortable position for his arms, and found that he could lift them away entirely without Geralt dropping him an inch. 

“I feel like a toddler,” he groused. 

“Next time watch your step,” Geralt grunted. 

They made their way through the forest slowly, Geralt carefully navigating the underbrush. Jaskier was aware that he was being more delicate with his footwork than he typically was, avoiding any areas that might throw him off balance or land Jaskier with a face full of branches. He was being nice, Jaskier realized, not even getting back at him for the fact that he had to carry Jaskier’s sorry ass through the woods. Always so chivalrous. 

That was Geralt though. Even when he was grumpy and upset and probably worn out from a fight, he was always going out of his way to be kind. He wasn’t always nice, Geralt, but he was almost always kind. It was a miracle, honestly, that he didn’t lose hold of his temper more often than he did. They would bicker, often, and fight, sometimes. But even when he was mad, Geralt was often still considerate, still worried about Jaskier’s safety and comfort. He was always taking absurdly underpaid jobs, even taking payment in a simple meal or a roof over his head sometimes, just because there were people in danger. This village, for example, had scraped together a tiny purse to offer a passing witcher, desperation writ on their faces. Seven people, including two children, had disappeared in the last season. It was a small village, only a little cluster of houses, and such a loss must have been felt deeply. Geralt had looked at the purse, a frown maring his features, and pushed it back into the alderman’s dirty hands. The job had ended up being even more dangerous than he’d assumed, but Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t take payment beyond maybe a warm loaf of bread and some hearty stew from the alderman’s wife. 

It was wildly unfair that the reputation of witchers remained so heavily tarnished. That Geralt’s reputation still suffered so. It was starting to mend - in the decade since Jaskier had begun traveling with him, the White Wolf ballads had become popular, enough so that many towns they passed through were already ready to throw their crowns and orens at his feet. But the further north they went, the closer to Blaviken, the less people were swayed by his songs. People didn’t always see what Jaskier saw. Not everyone felt the depth of affection swell in their breast at the sight of his silver hair and golden eyes, regardless of how many times Jaskier tried to put it to words. Maybe it wasn’t something he would ever be able to capture. This haunting, aching thing inside him that just loved and loved and loved Geralt of Rivia. 

He wished he could do more, more to alleviate Geralt’s pain and stress. And instead here he was, only putting more weight on his shoulders. Literally. Jaskier rested his forehead against the leather of Geralt’s armor with a sigh. That was the story of his life, though. Try to help, get in the way, get pushed aside. An infallible cycle. 

“Alright?” Geralt asked suddenly. Jaskier blinked back to himself, attempting to shake off the shroud of self pity that had settled over him. 

“Hmm?” he responded, lifting his head from Geralt’s shoulder. “Alright what?”

“I’m asking,” Geralt said. “You’re quiet. That only ever happens if you’re writing a song or you’re dying.” He paused. “It’s only your ankle?”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, stirring the hairs at the base of Geralt’s neck. The silver strands were pulled back into a short pony, leaving the pale expanse of skin beneath exposed. Jaskier had to tamp down the swift and overpowering urge to tuck his nose into the spot just behind Geralt’s ear, to press his lips to the scar just above the line of his armor, where some monster must have gotten in a lucky hit. Forcing himself to focus, he said, “Just the ankle, I swear. I’m only thinking.”

“So it is a song,” Geralt said darkly. 

“A great ballad about how the White Wolf of Rivia once again saved a humble bard,” he agreed, eagerly latching onto the half lie. “You’ve made a bit of a habit of it.”

Geralt grunted, sounding unamused. Suddenly there was a burst of sunlight across Jaskier’s vision, warm on his face. They stepped out of the forest and onto the small dirt track that led to the village, which Jaskier could just barely see peeking out over the rise of the next hill over. The sky was a sprawling blue tapestry above them, not a cloud in sight. “I don’t like it,” Geralt said, stopping to scan the road briefly. 

Jaskier’s throat felt tight. “Saving me?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative and began walking again, towards the village. 

Jaskier let out a long breath, equal parts annoyed and hurt. “Well no one’s asking you to,” he snapped. “I know it’s, I don’t know, part of your job, but you don’t need to go out of your way.”

Geralt shook his head, nearly hitting Jaskier in the face with his short ponytail. “It’s not a fucking chore, Jaskier. I just don’t - I wish you didn’t need saving.”

“Well, you and me both,” Jaskier said. “I know you think I do it on purpose, but I don’t actually want to get in the way.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out. Truly annoyed now. “Nothing you do could keep me from doing my job.”

“Well obviously you always finish the fight, I wouldn’t imagine you’d just quit on my behalf -”

“I don’t like it,” Geralt interrupted, “because I don’t like this.” He moved one hand to Jaskier’s injured ankle, the touch feather light. Jaskier’s knees tightened automatically to hold himself in place, but it was barely necessary. Geralt was strong enough to hold him in one hand. It made Jaskier feel deeply fragile, but not necessarily in a bad way. More like something precious and delicate. Worthy of being preserved. It made his fingers tingle where they were latched together between Geralt’s collarbones, just at the base of his throat. 

“Oh,” he said, at a loss for words. “I didn’t know that it, um. Well - I’m really fine.”

“I know,” Geralt said, sounding tired and a little amused. “You always are, mostly. I still don’t like it.” He tapped a finger against the heel of Jaskier’s boot, still light, and then put his hand back to support Jaskier’s thigh. “Sometimes I forget that you’re not like witchers.”

Jaskier laughed outright at that. “I can’t imagine how you could lose track of that piece of information. I complain about my bad eyesight and sore feet daily, as you are certainly aware. I’m the same as any other human.”

“You’re really not,” Geralt said, so quiet that it almost seemed to be said to himself. Jaskier stilled at that, startled and somehow warmed by the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” he finally said. They were nearly to the outskirts of the village, where hopefully they would find a warm welcome with the alderman or another grateful peasant. They might be given a place to rest for the night, maybe a few, while Jaskier’s ankle healed. Maybe they would be asked to move along, and Geralt would let him ride on Roach for a few days, and in the evening he would give Jaskier the salve he used for bruises and pulled muscles. Maybe even rub it into his swollen foot himself.  “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, Jask,” Geralt said. Then he laughed, a dry rasp that Jaskier never tired of hearing. “Well, alright. Technically you are at the moment. But I don’t mind.” As they reached the first house, he gently set Jaskier on his feet, turning to offer support. Jaskier let him slip a broad arm around his back, Jaskier’s own stretched out across Geralt’s shoulder to grip at the rough leather there. After having Geralt’s face hidden from him on the walk back, the sudden confrontation with golden eyes and square jaw was enough to make Jaskier flustered. Their faces were close now, and it felt almost too intimate, too raw after being unable to see Geralt’s expression during the rest of their conversation. Geralt quirked a small smile at him, a fondness there that Jaskier felt echoed in his own chest. “I don’t like it when you get hurt, but I don’t mind saving you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart was racing and he knew his face was flushed from their proximity. “I suppose I’ll have to let you keep doing it then,” he said, only the tiniest bit breathless. 

“Good,” Geralt said, and together they took their first steps into the village. “But for the love of the gods, at least try not to get yourself into trouble.”

Jaskier laughed even as his ankle flared with renewed pain and he spotted a few villagers stepping out of their homes, concern plastered across their faces for the injured bard. So it would be hot stew, he thought giddily, and a warm place by the fire, and Geralt would still probably rub that salve into his ankle. He could be satisfied with that. “Geralt, my dearest, just try and stop me.”

[chipper-smol]

Feral Vessel Chain 2

reminder that these are being posted by when they finish and not chronologically 

Prompt: Herrah has a heart to heart with Feral about looking after Hornet once she’s called to fulfill her duty as a dreamer.

( @reverieriver​ )

“Feral one.”

Herrah’s voice, calm as it was, immediately had their attention. Ghost wouldn’t say they were afraid of the Beast, not by any stretch of the word--but they also weren’t inclined to go against her lest they get on her bad side. They’ve seen her bad side. It wasn’t something they wished to inflict on even the Radiance.

“Come with me. I need to speak with you in private.”

Respect, that was it. Everything about her presence demanded respect. That wasn’t something they gave freely, but they respected her. They nodded in silent affirmation, and followed as she led them away.

It was only when the both of them were settled in a quiet room away from the bustle of the Palace that Ghost noticed the tiny, red-cloaked form of a familiar spiderling clinging to her mother in her sleep. Their heart did a little jump inside their chest. It was still difficult to imagine this adorable being as the cold and stern sister that tried to kill them twice.

“Ghost.” Once again, Herrah’s voice redirected their attention at once, moreso now with the sound of their name. So she did know it. Father or Mother must have mentioned it in passing. Why did she need to talk to them, though? They watched her with intent curiosity. She said nothing at first, taking the time to contemplate her words before she spoke again. “You know what is going to happen.”

They tried their hardest to tamp down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to rise up. What did she mean by that? There wasn’t any way she could know, right? There might have been suspicions, of course, but they thought they were pretty good at hiding the whole “I’m from the future and know everything that’s going to happen” deal.

“You know of the plan the Wyrm has for us.” Oh. Right. That. That was something they knew anyway. Of course they did, they were technically part of it. But why bring it up now?

They watched as Herrah gingerly plucked her daughter from her cloak to cradle in her arms instead. The hatchling fussed for only a moment, scrubbing her eyes with tiny hands before nestling against her mother and settling into sleep again. There was a look in Herrah’s eyes that Ghost wasn’t sure they’ve ever seen before as she gazed down at Hornet. A certain softness, a mother’s affection... but also, fear. Uncertainty.

“I...” She faltered, and took a deep breath before continuing. “One day, I will enter an eternal slumber. On that day, and all the days after, I will not be able to care for my child. I will not be able to raise her.” She hugged her daughter a little closer. Her voice wavered in a way that made Ghost ache to the very core of their void. “I won’t see her grow up.”

Finally she looked at Ghost again, after collecting herself. “Someone will have to look after her, in my stead. Someone I trust enough to hold my child’s life in their hands.”

She moved in close to them. Something shifted, and their arms reflexively curled around a gentle weight placed in their grasp. Herrah pulled back, and Ghost realized with a start that Hornet now rested against them. The hatchling’s eyes blearily blinked open, looking up at Ghost... and then she nuzzled into them much like she had with her mother, and went back to sleep.

They looked up at Herrah again. There was something like a sad smile in her eyes. “Out of everyone here, I trust you the most. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Their gaze dropped back to the little slumbering spiderling in their arms. She was so small. So light, she barely weighed anything. But the gravity of the situation sat heavy in their mind, as they remembered again that she was one day going to grow into the Hornet they knew. They remembered again how she looked when they returned from the dream realm after breaking Herrah’s seal. They remembered her grief, and their own guilt.

They wanted more than anything to change that; to see her grow up with her mother; to see what kind of bug she would become if she never lost her, and never closed herself off to the world, cold and bitter. If they succeeded, and the Dreamers never had to Dream.

But if they failed, if they didn’t find a way to get the Dream Nail or some other means to fight the Radiance, then what would all this be for? Hornet would still lose her mother, their sibling would still be sealed away, everything would continue to fall apart in slow motion and there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it.

Ghost wanted to protect their family, but as things stood now, they couldn’t even protect them from their fates. Couldn’t even protect the spiderling in their arms, so small and so vulnerable, from the pain they knew she would suffer in the future. Vaguely, they were aware of Herrah beginning to say something when--

“No cry!” a tiny voice squeaked.

They looked down, startled. They hadn’t even realized that Hornet had awoken at some point. Worse yet, they hadn’t realized the moment that tears began spilling down their mask. But she had. “No cry,” she pleaded once more, a tiny hand reaching in their general direction as though trying to offer comfort. They dipped their head towards her, and she pawed at their tears.

It almost made them want to laugh, that their baby sister of all bugs would try to comfort them right now. They carefully shifted her weight to one arm so they could have a hand free to wipe their eyes.

“You... don’t have to, you know,” Herrah offered. “I simply thought that, considering how I trust you and how she adores you--”

Ghost raised their hand with a quick motion to say, stop. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, that much was certain. But their resolve was set now; they were going to do everything in their power to make sure that they wouldn’t have to. Not that they could tell her as much. So they gave her a nod in answer. If, and only if, they did fail after everything was said and done, then they would take care of Hornet in her mother’s stead.

Herrah nodded in turn, and her relief was nearly tangible. They could only imagine how she must have worried for her daughter’s future. “Thank you, Ghost. Now, if I may have my child back?” She reached for Hornet, only for the spiderling to scuttle straight up Ghost’s head to settle between their horns in an attempt to get away. “Little one...”

“Wanna stay wif Ghos’!”

Herrah laughed softly. Ghost did as well, if only silently. “Well, alright, then. I suppose I can let you watch her for a while. I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

They nodded. No matter what happened, they promised: They would take care of their sister.

( @philliaesaya​, https://twitter.com/ArtistPhillia )

( @ofstormsandfire​ )

If Ghost could speak, they’d have to say they very much underestimated just how high-energy their sister would be. But then, who would they say it to? They certainly wouldn’t admit it to the Pale King, who likely isn’t even aware of their current whereabouts, never mind Hornet’s. Herrah is a possibility. Their mother is also a possibility.

But due to a particular monarch’s insistence on his perfect vessel having no voice to cry suffering, Ghost is as voiceless as the day they were hatched. Never mind that they are, by choice, nearly as far from being that perfect, impossible vessel as anyone can be without actively colluding with the Radiance.

(That wasn’t a choice Ghost had ruled out, upon waking up in their past. They haven’t entirely ruled it out even now. But to do anything concerning the Radiance, Ghost would first need the Dream Nail. To get the Dream Nail, they first need to find the Seer. And, unfortunately, their drawings of moths when shown to others are always mistaken for surprisingly non-insulting caricatures of the king.)

“Ghostie! Be tall!”

Out of nowhere, Hornet leaps all the way from the ground to cling onto Ghost’s mask. She hangs there and giggles. Her giggles only intensify as she starts to slip.

If Ghost could smile, they would. As is, they catch her with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and deposit her once again in the space between their horns. Hornet grabs both of them with a tiny cheer, and they start walking again.

They still can’t quite decide what is stranger: Hornet being this small, or Hornet being this friendly. This is a Hornet long before her life and her family fell apart, before any of the things that make her who she becomes go horribly wrong. But they still see the Hornet they know in her own, clumsy attempts at pranking the king, attempts that are slowly but surely getting better and better.

The Pale King blames Ghost, as he does for even the smallest and fully unrelated inconvenience. Ghost strongly suspects Hornet would have turned out like this with or without their influence.

Their wandering takes them to the Resting Grounds, as it often does. Never before has it been with their sister in tow. They pass the space where Xero’s grave will rest, the not-yet-built memorial to the Dreamers. Both are reminders of time running out.

Xero did not turn against the king for no reason. He has not, yet. He will not until their sibling is sealed away, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that the desperate plan the king pinned everything on has failed.

There were Six Great Knights, once.

And the Dreamers… Ghost cannot speak for Lurien, as the Watcher is conspicuously absent from his Spire whenever Ghost comes around. Perhaps he knows, somehow, that Ghost would exact revenge for his knights in prank after prank after prank. Perhaps he doesn’t, but merely suspects what Ghost is up to and hides himself away in preparation. But even he does not deserve to sleep forever, no matter how many times they were reduced to shade and broken shell attempting to reach him.

They have met Monomon and Herrah, however. Monomon automatically earns a place on their List Of Bugs They Like, Actually by sheer virtue of unintentionally assisting them in their sacred quest of vengeance (and on one notable occasion, very intentionally assisting them.) Quirrel had already been there, and nothing short of him attempting to kill them would take him off that list. Their opinion of him had shot up with his involvement in the Unn Incident, however.

Herrah is so much like the Hornet Ghost remembers that it’s painful. They’d overheard her, once, saying that a large part of why she’d agreed to this was so Hornet wouldn’t have to go through the things she had.

There had been no crimes committed against the king that day. They had been too busy crying somewhere no one would find them.

Lost in their thoughts, they almost miss the flash of movement up ahead. Almost. They do not, however, miss the gasp, nor the… was that a purple cloak?

It might have been. It was certainly some dark color. The Seer wore a dark purple cloak, or perhaps those were the wings they never saw her use outside the realm of dreams. That might not be the Seer. That could be any other bug, or even just a figment of their imagination.

But if it is her… why would she be hiding from them?

The answer is so obvious, Ghost could kick themself for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Seer would hide from a vessel, now. For all she knows, they could be their sibling, but even if she has no knowledge of the Pale King’s plans, of course she’d hide from someone close to the king.

They have no voice to explain otherwise. Somehow, Ghost gets the feeling she won’t stick around long enough for them to sign anything, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know their signs! Only they, their sibling (who Ghost stubbornly refuses to refer to even mentally as Hollow, because they are not) and to a limited extent, their mother understand their signs.

They can’t exactly write an explanation, either.

Maybe they can steal the Dream Nail? They would feel kind of bad, but it’s for a good cause and they can always just give it back once they’ve dealt with the Radiance, however they’re dealing with the Radiance. That might be their best option at the moment, actually, but what if the Seer attacks them?

What if she attacks Hornet?

They reach up to their horns, disentangling the tiny presence there that had just begun to purr. Internally, they apologize for setting her down.

“Ghostie? Where you going?”

I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. They pat her on the head and pull out a charm: Nailmaster’s Glory, no longer in Sly’s possession and unlikely to be returned to Sly’s possession anytime soon. Ghost places it in her tiny grasp and closes her grip around it.

“Keep dis safe?”

Ghost nods.

“Like Ghost keep safe?”

Their shoulders sag, but they still nod.

“I’ll be right back,” they sign, even though it will be a very long time before she understands half of what they say around her. Somehow, somehow, Hornet seems to understand.

“Back soon,” Hornet says impatiently. That, Ghost nods to much more forcefully, and then they turn and run.

They do not find the Seer, though not for lack of searching. Unfortunately, they cannot fit into all the tiny spaces they could when smaller. After they’ve looked through what feels like the entirety of the Resting Grounds, they eventually give up and return to where they left Hornet. They can’t help but be relieved when they see her there, sitting on the lip of a tombstone, swinging her lowest set of legs back and forth without a care in the world.

“Ghost!” Hornet cheers once she sees them. “Wanna show something!”

Ghost nods wordlessly, and kneels in front of her. Hornet chrrs in concentration. She reaches back into thin air, but there’s something shiny in her grip. The charm they left with her, perhaps? No, that’s in her other hand, and honestly, Sly never kept it in as good of condition as they did.

Then pink light erupts from her back hand. Familiar pink light, in the unfamiliar form of a needle. For a few, brief moments, Ghost is the closest to truly hollow they’ve ever been from the utter confusion radiating from them.

What the fuck, they think as Hornet swings.

The Dream Nail—Dream Needle now, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, passes through them harmlessly. It tickles, actually. Apparently learn what the Dream Nail feels like on the receiving end is something they can cross off their bucket list, although there’s a distinct funny feeling after. If they didn’t know what it was and what it did, they would have assumed the Dream Needle was merely a trick of the light.

But they found the Dream Nail. Hornet has the Dream Nail. Needle. Of course it would take the form of a needle for her. Has she even seen a real needle yet?

Hornet blinks innocently up at them and says, cheerfully, “Fuck!”

Their sibling finds them on the outskirts of the City of Tears, nail strapped to their back in the same way Ghost’s stick is. Free from prying eyes, they cross their arms and tap their foot impatiently, as if expecting an explanation.

Ghost signs, Not sorry.

“Holly!” Hornet crows from her perch atop Ghost’s horns.

Holly… that’s actually a name Ghost can get behind, for their sibling. As usual, Hornet is the best at names, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello, little sister,” Holly signs back, having apparently deemed Hornet safe enough. Even if she isn’t, who would look at Holly next to ghost and honestly assume that they weren’t hollow either?

The Pale King sure wouldn’t, and right now, that’s all that matters.

Hornet doesn’t understand a word they’re signing. Dream Needle tucked carefully in her dress, she proudly proclaims, “FUCK!”

Holly looks at Ghost. Ghost shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t even have a sign for that. How?”

Ghost shrugs again, because they don’t have a sign for the explanation either.

Holly sighs. They resume their typical, supposedly hollow stance. “Let’s go home.”

The White Palace is not home to Ghost. It never has been, and it never will be. But when Holly extends a hand to them, they take it.

The Pale King’s reaction, once they return, is glorious. And he can’t even really blame Ghost, because no fucking voice to cry suffering, asshole! No voice to teach their little sister to curse, either! Of course, he blames them anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter.

And no matter who he blames, it doesn’t change the fact that Hornet has a new favorite word, and it’s going to be echoing through the palace for weeks. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe it’ll distract him from Hornet’s newest toy.

Ghost knows where the Dream Nail is now, but that’s just the beginning. They still haven’t seen anything of the Godseeker. Without the Godseeker, how the—to quote their favorite sister—fuck are they going to find the Radiance?

There’s much to think about. And they’re slowly, oh so slowly yet oh so quickly, running out of time.

At least they have Hornet scandalizing nearly every adult in the White Palace in the meantime.

( @tangelojack​ )

( @idiotjuicyy​ )

( @dovalore​,  https://twitter.com/dovalore )

( @lesiasmadness​ )

Lullaby Lament

Nothing was ever off limits to the princess of Deepnest. The fact that she hasn’t grown to be spoiled rotten was great testament to her graceful and collected nature.

“Only proves that she does take after my dear Wyrm,” thought the White Lady as she gently cradled Hornet. A little while ago the Gendered Child was carried by her collar into the garden by the Pale King, after an adventurous day in the Palace with her half brothers. The King didn’t give his wife many chances to figure out what exactly transpired that finally got all the little ones in trouble, but it definitely involved Grimm’s spawn setting something on fire and sweets. The queen allowed herself to giggle softly now that her sweetheart was out of sight, her branches shaking a bit, causing the child in her hands to move a bit in her sleep, only having drifted off recently. Silence finally filled the White Palace, a rare occurrence nowadays, as Hollow was sent to his fathers office to wait for his disciplining, Grimmchild was tossed into the troupe masters hands like a naughty kitten to his owner, and Ghost ran off somewhere, no doubt to resurface soon and unite with his new found nightmare spawn friend. But for a short while, all was quiet.

Hornet brought a new kind of chaos to the Palace. Something the White Lady should have expected, but couldn’t have predicted the feelings it would invoke. Hornet was an actual kid. Unlike the two vessels who could, as soon as they hatched, climb their way up the ledges most adults would struggle with, the Gendered Child needed to be cradled and fed, supervised at all times. In other words, she was vulnerable. Anything happening in her sight left a mark on her, and seeing those changes filled the queens heart and mind with fascination and worry at the same time.

The first time Herrah brought her little one to a meeting, the baby wouldn’t stay quiet, and despite all the disruption it caused, the White Lady wanted them to stay for as long as possible. For the first time in many years, she heard a child’s laughter. Ever since that day, any time Feral shook his shoulder indicating a mischievous chuckle, the queen's mind goes back to that moment.

Not a sprout of envy ever rooted itself in the White Lady’s heart. It didn’t even cross her mind until Dryya asked if she might be resentful of the Deepnest’s queen for getting to hear her daughter’s voice, while she didn’t even know how it felt to hear “mom” once. Her answer was that Herrah would never feel the same euphoria that came over White Lady when she finally figured out how to speak to her child with their hands,

seeing them sign, “happy! happy! happy!” over and over. The joys of motherhood came in many unpredictable ways, and the journey would never be the same for any two families. But despite the differences, and despite almost never speaking to each other aside from diplomatic affairs, the two queens understood each other in the feelings that plagued them at every waking hour. First, it was a desperate desire to have an offspring of their own. Perhaps that understanding was why, upon hearing the request to have the king’s child, the White Lady agreed even before her husband did. Then, another feeling resonated between the two. Constant, cold dread. Dread of their time with their children running out. It might take years before the time came for Hollow to step into his role of being a sacrifice to the kingdom. But even now, there wasn’t a moment when Herrah’s heart didn’t ache, not for herself being deprived of both life and death, as a Dreamer, but for her daughter being left on her own. At least White Lady will get to nurture the feral vessel even after Hollow is reduced to a living gravestone. But even then, the queen would soon lose her only link to the child. As every new sign they learned together only reminded her of how fast her vision was weakining...

“Root lady!”

The queen’s wandering thoughts scattered like a flock of startled maskflys. She hadn’t noticed Hornet opening her eyes a few moments earlier.

“Have I disturbed your slumber with my light, little princess?” “Nu! I’m not sleepy. I didn’t sleep! Imma go play with Ghost.”

Ghost tried to pull the same bluff sometimes, as if the letters on his paper didn’t trail off the borders, turning into a crooked line ending where his quill lay as he dozed off right there on the table, sometimes right in his mother’s lap.

“Oh? You’re not sleepy at all? Goodness, Ghost must have been running way more than you today” - The queen made an exaggerated confused expression.

“No! I run more! And faster! Ghost can never catch me.”

To much of Hollow’s confusion, Ghost often play-raced with his little sister, and always lost on purpose. Something he suspected was that she didn’t get much slack back home, as it wasn’t customary in Deepnest to go easy on anyone, even if it’s to humor a child. No doubt once she’s old enough to train with a nail, she’ll know just how much building character is prioritised over mercy in those lands.

“That can’t be right,” - The White Lady put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. - “They surely are more tired. How can it be that Ghost is already asleep, but Hornet isn’t even sleepy?”

“Ghost sleeps now? Bleh, baby.”

“Maybe little Hornet should sleep a little too. Your mother is talking to the king about important things, but they are taking a longer time because, can you imagine? While they were having a meeting, some kids made a fire in the palace!”

The humm of the garden filled with Hornet’s chiming laughter, as she flailed her tiny feet a little bit in amusement.

“That’s Ghost! Me, too. We made sticky sweets!”- the little spider announced proudly, showing her hands, still covered in bits of burnt marshmallow.

“Really?” “Ye! The flying... The flying bug... Lilpet made fire with his mouth!” “Lilpet?” “Ghost’s Lilpet. They can fly and have pretty eyes.”

After a few seconds, the queen deciphered that Hornet gave Grimmchild that name hearing her mother call it “Ghost’s little pet.”

“Ah, I understand. Do you like them? “Lilpet makes soft sounds. I like them more than sounds at home.”

From Dryya’s tales, the White Lady knew that from every tunnel in Deepnest you could hear the hissing of its wilder residents. Although she’d expect living there would make one numb to such sounds. However, the only noise in the White Palace was the one kids caused. Perhaps the difference is playing with Hornet’s ears. Hornet liked it in the Palace. So many spaces for her to climb and stick her silk to, and brothers to look after her, who would always find a way to catch up, even on the ceiling, getting them to chase her was almost its own game. Besides, she’s never forbidden from doing anything, as Herrah wouldn’t let the king boss her child around, thus White Lady being the only one he cpuld turn to to tame the rambunctious child. At home, she’s probably running wild as well. Herrah had no reason nor will to restrict her child from anything that’s not dangerous. She wanted to spend what little time she had left seeing her little daughter curious, free, and happy. So causing chaos at home wasn’t nearly as fun as raising the roof of the palace, though, as she won’t get the same reaction she gets from the Pale King. And having an accomplice in Ghost makes it double the fun.

The noisy mischief those two cause amused the queen every time, but the moments of quiet the two share are much more precious. Ghost would often try to teach their sister their signs, and being young and clever, she picks them up no problem, although the learning process resembled charades. Hornet is often Ghosts voice, and she cheers as much as the vessel does once they manage to communicate something to servants in the castle or the knights. Watching her child indulge in the process of teaching others the same way she does warmed their mother’s heart.

“...When will mom co-...?” - Hornet yawned mid-word.

“They need some more time, little princess. But I heard sleeping makes time go faster.”

“You made that up!”

“My-my, you are a clever child! People can tell you a lot of lies, but you can ask your mom if what I said was true.”

“I can’t ask her now.” “We’ll just have to wait then, huh. ... Or you could try and see for yourself“ “But I can’t sleep. I’m not tired!”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” “What is lulby?”

“A special song they sing to princesses when they can’t sleep.” “You made that up again!” “Well, I won’t sing it then.” “No, I wanna hear!”

“Lie down and close your eyes then.”

The queen wrapped her hands around Deepnest’s princess, dimming her glow, and a soft hum soon crept just at the edges of Hornet’s hearing. It grew into a melody, and somehow, a song, although the sounds weren't like words at all, they resembled ringing, resonating with the sound of the garden, and the specks of white glow seemed to dance to their tune. The pale beings song was not in any language, but the meaning of its lines Hornet would carry in her memory long after, and years later she’d put them into words she could actually sing herself.

Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three

And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

In the darkness

Far below

Wishing star

Is born to glow

Thread by thread

The star has sawn Silky web

they’ll call their own

Soon came spring To be her guest

Gave her life Then left to rest Summer came Was brief and sad left behind

A cloak of red Autumn took The lone star in Made her strong Fit to be queen Winter shook The web star made Soon two bugs Came for her aid Hide the bugs

In her cocoon Safe from winter

Pale as moon Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

To the gentle hum of the song Herrah found her daughter sleeping in White Lady’s hands. No words were exchanged between them as she gently took Hornet and held her close, the little princess will soon be home.

( @huntersapprentice​ )

( @astronomicartz​ ) 

( @brimal-baspid​ )

[iconic-ponytail]

there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

[matchstickdolly]

Lucifer 5B: Cutting off Touch to Spite Your Fans

Spoiler warning: This post assumes you've watched all of Lucifer, season 5, part B.

CW: There's plenty I like about season 5, but this is a negative post. I know not everyone is up for negativity about the things they love. I also generally avoid it and (try to) keep my mouth shut about things I don’t like in most spaces. It’s good etiquette. But this is my space, and I have thoughts specifically about purity culture and the treatment of sexuality and trauma in fiction. You’ve been warned!

---

I'm a professional writer (not in TV). I've worked with enough bad clients, editors, and other writers to recognize some hallmark behaviors in how both Fox and Netflix gave Lucifer's writers incredibly difficult, unfair, and frankly weird situations to create through.

Fox did them dirty, interfering and ordering too many eps in S3. Netflix did them dirty, ordering 10 eps for S4 when it clearly needed ~13. Then Netflix ordered 10 "final" eps for S5—then, just kidding(!), 6 more after they'd done their writing for the 10. (What the fuck?) And then Netflix ordered 10 more for a "final-final" S6 after the writers had done their best to tell their whole story in S5. (MORE what the fuck.)

Talk about whiplash for creators, and half of those who consume content don't even care to understand such creative pain.

So, there are problems on multiple fronts. There's much I'll forgive writers, accordingly. I go into most shows expecting plotting/pacing issues. I look, instead, for characters and relationships that will triumph over those issues.

Heart is what the show Lucifer has always had in spades, both in its characters and in the immensely committed, wonderful ways the actors have tried to realize the characters' humor, love, trauma, and—most importantly—struggle to find healing. Yet, when given the opportunity to show health alongside another in a relationship, the writers/directors of 5B chose to remove most sexual humor and physical intimacy from their female lead and bi/pan characters to, I feel, sanitize them and troll fans. What happened?

Well, for one, say hi to showrunner Joe Henderson bragging about how the writers decided to be colossal dicks to the fans who helped secure their jobs:

From CBR's 'Lucifer Showrunner Joe Henderson Dissects Season 5B's Chaos'

Have we not suffered sidelined/repressed female characters, "bury your gays," and, oh, Chloe fucking a serial killer enough? Must we also say hello to neutered relationships once characters find stable love (whether same or opposite sex)? The result of withdrawing more sexual humor and physical intimacy from paired characters is an uncomfortable suggestion that they're reformed by "pure" love—more chaste and aloof, more acceptable in polite society. This is only done to end-game committed relationships.*

The writers seem to think they're edging the viewers, but the reality is they're taking traumatized minority characters who rejoiced in sexual freedom, but lacked and craved an emotional connection, and showing they can't have both, or, if they find both, it will never last. They've taken hypersexual characters and said, here, even they can have the love and commitment they desire, but some physical intimacy, especially sexual intimacy, is what they must trade for it.

There's always one more case, phone call, or coincidence interrupting intimacy. Traumas or deaths deserving emotional and physical comfort go on to receive none or only one aspect. Done sometimes, it's fine. Done always, it's sick. Dan dies, and there's no hugging? Really?†

Don't craft characters who crave a full range of emotional and physical intimacy, only to rob them of related scenes every chance you get. That's not complexity. That's bad writing. To even achieve this in 5B, they must squash banter and sideline their female lead yet again.

What a gift to purity culture, which tells us to be more palatable by bottling and buttoning up. That sex should be taboo, but violence glorified. That there is no heated desire among "Good Women," that sexual minorities of all genders shouldn't experience it much at all.

5A is so good. At the very least, it's on the right path (clearly, since the plot payoff from 5x01 to 5x16 is great). It shows a couple working through difficulties and trauma, toward each other emotionally and physically. It even pokes fun at people who think an established relationship means the death of romantic and sexual appeal (a tired and hugely sexist trope). And then... And then 5B reverses that, pretending established relationships are barely physical during emotional struggle and that the honeymoon phase doesn't exist. It robs characters of joy and comfort through physical intimacy when they need it to move through or push beyond trauma.

It's telling that so many fan wishes for Deckerstar are about healing touch and existing in each other's spaces: amending Chloe's spicy PDA history with Cain, Chloe caring for Lucifer's wings, soft family scenes a la Monopoly night and shared meals, morning-afters, etc. Reasonable fans aren't asking for porn; they're asking for connection and humanity. They're asking for writers not to forget characters (and, yes, including hypersexual characters) on their way from Point A to Point B.

That 5B lacks these things isn't a "tee-hee frustrating" slow burn or a cockblock. It is, in so many scenes, excising from characters a core part of what nearly every human and fictional monster craves. And it's a slap in the face to the "found family" trope. When you remove or tamp down a casual physical intimacy that was previously there, characters and their relationships fall flat, even if only partially. They become blunt weapons creators wield against watchers or readers begging for scraps of warmth.

Minorities shouldn't be killed off with ease, and they shouldn't be stifled with ease, either.‡ And maybe there shouldn't be deep trauma driving a wedge in a romantic relationship if you're not going to explore it through that relationship, too—physical intimacy included.

I'm still reserving some judgment. I loved the family drama and the end. (Although, again, where was the physical intimacy? No intimacy when Chloe or Lucifer return from the dead? Really?) I see where they could do awesome things, and could have done more if not for network BS.

But I no longer trust Lucifer's writers and directors. They thought S5 was the end. And what they gave us of Deckerstar, of the relationship that symbolizes health and healing in their fictional world, is this: cold distance. And they got a kick out of doing it, apparently.

If this is a "love letter" to me as a fan, I'm burning it. I can only hope S6 course corrects. If not, the writers who made these choices shouldn't write sexual minority and/or traumatized characters again. If you don't understand most of us, you should stop fucking using us.

---

* If you don't believe me about the differences between casual/short-term relationships and end-game relationships in Lucifer, go back and look at how Lucifer and Maze are with strangers in all the other seasons. Look at Chloe's sex dream, her propositioning of Lucifer in a library, her sex with Pierce in the evidence closet. Look at how much physical intimacy there is between Lucifer and Eve, and then between Eve and Maze (if only as a ploy). Across seasons, there are sex/kink jokes and scenes galore.

Compare this to how these same characters are portrayed when with their end-game loves. Notice the gentle pecks on the lips and the huge general drop in sexual humor between 5A and 5B. How boring. Where's the spice these characters had? Also, give me a damn break. Buttoning up in a relationship is contrary to four and a half seasons of emotional character work that's been communicating security in our relationships is personally freeing.

† I'm not just talking about sexual intimacy in this post, though that is a big part of it because of the characters. 5B lacked crucial found family scenes, too.

Chloe should have been at God's family dinner, but being so would have prevented more ham-fisted angst. Chloe never even has a one-on-one with God, probably because that would demand a straight answer about her miracle status, which I would guess will be used to drive yet another wedge between her and Lucifer next season, but we'll see.

In multiple before- and after-work scenes, there was no reason for Lucifer and Chloe to be apart more, even, than they were in S1 and S2. Monopoly night was in S3, for crying out loud. Most horrifying of all? No one touches Chloe after Dan's death, but Trixie. Meanwhile, Linda, Amenadiel, Ella, Maze, and Lucifer all receive physical comfort. No wonder Chloe's tired of being strong.

‡ If you don't think it's offensive that they stuffed all their wlw content for two hypersexual characters into a few clunky, irrational, and chaste scenes that rushed I love yous, a marriage-like proposal, and the mention of soulmates, I don't know what to tell you other than get off my lawn.

[systlinsideblog]

Part 2

The Lady walked, unseen and unheard, through the grass. 

She looked out from the eyes of animals, felt through the grass, through the soil. She was, after all, a goddess of soil and fertility and life, and all life was her domain. 

She followed her child, as Systlin walked. 

It was cruel, sometimes, the uses to which she must put her chosen champion. The Lady regretted it, on occasion. But it was necessary, and her champion had the fortitude and skill to accept such hard tasks, to stand her ground though the whole world be against her. Her champion had the power to change worlds.

There was much on this world that needed changing. The cries of pain had reached the Lady, though she was not the native goddess of these people. 

But the gods here were silent. The Lady was, among other things, a goddess of mercy, and she’d not been able to bear it.

Justice was what was needed, but there was none of it to be found in this place. Justice was not one of the Lady’s domains. But there was one for whom it was, even if that one still railed against what she’d become when she’d taken the soul of a slain mad god into herself.

She watched, as her champion killed, and though it was not her domain she could taste the justice of it. She’d brought justice and protection to a world with none, and granted mercy to the millions who cried for it. It was honey in her mouth.

A breaker, to break a whole world. The Lady thought, and smiled.

 The leader of these...people...would not been pleased with her. She knew this, because she would not be pleased with anyone who came before her in her court and challenged her as she planned to challenge him. She would probably have had them seized, had they tried such a thing, and likely killed. 

But then, Systlin was fully ready to burn this entire camp down, and quite honestly the only reason she hadn't yet was because there were helpless innocents in among the monsters who called themselves men. 

Every step she took led her past women collared like dogs. Some wore nothing but bells, and Systlin was no fool; she guessed the purpose of such things. Some were chained to wagons. The ones allowed clothing wore little of it. To a one, the women gave way to men. On some of them, Systlin could see whip wheals and healed scars from beatings. 

Her power curled within her, and oh but the lure of it was a powerful thing, as her blood ran hot and the red rage misted her vision. 

But that was a dangerous path, and for now she kept her power under tight rein. 

The women she passed looked at her with something like wonder; they had never seen, she supposed, a woman armed like she. 

One woman, a chained girl wearing little but scraps of leather, had in fascination reached out to touch the hilt of Ice. Systlin paused to let her, and smiled. 

"Warrior caste?" The girl's voice was wondering. "But..."

"Women," Systlin said, her voice gentle. "Make excellent fighters. It was a woman who trained me." 

The girl smiled, and then all at once a man angrily grabbed for the back of the collar around the girl's neck, and moved to cuff her. The girl yelped and cowered, apologizing, begging forgiveness, and it was enough. 

Ice was in her hand without conscious thought as she moved, and then she was standing over the cowering woman, legs planted, the point of her sword at the man's throat. The Power-bound blade, sharp as a razor, drew a drop of blood where it dug into skin. 

"If you touch her." Systlin's voice was a snarl. "I will kill you." 

She let, at last, the tiniest curl of her curse rise. It came cold and eager, and she reached out, feeling, feeling the million tiny flaws  in everything around her, in her bones, in the bones of those around her, in the girl's collar...

"How dare you!" The man was furious. "She is mine! I will do with her as I like, I am her master!" 

Systlin pushed, a thin little thread of Power, delicate as a needle. 

The girl's collar cracked with a sound of over-stressed metal, and fell from her neck in two halves. 

"She," Systlin hissed, "Is a woman, and a person, and not to be owned. What the bloody fuck is wrong with you people?"

"She is a woman!" The man hissed right back at her, heedless of the sword at his throat. "Her place is as a sla..."

It was the last thing he said. Systlin ran Ice through his throat, out the back of his neck. The sudden gurgle as his windpipe was severed was as sweet as music. 

There was a roar of outrage, and she felt rather than saw the lance shoved for her back. She bent away, and it went past. She whipped her sword around, getting her back to the wagon, and looked down the length of ice-blue steel at the snarling faces of hundreds of furious warriors.

“Eighteen.” She said, coldly. “Whoever wants to be nineteen, step forward first.”

“Give me one reason, woman.” Kamchak was deadly serious. “Why I should not order you slain where you stand.”

“Because you said that you would take me to this Kutaituchik.” Systlin shrugged one shoulder. “And go on and do it. I would be delighted to kill some more of you.”

“You’re mad.”

“I fear that I am the only sane one present.”

“I should kill you.”

Systlin’s patience snapped. She called again on her curse, and with a terrible cracking of wood fifty lances snapped in a moment, dissolving into splinters in their owner’s hands. There was a cry of astonishment and…ah, yes, there it was…fear.

Several warriors…didn’t quite step back, but leaned back a bit, and looked uneasy.

“Try.” She said, very softly. “Please try. I’ll make a soup bowl of your skull.”

Kamchak regarded her for a long moment. “So you are a sorceress.”

“The next thing I break will be you, and the twenty men closest to you, unless you take me to this man as you promised.”

There was a long, tense moment, and finally Kamchak turned and jerked his chin at her to follow. Systlin did, warily. She did not tamp her power down and lock it away; she kept it to hand, a constant itch under her skin, a temptation to crack the femur of the man ahead of her just to hear him scream.

She did not. She’d long ago mastered her power, as perhaps no other Breaker had. She ruled it, not the other way around. She felt the temptation, but discarded it, and kept the terrible boon of her power close at hand.

She would need it. She knew it in her bones already. The sun was dipping towards evening. She’d been a warrior for decades. She was a warrior, a conqueror, a queen who’d fought two wars against people and one against a god. She’d won all three.

She knew, in her bones, that tonight she’d be spilling blood. A lot of it.

The girl rushed to stay near her, trembling. Systlin let her; the poor thing was terrified, traumatized, and clinging to perhaps the one thing that had ever offered her a helping hand. She had never been particularly good at comfort, but she tried; she patted the woman on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly. The girl flinched, but then looked at her with wide frightened eyes.

“It’s all right.” Systlin tried to keep her voice gentle, for all murder was singing under her skin and gleefully anticipating a slaughter. “It’s all right. To touch you again, they’d have to go over my dead body.”

This seemed small comfort to the woman. “They’ll like that.” She said, in a very small voice.

“They won’t. I can and will kill every man in this camp if I must.”

A wide-eyed look. “No one can do that. No one but a god.”

“And I killed a god once.” Systlin shrugged. “Men die easier.”

The look she got was skeptical, but the girl clearly remembered the shattered lances. The trembling faded perhaps a little.

She was led to an open area before a wagon of exceptional size and make. Jewels and gold glinted and glittered everywhere. Systlin waited as men ducked into the wagon and hurried conversation were had. She waited as rugs and cushions were brought out, and finally with ceremony an old gray robe was spread over them. She waited as an older man was escorted with great deference from the wagon. He assumed the seat, still chewing a string of some substance. Systlin noted the somewhat sleepy detatchment in his eyes.

The lines of his face were familiar. She looked from him to Kamchak, and back. Kamchak was just turning, and took up a position very close to the older man.

Ahhh. She remembered the deference shown Kamchak by the other warriors, and noted how they looked to him even now. Ahhh. I see.

The old man… Kutaituchik …looked her up and down. She looked back, with all the self-assurance she had, which was enough to break an army against.

“I am told,” The old man said at last. “That you killed eighteen of my warriors.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because they offered me insult and implied that they would put me in chains and enslave me.”

“You are a woman, are you not?” The old man said mildly.

The rage boiled again, and Systlin forced it from red hot into ice. “Slavery is abomination.” She said sharply. “It is among the greatest crimes, to hold another person in bondage. Those who would break another person to their will are monsters, and killing them cleanly is too good for them. Enslaving another for the purpose of sex is beyond abomination, for rape is another of the greatest of crimes. To even suggest such a thing is vile, and I sincerely wonder what in the name of all the gods and spirits is wrong with the men of this camp.”

A short laugh. “Ahhh. Another sent by the Priest-Kings then, new to Gor?”

Gor. The name of this world, then? And Priest-Kings; gods of some sort? “I am not from this place, no, and thank the Lady’s mercy for that.”

“You’ll find,” said Kutaituchik, “That the ways of Gor are different. You may as well get used to them, woman; you’ll find that the Tuchuk are quite fair masters, all in all. As you are new, I shall not have you killed. The male kin of those you have slain will draw lots, and the winner may put his collar on you and claim your sword as recompense. If he is charitable, he will loan you to the other men seeking recompense.”

There was a general murmur of approval from the surrounding men. Systlin felt the itch under her skin grow more insistent. The girl clinging to her side sobbed. “I told you,” she said. “I told you!”

“I have a counter offer.” Systlin said. She was drawing up power now, and readying it, because she knew with absolute certainty that she was nearing the point where it would turn to blood. She looked Kutaituchik dead in the eyes. “You acknowledge me as your new chieftain and acknowledge my word as the new law. You remove the collars from every slave in this camp. You renounce your crimes, and abase yourself for forgiveness before those you have wronged. You pay recompense and escort every newly freed woman wherever she wishes to be taken, and leave her there with funds and supplies enough to piece a life back together.”

She smiled horribly, a smile that held no mirth. “Since you are new to this new law, I will not kill you for your crimes.”

There was utter silence. And then a great roar of laughter all about.

“Kamchak.” Kutaituchik said. “Kill her.”

Kamchak nodded, and the men who’d been creeping up behind her moved. Systlin had been tracking them for some time; she’d felt the disturbances in the air and the patches of too-silent space behind her. They intended, she guessed, to strike her without warning. It was wise. It was what she would have done to kill a sorceress, were she without power.

Systlin reached into that yawning pit of coldly eager power within her, and she broke the men trying to kill her. Bones shattered into splinters. It was utterly soundless, save for the sudden screams of agony as men collapsed into piles of bloody meat.

It was easy. It was terribly easy. Her blood sang with the last agonized gurgling screams.

“Good effort.” She said, and she could not keep the smile from her face. “You should have taken my offer. Now I extend you my second; you submit to me, here and now, and I make your death painless.”

“Kill her!” The words were roared in utter furious rage. “Tuchuks! KILL HER!” A thousand voices roared, and a forest of lances rose.

Systlin drew her sword, and her dagger, and smiled, and in that smile was ruin. And as the first warriors rushed forward, she began to kill.

[fenristheorem]

Hi!^^

Could you make a hc about Lance and Guardian first date? 👀

Hello! This ask turned into a bit of a headcanon / scenario hybrid, I hope you don’t mind! It’s was so tempting to write in-depth about so many things through this that I couldn’t stop myself lol.

Also, I put a couple of my own headcanons on Lance’s dragon form in here because we know basically nothing except how he looks.

~Under the cut~

Lance and Guardienne's first date:

Guardienne may have been the first one to show interest in advancing their relationship from friends to partners (since Lance was very hesitant to do that as he feels he doesn’t deserve it after everything he’s done), but Lance will take it upon himself to initiate the first date after she clearly has interest, and he won’t take it lightly.

His seriousness about this is due to two main reasons: the instinctual nature of being a dragon - which includes all the courtship instincts that are a part of his people’s culture - and the belief that she truly deserves to be taken seriously.

Lance may not have been raised by his people, but dragons are feral creatures by nature and, therefore, instincts are a prominent part of their life. The knowledge that she’s agreeing to date him will be translated into a very basic idea within those instincts: she’s allowing him to court her. There - of course - will be more to their relationship than just Lance trying to court her, but this idea merely shows what instincts will be active through the beginning of their relationship until they’re both sure they want to be together long-term. The point of having courtship instincts is to show a potential mate that said dragon is competent at providing, protecting, and caring for their love interest, so that’s exactly what Lance plans to do. These instincts - combined with knowing her personality and interests - will help him to think of things he can find, plan, or do for her that are specifically chosen because he believes she’ll like it. He wants to show her that he is an ideal mate for her, so he’ll keep trying to prove that relentlessly until they both have confirmed their affection for each other over and over again, in which case Lance will still keep providing and caring for her, but will be less aggressive about it. These instincts also act as a major impulse control for Lance, and this can be either harmful or beneficial for him. They can influence in-the-moment decisions, especially with physical touch, like whether or not he kisses her in one moment or how he chooses to hold her. This can be harmful in the manner where he may pressure her past her boundaries a bit by accident - unknowingly trying to prove how deep his want for her is and being caught up in the moment and his own physical feelings so he’s rendered unable to immediately realize her discomfort unless she makes a clear gesture that she’s not yet interested. The last thing Lance wants it to make her uncomfortable, so he’ll try to keep from doing something unless it’s relatively clear that she’ll react positively to it, but from that thought, this can also be greatly beneficial as it allows him to recognize things that he - or other men - may otherwise overlook. There may be a moment where she’s interested in possibly initiating something, but may be too shy to actually take the first step. He’s very detail orientated, so he’ll likely notice this subtle change in how she acts as she ponders a thought, and can instinctually recognize a few changes in her physical being - like glancing from his eyes to his lips, initiating a few kind but somewhat unnecessary touches, unknowingly accentuating a few attractive parts of her body, and even going as far as detecting a faint change in scent when she’s aroused (although, that last one will come a bit later in the relationship). Sometimes Lance will purposely tamp down any instinctual habits for the sake of proper self-control and not needing to second-guess any action that may actually make her uncomfortable, but usually when Lance detects a few signs that she’s heavily interested in him in the moment - and it’s clearly romantic interest, not interest in just the conversation topic - those instincts will unravel and he won’t be able to stop himself from immediately leaning forward to steal her lips in a kiss.

These instincts overall are very serious to him, and he doesn’t intend to take her courtship lightly - after all, his actions and his manner with her will influence how her feelings develop with him, and that’s influenced by how his instincts effect him in this situation. However, that doesn’t mean he’ll go out of his way to change for her or do things (that he may not like, especially) just because he thinks she’ll like it. If his instincts are continuously telling him to do things that she’s not liking, then perhaps they’re not as compatible as he’d like to think. He’s willing to give her things that are influenced by his instincts that she’ll surely like, but if he needs to think and act differently than who he is, then their relationship will be based off a lie, and he’s not about to base any part of his life - or someone else’s life that concerns him - off of a lie made solely to please.

He’s also taking this date seriously because he feels it would disrespectful of him to not take it seriously. This is a given regardless of who it is, but he feels it applies with her even more than it would with anyone else due to this reasoning: Lance has tried to kill her in the past - multiple times - and he tried to kill her friends and destroy the world that she loves so dearly. So not only would it be disrespectful in general to waste her time with a date that isn’t well planned or thought out, but it would be incredibly disrespectful to the point of being truly unforgivable if he did all of those horrible things and then tried to win her affections by thinking that a shallow, poorly thought out date would even begin to be acceptable in proving that he’s an ideal man for the savior of Eldarya. It takes the idea of wasting her time and thinking poorly of her intelligence and self-worth to a whole new level - and Lance is not about to risk that in any way. This is the woman who actually managed to put up a fight against him (hopeless, but he gives her credit for trying because she believed in her reasoning), who saved Eldarya, and is now moving past bitter old emotions to begin considering taking her past sworn enemy as her future lover. She has gained his respect in a multitude of ways, so there is no way that he’s going to take their first date lightly.

That being said, he struggles for a few days planning what he wants to do with her. He did ask her if there was anything in specific she’d like to do - only for her to say that there was nothing in particular, so all the planning was on him. Lance wants a good balance of including things she likes and would appreciate while also adding in his own interests. He believes that their first date should reflect how he thinks their relationship would manifest - and what he would like it to be and what he thinks she’d like it to be - while being conscious that this will be the first glimpse into a possible intimate life with each other, which can be off putting at first, so he thinks of everything that that would include and / or influence; food, entertainment, traveling, talking, etc. It was a good thing he told her prior to expect to be with him the whole day as he eventually finds himself needing to carefully manage and plan things to assure the date will go as he hopes, otherwise the rest of the day wouldn’t be very ideal. He’s sure to have a few back-up plans, though, just in case something does go awry so the date isn’t a total failure.

Guardienne knows absolutely nothing about what he’s planning, the only thing he told her is to take the whole day off and wear something comfortable yet functional that she isn’t afraid to get dirty. This almost scares her, and for a while she wonders what she got herself into by saying yes to his offer - after all, Lance has always had a creative mind with their “adventures” in the past - but she will admit that she does trust him now, and she follows his advice when the day of their date comes.

Lance is sure to give Huang Hua a few day’s warning about his day off and who he’s leaving in charge that day - she raises an eyebrow and grins the slightest bit when he mentions the exact day he needs to take off, but doesn’t ask any questions - and rises early on the day of their date to meet Guardienne in the Dinning Hall at the time they agreed on.

Now Karuto doesn’t like Lance at all much, and the dragon knows this, so when he originally asked the chef to prepare a few special meals he was turned down very quickly. But then he mentioned that it’s for Guardienne as well...

“Oh? You want me to prepare a special meal for her for you? Ha! Why?”

“Well... we intend to spend the day together so I want to be sure she has a nice time, and you’re cooking is excellent, Karuto. I know Guardienne really appreciates your food, and I don’t want to take any risks of things going wrong, so I was thinking that if we could have a breakfast and dinner at the dinning hall, and a lunch to go, that would be a definite way to begin to make sure she has a nice time.”

Karuto’s ladle clattered to the floor as the Satyr whipped his head around to look Lance dead in the eye, a dumbstruck expression on his face - almost looking as though he’s seen a ghost. Lance met his gaze evenly, expecting this reaction. He knew the chef didn’t like him that much, he didn’t blame him, but he hoped that Karuto could perhaps bless him with this favor for Guardienne’s sake.

“You mean... you have a date with her?” Karuto’s voice was faintly high pitched, reconfirming just how shocked he was. Lance shifted a bit, glancing to the ground as he did before meeting his gaze again.

“Ah, well... yes. So I’d really like things to go well. And try to keep this on the down-low. This is our first date and I think everything would go better overall if it didn’t spread like wildfire through the guard just yet.”

Karuto’s facial features softened a bit as he listened, picking up the ladle and shuffling to throw it in the sink before fishing another from one of the various hooks along the wall and returning to the pot on the stove.

“...Well, I suppose I can’t say no... and... - ahm - congrats? I’ll be sure to keep quiet about this, I guess, for her sake. Now what are you thinking of for the meals?” Karuto still looked quite surprised, but there was a sincerity in his expression and tone that Lance trusted, and he promptly thanked Karuto for doing him this favor. However, the Satyr also made sure to give him the full version of “if you try anything with her and I hear of it, I’ll personally make your life hell.” Lance quickly realizes that Karuto really likes her, and assures him he won’t do anything she doesn’t want. It doesn’t really seem to convince the chef, but he also probably realizes that there’s nothing he can do to stop this. Guardienne can be just as stubborn as the dragon, after all, and she’s already said yes to this.

Fortunately, Karuto kept his word and prepared a special breakfast for the both of them - Lance quickly noticed that his was prepared with quality as well, although the chef gave him a sharp look - and Guardienne soon realized that their breakfast was different than what was being served to others as they settled into a quiet corner of the hall. Lance - somewhat sheepishly - admitted that he’d asked a special favor from Karuto, and Guardienne grinned appreciatively at this.

When they were finished, Lance retrieved the lunches - nodding in thanks to Karuto as he did, the chef still giving him a meaningful look - and stored them in the small travel bag he packed, heading out of the guard with Guardienne to lead her to the open plains.

The next part of his plan was a bit shifty. It’s always possible that she could back out or become uncomfortable, but he feels - despite his anxiousness - that this should be how things are done. If Guardienne at any point became uncomfortable, then he would immediately yield to her wishes, but he really hoped she didn’t. He believes this is where their date can truly begin, and he hopes that she has enough faith in him to follow his plans.

He dropped the bag on the ground and turned to her, leveling a calm stare on her as she tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’ve never rode a dragon, correct?”

“I hope that’s not an innuendo.” She cracks a smile and raises a brow as she looks at him, he grins slyly in return. 

“No - not this time at least.” He can play the game of wit. Guardienne’s smile grows before falling, a faint trace of wistful mourning crossing her expression.

“But, actually I have. Your brother, during the war...” Lance remembered that and his grin dropped, but this was something different. That was into war, when neither were paying attention to the actual experience and were focused on preserving their lives. He needed to know if she actually experienced seeing the world from a dragon’s eye view.

“Yes, I know that, but have you actually rode a dragon and been able to focus on the experience? Flying into war is very different than flying for leisure.”

“No, I haven’t experienced that...” She looked intently at him now, understanding where he was leading the topic.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes... I trust you.” Her eyes met his steadily as she responds. Everything is going as he hoped so far.

Whisps of white and cerulean blue shifted around Lance as he began shifting into his dragon form, stretching his wings out and lifting his head towards the sky to adjust once fully transformed before taking a few steps towards her as Guardienne picked up the travel bag. She admired the beautiful rippling of crystalline blue and snow white scales as he sauntered towards her before crouching down and lowering his neck. Sudden nervousness swept over Guardienne - he was certainly big, easily close to 10 feet tall - if not taller - with a thick, muscular form, but she never actually had the chance to think about riding a dragon before doing so, and that realization seemed intimidating to her now. Will she just hang onto the ice-like horns that adorn his upper neck? Won’t her weight be tiring for him in time? What about her legs, where should she put them? Could he really lift her weight into the air as easily as he seems to think?

Lance took notice of her hesitance and tilted his head and neck to look at her with a piercing eye, watching her as she stared for a moment.

“I...”

“I understand this may seem daunting. If you feel you can trust this, I would recommend doing so - I have wonderful things planned for us - but I won’t force you. I have backup plans closer to the guard if you feel you’re not ready for this.” Lance’s heart twists a bit - he really wanted to do this with her. This was really the only possible hindrance, if she could just get past this and trust him...

“No, it’s fine. I just... how do I hold on?” Guardienne quickly snaps to and laughs a bit, securing the travel bag to her and lifting a leg to straddle his lower neck. She placed her hands on his neck for a moment before curiously running her hands along his scales. Such a wonderful texture...

A purr rumbles from the dragons chest as he relaxes, pleased that she was agreeing with this.

“Hang on to the horns around my neck and wrap your legs around me - be sure to dig your heels in, it’ll help stabilize you.”

Guardienne did as told and instinctively leaned forward on his neck, clinging close to dear life.

“When we’re up in the air you can re-adjust your grip a bit to be more comfortable. Are you ready?” Lance raised his neck from the ground and Guardienne braced herself, already feeling unsettlingly high in the air - but she knew she wanted this.

“Yea.”

Lance tilted his head towards the sky again and spread his wings wide, leaping from the ground to hover for a moment before his wings scored through the air with a loud, windy woosh. Guardienne watched as his wings folded a bit, his scales shimmering beautifully in the sunlight, before stretching out and falling upon the air again. With every down stroke of his wings, Lance’s head and neck raised into the air a bit, the rest of his body following the rippling motion as he climbed higher in the air and gained speed.

Guardienne dared not look down as they rose above the trees, instead hunkering down a bit to press herself closer to the ice dragon. They were heading higher than she’s ever been while riding another creature - and while she did trust Lance, it still unsettled her greatly knowing how far their drop would be if he were thrown off balance and unable to recover. But he has years of experience of flying, she reminded herself. It was unlikely for him to lose control of himself.

Lance could sense a bit of her anxiety and shifted his wing pattern, smoothing out his climb to be more steady and less aggressive in how he moved. Guardienne fortunately seemed to lose some of her worries as he climbed with more subtle movements, and just as she relaxed a bit he shifted his pattern again. They were high enough in the sky now to where Lance just needed to change direction to head towards their destination, so he leveled out in the sky, letting his wings glide through the air.

Guardienne shifted the slightest bit as he leveled out, making sure she had a good grip, and caught sight of the ground below while doing so - but contrary to how terrifying she thought it would feel when seeing it from this distance, it was actually beautiful.

Trees dotted the ground, forming into masses of liquid dark green forests against the pale green of soft grass while blue-silver rivers - the color of moondust - meandered through grass and forest alike, dipping to disappear among trees before emerging again at a very separate location. Dark grey boulders dotted along the rivers and streams, and the occasional creature bolted along the plains as it ran from the shadow of the mighty entity flying above it.

She remained entranced at the landscape below as Lance tilted slightly, gliding elegantly through the air as he banked into a turn. Something of a purr rumbled from his chest as Guardienne leaned against him more, faintly adjusting her grip to hold higher on his horns so she could lean closer to him while admiring the ground.

“The land is much nicer from the air, isn’t it?” Lance called out to her as he tilted his head to glance at her, relief welling in his chest when he noted the starry-eyed gaze Guardienne wore as she looked at the ground.

“It’s beautiful!” Her tone will filled with awe, no hint of nervousness appearing anywhere in her energy anymore. He knew she would love this, she just had to push past the fear.

As they flew, Guardienne became more and more comfortable with flying, eventually allowing herself to sit somewhat upright so she can get a wider view of the great expanse of land stretching endlessly beneath them rather than what’s directly below them. It reminded her a lot of when she flew on airplanes, but this was much more free and wild.

Mountain ranges dotted the distance one way - tall, grey and monumental in the face of all the specks of trees and strings of rivers - and thicker forest canopy darkened the forest in some deeper parts of the trees. Open plains flowed beneath them and, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw the deep blue of the ocean behind them, growing further and further away. She basked in the view as Lance glided through the air, and Guardienne came to realize that properly riding a dragon isn’t half as worrisome as she originally thought.

She looked ahead and saw a murky, grey-blue expanse approaching from among the trees and plains - immediately recognizing it as a large lake dotted with large, jutting boulders - and beyond that a small cliff. It was as though a small mountain once stood there, but half was taken and replaced by a lake, leaving the other half a jagged, rocky outcrop against the bright sky as it led further back to sloping plains.

Lance dived faintly, gliding softly downward as they approached the lake. For a moment Guardienne’s thoughts filled with alarm as he seemed to intend to send them straight into the water, and she was about to open her mouth to express her concerns when he tilted his wings a few feet away from the surface and stopped their decline just before the water.

Instead, Guardienne’s breath was taken away from her as she looked into the lake, their reflection mirrored beautifully in the deep blue as they glided mere feet away from the surface of the still water, wakes rippling through as they passed by from the airflow of the dragon she rode. Lance tilted himself just slightly, turning their path to allow the edge of his wing to just faintly brush the surface with a soft hiss as water sprayed out behind. However, left upon the surface in the wake from his wing was a long trail of glittering, cloudy ice - spiked along the edges as it froze the rippling water during it’s impact against the dragon’s wing. She watched in fascination the ice trail that followed them, suddenly wondering how the water felt, and pressed her front completely against Lance as she leaned down. Gripping him tightly with her hand and legs, she took a calming breath and leaned slightly to his side, reaching to the lake. 

Lance tilted his head to look at her again and straightened out, letting them drop closer until he was a risk of sending them straight into the water if he glided any lower. Fortunately, this was all the decline Guardienne needed, and the tips of her fingers brushed through the surface; cold and grating against her skin at their speed - but spraying out in a similar fashion as the water that had sprayed from Lance’s wing - and leaving her breathless from the experience.

The start of an astonished laugh bubbled from her chest before she leaned completely back, readjusting her grip again as she looked across the water on both sides. Exhilaration flowed through her bones and veins as she took in their speed in comparison to the lake and trees along the bank, and she let out a full laugh as she threw her head back to the sky, letting the wind whip over her skin as she embraced the experience of truly riding a dragon. 

Joy bubbled within Lance as he took in her chiming laugh, and as they began to near the occasional large boulder jutting from the lake water he pondered the next part of his plan again. Hopefully she was in the mood for an even more thrilling ride...

He came up upon the first boulder, emerging many feet above the water and shifted his wings again, tilting them to soar upwards and give a flap to keep their speed as he fluently arced above the boulder, letting himself glide slowly down again and targeting two boulders near to each other next. He arced over one again and dived safely above the water, spreading his wings and banking into a sharp, drifting turn to swerve around the second rock. Guardienne shifted on his lower neck as he moved, flattening herself to him and adjusting her balance slightly when needed. When they were level above the water again, approaching their last chance to safely fly away from the approaching cliff, Lance glanced back toward Guardienne to find her studying the immense, jagged rise. She locked her gaze with his one eye, giving a wild grin as she adjusted herself and held on tighter.

Lance knew that she knew his intent, and her grin and tightening grip was all he needed to know that she wanted in on this experience, so he rose slightly above the lake again to beat his wings and gain speed as he scanned the cliff for the best path.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” Guardienne called to him, leaning with him as he tilted to avoid a large rock with an overhanging arch. They passed under it and a crumbling sounded from behind them. She looked back in time to see a fair part of that arch crumble from where they just passed under and splash into the water. Suddenly she was harshly reminded that the landscape could shift due to the wind currents from the dragon, and they don’t have any control over it. Her gaze turned to look at Lance again as he looked back to her.

“If I can fight in the air then I can navigate through cliff sides, and this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve flown through rocky outcrops or forests. Be sure to keep a tight grip, though, this’ll require finessing.”

Guardienne trusted his experience with this, so she nodded her head and gave him a trusting grin - he wouldn’t be doing this if he felt he couldn’t execute it.

Lance turned back to study the sloping cliff and the rocky lake before it again, finding an ideal path upward, and steadied his wings to prepare for the sudden moment where he would enact his first movement. 

Guardienne held onto him, anticipation making her heart race as she studied the rocks as well.

And then Lance banked harshly to the side, heading towards a large, thin ridge rising out of the water that was crumbling on one side.

He tilted back, rising into the air and closing quickly in on the ridge top before arcing himself tightly over it. Nearly immediately on the other side was another jutting formation, and - as he was gliding downward - his wings shifted and he rose his head and neck to the sky to begin to slow their descent and climb again, then tilted nearly vertical to the side to veer around the formation, bringing them closer to the immense cliff edge now nearly directly above them. Lance soared along the length of cliff for a moment, level with the water now as he spotted an arch adjoining the cliff. He glided to it and folded his wings safely in for a moment as they passed through before flicking his wings open on the other side and immediately banked upwards into the sky.

Guardienne held on tight, pressing herself close to Lance as he easily - gracefully - maneuvered around rocks and overhangs, climbing up the cliff at a soaring speed without bringing them too close to risk any harm, but still close enough to feel the humbleness of realizing how small they still are in comparison to the massive stones. Her head swung wildly around, watching the stones they drifted around and embracing the breathtaking view of the water receding below them. Lance dived and arced and rolled in the air, rising and falling as he maneuvered the cliff. Guardienne diligently held herself close to him, doing her best to adjust herself in subtle ways that might make his flying easier for him while embracing the beauty of the light reflecting off of water below and the shadows cast over them as they soared beneath rock formations.

Guardienne looked towards the sky again as Lance soared along the cliff - noticing that they were about rise over the crest - and leaned her head against his neck gently, silently thanking him for the wonderful, thrilling experience he gave her. They rushed past the peak and kept their fast incline upward to let the speed die out on its own, and Guardienne took the chance to look around as they gided. Light shimmered beautifully off streams through muted green grasslands and forests, similar to where they just came from, but large, silver-grey rock formations jutted out of the ground here, like the boulders in the lake. A feeling of calm content rolled through Guardienne as she surveyed the landscape and rested against the dragon, breathing in the fresh air around them as it breezed by her. She almost wanted to cry from the beauty of the landscape and the experience of freely riding a dragon, understanding completely now exactly why Lance wanted to share this with her. This was something that couldn’t possibly be rivaled by any other experience.

They flew peacefully for only a few minutes longer before Lance glided to a slow stop just a few feet above the top of a hill, reaching out with his hind legs to plant firmly on the grass and lean down so Guardienne could dismount. He checked in on her after shifting back to his human form, trying to get a read on her opinion of the ride, only to be pleasantly surprised when she smiled and laughed, rambling about the humbling feeling of rising above the great earth to dance around it’s formations and soar the skies above it. Fortunately, the flying part of the date was also the most questionable - the most likely thing that would make Guardienne regret her choice - but just as Lance expected and planned for, she enjoyed the thrill instead.

Lance didn’t really have much planned after that to be honest, despite the aggressive way he worried about the plans. He intended for a few specific things to come up during their date, but from here it was really just walking and talking until encountering the right scenario for it. However, he did know roughly where he was and where they needed to go for them to spend the next few hours, so he kindly took the travel bag from her and they headed off in the direction he set, keeping a relaxed pace as they trekked over the hills and rock formations towards the forests around them. 

They talked about anything and everything as they walked - although Guardienne was particularly interested in his dragon powers after what she just experienced, and Lance was more than happy to give her all the information she wished for. He kept a close eye on her as they walked as well, darting out to stabilize her when she stumbled over a root or vine and making sure she had a clear path through any poisonous plants so they wouldn’t brush against her. He didn’t want their time together to end early because she had gotten hurt - of which she had a wonderful record of doing.

They came across a river after a while of walking - slow moving and clear enough that they could see the vibrant fish and other aquatic creatures scuffling around beneath the surface. Guardienne knelt next to the water’s edge to watch the display while Lance settled next to her, leaning forward to watch as well while thinking that he could have decided to hunt for her and cook his catch instead of just asking Karuto to create a lunch. However, this was their first date, and Lance was partially prepared for the possibility where she didn’t end up enjoying it as much as she was enjoying it currently. With that in mind, he let the thought pass over him without any regrets - Karuto’s cooking was a sure way to have her enjoy their lunch out here when her final opinions of everything else could still vary - and marked it down as a thought for a later date if she was interested.

“They’re so colorful.” Guardienne smiled and dipped a finger into the water. The creatures in the vicinity of her finger scattered, rushing up or downstream or crawling along the bottom of the stream. A small, regretful grimace came to her face at seeing the reaction, dejectedly pulling her finger out of the water.

“I guess they’re as skittish as the fish back on Earth.” A minor, guilty smile came to her face as she looked at Lance, who grinned gently back and let out an amused huff, leaning his shoulder against her’s softly. Guardienne leaned into him as well and turned back to the expanse of the river, watching as creatures slowly returned from their hiding places. She glanced down the length of the river, recalling what she learned about Lance’s abilities earlier.

“Could you freeze over this whole river? Turn the whole thing into ice?” She asked curiously, wondering exactly the extent of his powers. Lance smiled at her before taking her hand in his.

“Probably, but I much more enjoy doing things like this.” He took her hand in his, his larger palm over the back of her small hand, and dipped their fingers into the water. The creatures - ruffled again from the intrusion into their domain - spread out again, but Guardienne was more interested this time in the pure white, feathery substance that began to spread across the surface of the water, originating from their hands. It looked like frost that spiraled out onto the water in every which way. As the water grew slightly colder - a sharp contrast to the striking warmth of Lance’s hand on hers - a few of the tendrils branched back towards them and crawled along the bank of the river, slipping up to slink across a few plants in it’s path.

Guardienne found herself entranced by the beauty of the living frost, even reaching down to the water with her other hand to brush her fingertips along the thin, fragile swirls. They were cold and hard to the touch, but a small amount of pressure applied made the frost dip under her fingers before she backed away. It was definitely thin and fragile; something beautiful to look at but not to touch.

She leaned against Lance a bit more without speaking, enjoying the quiet, beautiful moment they were sharing. He ran the pad of his thumb over the outer side of hers kindly.

Some time later they were moving again, trekking through light forests that were shifting into rollings hills and flatland. Guardienne savored the light breeze and warm sun as it traveled across the land and brushed her skin. It was a good thing that the weather was nice, otherwise Lance would have needed to change his plans. Guardienne was truly enjoying the date so far - if she knew what this date would be like beforehand, only for it to be changed by the weather, she would have been severely disappointed. However, this brought the thought of what Lance would have done if they couldn’t have gotten this far into the date.

As they walked, they discussed Lance’s backup plans, revealing that he - in the event of bad weather or something else restricting his original plans - would have then opted to spend the day with her in one of their rooms, probably his, or possibly have spent time somewhere else. If the weather wasn’t too bad - just a small bit of rain or something - then he would have even considered taking her to sit underneath the Cherry Tree to spend time in silence together. Frankly, he had a lot of things in mind that they could have done, it just would have depended on her mood and the weather.

They talked for a while until they encountered a shallow ravine, and Lance put his arm out to stop her, staring intently at the pointy, vibrant colored plants that dusted the bottom. He grabbed a nearby branch and stuck one end into the ravine - sinking a few feet into the plants before hitting solid ground - and continued to do the same motion as he walked alongside the dip, poking the stick against the ground every few feet as it hit at a slowly quickening pace. Guardienne watched with interest as Lance continued to walk further before he turned to her with a faint grin and a raised eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t intend to stand there all day. It’ll be easier to cross when the dip is more shallow.”

He turned back to testing the depth and walking as Guardienne snapped out of her watching, a grin making it’s way to her face as she began to follow him. The stick reached only a foot or two deep into the ravine now.

“I don’t know, I was thinking I would stand there until you decided to carry me across like a princess. Add a new twist to the typical story of a princess being kidnapped by a fearsome dragon, you know?” She spoke in a humored tone, turning her gaze away for a moment to look at their surroundings, only to begin to turn her attention back to him when she heard the thump of the stick falling to the ground.

She let out a surprised squeak as she suddenly found herself off the ground, leaning back and being pulled to Lance’s chest as he picked her up with ease. Her hands found holds within his armor to cling to him as he began heading towards the ravine.

“Lance! What are you doing!?” She laughed as she clung to him, pleasantly shocked at his sudden actions.

“Well fortunately the kidnapping part is over, so now this age-old, horrifying tale can be continued in a lighter manner - per se with the beautiful princess being protected by said fearsome dragon from potentially poisonous plants. It’s better if only one of us trek through this instead of both.” He spoke in a light tone as well, a smirk on his face as he glanced over to meet her gaze quickly. The reminder of the kidnapping - and his past overall - weren’t a usually pleasant memory, yet somehow she made it easy to pass over, even joke about on occasion.

“Hey, I probably could have carried you.” Gaurdienne laughs as she says this, looking up at him with a humorous but fierce gaze. Lance found himself shaking with laughter as well.

“I’d like to see you try!” 

He sets her down gently on the other side of the ravine, keeping a hand on her hip as she finds stable footing along the slope and rocks before they head off again, talking and joking with each other all the while.

Lance certainly begins to open up as they walk, and Guardienne’s time with him turns less from a date with the man who once tried to kill her - and who’s loyalty she questions sometimes - to an enjoyable hang-out with someone who might as well have been an old friend. They find themselves laughing about many different things and carrying witty conversations together, occasionally broken by Lance adding in small informational bits regarding things they pass by that Guardienne comments on.

Eventually the forest is left behind them and they start their hike across rolling, wide pastures, the wind breezing through the tall grass as they climbed their way up a sloping hill. A strong wind current hit Guardienne at the top before calming as she looked at the land around them.

A beautiful river curled around the base of the hill, and a small lake sat off not too far in the distance, leading further to forest again. Clouds still dotted the sky, with no storm in sight.

“Are you hungry?” Guardienne turned her attention back to Lance as he spoke, glancing up to note the sun’s position in the sky. It was high above them, but was noticeably starting it’s decline towards the horizon again.

“Yea. Now that you say it, I am starting to get hungry.”

They stopped on the hill and Lance began to scan the ground, fussing with the travel bag as he stared at one spot.

He slightly nervously pulled out a thin, soft blanket from within the small travel bag, letting the faint wind spread it out as he laid it on the ground.

“Wait, did you drag me all the way out here for a picnic?” Guardienne giggled as she watched his ministrations, and a faint dark red brushed Lance’s face as he paused and avoided her gaze.

“I suppose it does look like that.” He grinned broadly and breathed a laugh. Lance originally saw the date as a combination of many things that they’d both enjoy, but it did seem like the main highlight was their lunch now...

“Don’t worry, I’ve enjoyed the whole date so far. Unless the food sprouts wings I don’t think it’ll rival the thrilling ride you gave me.” Guardienne giggled as she approached the blanket he set down.

“Who said I was worried?” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a sly grin now.

“Ugh, fine then Mr. Cool and Collected... That’s a nice look on you by the ways.” She brushed off his comment and internally laughed at the contradiction she pointed out, looking away before meeting his gaze again with a tinge of smugness. 

“It would look better on you.” Lance quickly retorted. Guardienne couldn’t stop her shy grin and her heart from racing when he turned his sharp blue gaze on her, a blush faintly dusting his face as he grinned dangerously at her through narrowed eyes. Somehow, no matter what state he’s in, he always seems to manage to get her restless. 

They settled onto the blanket - Lance resting his sword on the ground next to the cloth so it was out of the way - and began to unpack the food that Karuto cooked, placing it carefully on slightly uneven ground. They carried on conversations as they ate, enjoying the warmth of the day and the breeze that brushed by, even spotting a wild rabbit-like creature racing across the grassland.

Some time later, after their meal was finished and the scraps packed up tightly in the travel bag to take back, they laid back on the blanket, watching as snowy clouds passed overhead. Guardienne suggested that they stay there for a while and watch the clouds, and she began pointing out certain clouds that looked like shapes or companions to her. Lance quickly caught on to the idea and pointed out a few things as well. They even started debating what clouds looked like what, nipping lightly at each other with humorous words when they scuffled about whether a cloud looked like a Warrifang or a Gallytrot.

Eventually they continued their journey across the prairie, heading towards the small lake in the distance. When it was finally up close - the sun truly beginning it’s descent towards the horizon, casting a chilled breeze across the land and gorgeously highlighting the colors of grass and lake alike - she looked into the water. Small pebbles were scattered across the lake bottom, and she stopped at the edge to peer across the water as Lance walked a bit further. He took her hand gently, drawing her attention back to him to look at him in surprise.

Lance was standing on the water in front of her.

Guardienne looked at the surface of the water that he stood on to find it iced over - a circle that surrounded him by a few feet - thicker where he stood and thinning out until it crackled away at the edges. She looked up to meet his gaze with shock.

"Come on." He urged her to step out onto the ice with him with a humored smile, placing a foot in front of her path to summon another ice circle for her before backing off.

Really, she shouldn't have been so surprised - his abilities heavily vary in their use, so it makes complete sense that he could do this. However, she couldn’t shake the flutter in her chest as she looked at him. Was it his casualness that she was actually taking most attention to? Was she actually enjoying this date more than she realized?

Guardienne reached out with a tentative foot, placing it steadily on the ice. It shifted under her weight, slightly floating away as her foot pressed against it and continuing its journey away even after she took her foot off it. Lance placed a foot on the circle at it began to float away, holding it steady and adding more ice onto it to create a bigger circle for her. She looked back up at him with a grin.

"You're kidding me right? Why just little circles? Why not freeze over the whole lake?"

Her hesitance hid worry underneath the surface that Lance caught on to, and he gently grinned back.

"Freezing over the whole thing could have adverse effects to the environment. It's safer to freeze it in small sections. Now get on the ice before I pick you up and place you on it." His tone turned affectionately amused at the last sentence, and then added in a serious, gentle tone; "I won't let you fall in, I promise."

Guardienne looked back at the ice before gently placing her foot on it again, now a bit more confident that it would be stable with Lance holding it - it was his ice after all. It shifted again slightly under her weight, but she committed to her decision and lifted her other foot off the ground to place on the ice, gripping Lance's arm the whole time for support. He wouldn't let her fall, right?

Lance kept her hand in one of his while his other went to her waist to stabilize her as she grew closer, freezing over the small, thinly-iced gap between them so she could basically press herself against him as she looked at the water around them. Guardienne leaned against him slightly as she faintly caught his scent, feeling safe in his arms from the possibility of taking a lake bath.

"Have you never walked on ice before?" He asked gently. Guardienne looked up at him again.

"Well, I've slipped on ice multiple times, but I don’t think I’ve ever achieved the skillful feat of walking on ice." Her tone was humorous as she grinned. Lance smiled back.

"It's not that hard once you know how, you just need to be careful with how you place your feet. It should be easier since you're expecting to step on ice, too."

Lance took a step forward, heading further onto the lake as ice formed under his foot just before he touched the surface of the water. Guardienne took an awkward step forward as well, hesitantly placing her foot down as ice formed under her as well. A small laugh escaped the dragon next to her.

“You can walk normally, you don’t need to step where you think the ice will form. It’ll appear under you no matter where you step.”

“Why will it just appear under me? How do I know it’s not going to form somewhere else?” Guardienne joined his subtle laugh as she clung to him. The water beneath them was beautiful, but she really didn’t want to get wet at the moment.

“Because I’m watching you, it forms under you because I make it do so.”

“And what if you’re not watching me?”

“That’s impossible.” The response slipped out before he could stop it and Guardienne’s gaze shot back up to look at him with an affectionately amused smile. Lance averted his gaze with a minor blush again, grinning faintly as well. He didn’t mean to say that, but it was true all the same.

“Come on, you won’t slip or fall into the lake, I promise.”

They walked further out into the lake and Guardienne calmed down over time, eventually trusting the ice enough to walk by herself - although she still held Lance’s hand tightly - as she scanned the surface of the water and watched as ice formed under her no matter where she stepped. It was fascinating, really; it formed nearly instantly and immediately faded back to water after she moved further.

Lance managed to distract her a bit by sparking conversations, of which she happily took part in, her gaze shifting between him, the ice and water, and the trees off in the distance that they were heading towards. She squinted her eyes to see a certain tree a bit better. Was that a hint of blue?

A splash in the water stole her attention and she quickly looked down to see a large, scaly shape receding back to the depths of the lake. She continued to walk alongside Lance, but kept her eyes firmly on the water. Another large, scaly shape rushed by, almost translucent but with hints of colors dotting along it’s body. Guardienne froze in her steps with wide eyes - it was nearly half her size!

“Lance there are monsters in these waters.” She held tight to his hand as he stopped beside her, looking down into the water with her. Another creature arced in the water and Lance grinned at her amusing statement.

“Not monsters.” He spoke in a light tone, crouching down on the ice and opening the travel bag to fish out a few bread scraps.

A large chunk of bread landed in the water and floated for a moment. Guardienne crouched down next to Lance, sticking close to his side. After a few moments of waiting, a large, slightly translucent creature reared out of the water, opening a great maw to swallow the bread whole. Beady black eyes whirled around as it breached the surface, locking on the couple before it submerged again.

“Great Oracle, what is that!?” And so began another moment of Lance imparting some of his knowledge to her.

Guardienne eventually relaxed in the presence of the fish-like creatures, hesitantly taking a scrap of bread that Lance gifted her and placing it in the water, her hand hesitating to reel back as she considered pushing it further out. Lance reached out and gently took her hand in his to pull it back, and mere moments after he did so, another creature dashed out and closed it’s jaws around the bread with a snap. Guardienne basically threw herself back against Lance with a squeak.

“Note to self, don’t give them your hand!” She laughed as surprise and amusement fluttered through her being, clinging to him again for a moment.

“It nearly took my hand clean off!” Her gaze turned to meet Lance’s before turning back to where the creature disappeared as Lance shook with laughter.

“You would have been fine!” 

“Are you kidding me? With a big mouth like that it would have taken my arm, too!”

“Suppose I should keep my hand away from your mouth in that case.”

“Oh, hush, you! You know that’s not true!”

Their laughter died down in time and they continued their walk across the water, Guardienne now being a lot more comfortable with the ice below their feet. They approached the shore and Lance let Guardienne step onto the ground first, following immediately after as the ice disappeared back into lake water. Standing at the shore, Guardienne could see the tree she was looking at earlier. It was tall, and it’s branches curved beautifully downward with thick, deep blue flowers stemming from the twigs. The sinking sun beautifully highlighted the deep colors on it and illuminated the grass around the trunk. She stared in awe and Lance turned to look as well. 

“It’s beautiful... what type of tree is it?”

They began to approach it - not realizing that their hands were still clasped together - and stood beneath the draping branches.

“I’m not sure, I’ve seen this type of tree a few times but I don’t know anything of it.” Lance brushed his hand along a curved branch - the wood smooth to the touch - and peered at Guardienne to get a better read on her opinion of the tree.

Guardienne parted herself from Lance to look closer at the blue flowers, lightly touching the silken petals and bending closer to breathe in the faint, sweet scent. She closed her eyes and grinned before looking up at the higher branches, embracing the beautiful color of mixed brown and blue. Light scuffling broke her out of her trance and she looked to the trunk to find Lance on the first few branches above her, curiosity flooding her mind as she stepped a bit closer and watched him scale the tree. He nearly disappeared into the branches and flowers, standing for a few moments on a branch uncomfortably high above the ground before making his way down again, the broken side of a small twig with a beautiful array of sky blue flowers clamped between his teeth.

He landed softly on the ground and presented the twig to her, and Guardienne happily took it to admire the vibrant blue of the flowers compared to the softer cobalt blue of the flowers on branches closer to the ground.

“You know, you could have just picked a twig from one of the branches already in reach.” She joked lightly. Lance grinned.

“What fun would that be? Besides, the ones closer to the ground seem to be starting to wilt, the top of the tree has better flowers.”

He watched Guardienne as she smiled softly at the twig she held in her hand, raising it to breathe in the lighter scent and stroke a petal.

“I would almost think you’d change the tides of water for me.” She spoke softly, affectionately reflecting on everything he did for her today.

Lance heard her all the same, and a warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched the setting sun light her skin aglow with the flower branch. I would move the world for you, he thought. However, he held his tongue - it was too soon to be revealing how deep his affection for her ran, it would likely unsettle her - and instead glanced at the sun’s position on the horizon. It was nearly sunset.

“We should probably head back, it’s getting late and we have a dinner to attend.”

Guardienne glanced at the sun as well.

“Yea... no flying spectacles this time?” She turned her gentle gaze to him and smiled.

“No flying spectacles.” He grinned back with soft eyes and rested a hand on her lower back as they headed into the grassland again, Guardienne safely tucking the flower twig into a snug fold in her shirt so the wind wouldn’t steal it away.

“The flight back should be beautiful with the sunset.” She murmured, lightly nudging against Lance. This date turned out better than she originally hoped, and she reminded herself to thank him for the wonderful experience later.

“It will be.”

Lance shifted into his dragon form and they took to the skies again, Guardienne glancing back at the land that would forever hold a dear place in her heart.

That wasn’t the last time they visited that lake and tree.

I have absolutely no idea on if this is supposed to be a headcanon or a scenario, but I hope you like it regardless! I had so many ideas I wanted to add to this, but by then I’d be writing an actual short story just for their first date lol. Maybe I’ll write a part 2 to their first date (second date I suppose, that’ll be a bit more intimate than this one), or general date headcanons with those ideas.

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[forasecondtherewedwon]

They’re Sayin’ (You’re Gonna Be My Man)

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2217

Summary: Sam calls Bucky too soon after he's left Louisiana, looking for advice he doesn’t really need and getting a conversation he didn’t really expect.

Sam’s supposed to wait until news of the Flag-Smashers’ movements comes down the line to get in touch with Bucky. He doesn’t. It’s sooner. It’s almost right away.

He’s sure Bucky’s gotta be out of the state, but he doesn’t know whether he’s made it back to this alleged apartment in Brooklyn (on some level, Sam’s aware that he keeps making jokes about the conspiracy of the apartment’s existence because it’s his way of daring Bucky to invite him over sometime). When he calls Bucky up, he knows he might catch him on a plane, in a cab, with a buzz of voices around him as he scowls at strangers in an airport or stomps down a sidewalk. But, other than Bucky’s voice on the other end, Sam just hears quiet, so he figures the guy made it home.

“You never told me if you had any tips,” Sam accuses straight off.

Shifting his feet, he tamps down more of the grass he’s been practicing on, squinting when sweat rolls into his eye. He just finished a brisk mile with the shield on his arm, getting used to the weight and the bulk of it, and he’s ready to start throwing again.

“Tips for what?” Bucky asks. “Fixing the boat? General life stuff? I know we had a good talk, but I think I take advice better than I give it.”

“Which is not saying much,” Sam points out with a laugh. “You suck at taking advice.”

“Until recently.”

“Until recently,” Sam allows. He takes a deep breath and leans over to the side, stretching from his run and tapping his hand on the Vibranium disc currently propped against his leg. “Nah, man, for the shield. How to throw it, how to catch it, how to pull off some of Steve’s fuckin’ boomerang tricks.”

“I thought you were gettin’ the hang of it,” Bucky says in his ear.

“I am. I just realized that, when I had you here, you did a lot of standing around and catching the shield on that cyborg arm of yours. Not a lot of active advice-giving.”

“You really want me telling you how to do your job?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, nobody said that. I am simply aware of the fact that you’re one of very few people alive who’ve handled this thing, and maybe the only one who did it with any actual competence.”

“The level of flattery is astounding,” Bucky says dryly.

“You want more, you gotta help me out,” Sam jokes back.

“Well, show me what you’re doin’.”

Sam glances around himself. Flat lawn. Waning daylight. Tall trees wrapped in the pads he’s been ricocheting the shield off of. No place good to prop his phone.

“I gotta get somebody to film me,” he realizes. “Lemme call you back.”

“Everybody’s gonna be filming you with the shield pretty soon. Only question is whether you’re doing something impressive in news footage or looking like a jackass in some kind of Avengers’ Greatest Fuckups reel.”

“Shut the hell up. I thought we were gettin’ along now.”

“Just trying to be motivational. Am I not doing it right?”

“I think you better look up the word ‘motivational’ in the dictionary while you wait for my call,” Sam suggests.

He disconnects and hangs his head, shaking it even as he smiles.

His legs are screaming for a thorough, post-workout stretch and maybe some ice on his shins—they’ve been taking the brunt every time he digs his feet into the ground and braces to snatch the returning shield from the air—but what’s another quarter mile? Sam runs to Sarah’s, arms pumping, stride a little different now that he has to accommodate the shape of the shield.

When he gets there, the boys are playing soccer on the lawn and he calls through the screen window to the kitchen to get his sister’s ok to borrow them as his training assistants. They get even more excited by the bestowing of this title and its implied responsibility than by the sight of the shield. That’s pretty incredible. Sarah caves to a temporary borrowing (supper’s almost ready) and they’re off.

On the way back, Sam lets AJ carry the shield. Seems like a nice break for himself until Cass requests a piggyback.

“Alright,” Sam agrees with a sigh, crouching in front of his nephew. “Hop on.”

Captain America’s benevolence is limitless. At least, it is this evening. When his back’s killing him tomorrow from absorbing the shock of a hundred shield throws, he will not be so easily persuaded into giving piggybacks.

In the clearing, Sam pulls his phone from the zipped pocket of his shorts and videocalls Bucky, who picks up on the first ring. His face is too close to the camera, but it’s good to see those blue eyes and the crinkles that are either there because he’s smiling in greeting or he’s confused about how a videocall works. In a few seconds, Bucky figures out for himself that he needs to hold the phone farther away. It makes Sam miss him. Also makes him a little worried because he can see the blank, white wall of Bucky’s apartment around his head. No paint, no art. Sam can’t even hear a TV or anything in the background.

“You’re not busy,” he observes.

“Not really, no,” Bucky admits.

“You coulda stayed here longer.”

“Nah, you needed time with everything, not me constantly looking over your shoulder. Shield’s yours now, Sam. I’m gonna be at your side, but you and the shield… I got no say in what that relationship is. I understand that now and I’m trying to respect it.”

“So when you’re actually doing the right thing, let you back off?”

“That’s right,” Bucky agrees.

“I’ll try to remember in case it ever happens again.”

Before Bucky can defend himself against Sam’s teasing jab, Sam passes the phone to AJ, camera turned so Bucky will still be focused on him when he starts throwing the shield again.

“Got you propped up on my human tripod,” he informs Bucky, reaching above the phone to playfully shove the side of AJ’s head. “So watch your mouth.”

“Can I say hi?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Sam warns.

And, of course, Bucky eggs the kids into a long ooooh, like they’ve caught him breaking his own rule. Which they have. But Bucky was being a smartass and the opportunity to let him know is not something Sam likes to pass up.

He’s stretching now—maybe for himself, maybe for the camera pointed his way—gripping his ankles in turn and holding his heels to his ass until he feels the pull in his thighs. Bucky’s not wrong about having this time to himself. Just him and this legendary object that’s feeling more right on his arm every time he slips it through the straps. Still, he misses what they had going the last two days. Not him and the shield, but him and Bucky. Having him here like that… It was different from every other experience Sam’s had with him. Bucky was still, in turns, a grouch and a showoff and a staring machine and a shithead (flirting with Sarah, come ON), but he was also more convincingly a person than Sam’s had the pleasure of seeing him before. At ease and multi-faceted by nature instead of the necessity of adapting in the face of a threat.

Bucky smiled.

They didn’t always bicker.

He looked damn good in the morning when they leaned against the kitchen counter, not talking, sipping their coffee.

Sam wants those minutes back so bad. Living with Bucky here was incomparable to living with him overseas. Lotta reasons for that, including not having to share the space with Baron Zemo. Mostly because this is home and Sam liked pretending, while Sarah did some well-deserved sleeping in and the boys got the hems of their pajama pants wet in the dew in the backyard, that it was real. That this breath between their fights (no longer with each other) could last and that this is where they’d hold it. It could be their kitchen, their mugs, their tousled sheets Bucky’d climbed out of, looking all rumpled and lovely and shit.

But Bucky doesn’t know what Sam pretends and Sam sure as hell isn’t going to tell him. He’s just going to keep faithful to their usual dynamic, trying for less glaring. Not a word to unsettle things, as much as he’s curious how they might handle things being unsettled. As much as his mind plays back the blinding glint off the water as they rolled up their sleeves and went to work together in a way more meaningful, more personal, than they ever have before. Plays it back all the time.

No. Quiet. Sam needs to figure himself out first and knows Bucky’s working on doing the same. Maybe sometime—but probably never—they can see how those selves overlap. All they need to make fly right now is being Captain America and… what’d that moron call himself? The White Wolf? Son of a biscuit…

“Let me see him!” Cass says excitedly, recapturing Sam’s focus.

It’s his brother he’s talking to and Sam watches fondly as AJ turns the phone to show Bucky a grinning Cass, being careful to keep it steady. Pretty damn sweet. Cass even waves while Sam stands there, watching and doing shoulder rolls.

“Hi, Uncle Bucky!”

Sam feels like he just whipped the shield out and caught the return in his stomach. He strides over to the boys and AJ passes the phone back without being asked. He’s stifling giggles despite or because he senses that his little brother shouldn’t have said that.

“One minute,” Sam tells Bucky, hardly glancing at him because he just can’t. He tilts the camera towards the ground and raises expectant eyebrows at his grinning nephews. “Did somebody tell you to call him that?”

In unison, the boys go, “No, Uncle Sam,” which is suspiciously adorable. But they aren’t liars.

“Did you hear somebody call him that?”

AJ and Cass glance at each other and that’s enough for Sam. They won’t answer, so he knows it’s Sarah who’s made this joke, put this idea in the kids’ heads. They won’t give her up though, because they’re Wilsons and they’re loyal to their mother.

Sam turns the camera back on himself, unprepared for the upward tick at the corner of Bucky’s lips that make them even harder to look away from than usual.

“My sister must’ve—”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts.

“You know?”

“Yeah. Sarah called me that to my face.”

“She did what?”

Sarah having her joke is one thing, but saying it to Bucky takes things a little far, in Sam’s opinion. Bucky could think Sarah’s serious. He could think she’s saying that because Sam’s said something to her. Something about coffee and bedsheets and the sweet ache he felt in his chest when he saw Bucky’s smile in the golden light of dawn.

“Last night, before she put the boys to bed. You were in the shower, I think.” Bucky reaches up absentmindedly to run a hand over the top of his head; the flex of his bicep in the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing and waiting for the end of this recollection are both torture for Sam. “They wanted to hang out with me, but Sarah said, ‘Uncle Bucky’s gotta get some sleep. You’ll see him tomorrow.’ Something like that.”

Now, when Sam’s truly learning the meaning of flabbergasted, Bucky’s mouth cracks into a wide, self-satisfied smile.

“You made that up,” Sam guesses helplessly.

“Nope.”

Sam knows that, with his nephews’ inability to lie and Sarah’s lifelong history of messing with him as evidence, but it would’ve been a convenient escape from the reality of his sister (and possibly the boys too) addressing Bucky as if he and Sam are together.

“Tell me you told my sister to drop the ‘Uncle.’”

Another thing Sam knows: that Bucky didn’t do that. Bucky seems happy to prove his fears correct; he shrugs.

“Sounded kinda nice,” Bucky defends. That makes Sam soften. He knows Bucky doesn’t have any living family, that he’s been struggling to allow himself to make friends. Maybe he just likes being told he belongs to them and that Sarah’s joke makes it effortless for him. Then, Bucky adds, “Pass me back to my nephews.”

Sam points a warning finger at him.

“Watch it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The crease between Bucky’s eyebrows deepens as Sam watches the pain in the ass pretend to be stern with him. “Just throw the damn shield. I thought you asked for my help.”

“I did.”

Releasing a cautious sigh, Sam hands the phone to AJ once more. The boy’s got his silliness under control and he accepts the job solemnly.

Sam’s two steps away, hefting the shield onto his arm, when he hears Bucky shout, “And my hand in marriage!”

The boys’ laughter has them rolling on the cool grass, the phone clutched in AJ’s grip, and by the time Sam wrestles it away from his nephew, the camera’s swung all over the place. Showing Bucky the sky, the dirt, some quality footage up AJ’s nose, and probably—almost definitely—the way his words made Sam smile.