#I am making all KINDS of undignified noises

[fayethffxiv]

Me: “No, I’m totally back! I have the inspiration, I’m ready to answer prompts, get more prompts, do RPing, all of it!” Also Me: [Life] Also Also Me: 

....Folks.  Fayeth is getting her little cafe/corner/etc.  It’s happening.  It’s really happening.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Harwin Strong x reader = well-fucked. (pleaseee?)

Lemon Cake (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex. Fake orgasm, then a real one. Communication with your partner is sexy. Talks of sweets because I am starving.

A/N: This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time, and I was thinking of writing a sex marathon for it, but then I had this thought… What about a reader that struggles to orgasm? That’s common for women. I thought that Harwin would be the one who cares the most out of all the HOTD men.

You do not come to the marriage bed an innocent. You are a noble girl from The Reach, and so, no expense was spared for your education. Your Lady Mother had made sure you came prepared.

So that’s why, in the middle of the act, as your new Lord Husband pushes and grunts, rocking his hips against yours, you suddenly clench down. You clench and unclench, and give a few undignified noises, and then go limp in his arms.

Pulling back from you, Ser Harwin, or just Harwin, as he has asked you to call him, looks perplexed.

You grin. You must have done well if he looks so amazed. Remembering your Lady Mother's advice, you smile at him.

“Thank you. That felt nice.”

“I am afraid…” Harwin frowns. “Did you… Um. Was that supposed to be…?”

Perhaps he needs help. Perhaps no other woman had done that for him, although you knew it was likely Harwin had his first time with a whore, and they were much better at pretending than you were.

“I finished. I had a great time, husband. You should be proud of yourself.” You smile at him, trying to get it to not sound rehearsed.

You had not, in fact, had a great time. It had been mostly an uncomfortable time. You weren’t totally lying, either. Some of his earlier caresses had been pleasant. But no matter how much he had prepared you for it, the breach of your maidenhead had hurt. Your body felt like it was not meant to stretch that way.

Then, you were too in your head to properly enjoy it, wondering if you were pleasing him. No matter if he was trying his best to please you, you were thinking about how your body looked, how you sounded. You just wanted him to be happy.

Harwin had been a wonderful betrothed. Calm, gentle and reassuring. He had taken time listening to you and getting to know you. Despite being very different from you, he had partaken in your hobbies and interests, to get closer to you. You felt he deserved a reward for it, something you could give to him in exchange for his kindness.

Hence, the false peak. Your Lady Mother had told you that men liked that sort of thing. They felt proud, when they could boast about how good they made their ladies feel. And men were less likely to stray when they found their wives fun to bed. You intended to be a joy.

“My lady.” Harwin pulled out of your body. You frowned, confused. “You certainly did not.”

“Yes, I did.” Your voice is gentle. Perhaps he needs extra reassurance. You have no problem feeding his ego, considering he has been really nice to you since you were engaged. “It was wonderful.”

“You did not. I will not ask you why you felt the need to fake it, but I will ask that you do not lie to me.” His tone is stern. You wrap yourself with the sheets, like a scolded child. Harwin stays silent for a moment, before placing a hand on your back. “Did you really enjoy yourself, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

“I was…”

“Be honest, wife. Remember your vows.” He interrupts, before you can think of a better lie. Harwin has a harsh tone that makes you understand exactly why he was made Commander of the Citywatch. You decide to drop the pretense, then.

The two of you don’t know each other well enough for you to know if it is safe to keep lying. Is Harwin good at catching lies? Is he observant? You don’t know. And in those cases, instead of digging a deeper hole, honesty tends to be the best policy.

“I wanted you to be happy, and proud.” Your tone is soft, still facing away from him. He lays down behind you, spooning you, and presses a kiss to your nape.

It’s a strange feeling. This was not how your wedding night was supposed to go. You had expected physical closeness and intimacy, but not this kind.

“I am certainly not.” But despite the harsh words, Harwin rubs his nose against your nape, sweetly. “Did you enjoy any of it?”

His tone is genuine. Curious, and not scolding. Perhaps, even the slightest bit guilty.

You are not sure of how to put it. It’s also not something you feel comfortable discussing. You are thankful for the fact that your back is to him, and he can’t see your expression. It takes you a while to have the courage to speak.

“I did, at first. But when you… When you entered me, it hurt. It was pleasant, I guess, after a while, but not really… Groundbreaking.”

It’s so awkward to say. You know this is not proper conversation, not even for a wife and a husband. The act is not meant to cause you any pleasure. It’s meant for Harwin to enjoy and to give you children. No more.

“Oh?” But Harwin doesn’t sound angry or scandalized. His tone is one of intrigue. You can feel his lips curling into a smile against the skin of your nape. “Do tell.”

You wonder how you could possibly explain. It finally occurs to you. You can compare it to something he will understand.

“It was like having a cake. Not a lemon cake, just a plain cake. Good, just not…”

Harwin chuckles, making you laugh too. The feel of the little huffs of air he lets up against your neck is quite ticklish.

“I get it. But I don't need you to fake your pleasure. I rather know I am not doing it right.”

“Is there a way for it to be enjoyable?” You look at him, over your shoulder. Curious, this time. If it was some other man, one less kind, you wouldn’t ask. “A right way?”

“Let me teach you.” Harwin whispers in your ear. His hands start mapping over your body. He caresses your neck, then your chest. His hands cup your breasts, softly massaging them.

It feels like before. Good. Warm. Arousal slowly starts to make all your hairs stand on end, breasts getting heavier, center going slick. Almost unaware of it, you moan. You can tell the situation is affecting Harwin too. His hardness, which had softened while you were cuddling, is back with a vengeance. It presses insistently against your behind.

Harwin trails a hand over your stomach, palm wide and warm. He lifts one of your legs, so it rests on his thigh, leaving you open to him. You sigh, sweetly.

“Like that?” He asks you, before lowering his hand towards something that makes you feel like you are on fire. His thumb taps lightly at it, and you moan. “That’s your pearl. If you rub it, it feels good.”

“Yes. Just like that.” Your head lolls over his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It suddenly isn’t enough. “The… Could you…?”

“Tell me.” Harwin kisses your jaw. “I want honest opinions.”

“Take your shirt off.” As Harwin shifts to comply with your orders, you notice he is hard again, poking at your lower back. “And… Um. Could we try again?”

“Try what?” He rubs softly at your pearl, making you mewl near his ear. Harwin chuckles, darkly.

You stare at him over your shoulder. You feel so embarrassed, you wish the earth would open and swallow you whole. Harwin grins, and does absolutely nothing. Even the fingers he has on your pearl stop.

“I want you inside me.” You finally say, when just being held starts being too little for you.

“Are you sure?” He presses a kiss to your temple, his fingers lowering towards your entrance. As soon as his hands are moving again, your hips buck against them, impatiently.

“You said there was a way for it to be pleasant. I want that. Show me.” Your voice comes out a little breathless.

“You are a wonder.” Harwin kisses you, softly. “My brave, gorgeous girl. I am so sorry for what happened before.”

“It’s alright.” But just as you are speaking, you feel him lining the two of you up. You do your best effort not to tense up or expect pain. Your words melt into a soft sigh as Harwin enters you.

Just as he did before, he stays still. The stretch is not nearly as uncomfortable as it used to be, but it’s still quite considerable. You doubt you will ever get used to his size. It feels as if he is pinning you into place. A bit overwhelmed, you search for his hand for reassurance.

“I was a bit overeager, before.” Harwin kisses your temple. “I wanted you so much, I wasn’t paying the attention you deserve.”

His hand caresses your ribs, softly. It tickles, and you can’t help but laugh. It prompts a chain reaction. Your laughter makes you clench up, which makes him groan and makes you laugh even more.

“That’s flattering.”

Your laughter buys you a much-needed respite. No longer does it feel like you are being pulled apart. Still, Harwin’s sad puppy look gets to you.

“I was too in my head. Just not in the moment.” You explain, not wanting him to feel bad about it. Because it’s the truth. You were the one who decided to fake a peak when there was no need for it. You have heard many ladies cried and yelled during their wedding nights, and their husbands didn’t even bat an eyelash. Harwin was not that kind of man. Had you been truly suffering, from what you had learned about him, he would have stopped.

If you had just allowed your face to show its true emotions, you were sure Harwin would have done something. But you had been too embarrassed and too caught up on making it good for him.

“I can keep you grounded, if you wish.” Harwin teases, kissing your cheek. His hips roll gently against yours, as if searching for something. Something he manages to find because you nearly jump from his arms when he touches something inside you that makes you see stars. “There?”

“There.”

He hugs you from behind, keeping the angle of his hips. This time, is more gentle, but much more precise. It feels good. Once again, it feels pleasant. Good. But nothing is happening. You start to get anxious. Why can’t you just get there? Will Harwin get bored with trying to indulge you? You would rather not be a burden to him, or get in between him and his pleasure. Perhaps it’s just not for you.

Harwin pulls you in for a kiss, without stopping the rocking of his hips.

“Are you still with me?”

You look at him, a little sad. You promised to be truthful, but you would rather not hurt his feelings. He is trying hard to please you, you can feel it. But it’s just not working.

“No. I am so sorry, husband. I am really trying, just…”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to stop?” Harwin kisses your cheek, not sounding too hurt. You risk a peek at his expression. His face is calm, encouraging, even.

“No.” You mutter. It comes out a little too sad because he boops your nose, making you smile on reflex.

“Here. Let me…” Harwin shifts you, from your side to sitting on top of him. The suddenness of the movement makes you yelp. “Use me.”

“What?” You cannot believe your ears. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his chest, bracing yourself. He smiles up at you, encouragingly.

“For your pleasure. Do what feels right. And if your thighs get tired, or your hips feel tight, tell me. I’ll help you.”

“I feel silly.” You complain, grabbing at his member. It feels warm and slick in your hand. Harwin makes a small noise at the contact, and you smile, sinking down on him.

It feels different immediately. It’s both deeper and increasingly intimate. But you feel self-conscious, staring him right in the eyes. There is no way you will be able to fake your pleasure now, not with his eyes on yours.

Shyly, you turn your head away from him.

“Don’t. You look gorgeous. The prettiest woman I have ever seen. “ His hand is gentle against your cheek, encouraging you to look him in the eye.

Harwin smiles softly. You smile back. And then, you arch your hips, searching for the right angle. He watches you, eager to learn how to please you. And you watch right back.

His face, going slack in pleasure. The way he grunts when you slowly get up and down, rocking your hips just so to get friction on your pearl. The way sweat starts to gather at his temples, making his hair stick down. It fills you with a secret thrill, pleasing him.

You want, no, need more. You rub at your pearl, yet it feels too rough to be enjoyable. Almost too dry. You whine. Harwin catches the hint immediately. He takes your wrist and presses a kiss to your palm, softly, before taking two of your fingers into his mouth. You startle a little, both by the contrast between the lewd action and the tenderness he treats you with, and how much into it he seems to be.

Harwin releases your fingers with a wet pop, giving you a naughty grin. You don’t need any further prompting. You feel almost uncomfortably wet now, after his display, but you still use the fingers he sucked to rub at your pearl.

It’s as if you are burning up. You are hot with need, thighs clenching and stomach tensing in preparation for something. Arousal thrums on your nerves, echoes in your bones. You are so close, a wave just about to crash against the shore.

Your eyes fall closed. It’s an impossible thing, you know. But you swear you can feel your pulse, beating under your fingertips, in that tight little bundle of nerves. You are starting to get tired, and you cling to Harwin’s shoulders desperately.

“That's it. Just like that, love. You are doing so good for me. Just a bit more.” His hand rubs your flank, softly. He is trying to encourage you, but you want to scream out in frustration. You are so close.

You grunt, thighs burning with exertion. It makes your rhythm falter. You sob.

“You can do it. Give it to me.” But you clearly can’t. Not on your own. So Harwin plants his hips and thrusts, aiding you along.

You moan loudly.

“Like that. More.”

He is quick to obey, helping you bounce up and down. As you finally, finally reach the peak both of you have worked so hard for, you lean in and kiss him.

“I love you.” And it's glorious. The best feeling in the world, warm in your stomach, body taut from head to toe. The wave finally crashing against the shore, a faint buzzing in your ears.

“I love you too.” Harwin says, squeezing your hands. He waits until you open your eyes and catch your breath, before rolling you over. “My turn.”

You laugh. He thrusts several more times, before falling on top of you. His face is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and you tell him so, enjoying his blush.

You stay like that for a while, before you get too impatient. You wriggle a little, feeling sticky all over, but Harwin just pulls you closer.

“So. Lemon cake or just cake?”

“Lemon cake. Definitely.”

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 6: Holes

Getting back into my apartment is actually not all that hard, since it has a big hole in it.

The silly part to me is that I have to take the stairs down to the ground floor, open the front door to the building, and then go outside just to see it. And then, in order to get the altitude to fly to it, I have to treat one of the streets as a runway and do a couple of loops when I clear the lowest buildings. I want to be able to slowly glide in to land in the hole, with as much control as possible, so I want to start higher than it.

Still easy enough, just tedious.

The traffic is light enough today that I can do this. I might have to try climbing during rush hour.

And there’s tape and a sheet of plastic across the hole, but I don’t care about that.

I do note that the businesses that are directly below my apartment are closed for the day, with that sidewalk cordoned off for safety. But my coffee shop is still open.

I do really want people to know that this is all Whitman’s fault.

But tearing through the plastic and yellow tape to enter my apartment does give me a tiny little taste of what it must have felt like for Whitman to crash through a brick fucking wall.

I want to argue with the physics of that feat, but I can breathe fire, and we’re both physically dragons. There are things at work here that were not taught about in high school or college science classes. Or any classes at all, I imagine. None that I took.

My skeletal structure alone is something that biologists will want to study intently at some point. If I let them.

My apartment is even more of a wreck than it was when I left it. The landlord and anybody else that they let in had apparently cleared a pathway to the hole by just shoving debris to the side, piling it on my belongings without any care. They didn’t touch or ransack anything else, but this obvious disregard for a bunch of things I was probably going to have to discard anyway still feels like as much of a violation of my space as the damage done by Whitman.

I hate it.

And I spend a few seconds hating it some more before I crawl to the bathroom.

I’ll spare you a description of what I have to do in the bathroom to use the toilet, though. It’s undignified and you’re probably imagining it just fine anyway.

Suffice it to say, while I can fit in there, I can never get a full view of myself in the mirror. I have to use dark shop windows on the street for that, and I’m pretty eager to get a selfie somehow, or get somebody to do a whole set of boudoir photos of me. That would be both funny and really cool to look at. Especially if my boudoir is my living room in its current state.

Anyway, despite all the damage, I’m starting to feel a lot more relaxed now that I’m in my own place. And while I’m still on the toilet, I find myself singing and practicing noises again.

I even keep it up when I go to eat the rest of what’s in my fridge.

One of the really cool things about my new anatomy is that I can breathe and make noises while my mouth and throat are full of a quarter pound of deli ham.

I’ve found I literally can’t eat as often as a human does. Because of how my hunger and digestion works, I have to gorge myself every couple of days if I’m active, it seems. But, I very clearly eat more than a typical person, and that worries me. I can’t exactly afford it.

Also, what does it mean in terms of my future development as a dragon?

If I manage to keep eating this much, is it because my body just needs this many calories to do what it does? Or am I growing?

And thinking about that then raises the question of what my expected lifespan is now, if I don’t get eaten by someone like Whitman.

I just really don’t know. There’s no precedent for any of this, and no experts. Just a bunch of myths that seem reasonably accurate so far because they describe such a broad swath of possibilities that you could make the case that a white tailed hare is a kind of dragon if you wanted to.

And on that note, once I’m done eating, I crawl over to the hole in my apartment and lie down there with my foreclaws and snout poking out into the outer world to rest and start digesting my food. And I fall quiet for a bit.

I actually kind of like this, and wonder if I could convince the landlords to let me keep it. I’m not really serious about the thought, because I still agree with Rhoda that I should move somewhere more secure and less potentially harmful to any neighbors I might have. I like living downtown, and this hole in the wall apartment would be perfect for me now. But if I’m going to be occasionally attracting challengers like yesterday, it’s just not safe or practical.

I do wonder, though, when I move how am I going to move all of my stuff?

Besides Rhoda, Chapman, and the baristas of my coffee shop, I don’t really have a group of friends who I could call on to help me move. And, on my SSI, I can’t afford a moving company.

I could try to crowdfund a few hundred dollars for a move, but then I’ve got to be careful it doesn’t go over the $2,000 limit for SSI qualification. But if I move into a care, at least I won’t need rent and utilities, and all I’ll need to worry about is food, phone, and… healthcare?

Who am I going to go to for healthcare?

A vet, probably. Shit. That’s not covered by Medicare.

This line of thought is just full of so many depressing realizations and –

Hey! There’s another dragon!

There’s another dragon flying across the bay, and it’s not Whitman!

Before I can stop myself, I’m rumbling. The rubble and dust on either side of me vibrates, and particles dance right off the edge of the hole in the wall and fall to the sidewalk below.

I lift my head to track their flight path, and feel this sneeze-like urge to squawk and rattle at them. It’s so hard to hold it back, and I might be revising some of my thoughts on instincts. But, dammit, I’m holding it in.

Since midday yesterday, my life has just been this non-stop sequence of mini-disasters, and I don’t need another one right now. Couldn’t that dragon just fuck off? I need them to go away so fast. They need to get out of my eyesight. It’s way too early in the morning for this shit.

Maybe if I go down to the coffee shop and hang out there I won’t need to see this kind of thing.

Fuck ‘em.

“rrrrrRRRRRRAWOWAAAK!!! NOKNOKNOKNOKNOK!!!!”

Shit.

And here comes another –

“GRAAAAK NOKNOKNOK!!!”

And I’m relieved just like I’d sneezed.

A cry comes back that sounds so canned, so much like a famous scream, I decide to name that dragon Wilhelm.

But they keep flying, and even seem to veer away from me. My movement focused eyesight does a great job of catching that subtly. And honestly, it’s critical when doing things like flying right into a wooded park, like I did yesterday.

I feel myself relaxing, but then I see some people on the street pointing up at me. My head twitches to put them in the center of my sight.

They wave cheerfully.

Cool.

I feel kind of proud, so I let myself puff up my chest. It’s not as impressive as it would be if I had feathers to fluff or a dewlap to inflate as well, but I don’t really care.

My emotions are just so strong today, and now that I’ve fought off two dragons, or scared them away, it’s hard not to feel possessive of my space and confident that I can keep it just fine. I’m still telling myself I eventually need to move. But I’m no longer ruminating on how or when to do it.

So I find myself sitting here for some time before I consider doing something else. I don’t really know how much time passes.

I watch some birds fly by. Some crows. A bunch of seagulls. And the seagulls look like something I might be able to catch and eat.

And then there’s a knock at my door.

At first, I’m startled and think of the police. But then I remember that I left Rhoda’s apartment without mentioning where I was going or leaving a note. Because, mostly, I didn’t have a good way of doing either without waking her up.

But after I get myself to the door to answer it, I remember that it’s locked and I look forlornly at the lock switch on the knob.

I can manage the deadbolt, but I can’t manage that little thing.

I make the classic ringtone noise loudly enough I think it can be heard through the door, then wander back to the hole. That should let her know that I’m in here, at least. And confuse anybody else that it might be. And if the door remains locked, maybe she’ll figure out how I got in.

I hear the doorknob rattle just a little, and then nothing.

I’m hopeful.

In the meantime, I don’t see any other dragons flying about, and I’m thinking I might be ready to visit the rest of my territory, such as it is.

And before too long, Rhoda walks out to the empty parking space just below my apartment and waves up at me.

I do a short chirp of the ring tone, and launch myself from the hole, gliding out to land in the parking lot across the street, landing in a row between the cars. It’s pretty easy to turn and walk toward Rhoda from there.

“Has anyone told you that you’re loud as fuck, Meg?” Rhoda asks once we’re in reasonable earshot of each other.

I lift my head and give her the smuggest cat smile.

I can’t help it, I’m feeling proud of how loud I am today. It’s saved me from another fight, the way I’m seeing it at the moment. Please don’t tell me otherwise.

“I don’t suppose you’ve read or heard the news yet,” she says.

I turn my head.

“Well, you and that other one definitely are not the only dragons that are out now,” she reports. “It’s a worldwide phenomenon, and most people are taking it in stride. The anchors I listened to were reporting it like it’s the latest step forward in civil rights or something, or a fashion trend. But, oh, there are some people who are just mad as hell about it!”

I grunt and stomp a foot.

“Let’s go get coffee and I’ll fill you in,” she suggests, so we do that.

It’s the Kims behind the counter today. Or Kim and Kimberly. And they’re delighted to see me, if a bit grumpy about the sudden construction site next door. Then, as Rhoda is placing our orders and insisting on paying for them, Kim thinks to ask if it was my apartment that exploded.

I look at Rhoda.

Rhoda explains, “We were cleaning up Meg’s apartment when –”

“Oh!” Kim exclaims, looking at me. “Your name is Meg now? Cool! I love it!”

I cat smile, full of giddy feelings at recognition, and Rhoda smiles up at me, too.

Then she continues, “We were tiding up and Meg was telling me about meeting Chapman, when another dragon attacked and broke right through that brick wall to challenge Meg. It was a whole mess.”

“People’ve been saying that,” Kimberly says.

“Yeah, but they didn’t say it was her apartment,” Kim looks back and points at me with her thumb.

Kimberly shrugs, “I just kinda figured.”

Kim turns back to Rhoda, brow furrowed, and asks, “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Ha!” Rhoda barks a laugh. “I’m going to need some extra heavy counseling from the police visit later that night, but no. No, I’m fine.”

“Ugh! I wish cops would just fuck off forever,” Kimberly huffs, and then takes the order slip from Kim and turns to start making drinks.

I was just going to go for a big cup of drip, but Rhoda has ordered me another mocha.

“It sucks you’re going to have to move,” Kim says to me. “Or, is the landlord going to give you a temporary lodging while they fix your place? Aren’t they legally required to?” She squints back to Kimberly.

“This is all new territory,” Rhoda says. Then she turns to me and says, “I’m sorry. I’m going to say what I think is the truth.”

I bow my head in acknowledgement. But I don’t really want to. I’m trying to think of ways I can stay in my apartment, even and including fully draconic methods for making sure it’s known I’m not leaving. But, I know I’m going to have to.

Rhoda turns to the Kims and explains, “If a dragon can break through a brick wall like that, and fights like that are at all likely, none of them can be staying in buildings with humans. It’s just not going to work out well for anyone. Even if the management agree to keep Meg in the building, she’s going to want a place that’s more secure. Like a cave. For her own sake.”

I bow my head again.

“Oh, that sucks. But I guess that makes sense,” Kim says.

“It’s hard,” Rhoda says. “The news says that statistically there could be anywhere from fifty to a hundred dragons in our own city alone. And I can’t believe there are that many suitable caves in the county. Though, I wouldn’t know.”

Eyes wide, both Kims say, “That’s a lot!”

“Jinx!” Kimberly says.

“Eh,” Kim responds. Then repeats, “That’s a lot.”

“Just zero point one percent of the human population, if that,” Rhoda says. “But, yes. A lot. Dragons take up a lot of space.” She glances at me. “Even if they can fit in a one bedroom apartment without scratching the walls too badly.”

I make a knocking sound as quietly as I can.

Eventually, Kimblerly finished our drinks and takes them both to my favorite table, which is up front near the counter. And we continue our conversation, mostly with me listening and slurping up my drink. And Rhoda fills us all in on what she’s been learning.

And I’m thinking I wish Chapman would show up, because sie is probably just swimming in all of this, and would love to hypeshare about it. Sie’d probably grill Rhoda for what she heard, too. And we’d all end up even more well informed.

But Rhoda is on it as anyone can be, and it turns out that there’s still just not that much known about what’s going on.

People are wondering, though. They may not be all that surprised by the appearance of a dragon, or the discovery that a loved one is a dragon. But everyone is wondering what’s going on. Including other dragons. There were a couple that were using AAC like me that got interviewed, and they expressed their confusion as well.

And, of course, there are some people who are up in arms about it all, too. About the same people you’d expect of any big social change, or emergence of a minority group. White supremacists, mostly, really. Terfs, Evangelicals, conservative Catholics, Militia groups, Trumpists, Fundamentalists. There’s a really strong religious contingent, and mostly Christian in nature, who are objecting to the presence of identifiable dragons in the world. And some are citing it as a sign of the end times or something. I expect there are other religions that have sects and denominations that are raising concerns or preparing to be militant about it, but being in the U.S. and English speaking, we’re not hearing much about it yet.

With the looming election, it makes my blood run colder than it already is. And I remember I’m also trans.

My life was already complicated and in danger because of my disabilities. But now I’m the new hot target for political debate, and I haven’t exactly been able to lie low locally in the past day. And my shape, size, and territorial instincts aren’t going to make it easy, either.

I have a moment wondering if, since people seem to recognize the dragons they’ve known since before the change, how this will all play with intersectional oppression. But I’m not really sure of my own ability to assess that, besides to conclude it will be complicated. I know that, in my case, I didn’t have a lot of resources before, with not much to lose, but not much to draw upon, either. And, also, I’ve traded in a couple of disabilities for a whole new one.

And thinking of that, I realize there are a few things I want to say to the Kims, so I nudge Rhoda with my nose and then point my snout at her purse.

She understands and pushes her phone across the table to me, after opening up the AAC app for me.

I hold up my claw and flex it, and then proceed to knuckle out a few simple sentences.

“My name Meghan the Dragon,” I say. “Meg OK. Cute. She and her.”

Both the Kims smile in response to that, and Kimberly says, “Well, you’re cute!”

“I see two dragons,” I continue. “I name: Whitman, Wilhelm. Whitman ass. Wilhelm smart.”

Rhoda chuckles, and says, “Oh, so that one that attacked was Whitman?”

“Yes.”

“And I haven’t seen Wilhelm yet?”

“If smart. Won’t.”

“Ah,” she says. “Is that why you were making so much noise this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of noises,” Kimberly says, “I hear you can imitate the door chime.”

I hold up a crooked claw in the best sign for one moment I can make, then knuckle out, “How fifty dragons eat?”

Everyone stares at me. I hear the rest of the cafe go silent.

“How hundred?” I ask. “What cost? What eat?”

Then I see some fortuitous movement outside the window and let my head track the flight of a seagull passing by, then look back at the Kims and tilt my head.

“Oh, shit,” Kim says.

In agreement, I make the door chime sound.

“Don’t do that during business hours, please. Or at all.”

[void-ink-studios]

Gala of the Gods (Part 1)

A few people suggested some stuff with Scarab and Nightmo, I've become obsessed with some of the art I've seen of these two in fancy clothes, so I'm going to combine the two.

Behold, my attempts at describing fancy clothing!

I am an artist as well, so if there's anything from this fic series you might wanna see me draw, just let me know.

Also, this is multi-parter! So y'all are gonna have to be patient.

Enjoy y'all!

Part 1 -You Are Here- | Part 2 | Part 3

Word Count: 2,200

Mail was not something Scarab expected when he first came to live in the Time Room. He figured anyone with something to say to Prismo would just take it as an excuse to show up and hang out for a while.

But, as with many assumptions he had, Scarab was wrong. Well, kind of.

The mail was never frequent, and it was almost only from the higher ups, but it had happened enough time with nearly missed important updates for Scarab to add checking the Time Room's make-shift mailbox to his routine.

And it was a good thing he did. Because they had mail. Fancy looking mail. And the beetle felt sick to his stomach when he began suspecting what this was about.

"Prismo! Mail! Letter from the Organizer."

Prismo made a rather undignified noise as he snapped awake from where he was dozing off in his hot tub.

"The Organizer? Ooooh, is it that Gala thing?"

"I suspect it might be. It's addressed to both of us, shall I read it?"

"Knock yourself out, Lovebug."

Scarab rolled his eyes a little but smiled regardless. He broke open the seal and unfolded the letter.

"To the Wishmaster and his assistant,

You are both cordially invited to the bicentennial Cosmic Gala. Attendance is compulsory, however you are not required to stay for the duration, should your godly duties require you to return to your posts.

The Gala will be hosted in the Judgement Hall, and will begin 340 time waves from now.

You are expected to be on your best behavior. There will be no physical altercations within the Judgement Hall. Please leave any and all grievances with coworkers at home. Snacks and drinks will be provided.

We look forward to seeing you there.

-The Organizer."

Scarab had suspected for a long time that that last paragraph was pointed at him specifically. It's not like he started fights, it's just gods get aggressive at him for doing his job.

"Oh, I haven't even thought of the Gala... Man, a lot has happened since the last one..."

Scarab clicked in agreement. Then was struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait a moment. How are we meant to attend while in this form?"

Prismo raised an eyebrow. "Have you never seen me attend before?"

"I always left early. I made excuses that my job as Auditor required my attention, so I arrived as it started, stayed for perhaps one Time Wave so my boss could see I showed up, then I left. It's not fun sticking around a party where no one likes you."

Whoops, that came out more bitter than he had meant... It's not like he minded not attending more of the party, parties were never his scene to begin with...

Or, was that another thing he convinced himself he didn't like so it wasn't being taken from him?

Hmmm...

"Well, you can come with me this time. We'll stick by each other's side. I think you'll look nice on my arm, Lovebug."

Scarab's mandibles snapped up.

"O-On your arm... Are you suggesting we attend as... as a couple?"

"I-I mean, if you want..." Prismo looked uncharacteristically flustered, smiling nervously at the beetle.

"I think... I think I would like that, Prismo. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, yeah, the form thing. Well, how it works is the Organizer gives us authorization to make copies of our corporeal body that we can inhabit. Like ghosts or some deal. They last for a few days, and then we get returned to the wall."

"Our... corporeal bodies..."

"Yeah, it's pretty much the only time I get to exist as 'Old Man Prismo' and not cease to be me. I think it's pretty neat. And you get to be taller than me for once."

Scarab barely responded to that, a far away look on his face.

"Can we... modify these bodies at all...?"

"I mean, you can make them look different colors, I guess, or make yourself look younger but why do you..." Prismo's expression filled with sadness. "...You can't restore limbs, if that's what you're asking. I'm sorry, Scrabby."

Scarab sighed. "It's... fine. It was worth asking."

He made a few clicking chirps as he thought.

"...I suppose I should dress up for once? If I'm attending with you and lingering longer?"

"I mean, you could. I like to, since I don't get the luxury of clothes very often, and I'd rather not show up to a Gala as a naked old man. But it's not like you have to."

Prismo watched Scarab's expression. He was deep in thought, that was obvious with how much his mandibles were twitching. Then, his expression lit up.

"...We can conjure almost anything in the Time Room, yes?"

"I mean, anything not sentient, pretty much."

"Hmm... Would you mind if we arrived separately? I think I'd like to... surprise you. You know the lobby outside the Judgement Hall? Wait for me there. I will meet you there."

Prismo was intrigued, to say the least. "A surprise? Just for me? Well, let's do it then. I'll wait for you."

"Perfect. Thank you, love." Scarab nuzzled his cheek sweetly. Prismo giggled, returning the favor with a soft little kiss.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with, Scrabs. I know you'll look gorgeous."

Scarab's elytra clicked as he purred, smiling softly. He'd been doing that a lot more recently. Prismo decided to take pride in the fact he's made the unflappable Scarab smile and blush like a goof.

The days leading up to the Gala were at the same time quiet and buzzing. Scarab was very clearly cooking something up, as he had carved out a little room in the basement that Prismo was explicitly forbidden from entering.

If you had told the Wishmaster he'd be okay with Scarab, of all gods, having a secret room he's not allowed in in the Time Room, well... well, you'd be given quite the strange look, that's for certain.

"Scrabby! Can you come out of your lair for a moment?"

"For the last time Prismo, it's not a lair, it's a work room!" Regardless of the terminology of whatever was going on in Scarab's little private room, the beetle acquiesced and emerged into the main chamber. "What is it?"

"Our uh... Bodies are here."

It was always just mildly upsetting to Prismo when they just... appeared. It unnerved him to see his own sleeping body at the best of times, but seeing it completely still, not even breathing, was... strange.

"Ah, okay. Is it almost time for the Gala then?"

"We have I think 3 More Time waves before the party officially starts, so we should probably start getting ready now."

"And how long are these good for?"

"Uhhh... I think 50 Time Waves?"

"Why do they stick around so long after the party?"

"I don't know, actually. Maybe they're being nice?"

"I've never known the higher ups for being... Nice. Regardless, how does this work?"

Prismo stretched his arms a bit, examining the two empty shells on the ground. "Don't worry, it's easy. Alright, so all you've gotta do is touch it, and imagine yourself waking up. It's not super nice feeling when you first wake up, just as a warning. Watch."

Prismo slid across the floor, positioning himself completely covering his body, and closed his eyes. He felt himself fade, almost like he was disappearing, but sensation quickly returned as he jumped into his body. He pulled in a gasp of air, everything tingling as his senses caught up with him.

"Prismo? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." His voice sounded dry. He needed some water. He ran fingers through his long hair and beard as he sat up. "See? Easy."

"Are you certain you're okay?"

"I'm fine. It just... takes a minute for me to adjust. I'm not 3d very often." Prismo laughed it off, but it didn't stop him from holding a hand over a now beating heart and breathing lungs. "Your turn."

Scarab hesitated, looking between his body and Prismo. Slowly, he crawled over, letting himself overlap with the shell. The blue shadow faded, the body shooting up into an upright position, breathing heavily.

"Oh, that felt wretched..." The beetle could only describe it as similar to that falling sensation one has that jars them awake.

Scarab looked as he flexed his own fingers, claws lightly clicking together. It felt... strange to be in a body like this again. His senses buzzed. He felt the weight of his shell for the first time in months. The weight of his mask...

Slowly, he rearranged the mask to tuck behind his head. He would be going to this party as himself. Proudly.

"Heya gorgeous."

Prismo had scooched a bit closer, taking advantage of new senses to hold his love for the first time in a 3d space.

Scarab's breath hitched. He was not prepared for how... warm and soft Prismo's touch would be. He had gotten used to the Wishmaster's touch in their wall forms. But... touch in the third dimension... gentle touch, touch not meant to harm him, it was... new. Alien. His mandibles thrummed as he leaned into the hold, purring, claws experimentally touching the soft, coiling gray hair nearly covering his partner.

Prismo, meanwhile, was fascinated. He explored the texture of Scarab's shell and face. The fine grooves separating the plating reminded him of polished armor. But it was warm, alive, he could feel the beetles muscles moving underneath, the thrum of blood and life. And his pink face, while prickly at the edges, was soft to cradle.

"There you are... That's my pretty Lovebug. Look at you..."

Scarab preened under the touch and praise. He was beautiful. Prismo made him believe it.

"I must say... I think you're quite lovely in this form as well."

Prismo's cheeks flushed a lovely pinkish red color, Scarab chirping in pride. He nuzzled at him, marveling at the feeling of it with a physical body.

"I'm going to go get ready, Prismo. I'll meet you at the Judgement Hall lobby."

"Alright, Scrabs. I'll be looking for you."

The bug purred one more time before sequestering himself in his mystery room once more.

Prismo chuckled as he himself got ready.

Brushing his long, unruly hair was a task in and of itself. He pulled part of the mop into something a bit more elegant, a waterfall of gray tied neatly with a pink and gold ribbon falling down his back.

Prismo wasn't much for formal clothing, but he did like robes. Something soft, light, breathable. And had amassed quite the collection from these Galas in the past. He did like his pinks and golds, but who could blame him? He liked how he looked in them.

The robe had layers of color to it, a light pink similar to his shadow form on the inner most layer, slowly shifting out into a dark, rosy red. There were imagery of gold eyes and hands cascading down the back and sleeves, giving way to constellations and stars on the long skirt that dragged a little on the floor.

He accessorized with bracelet and rings and necklaces and pendants until he glittered like the stars. That was always his favorite part of these events, the accessorizing. He wasn't one to care much about looks, but he did enjoy making himself sparkle.

He looked into a summoned mirror, checking everything from head to toe. His golden orange sash was tied nicely, his sandals looked good, everything was in place. Perfect.

"Scrabby, I'm heading out now! I'll see you there, Lovebug!"

In lieu of a proper response, he heard a loud chirp echoing from down in the basement.

Prismo couldn't help but be curious about what Scarab was doing. All the more reason to be excited, he supposed.

In a rainbow of fragmented light, Prismo deposited himself outside the lobby of the Judgement Hall, other gods already milling about and conversing.

"Prismo! Sho-Hoot man, I always forget how nice you clean up for these events."

The Cosmic Owl flew over to him, dawned in a cloak of gold and silver feathers of starlight. Death also joined him, in a simple, but sharp looking white robe. In the distance, Prismo could spot Life, in a beautiful flower and coral dress, chatting with some other gods.

"Aw, thanks. You two look nice too! It's nice you got to bring Life with you this time, Death."

"We both needed the night out."

"Where's Scarab? He's coming right?"

"Yeah, but he wanted to arrive separately. Said he wanted to surprise me, so I'm indulging. He wouldn't even give me a hint, man."

"Well, consider me intrigued."

The three chatted for a while, Life soon coming to join them, after giving Death a peck on the cheek of course.

"And then the dude just... just tried to pluck one of my feathers out! Like for a good luck charm or something. Do people not get that dreams aren't physical?"

"I don't know, man, people just don't know how to act around you, I guess," Prismo chuckled. He was about to add on, when the doors opened, and a hush fell over the lobby.

Prismo looked toward the entrance, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"...Sho-Hoot, man."

And in walked Scarab.

[ixmelodix]

Sollux: Climb

Erisol Week Day 7 - Ascend

[This one got long, whoops ^^;

This takes place just before Chapter 9 (Sollux: Hope).

Recommended listening: Touch the Sky (feat. Matt Wertz) - Generdyn]

-----------

“Have you ever been up there?”

Eridan looked up to where Sollux was pointing. “Up... what, on the mast?”

“Yeah. There's a platform up there, isn't there?”

“The crow's nest. It's not a 'platform'.”

Sollux stuck his tongue out at the seadweller; Eridan rolled his eyes in return. “It looks like a platform, it is a platform, just a platform with a fancy name.”

“Platforms don't have walls.”

“Some do!”

Eridan shoved the other with an elbow to the ribs. “For fuck's sake, Sol, quit bein' such a dumbass,” he growled; but there was no real anger in it, and Sollux knew it.

“When you stop being a self-righteous prick,” the yellowblood responded, sidestepping the second attempt at a shove. “You haven't answered the question.”

“What- oh. If I'd been up there, right?” Eridan let the argument go. “Once.”

“Just once?”

“What do you think I am, some kind 'a cat? I don't feel the need to climb everythin' in sight, thank you very much. Once was plenty.”

Sollux allowed the silence to stretch after Eridan's response for a few moments, concentrating on the road as they approached the seadweller's ship.

“Why?” Eridan finally asked, when Sollux didn't seem inclined to say anything more.

“Dunno. Just curious, I guess. Seemed like something you would've had fun with, as a wriggler, you know? You were all kinds of nautical obssessed, you can't tell me you never wanted to play lookout?”

Eridan shrugged, looking away. “Seahorsedad wouldn't let me up it, when I was real little, an' I guess by the time I was older it didn't really have all that much appeal,” he replied; but there was something in his tone that made Sollux narrow his eyes.

“Why wouldn't he let you up there?” he asked, trying to probe out what exactly it was.

Eridan turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Your lusus let you go climbin' around on thin's a hundred feet in the air when you were little?”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

The seadweller snorted. “Yeah, so. No. Just cause he could fly didn't mean he wanted to be rescuin' my ass when I got stuck up there.”

“...when?”

Sollux watched with interest as Eridan half-choked and flushed brightly.

“I- if, fuckin' hell, if!”

“You said when. ...Actually, you said 'when you got stuck'. That pretty heavily implies you did.” Sollux raised a brow.

Eridan refused to look over at him and hurried his steps. “Well, would you look at that, seems like it's comin' on rain or somethin', we'd better focus on gettin' back- gah!”

Sollux snickered at the entirely undignified noise Eridan made when he was abruptly stopped by the red and blue of Sollux's psionics. “Oh no, you don't. There's not a cloud in the fucking sky.”

Eridan huffed and crossed his arms.

“So, want to tell me about how you got stuck up there?”

“Fuck off.”

“Rude. No. Spill.”

“Fuck you!”

Sollux didn't respond to that one; just watched the petulant seadweller and waited.

“Will you just let me go?” Eridan asked after a bit of (what he probably thought was) surreptitious wiggling to test the psionics holding him.

“When you answer the question.”

Eridan narrowed his eyes. “Your answer is no, now let me go.”

Sollux had to mentally rewind the conversation to make sense of that answer; when he realized how he'd phrased the question, he sighed. Of course Eridan would answer the letter and not the spirit of it.

“Fine, fine, keep your secrets. Whatever,” he grumbled, keeping his word and releasing his control over the psionics even if the answer wasn't what he wanted.

Eridan made a show of dusting himself off before resuming walking in silence.

----

Sollux had long since relegated the mystery of the crow's nest to the 'forever unsolved' category by the time, a perigree later, that he came out onto the deck to find Eridan staring up the mast.

The yellowblood stopped where he was to watch, confused but curious, as the seadweller hesitantly touched, then gripped, the lowest rungs of the ladder that led up the mast.

Is he going to-?

He was.

Sollux raised his eyebrows as Eridan slowly but surely pulled himself up rung after rung, testing each to be sure it would hold his weight before committing to it.

His pace slowed drastically as he got higher, almost halfway up the mast now; and then the wind started to pick up, and Eridan stopped entirely.

Sollux frowned, squinting. It didn't look like he was just waiting for the wind to die down or anything, it looked like he was...

“Just cause he could fly didn't mean he wanted to be rescuin' my ass when I got stuck up there,” Eridan had said.

But how would he have gotten stuck on a ladder?

Unless...

He was scared.

Things snapped into place in Sollux's mind. Eridan's bluster, his discomfort, his avoidance of the topic; the determined refusal to talk about it...

The way he clung to the mast above, swaying fifty feet in the air - eyes squeezed shut, Sollux now saw as he rose closer on sparking red and blue - like it was going to drop him and he would splatter to the ground below.

As he rose even with the other, Sollux reached out with his psionics to surround Eridan - not taking his weight, not yet, but keeping a cushion there in case he had to quickly. “Hey, ED, you okay?”

Eridan startled violently and almost lost his grip in twisting to look at the source of the noise; the yelp of pure terror that that provoked immediately crushed any desire Sollux might have ever had to tease him about any of this.

“S-sol-? Wh-what, how-w-”

Sollux let the sparking psionics behind Eridan take up just a little of his weight now in a way he knew the other would be able to feel it, without removing Eridan's own control over his position. “Easy. It's okay, I can get you if you need it,” he said soothingly, floating a little closer.

Eridan's fins were flattened against his skull; Sollux doubted the wind, however strong it was up here, had anything to do with their position. The seadweller's hands spasmed on the rung they were clutching, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, forehead against the wood of the mast. “I... wh-what are you...”

“I saw you climbing,” Sollux replied, guessing that that was probably what Eridan was trying to ask. “And then you stopped, and I was worried. Are you okay? Do you want me to get you down?”

“...you're not laughin'...?”

Sollux kept his sigh strictly mental and floated close enough that he could gently rest a hand on Eridan's shoulder. “No. Why would I laugh?”

“'Cause a s-stupid fuckin' w-wriggler can't e'en manage t'climb 'is ow-wn fuckin' m-mast w-without cryin' like a f-fuckin' grub...?”

Sollux blinked and looked a little closer - and yes, there they were, little tracks of water filigreeing along Eridan's cheeks with the wind.

“There's nothing to laugh about in any of this, Eridan,” he replied quietly, moving his hand from the seadweller's shoulder to his upper back. “There's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Eridan hiccupped but didn't respond, his forehead still pressed against the mast.

“I mean it, Eridan. If it had been me, without my psionics, I would've started freaking out five feet off the fucking ground. It's not some sort of failing in you that you aren't a squirrel or something to not care how high up you are.”

He thought he caught a sniffle; he knew he caught the way the other's fins fluttered a little, even against the wind.

“You... really...?”

“Yeah. Heights are fucking terrifying, all right? There's nothing weird about that.”

Now Eridan dared to open his eyes again, meeting Sollux's; his expression was the most open and vulnerable Sollux thought he'd ever seen it.

“Do you want me to get you down?” Sollux asked again, gently.

This time, Eridan visibly seemed to think about it.

“...You... you can? You're sure...?”

Sollux bit back the urge to snark. “Yeah. Positive.”

Eridan swallowed, gaze flickering between Sollux and the mast, seemingly trying to make a decision. Sollux waited him out.

“...U-um... maybe, just... after...?”

“...'After'?”

“...after we, I... get to the top?”

Sollux blinked, feeling a little stunned. All of this, and Eridan wanted to... keep going?

“Holy shit, ED, seriously? You want to keep going?”

Eridan wouldn't meet his eyes; Sollux suspected that, if the wind hadn't already brought all the color to his cheeks that they could handle, Eridan would be blushing at that.

“...yeah?” the seadweller answered quietly.

“...Okay. Yeah, I can do that. Do you-”

But before he could even finish his sentence to ask if he wanted him to carry him up there, Eridan swallowed hard; shifted his weight; released and flexed first one, then the other hand; and then resumed climbing.

Sollux watched in astonishment, keeping pace as Eridan continued to move up the mast; fear was etched in his every tense muscle and flickering fin, but the seadweller overcame it with sheer determination, eyes fixed on the now rapidly approaching base of the crow's nest above.

Eridan didn't stop until he reached it; and even then it was only because he clearly wasn't sure how to get through the opening on his own. But Sollux read the question in the look the seadweller sent his way; he answered it by gently bolstering the other up, catching his weight while Eridan scrabbled at, then managed to grab, the metal handles set in the floor for this very purpose.

He didn't release his psionic grip until Eridan was well away from the hatch and leaning against the outer wall; landing on the platform himself, he crouched down next to the violetblood, out of the wind. “That was amazing, Eridan,” he said quietly, smiling a little at the startled look he received. “I mean it. You did all that, even though you were scared? That's fucking amazing.”

Eridan looked away, hunching in on himself; but his fluttering fins spoke volumes. “It... it w-wasn't, really...”

“Bullshit.” But his tone was affectionate, and he reached out to take one of Eridan's freezing hands in his. “It's really fucking cold up here, though, and I don't really feel like being turned into a trollsicle, so, can we go back now?”

Eridan swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. Let me, um... let me just... look, first, though?”

Sollux nodded in turn and stood, reaching out a hand to help the seadweller up; Eridan took it with both of his, and the two of them managed to get him upright, though he stumbled a bit into the yellowblood in the process.

“...Shit, Sol, you are freezin',” he said, startled. “I, I'm sorry-”

“Shut up. No apologies,” Sollux cut him off, then grinned. “You can make it up to me with something hot to eat when we get back down.”

“...Deal.” Eridan nodded, then turned a little to look around.

His expression as he took in the (admittedly pretty amazing) view from up here was so precious that Sollux wanted to box it up and treasure it forever.

“Wow...” Eridan whispered, his waver gone in his wonder. “It's... beautiful.”

Not as much as you, Sollux thought - then caught himself in that thought and hurriedly backpedaled. “Yeah, seeing everything from up here is pretty cool, right?” he managed, trying very hard to pretend he hadn't just been thinking of something entirely different.

“'Cool' is an understatement.” Eridan sighed a little in pleasure, expression soft and wondering as he looked out to where the first moon was just beginning to dip into the ocean to the west. “I... cod, this is amazin'.”

“...was that a fish pun?” Sollux couldn't help but ask, humor bubbling up.

Eridan's face was too flushed in the wind to show any more blushing, but the way his fins flipped down and fluttered broadcast his embarrassment just fine without it. “Fuckin'- look, it wasn't intentional! Quit laughin'!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sollux replied, doing his best to stop. “It's, it's cute, really, that's all.”

Eridan huffed and turned away, crossing his arms.

“I'm sorry, okay?” Sollux reached out to gently turn him around again with a hand on his shoulder. “Blame it on the thin air or whatever, it's fine. But I'm getting really cold now, and I'm pretty sure trollsicles don't have psionics, so...”

“Okay, fine, geez. Can't even let a troll get a good look around,” Eridan griped; but when Sollux held out his hands, Eridan took them without hesitation. He kept his eyes fixed on the yellowblood's face as psionics lifted both of them out of the basket-like crow's nest and floated them both to the deck of the ship below - probably so that he didn't freak out, Sollux suspected - and didn't let go until Sollux himself did after they both had solid footing again.

“...Thanks, Sol,” the seadweller said quietly once they stepped apart, eyes on his hands as he rubbed a cramp out of the muscles of one with the other.

Sollux smiled, and guided the shorter troll inside with an arm around his shoulders. “No problem, ED - but next time, get me first, okay? I don't want to wake up to splattered seadweller soufflee.”

Eridan snorted and let himself be steered inside. “Nice as that view was, I don't think there'll be a next time. Once is enough.”

Sollux resisted the urge to point out that he'd said that last time, by telling himself Eridan probably hadn't actually made it all the way to the nest as a wriggler before getting 'stuck'; and instead just turned both of their steps to the stairs down into the kitchen. “Now, I do believe I was promised something to warm up...”

[mimssides]

Poetry

Here's my second submission to the @loginceweek2023. Have fun and stay safe!

Read on AO3 | Masterpost

“Come on Leo! Show me!” 2504907 said.

Leo put the file behind his figurative back and jumped up on the closest roof. It truly had paid off to invest so many skill points in his agility and strength. Especially when he could see 25’s annoyed face because of his antics.

“Don’t be like this!” Leo laughed and sat down on the parapet with his feet dangling down easily. “When I tell you that I don’t want to show you, you have to accept no for an answer.”

25 pouted but jumped up without going directly next to Leo. He eyed his curious friend a bit but decided that he had listened and 25 wouldn’t try to steal the file anymore.

“You looked at it so fondly. I couldn’t help but wonder what makes the great Leon the Leo look so soft.”

Leo rolled his eyes but took the file away from behind his back. It was a simple image he had taken from his project and while he was pretty satisfied with it, he didn’t feel ready to share it with anybody.

“Okay, real talk,” 25 said after Logan didn’t say anything for another minute, “you don’t have to say anything or so but I gotta say: Whatever you made no matter how “good” or “bad” it objectively is, is really, really important and cool anyway because it brought you joy. And if you feel like you want to share that joy that’s great too. If not, I’m probably gonna annoy you for the rest of the day but I won’t make you show me. Just a little tease. Because I’m the sexiest and my annoyance is a treat.”

Leo chuckled and and slapped him in the arm. 25 made an undignified noise, only causing Leo to laugh harder and he joined his giggles soon enough. Eventually the calmed down again and Leo looked at the file in his hands. It was a very simple piece.

Objectively it was probably not truly impressive. Nothing like the others could do.

“I see that look of self-doubt in you eyes, mister! Stop it!” 25 chided him and Leo groaned.

“You’re worse than my friends!”

“Well, then I approve of your friends! No self-doubt and sadness for my Leo!”

Leo let out a week huff. Maybe. Maybe it was okay. He let the file sink on his lap and looked at 25 for a second. It could be okay.

“It might not be clear but I’m not known for creativity in my friend group,” Leo said a little quietly and let his shoulders sink uncharacteristically. “We all might work in a theatre together, so it must be clear to you that those who act, unlike me, are more poetic and artistically gifted. But even those who work behind the curtain with me, have creative outputs; one makes very beautiful collages and the other sews and stiches rather beautifully. I’m ... not artistically inclined and they, we all joke about it from time to time. But, uhm, when I’m wishing to participate in something more artistic I am inclined to believe that they might joke as well, when I am being rather serious. So, I don’t show them what I make.”

25 just listened. Leo handed him the file. He looked down at it and then at him. For a moment 25 waited and then looked down to the file. And then he read it quietly.

Softly 25 handed the file back to Leo. Worried Leo looked down to the file and bit his lips.

“It’s lovely,” 25 whispered and laid his arm around Leo. “Whoever “she” is; she sounds like a heartbroken but kind being. You did perfectly well with getting that across. I don’t think your friends would ever laugh at that.”

25 didn’t say anything as Leo sniffed his nose and let his face fall onto his shoulder. He just held him softly and let his maybe not quite as unartistic friend just be.

___

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide

[saturdaysky]

Time-traveling Caleb meets Essek as a child please.

(from the ask me about my WIP meme)

This WIP was one of the first things I wrote when I decided I wanted to learn to write late last year!

It began as a snippet I was writing for a prompt in the big Essek discord, something along the lines of “kid Essek proposes marriage to Caleb” -- pretty fluffy, lighthearted, and cute. Naturally this meant I plotted something bittersweet about love and the grief for selves who never were and whom we no longer have a chance to be.

The premise: Sometime in the future, Essek and Caleb are together and have developed a spell that allows temporary travel to a decayed or decaying timeline. Caleb uses it and accidentally winds up much further back in time than intended, where he meets Essek as a child. Young Essek is lonely and hides Caleb on the Thelyss estates for a week or so while Caleb rides out the spell. From there, it’s a character study as Caleb gets to know Essek in his early life.

I don’t know if I’ll finish this one. Reading through it, if I returned to it I’d want to rewrite most of it since I understand writing and these characters a little better now. So who knows! Have part of 2 scenes. :)

Scene: One hour before the spell ends and the timeline decays for good

At the sound of Caleb’s footsteps in the courtyard, Essek turns slowly to face him, posture exactingly correct in a way that speaks of both practice and nerves. He inclines his head and folds his hands in formal greeting, the grace of the gesture falling a little awkwardly on his small frame.

“Master Widogast,” he begins, and then stops. Takes a shallow breath. “I know you are to depart today. I- I wished to speak with you before you are gone.”

His tone reaches for the chilly gravitas of his mother, but a muddled panic lurks around the edges of his words. Caleb returns the formal greeting, but lets his lips curve into a friendly smile. “I am here to listen. What would you ask of me?”

The lines of Essek’s shoulders ease a fraction. He drifts over, ignoring the whorls of the tiled labyrinth below in favor of making a line straight to Caleb. He stops a foot and a half away, as close as etiquette allows, and fidgets, one hand twisting the edge of a sleeve.

“I...there is a parting gift I wished to give you.” Essek’s small fingers shake a little as he draws the line to open his wristpocket. The spell takes and he lets out a satisfied hum as a small black codex tumbles into his hands.

“I made this,” he says, pride suffusing his voice. His courteous smile brightens into unguarded excitement, before fading into something small and hesitant. “It is for you. I know you are going far away somewhere, so...so in case you need to study the floating spell I taught you, I thought you might wish for reference.”

He thrusts the book up at Caleb. “Do not show anyone. Ah, Verin said I should not have told you things at all and I could get in trouble, so maybe keep it secret.”

Caleb turns the object over in his hands. It’s a small booklet of notes on dunamancy, written in a child’s scrawl. Essek has written out the directions for the cantrip that lets him float, each step of the spell thoroughly but ineptly diagrammed. Here and there in the margins are poorly-drawn creatures it takes Caleb a moment to realize are cats.

No, Caleb realizes, not cats: cat. All of them are Frumpkin, and all of them have been drawn with the earnest appreciation of a young boy who has seen exactly one cat in his entire life and is making up for lost time. 

Caleb traces a finger over the drawings, despair catching at his throat. He wants nothing more than to gather this desperately lonely child into his arms and shield him from the future that will turn him jaded and cruel, that will rip out this tender heart and replace it with callous intent.

But he can’t. He can’t save this Essek. This young echo will be gone forever in an hour. Caleb swallows the lump in his throat.

“You are very kind, Master Thelyss,” he says a little hoarsely. “It was an honor to be your student.”

Scene: Caleb returns from the spell

“Welcome back.” Essek’s silhouette is bent over the desk in front of him as he scratches out notes on a large piece of vellum, but he straightens and glances in Caleb’s direction. His sleeves are rolled up and there is a bit of ink smudged on his nose Caleb is sure he doesn’t know is there.

“Hallo,” Caleb says, meeting Essek’s eyes. They are worried and lovely, and a little tired. 

Essek scans Caleb’s body, as if checking to make sure he has all the same appendages he left with. Satisfied, he lets a lopsided smile curl over his face.

“Hallo,” he replies. “That was longer than expected. Did you find the information you were looking for?”

“I did, eventually.”

Essek's eyes narrow, gaze assessing. He sets the pen down on the desk, and turns to fully face Caleb. “But…?”

There is no point in hiding it. “The spell took me back further than intended. I also met you there. As a child.” Shock briefly paints itself on Essek’s face.

“Ah. Unexpected, I-  Well,” he says, slim, dark fingers twisting over themselves once before falling still, “I’m sure that was an enlightening experience.” Essek’s voice is light and carefully neutral. By degrees, his smile evens out, grows soft and pleasant. Opaque. Untouchable.

It is the last thing Caleb wants to see right now. 

He crosses the floor and Essek looks up at him, eyes shuttered. Caleb cups his face and guides him into a kiss, soft at first, merely comforting himself with Essek’s presence. Essek leans into it. Comfort for the two of them, maybe.

Caleb is good at kissing, and over the last decade, he’s made a dedicated effort to be good at kissing Essek, specifically. He nips at a lower lip and deepens the kiss, drawing a decidedly unchaste noise from Essek. It soothes something in Caleb to hear it, this spark of passion beneath the mask. After a moment, fingers curl into Caleb’s shirt.

Caleb pulls back and whispers into Essek’s ear, pleased to feel him shiver in response. “You were quite the, ah, charmer. You offered your hand in marriage. Scandalous.”

Essek lets out an undignified little snort that charms Caleb to his bones. “I should think I have made my desire for you quite clear in the present. Do not try to play me against my child self, Widogast.” As if to emphasize the point, his fingers slide from Caleb’s chest, over his sides, and onto his back with deliberate slowness. Caleb doesn’t even try to repress his own shiver, and he can feel the resulting smugness radiating from Essek.

“You also taught me to float. You were a very enthusiastic teacher.”

“Did I?” Amusement drips from Essek’s voice. “It is handy for you that you figured that one out yourself years ago.”  Over Essek’s shoulder, Caleb can see the notes and diagrams he’s working on. All letters and lines are crisp and precise; not a single wasted mark. There is no hint of embellishment here, Caleb sees. There are no more earnest drawings.

He buries his face in the crook where Essek’s neck meets his shoulder, taking in the comforting, familiar scent of him. Essek shifts to allow him better access, and Caleb breathes him in, letting grief settle in his chest.

After a moment, Essek’s fingers begin to trace lightly across his back, drawing comforting and repetitive patterns. Spell runes, Caleb realizes, and closes his eyes.

You were an earnest child, he does not say, and so achingly desperate for connection that you hid a strange mage in your house and taught him your favorite spell. He does not say, you were kind and you still had hope when you were young. You still talked to your brother. You loved magic like a friend, and no blood stained your hands for it.

Essek knows. Essek does not welcome pity, and Caleb cannot blame him for it. Caleb does not welcome it either.

[britishassistant]

Crowley kid! Yuu gets kidnapped by one of the villain dorms and Crowley is touring the the lair and just come across his kid, just chilling their designated chair snacking and roasting the villains, maybe joking around with the minions a bit and then they see each other and it’s like that Spider-Man pointing meme

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

This kiiinda got away from me a bit, but I thought it would be good since this blog has now reached over 200 followers! Whoo! Thank you all for your support!!

Crowley was just popping by to see how Leviathan’s operation was running.

He liked to do this kind of thing, show up when the supervillains competing for his attention least expected (or appreciated) it and demand they show him how their operations were running. The reactions and sights he got to see where always so much more honest than what a prearranged visit could offer him.

Take Leviathan-kun, for instance.

The young man is uncommonly nervous in Crowley’s presence, not quite stuttering, but clearly not far off from it either. He keeps adjusting his glasses minutely, making the light flash off them even as he rattles out his salesman’s spiel of guarantees and flattery.

The thieving corvid inside Crowley preens. Today was an excellent day for a surprise inspection.

There’s clearly something going on right now that Leviathan was desperate to hide from him, which just makes Crowley want to dig deep and uncover whatever this dirty little secret is and drag that wriggling, struggling weakness into the light.

Great Seven, he loves his job.

It doesn’t take long for him to ferret it out—as desperate as Leviathan is to redirect his attention the loyal minions moving like schools of fish through the lower levels of the lair, he doesn’t have the authority to do anything but totter after Crowley as he strides towards the control room of this fine establishment, his cane clicking against the ground with every step.

Great Seven, he loves his job.

There’s the raised voices of Leviathan’s lieutenants emanating from within, along with...someone else?

Crowley pauses, taking in the scene inside.

There is a person is tied to a chair in the center of the room with one of the Leeches hanging sideways off of their lap, arms wrapped around their shoulders as he leans backwards and swings his legs back and forth. The chair is beginning to teeter dangerously.

“Floyd, if you make us fall again, I’m suing you for damages.” A familiar voice quips.

Crowley’s insides go cold.

“Aha! So mean~ I’d never let you get hurt, Shrimpy~” The reckless and violent twin coos, nuzzling close.

“You already did.” The most kidnapped reporter in this city deadpans. “Twice.”

“Bold of you to assume that you’d be able to press charges in the first place, Yuu-san.” The sadistic and coldblooded twin grins.

“Azul likes me better than you two, he’ll represent me if I sell him my kidneys.” Yuu says loftily. “Plus I have witnesses, like that guy...there...”

Well, that’s ruined his dramatic entrance, but Crowley slams open the doors anyway, making his cloak billow and letting those leeches see the angry flash of his eyes.

“A-hem!” He booms. “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Is this how you think professional villains behave?!”

The sadistic twin stands to attention, bowing shallowly to him, as though that will keep Crowley from noticing how he’s moved in front of the hostage and his violent brother, who’s curled over Yuu with his feet planted firmly on the ground and is cocky enough to think baring his teeth at Crowley is somehow a good idea.

“Floyd.” Leviathan’s voice is clipped, moving towards his henchman and the captive. “My deepest apologies on behalf of my staff, sir. I’ll instruct them to take the prisoner back down to the holding cells to continue the inter—”

“No, you will not.” Crowley commands, swirling towards the aquatic supervillain. “You will release them from your custody immediately, and as I am so gracious, I will be sure to educate all of you about how violating personal boundaries—”

“Oh, come off it, you old crow.” Yuu drawls, one eyebrow twitching. “Don’t start pretending like you care now.”

The sadistic brother makes a small, choked noise. Leviathan has gone so still it’s doubtful he’s even breathing. Even the violent twin is staring at the reporter like they’ve grown a second head.

He clears his throat to hide the small sting in his chest at the remark. “W-why I don’t know whatever you are talking about, stranger I have never met before. I will arrange for an escort to guide you home, as I am so gracious.”

The reporter scoffs. “Well, isn’t that just the story of my life. I told you last time, I don’t want any of your goons within ten blocks of my apartment, remember?”

“Yuu, while I always appreciate your sparkling wit, please stop talking.” Leviathan mutters, eyes focused on Crowley. “Are you aware of just who this person is?”

“Who he is? Of course I know who he is.” Yuu’s exasperation is evident in their voice. “He’s my bio dad.”

Crowley bristles, feeling his feathers puff up in alarm. “Hatchling!!”

Leviathan chokes, wheezing for air as he gasps out, “Bio—what—?”

The sadistic Leech brother is visibly startled, whipping his head back and forth between Crowley and Yuu, lips moving too fast to read though no sound comes out.

“Eeeh~? The big scary boss man is Shrimpy’s dad? No waay~” The violent Leech brother jabs a thumb in his direction. “Who would fuck him?”

“HOW DARE YOU—!”

“Nobody.” Yuu says. “I was born via in vitro fertilization.”

“Hatchling~!” Crowley whines, disliking how wrong-footed his child leaves him. “That is hardly kind!”

Yuu lets out an undignified snort. “Sure, because that compares to dumping me back on Uncle Divvy after a week out of the test tube with instructions to leave me under a bridge somewhere.”

Both Leech twins pin him with equally unnerving stares, and Crowley has to remind himself that he is three times the villain they’ll ever be, that they couldn’t actually hurt him even if they did both attack at once.

Leviathan is just leaning against his desk, mouthing “Uncle Divvy” to himself with the sort of frquency usually reserved for those afflicted by Divus’ hysteria gas.

“We talked about that!” Crowley pleads desperately. “It was to make sure that you could grow strong through adversity! I could hardly expect you to take up my position if you grew up soft and dependent, now could I?”

“Babies are soft and dependent, that’s the whole point. I’d have been dead within the week if Uncle Divvy hadn’t given me to Mom and Dad.” Yuu sighs, slumping back into the chair. “Whatever. I’m never taking over from you and I don’t want any of your money. Can I go home now?”

“I’ll arrange for a car as I am so gracious—” Crowley states firmly at the same time as Leviathan interjects with “Ah, let me take you—”

He shoots a poisonous glare at the young upstart, and then at the unprofessional lackey who’s still clinging to his child.

“No thanks, to both of you.” Yuu sighs. “I’ll just call Yuuken to pick me up—”

“Eeeh?! But Shrimpy, he’s so lame and boring!” The twin in Yuu’s lap whines. “I can’t even squeeze him properly!”

“Yeah, that’s not really a negative here.” The reporter quips, putting up with the way the merman whines and nuzzles into their shoulder, teeth dangerously close to their jugular.

“I don’t like him.” Crowley sniffs. “He’s too good an influence on you.”

“Well, guess whose business that is?!” His offspring asks cheerily, before dropping back into their irritated moue. “Not yours. I’ll spend time with whoever I please, you can go suck an e—”

“I’ve called you a cab, Yuu-san.” The sadistic Leech brother pipes up, pulling his phone away from his ear. “It’s already paid for, so please don’t worry about it.”

The reporter frowns again, before shaking their head with a tired sigh. “Thank you. I need to go sleep off a migraine, so untie me and I’ll see you three next week or something.”

Leviathan moves forward to tug swiftly at the ropes pinning their arms behind their back and pulling his henchmen off of them, finally. “Let me escort you out at least. It wouldn’t do to have any more unpleasant surprises before you got home.”

“Fine.” Yuu pins Crowley with that look that always makes him want to squirm. “Have a lovely day, Dire Crowley-san.”

“Likewise.” He watches his heir walk out as the violent Leech twin calls out “Bye bye, Shrimpy~!”

He turns to those two upstarts, drawing himself up to his full height. “I am certain I don’t need to impress upon you the fact that none of what went on in here leaves this room, yes?”

The sadistic one meets his eye for a moment, spreading his hands wide with an unpleasant smile. “I am unsure of what you mean, Crowley-sama.”

“Yeah, dunno~” The violent one chirps from where he’s now perched in the recently vacated chair.

“Well, suffice it to say that Divus came up with a very interesting potion to affect merfolk, some years ago.” Crowley allows himself a cruel smirk. “One that gives them legs permanently. Shame it doesn’t do the same for lungs. I will not tell him how...carelessly you boys have been treating one of his most prized experiments, as I am gracious, am I not?”

He watches the pair of them swallow reflexively with a thrill of dark satisfaction. “Yes, Crowley-sama.” They chorus.

“Wonderful!” Crowley chirps, clasping his hands together. “Now, I think it’s time for a special lesson on respecting the personal boundaries of one’s hostages, don’t you?”

[flowercrown-bard]

Flora and –yikes! - Fauna

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

read on AO3

thank you @kitcatkim for letting me use your idea with the two flower crowns <3

summary: Jaskier is making flower crowns, naturally. Too bad no one warned him that bugs like to swarm around flowers

Content warnings: bugs, insects

--- "Geralt, wait!"

Jaskier didn't give Geralt the chance to protest or grab the scruff of Jaskier's neck to keep him in place. As Jaskier ran towards the wildflowers blossoming in a patch next to the road he could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes in the way he grunted.

"Jaskier, we can't keep stopping every other minute just for you to gather flowers." Despite his words, Jaskier could hear him bring Roach to a halt. "What are you even going to do with them? Don't tell me you spent your last coin on a vase."

Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn't bother turning around to fix Geralt with a glare.

"Of course I didn't. If you please to remember, I used it to buy some more bandages because someone didn't bother to restock before rushing into a hunt."

"I remember," Geralt grumbled but there was something strange in his tone. Something that wasn’t gruff or dismissive at all. Something that might have even been the exact opposite of that. Jaskier couldn't name it but it made his heart skip a beat. "But fine. We can take a break. Roach could use it anyway."

She didn’t. She was stubborn enough to make it known when she wanted or needed to slow down and she had done no such thing since the last time Jaskier had made them stop.

"Make sure she doesn't eat my flowers," he called over his shoulder.

His smile widened as he plucked the most beautiful blue flower and added it to his already impressive collection. Maybe he had gathered too many flowers, but how was he to know how many he needed? He had never done this before. It wasn't as if he could just pluck flowers out of flower pots at Oxenfurt and he would rather not dismay a town's residents by raiding their gardens.

Besides, no garden could grow such beautiful flowers as blossomed on their own in the wild. At least that's what Jaskier hoped Geralt would think. He never seemed to appreciate the carefully cultivated beauty of cities when instead he could have the open road and woods.

Jaskier eyed his flowers critically. Though most of them had differently shaped and shaded blossoms, most of them were blue. Perfect to bring out his eyes. Hopefully. Surely.

Satisfied and a little giddy, Jaskier marched over to Geralt and thrust the flowers into his hand.

"Hold this," he said, fighting the unreasonable blush that crept up his cheeks.

Geralt's brows pinched together in confusion and he looked almost flustered. Still, he didn't hesitate to close his hand around the flower stems, perhaps a little too tightly, as if he was afraid of them falling if he didn't clutch them in a death grip.

"I-Jaskier, what are you-"

"I need both hands to do this," Jaskier explained and began searching for the best flower to begin with. Not that he had any idea what constituted as a perfect starter flower, but as long as he scrutinised the bouquet, he surely looked competent and there was nothing more attractive than a person who knew what they were doing.

Geralt frowned. "And what exactly is it you need both hands for?"

"Why, making a flower crown, of course." Jaskier beamed up at Geralt and randomly pulled a flower out of Geralt's grip to begin. "I mean, really, it's a shame that I haven't thought if this before. But a bard out there in the wilderness without flowers on his head? That's just wasted potential."

Geralt gave an amused hum. "Are you sure you want to put flowers on your head?"

"Absolutely." Jaskier's voice left no room for argument. "I am going to look beautiful with it."

Geralt is going to look at him and think him beautiful.

"What does it matter? There's no one here to impress."

Jaskier's hands faltered and just for a second his eyes darted up to glare Geralt.

"Who says I want to impress anyone?" His voice definitely didn't waver and there was no way to interpret his words as defensive. "Can't I just want to be pretty for the sake of being pretty?"

Geralt grumbled something dismissively. It was wishful thinking, but to Jaskier is almost sounded like "You don't need flower crowns for that."

More to hide his burning face than anything else, Jaskier turned his attention back to the flowers and started weaving - or rather chaotically knotting – them together.

Geralt let him work in silence, but whenever Jaskier glanced up to pull another flower out of the bouquet, he found Geralt's eyes on him. It made his neck feel hot and his chest tight.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, he finished the flower crown. It wasn't stunning by any means, but it was passable. Kind if pretty even. Actually, for a first try it was downright amazing.

Filled with excitement about his craft, Jaskier hopped the crown around his arm so he'd have both of his hands available again and made to work on Geralt's crown.

"Looks like you got too many flowers," Geralt said, lips twitching up.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jaskier rolled his eyes good naturedly and bound some more flowers together. "I'm making a second crown."

"You know Roach will eat the flowers before you'll be able to put them on her head.”

Jaskier's hands froze and his heart jumped into his throat. He had forgotten to ask Geralt if he even wanted a crown. Judging from how he didn't even think about wearing the crown himself, it was quite clear just how much he didn't want it.

Jaskier's eyes went to Roach, silently begging her for help, but the horse was just munching on some grass, giving him an unimpressed and perhaps slightly judgemental look.

"It's not for Roach." Jaskier blurted, thoughts stumbling over each other to find an excuse. "It's for me. They’re both for me. Obviously. Why would I wear just one crown if I could have two and be doubly pretty, am I right?"

He grinned at Geralt in a way that begged please kill me now and let this embarrassment be over. But Geralt didn't grant him that mercy but at least he didn't call him out in his nonsense either. Instead his lips quirked up and he handed Jaskier another flower, unprompted.

While working on the second crown, Jaskier started talking again. One might also say he was rambling. Anything to distract Geralt from the way Jaskier's cheeks were bright red and he was still cursing himself for his stupidity on the inside.

He told Geralt about how he had always wanted to wear flower crowns ever since he had read a story book about a princess with flowers in her hair as a child.

Occasionally, Geralt would grace his tale with a hum or a barely noticeable upwards quirk of his lips.

Jaskier took that as encouragement. He continued to talk about how his sisters used to wear flower crowns when they were young, about how Jaskier had always been envious about how pretty they looked with pink, blue and yellow flowers in on their heads. He reminisced about all the times he gifted flower crowns to his dance partners during Belleteyn and never got any in return.  

More than once it looked as if Geralt was going to open his mouth, but then he always thought better of it and contented himself with listening to Jaskier.

It was only when Jaskier eventually ran out of flower related things to talk about that Geralt spoke up again.

“You’re getting better,” he commented, nodding towards the now finished second crown.

Jaskier’s face lit up but he forced his voice to sound nonchalant and teasing. “Why Geralt, is that a compliment?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, that’s exactly where it’s going.” Jaskier winked and put both crowns on his head.

He felt a little stupid wearing both of them, but the sheepishness was quickly overshadowed by the giddy excitement of finally making his childhood dream come true.

A small giggle escaped Jaskier and he didn’t care how silly he probably looked; there was just too much joy bubbling up inside him that needed to be released somehow. He twirled and threw his head back laughing. Quickly he realised his mistake, when the crowns threatened to fall off. His hands flew to the flowers to hold them in place.

When he came to a stop, he found Geralt’s eyes fixed on him with an unexpected softness, though he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. It wasn't fast enough for Jaskier to miss and try how he might, Geralt would never be able to hide such a fond look from Jaskier.

"So?" Jaskier made a point of fiddling with the crowns as if he was righting a fancy little hat. "How do I look?"

Geralt contemplated him a long moment with a complicated expression. "Happy."

Jaskier's moth went dry. The way Geralt had said it made it sound like he meant so much more.

"Geralt-"

He let go of the crowns, but the universe saved – or damned - him from doing something stupid like take Geralt's face in his hands and kiss him. Now that he wasn't holding onto the flower crowns anymore, they immediately fell over his eyes.

Jaskier let out a little noise of surprise that very much wasn't an undignified squeak.

Geralt chuckled and had Jaskier not been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having leaves poke them, he would have glared at Geralt.

As if was, he found that he couldn't be upset even when Geralt was making fun of his misfortune. Geralt's laugh was too beautiful a sound to ever want him to stop. Especially if Jaskier was the one making him laugh.

"Guess there were too many flowers after all," Geralt said and Jaskier could practically hear his smug smile.

Jaskier tried to lift the crowns, but he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began and he absolutely wasn't going to risk them falling apart because he tugged on the wrong one.

"I just miscalculated a little," Jaskier grumbled, but his own lips were stretched wide grin. "You know you could do the noble thing and save me from my predicament."

Almost immediately he felt the lightest touch on his cheek. For a second, Jaskier's heart sped up at how tenderly Geralt was touching him. But then it hit him.

Even if Geralt ever were to caress his cheek softly, he would not be able to do it that softly. In fact, the touch was so light it almost tickled.

Jaskier furrowed his brows and his heart began racing in earnest for a very different reason.

"Geralt?"

Something buzzed right next to his ear. Something that sounded very big and very crawly.

"Geralt!" Jaskier almost shrieked, but all the reply he got from Geralt the traitor was another laugh.

Another light touch as something landed on his skin, this time on his hands.

Immediately, he pulled them away from the flowers and clutched them protectively against his chest. He needed his hands. He couldn't let some insect sting his fingers.

He wanted to call out for Geralt again, demand that he help him, but the bug on his face chose that moment to crawl closer to his lips.

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and held his breath.

"Now there's that blessed silence," Geralt teased as if he didn't even notice the danger Jaskier was in.

Mentally, Jaskier took back everything he had thought before. Right now he wanted to wipe away the smirk that undoubtedly was on Geralt's face. And if Geralt didn’t stop laughing, Jaskier was going to write the most scathing song about him, once he could open his mouth again.

Oh gods, but what if keeping his lips pressed together wasn't enough? What if one of those crawling things decided to go up his nose?

The buzzing around his head got louder. More insects landed on him and Jaskier could do nothing but keep his eyes and lips shut and pray none of the insects were dangerous.

He was tense as a bow string and his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s foot hitting the ground.

He could feel tiny legs all over him, could hear nothing but that horrible buzzing. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him.

"Jaskier?" All traces of humour were gone from Geralt's voice. In fact, he sounded concerned.

Oh. Oh no. If Geralt was worried, that could only mean that something truly bad was happening. Maybe one of the bugs had a venomous bite. Maybe one of the things on Jaskier's head was the larva of a giant centipede. Maybe one of them was a were-bug and Jaskier would get turned into a disgusting insect himself!

Jaskier wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to civilisation where he was safe from those tiny monsters. Adventure be damned. Inspiration be damned. Flower crowns be damned. He would be happy if he'd never have to see another insect again. If being pestered by swarms of insects was the prize for walking the Path, Jaskier would not shed a single tear abandoning it. Good riddance.

If only that didn't mean that he'd also lose Geralt...

"Jaskier?" Geralt repeated, softer this time. He sounded closer.

Strangely enough, the touch if the insects disappeared and got replaced by another sense of tickling, but this was one warm and almost glowing. It washed over his skin and spread wider around him. Slowly, the buzzing grew more distant until it disappeared fully.

A warm hand brushed Jaskier's temple and the crowns were pushed back onto the top of his head where they belonged. Well, we're one of them belonged.

Carefully, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He let out a tiny gasp and then his breath got stuck again for a different reason. Geralt was standing surprisingly close to him, their chests almost touching. The hand not occupied with the flower crowns was twisted into an uncomfortable looking shape.

Quen.

A dome of warm golden light surrounded them. Jaskier hadn't known the sign could be used to keep bugs at bay, but as far as he was concerned insects did definitely count as fiendish enemies and he wasn't about to complain about the protection. Especially not since Geralt was looking at him with his brows knitted together in soft worry and his hand left the crowns to caress his cheek instead.

"I take it the story about the princess didn't warn you about the bugs?" Te corner of Geralt's lips twitched into a half-smile.

Jaskier shook his head and swallowed. "No, definitely not." He leaned into Geralt's touch. It was warm and comforting and Jaskier never wanted him to let go again.

Maybe... Maybe if this touch was the reward he got for bravely withstanding the terror of the insects, he could face the bugs again sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps being in nature wasn't too bad if he had Geralt with him.

"There's one thing the story did teach me, though."

"Oh?" Geralt's brows rose a little.

"At the end the hero gets a kiss." Before his bravery or foolishness could leave him, he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against Geralt's lips.

He expected the kiss to be over quickly, little more than a brush if lips, but Geralt's hand on his cheek travelled to the back of his head, holding him close.

Jaskier lifted his own hands, burying them into Geralt's hair. Geralt let out a soft sound and then a second hand found its place at the small of Jaskier's back.

Jaskier pulled back, just enough to speak, his lips nearly brushing against Geralt's with every word.

"Geralt, put the damn Quen back." His eyes narrowed. "I am not kissing you with bugs crawling all over me."

"Perhaps you could give one crown to me and share the burden?"

Jaskier drew back suspiciously. "You mean that?" he asked slowly, his insides twisting in excitement. "You would really wear my flower crown?"

Geralt shrugged. "I don't want you to complain about the bugs and the leaves in your hair," he grumbled, but his eyes shone with a fondness that made Jaskier's heart swell. The hand on Jaskier’s back gave a small squeeze and tugged him closer. "And I happen to like my hand right where it is."

Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, mischief and another, softer emotion lighting up his eyes. "You can pretend not to like my voice all you want, but you just traded your blessed silence for my comfort. I know where your priorities lie."

Geralt hummed quietly, the smile on his lips getting wider and his thumb caressed Jaskier's cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe I don't mind your voice too much when you're talking about something you like. Or when you're singing. Or laughing." He leaned forward, too fast for Jaskier to react and stole a quick peck. "And I prefer keeping you silent by kissing you."

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. "Who knew you could be such a romantic," he deadpanned and shook his head fondly. "Truly, you know how to charm a man with your words."

"It's working isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

With a mental strength Jaskier didn't know he possessed, he let go of Geralt's hair and lifted one of his flower crowns off his head to put it on Geralt's instead.

For a long moment, he just stared at Geralt, admiring him. The colours of the blossoms contrasted beautifully with Geralt's hair. But that wasn't what took Jaskier's breath away. It was the fact that Geralt actually looked happy like this. Happy to be with Jaskier. Happy to make him happy.

"You know" Jaskier said with smug satisfaction as a bug with shimmering green wings landed on Geralt's forehead, "you're lucky I love you more than I hate bugs."

Geralt snorted. "Now who's the romantic?"

Jaskier could have answered with a quip if he wanted to. He most certainly had multiple quick-witted responses to that.

Too bad that he too liked kissing Geralt's words away.

And so that was what he did.

They only broke away again when Geralt's crown fell into his eyes. Jaskier burst out into a well-deserved laugh at Geralt's dumbfounded look. As much as Jaskier liked kissing him, he found that he also rather liked the way Geralt's eyes lit up when he joined the laughter.

He could get used to this. In fact, as he buried his face in Geralt's chest to stifle his giggles and could feel Geralt's heart beneath him, he knew that he could battle any creepy crawlies if it meant that he got to keep this.

---

tag list: @snowfea @diedfromembarrassmentlikeasim @thebloodletter7 @eleos-fawn @palefuckingmeme @irongal21 (sorry for tagging you unasked, but you seemed to like the idea when I posted it a while ago so I figured you might like this too)

[little-lightning-lavellan]

For the random OC asks, maybe 8, 9, 24, 35?

I dunno what to do because I answered all of these ones already because all of you beautiful people spoil me too much and I don't deserve all of your kindness eribibigrbks HECK SHITE

WELL, YOU'VE COME ALL THIS WAY... WHY DON'T YOU STAY A MINUTE??

.

Mellan looked up from the books she had scattered about her room to see a cat-like woman standing in her doorway.

"Oh, hello!" She blinked, setting down the tome with a curious smile. "I don't believe I've seen you around here before, are you new to Skyhold? No, that's silly, I'm sure I would have remembered you, you seem rather interesting... in a good way, of course!" The elvhen girl had begun to ramble, coming up to the stranger and shuffling them inside, flitting about them on tip-toe.

Mellan seemed to be circling her visitor, but in more of the way a puppy would, rather than any threatening way. Coming back to her front, the redhead grinned, and gestured for the lady to sit in one of chaotic piles of pillows upon the floor amidst the books. The elf hoped she wouldn't mind the mess; she wasn't exactly going to apologize for it.

"Sit, sit! Stay as long as you'd like! I think I've still got some cakes, too, if you'd like... hurm..." The elf vanished from view as she scampered behind her guest, somewhere towards the incense burner in the corner. However, the sounds of her rummaging her interrupting by a well-practiced knock, followed by a creek of the opening of the door.

"Ma halla, do you happen to--" The calm question in an untraceable accent was interrupted with an undignified 'oop'-ing noise as Mellan rushed over and partially shut the door. Sticking her head out, whatever conversation she was having with the 'Oop-er' could still be heard pretty clearly; echoed in the winding hall that lead up to her quarters.

"I'm sorry, ma fen, I'm a bit busy at the moment. Could we continue later?"

There was a pause. "Why, pray tell?"

"Oh, nothing to fret over, my dear vhenan!"

"You understand why those words coming from you make me worry all the more?" The being in the hallway's voice was growing more tired and disgruntled as Mellan's grew more chipper, and a sigh came from it's throat as Mellan reached a hand out; assumedly to touch.

"I promise. I am fine. I," the redhead took pause, before turning her head over her shoulder and looking to her visitor with a warm and inviting smile. "... have a new friend over."

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Love you to the Moon and to Saturn

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor. 

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Please, picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Mycroft, promise you’ll remember me here,” Ruth whispered, laying on the blanket beside where he sat with his legs before him. It was wholly undignified, but it was the clearing they spent their free time in the summer when Sherlock wasn’t there for them to watch over.

“Why here?” he asked, brow lifted as he watched her carefully weaving the bevy of flowers she’d picked. It had made their walk three times as long, but he was content to watch her as the sun shone on red curls and the yellow sundress flowed in the wind. Uncle Rudy wouldn’t approve of the way he was beginning to think of her. The neighbor girl in the summers who helped him watch over his precocious brother and never knew the sister that still haunted his nightmares. He was sixteen now, but the tension was not yet gone in the Holmes house. Ruth’s insistence on dragging him to the clearing always served as a reprieve.

“You don’t act so stuffy, so it’s where I’ll remember you. I want our memories to match when you go off to school in a couple years.” He might have taken offense if she weren’t right, something she must have known because she added, “It’s probably good one of us already acts politely. But I like seeing you when you don’t look so stressed.”

“I’m under no stress, Ruth.”

“You’re a good liar. But we’ve also spent four summers together now. You always play quite serious, but I’m learning to read you.”

There was no reason she needed to know what weighed so heavily on his shoulders. His parents had yet to realize the weight their pressure put on him. He’d been scolded for not watching Eurus more closely, not watching Sherlock and Victor as they played. Then, Uncle Rudy had decided two years before that fourteen was man enough to know the reality and partake in taking care of the family. 

Rudy would always claim he occupied a minor position in the British government, but whatever it was allowed him to put Eurus somewhere far, far away. In a few years, Mycroft would go to Oxford, study something that prepped him to join Rudy. When the time came, managing the secrets would be his job. He would minitor Eurus at Sherrinford, hide the secrets away from his parents, let them think their daughter dead and maintain the illusion she was. At least he would give her creature comforts, gifts on birthdays. 

Mycroft wouldn’t lose the humanity or kindness Rudy had. It took work to learn it, but it was carefully curated and hidden away, reserved for a select few, and Ruth was one of them. He didn’t want to tell Ruth all the darkness Rudy kept tucked away or the way he had to monitor Sherlock to ensure he didn’t remember Eurus or that redbeard wasn’t truly a dog.

“I am unknowable, Ruth,” he nearly hummed, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift. “But I promise to remember you dirtying a perfectly lovely dress in order to weave flowers into a wreath.”

“It’s a crown, Mycroft,” she said emphatically. “I bring blankets now so you won’t dirty your slacks.”

“What a kindness.”

“You used to be more like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You act like a teacher. All serious and proper and wearing slacks and a sweater and a collared shirt to spend a day in the yard.”

“I’m just trying to act like an adult.”

“We’re not adults.” 

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t allowed to be a child anymore. That he wanted to go with her to get drunk at bonfires and snog and do all the things his peers did. But, between his intellect making most people simply unbearable, the jealousy he wouldn’t acknowledge when some lad talked to Ruth, and the fact that would mean risking something happening to his brother, he couldn’t. If Sherlock were hurt, his parents would blame him, as they did with Eurus, so Mycroft hovered over him. Luckily, he seemed to like the attention from his big brother, often snatching books he knew Mycroft had finished and devouring them to discuss them proudly in earshot of Mycroft.

“I suppose you’re correct. I still have no intention of going to one of those bonfires with you. Sherlock will be home soon. We ought to go back.”

“You’re not his parent.”

“I just enjoy his company.”

She squinted, placing her newly finished ring of flowers atop her head, and he smiled despite himself. It was probably good she made him take these breaks in the summers. Otherwise, he’d never take the time to breathe or feel the sun on his face or anything else. One day, he wouldn’t have the option. Caring wasn’t an advantage. That’s what Rudy kept telling him, but Mycroft couldn’t see how this could be anything but.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other… Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

“This isn’t tea, Ruth,” he said, distaste apparent as she set the pitcher before him. 

“It’s sweet tea, Mycroft. Just try it.”

“You were raised by Americans. This is a bastardization of tea. I won’t have it.”

“You take your tea with so much sugar, anyway. It’s hot out, and I wanted something that wouldn’t make me hotter. There’s mint in it. And sugar. Just try it. For me?”

Mycroft made a noise of dissatisfaction, taking the offered glass and sipping it. He didn’t want to admit it was bearable, but when he took another sip, he could see the look of pride on Ruth’s face. Expectantly, she crossed her arms, and he sighed as he realized she’d wait until he answered.

“It’s acceptable. Still a bastardization. Hot tea is perfectly lovely on a hot day.”

“I’ll take it. Especially given how easily you’re drinking it.”

“Impossible.”

“You love me,” she sang playfully, and he wanted to tell her he was becoming quite sure he did. She was who came to mind when he heard love described. Ruth was who he trusted, was comfortable around, and made him want to be less of a miserable pain. She was also beautiful and smart and interesting, not like everyone else he’d dubbed as goldfish as of late. It was infuriating. 

“To the moon and to saturn,” he said softly, mirroring the way she’d said the same thing affectionately to both him and his brother. His eyes were closed as his head rested against the back of the patio swing, and he felt the tickle of Ruth’s braids before he felt her press a kiss to the top of his head. His heart pounded, and Mycroft was suddenly more aware of her closeness as he opened her eyes. The sound of Sherlock calling out to his audience of toys as he played echoed to them, but for once they were the background noise to his mind and all he could focus on was Ruth’s soft laugh as she watched his brother from her place beside him.

“To the moon and to saturn,” she smiled. “You’re my best friend, Mycroft.”

He didn’t like the word friend in that moment, but saying as much would mean admitting he was smitten with her. There was no way he could keep that from mummy and father. He wasn’t one for affection, but he let her rest her head upon his shoulder, a dignified hand pressing to her cheek before returning to his lap. 

“And you are mine, Ruth.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

“Thank you.” 

Ruth stayed against his side, only sitting up when Sherlock ran up clutching some piece of a broken gardening trow he seemed quite proud to have found. Ruth took it gladly, promising she’d try to think of a way to give it a handle again. In the fall and spring, it was always harder for him to keep up with his younger brother; mummy and father both taught at the university and found their time researching and writing indispensable so they could enjoy the winter break and summer. They said the boys would be fine on their own, but what they meant was Mycroft would be watching. It was better with Ruth, who genuinely seemed to enjoy helping to make Sherlock feel included. 

With Eurus gone and Victor dead, the ten year old only had his brother and their neighbor. He also had the same distance Mycroft remembered so well, the sea between himself and everyone else because their minds simply worked differently. People could be so boring, especially if they were unwilling to deal with the Holmes’ peculiarities. Everyone was so delicate, still learning who they were and building self esteem, that Sherlock and Mycroft with intelligence to rival the teachers and eccentricities abound didn’t know how to interact, especially given how long their mother had kept them home schooled. Victor had always understood his brother, and now he was gone. Ruth was the first close friend Mycroft had found, the only one where he didn’t have to calculate what his next move should be.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock asked, pulling on his brother’s sleeve. He was still all dark curls and blue eyes. It was still admiration on his face instead of the annoyance that would take its place ten years later. “Do we have any of the big wooden dowels left? Ruth says we could use them to make a handle!”

“We do,” he said softly, straightening the boy’s collar. “You’re quite lucky she’s always so willing to assist in your restorations. Her father does restorations for museums. I’ll fetch the dowels. You help Ruth set up your work station.”

I’ve been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why I think you should come live with me  And we can be pirates, then you won't have to cry

“Why are you hiding?” 

Mycroft looked up from his book, back against the wall of the attic. It was the first Christmas since he’d left for Oxford, and he was pleased to learn both families would spend it as they did their summers. If anything had been confirmed for him, it was that he was irrevocably in love with her. He’d now kissed and slept with a couple of people and each time he wondered how it would be if it were Ruth. 

Rudy had made it apparent that until he was needed at a job once he graduated, his summers were his, and he was pleased to know he had three summers with her before Eurus was his responsibility. Sherlock had been acting out since he left, and he had a feeling soon enough the boy would be his responsibility from afar.

“I’m not hiding,” he argued as she settled beside him. “What, no hello?”

“Hello, Mycroft. I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you too, Ruth.” 

“You never call me. We don’t get to run into each other when you’re at school. So we’ve got to put in effort.”

“I’ve nothing terribly interesting to say.”

“Call and bore me then, okay?”

“You require quite a lot of attention.” His tone was as playful as she’d ever heard, though to anyone else she was certain it sounded monotone. But, the corners of his mouth weren’t turned down, even if he did seem more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Mycroft.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I could hear your dad.” Mycroft sighed, placing his bookmark and setting the novel aside. His hands came to rest on his lap, fingers laced, and he just couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “Was it about Sherlock?”

“He’s been acting out with regularity. Mummy and father think I should come back more. That he misses me. I do not know when they expect that I will be able to, but I’m going to make an effort to.”

“Mycroft, he’ll find something else to act out over. He’s only turning eleven. It’s a change he’ll have to get used to because one day, you’ll be prime minister or something and never have time for any of us.”

“Don’t wish that upon me.”

“Sometimes, I think something bad happened here. And that the energy gets to your dad. He isn’t like this in the city from what you tell me.”

“Are you implying ghosts make my father angry, Ruth?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You should come stay with me. I’ll sneak you in through the window.”

“Your father would have me killed. He’d assume I had nefarious intent.”

“He left,” she muttered, picking at the loose thread of the rug. 

“Ruth-”

“I’m fine. He still visits me, and I visit him. It’s just so strange being here for Christmas without him. He met a woman at work…”

“How’s Catherine?”

“She’s taken it well. She stays out a lot. But she’s been home for the holiday since we came out here.”

“I am always here if you need to talk about it. You could have called me.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “Are you ready to run away from responsibility yet? I still think we could have a lovely roadside stand somewhere. A cottage.”

“You could always come to Oxford.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’ll always have a place for you.”

“I’m just pleased I get to see you. It’s been too long. You’re my favorite person, you know?”

“And you’re mine.”

“No, Sherlock is,” she teased, nudging his side. “But that’s fair.”

“I love you.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He’d said it dozens of times, but always in response to her. There was something else behind it now as they hid away from their families. It felt comfortable. He felt at home now that she was here. Wasn’t that a sign? That he still felt unstable when surrounded by his parents and Sherlock, but a peace washed over him when Ruth’s head poked out from behind the attic door. 

“Mycroft-”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I said I do. I love you too, Mycroft Holmes.”

He didn’t know what to do now. Oxford was the first place someone had kissed him, a brunette boy at a party his roommate had held. There was also a woman, one much older than him, who he met at the library. Those had been simple enough because the weight of his feelings wasn’t attached. He’d worked so hard with Rudy to control them, to remember caring isn’t an advantage. It was acceptable to love his little brother; Rudy reminded him that would make everything easier. But loving Ruth? He’d always made their friendship an exception, but as he realized he had the opportunity to kiss her he took it. 

Long fingers cupped her jaw, and his heart soared as he realized she was looking to his lips. She leaned in before he could, hands going to his sides as she kissed him sweetly. Each kiss he’d had before had a purpose. It was hard and wanting and found the inexperienced Mycroft in a bed somewhere. Now, he could just hold his lips to hers like this forever, never progressing, and be happy. When they did separate, she buried her face into the crook of his neck, and his arms circled her waist as he savored the closeness. He could feel her heart pounding as his was. 

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“And I love you, Ruth.”

“Promise?”

“To the moon and to Saturn.”

[mercurygray]

i saw your post about the ballet au and figured i’d hop on in the ask box to enable <33 (bc i am very much ✨intrigued✨ entirely haha!!)

So glad someone asked!  Behold, 1300 words of utter nonsense - featuring ballet himbo Talbert , fresh from a stint on An American in Paris because I can, a really lovely interview by @shoshiwrites​‘s Jo Brandt, and some very  👀 commentary from Tab’s instagram followers, who totally know something’s up between Winters and Warren:

He’d come back here with every intention of tossing his bag on the couch and filling his water bottle - but the problem was that the couch was already occupied. "Well, well, well,” Dick said, trying to sound angry even though he was the furthest thing from it. “Look who it is. Fresh from his European tour.  Still managing to convince people you can sing and pass for a GI, Tab?"

"And you're still managing to be a Disney Prince," Floyd Talbert spat back, standing up quickly so the two of them could watch each other for a bare moment before they broke and Floyd pulled Dick in for a big hug. “Buddy.”

“I'm glad you’re home,” Dick said, meaning every word.  

"Glad to be home,” Tab admitted, sitting back down on the couch with an undignified flop. “Musical theatre is fun, but I want to get back to my roots, you know? Speaking of which - reviews on Mayerling are fantastic,” Floyd said with a grin. “I watched some clips on the plane. Who knew you could do hot?" He grinned at Dick’s slight unease. "So, where's the girl you get to seduce every night? I want to meet her, she's out here making you look like a sex god." He flipped open the magazine he’d been reading to the photospread, an impossibly nice art shot of Dick doing something wildly athletic. "Case in point: Hello, Mr. January."

Dick felt himself blush a little. "Will you stop? Your blogger entourage is rotting your brain." 

"Have to give the fans what they want, Dick,” Tab said, leaning back on the couch. “I am what the internet calls 'a simple himbo' and I'm having a moment. Speaking of which, we need a picture of the two of us so we can break Instagram." He turned around on the couch so he could hold up his phone. “Smile!”

"Please don't put something stupid in the caption," Dick begged, somewhat toothlessly, knowing that Tab was going to do...whatever Tab was going to do.

Tab composed for a moment and read aloud. “Hanging out with man/myth/legend Winters in between #Mayerling shows. Plans to invade Europe developing nicely. #2021tour #companydance #himbosanonymous”

Dick sighed and made a vague gesture before going to fill his water bottle, listening while Tab’s phone made a series of noises indicating the world thought well of the photo, and came back to his friend paging happily through his comments. “Hey, you didn’t answer my question. The internet needs to know more about the situation with your new principal, while I’m here. They want the deets. Although I really want to steer them towards this article, which is delightful, by the way. You should have Jo Brandt write copy for everything.”

“I haven’t read it,” Dick admitted, digging in his bag for his shoes.

Tab made a noise of disgust. “Dick!”

“I have to rehearse, Tab.”

“Fine, then I’ll read it to you while you warm up,” Tab said, unstoppable. “I might skip a bit, you know, for reasons.”

He cleared his throat and settled into a seat against the wall. "After the events of last year, it's clear that the Company's board and creative team are eager to turn over a new leaf - and what a leaf it is. Heading in a new direction with a blazingly hot ballet that will make converts of even the most lackluster of classical dance fans, they've also enlisted the talents of a new principal whose roots in the dance world run deep. A graduate of the Royal Ballet School, with stints in Paris, Vienna, and San Francisco, Joan Warren’s dance credentials are impeccable - a fact that should be shared before we mention that her uncle is also on the board of this prestigious institution. But there was little favoritism in her selection - a field of twenty candidates were all in the running for Eileen Hammond’s position.

Was it intimidating, I ask, coming on to such a team at such a time? Hammond's pointe shoes were considerable ones to fill, and Winters - he smiles as I suggest this - has been known to be a formidable partner. "You know, I did meet her, after we'd been in rehearsals for a while, and we got on pretty well. She's been such a part of the company and the reputation that's been built here. But everyone's been very welcoming, and kind."

Winters is quick to remind her that she also didn't come in acting like she owned the place. "She came in for rehearsal like she was another dancer for warmups, and and the dance mistress comes in - oh, Miss Warren, you don't have to practice in here. 'It's fine, I like warming up with the company.'' Winters smiles as he tells this story. "She's going to laugh at me but she goes out of her way to make other people look good. Particularly me."

It's true - the twenty-eight year old dancer has never looked better than he does playing Crown Prince Rudolf. A man we've gotten used to seeing as the prince of fairy tales fairly sizzles in this role, which is a deal more sensual than his usual fare, and a large part of that, he says, is having a partner who sells that appeal to the audience. Warren's Vesera is magnetic, and one can see a youthful energy in her dance sequences with the company that seem at odds with the poised, collected young woman in the room now.

When I ask about playing a sixteen year old girl in an epic love story, Warren's eyes light up a little. "It's...you know, it's a fun challenge, and there's so much there to work with. Rudolf is older, and has been beaten down a lot, right, he's in this loveless marriage and his mother is very demanding and here's this young woman who is...totally outside of that. When we're teenagers we think we can do anything, right? And he finds that..." she looks over to Winters, who is smiling and nodding in agreement, "Intoxicating. And she...she loves being in this position of power. She plays with him. But I don't think she really understands, fully, what it is she's playing with, how deeply troubled he is. For her it's just a game, and it makes it all the more tragic." Has she ever been in love like that, she chuckles a little and looks at her hands. "I think we've all been a little stupid, but fortunately, no." And Winters? He snorts and shakes his head. 

Do they see any of themselves in the characters they're dancing? "His drive, I think, to do better, be better," Winters admits. "He's very hard on himself, and I recognize that." And Warren? "I hope I have a little of her joy," she says, with a smile that suggests there's no trouble finding any of that in her life. "I'm not sure I want to be manipulative or naive." Her co star is quick to assure her that she's neither of those things. Their natural partnership here is just as palpable as when they are dancing - one will start a sentence and the other will finish, and they both constantly watch each other, waiting to see if the other needs help or support. It's truly lovely to be in the room with them.

After having watched them be wildly in love on stage, the energy here is much softer but no less connected - though they've only been together a few months, one gets the sense of a deep sense of shared understanding between the two dancers that will hopefully continue delighting audiences for many seasons to come.

As for what’s next, one needs only to look to the season’s list - the Company’s third show this season will again have them dancing opposite for ‘Sleeping Beauty’ - and we can only assume tickets will sell fast, if the success of Mayerling has been any indication. ”

Tab put down the magazine and gave Dick a long, long look as he paused and met Tab’s eye in the mirror behind the barre. “It’s a very nice article,” Dick allowed. Tab huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Lew? Has he read this?”

“Probably,” Dick allowed, going back to his stretches. Tab was already back on his phone, taking yet another photo of the magazine spread.

[autoplaysdigimon]

Character Analysis: Mimi Tachikawa and Palmon

When I was a kid, I had some weird ideas about gender.

I fully bought into that “not like other girls” thing. I wasn’t interested in makeup, or clothes, or boys in the same way that the other girls seemed to be (HMMM). I didn’t like shopping, I didn’t care about being pretty, and I preferred being friends with the boys because they were doing fun things like playing Pokemon, and that’s for boys because the Pokemon toys are shelved in the boy’s toy aisle. When I was a kid, there were only two kinds of girls: those who conform to femininity entirely, and those who reject it entirely. In my mind, the spokesmodels for these two types of girls were Mimi and Sora.

This led to a whole Thing where I figured that femininity is terrible and weak and I shouldn’t strive to be like that at all. My friends, the Boys, don’t like feminine things or feminine people, and I wasn’t like that, I was cool, like them! I played Video Games and didn’t wear nail polish! I didn’t always want to gossip or go clothes shopping! In the cast of Digimon, I very much hated Mimi, and wanted to be Sora. I hated pink, I hated fashion, I hated her. 

For the longest time, I tried to get into sports. Mostly it was soccer, because that’s what they play on Digimon! (Alright, it was because that’s what Davis plays specifically. leave me alone) And it killed me that I wasn’t good at it. I didn’t understand the rules even though when I joined up they told us they’d explain the rules and they didn’t (>:[) and I wasn’t fast at running, or competitive enough to be any good. Also I was hit by the ball a lot and developed a fear of it. It ate me up for the longest time, because if I wasn’t good at sports, I must be girly, and I can’t be that, I’m not! I play the Games and everything!

It took me a long-ass time to unlearn all that gender fuckery. I embraced being girly somewhere in the teens I think, and look what happened - I’m unathletic, I like shopping (but will only barely tolerate it if it’s clothes shopping), I’m taking more of an interest in changing my appearance, sometimes I will put on A Make-up, I fucking love pink, I’m a gossipy little bitch, and I never stopped playing video games. Hell, if you’d told me as a kid that I’d end up running a blog about video games, I’d probably ask what a blog was, but I’d be proud of that. I still am.

And rewatching this series, I’ve decided that Mimi and Palmon are my favourites from this season.

Everything that irritated me about her, back then and now, is the fault of the dub writers. Every time they wanted to fill in a dramatic silence with her complaining about missing sales or chipping a nail or ruining her complexion, every time she was silly and vapid and stereotypically girly, it was unnecessary. While the others were trying to find shelter or food, she’d say something that implied that her priorities were about her appearance, not survival. The dub writing really did her a disservice, and that’s a real shame because she’s such an interesting character. There are also a few times where Mimi or Palmon are the butt of an undignified joke, and it’s pretty cool. Not every feminine character gets that!

Was she really representative of Sincerity, or should they have left her as being Purity, like in the original? I think Purity as a concept is very different outside of Japan, so they were probably not going to be able to leave it the way it was. She seemd to be sincere in the same way that Applejack is about Honesty, in that she just has a hard time lying. Is she sincere in a positive way? Eh, sure, she’s good at apologies.

I like seeing characters who exist on a spectrum, instead of being written as a list of aspects. Mimi’s was always about her selfishness and self-preservation instincts against her opposing desire to see everyone safe and happy. She never really wants to fight, hence her splitting from the group in the last arc. Typically, her complaints that aren’t about surface-level things are about why it has to be them, why her. She doesn’t want to be saving the world, she’d just much rather have the world not need saving in the first place. In a way, you could say that her complaints about how much her feet hurt and how she was going to mess up her hair are what she chooses to focus on, rather than air out her real concerns. Plus, she does grow up at least a little during her time in the Digital World.

But occasionally, she’s a girl of Action. When she really needs to, she can be a badass, and that’s everything every girl needs to see. Stereotypically feminine and not put at odds with her competence!

(And let’s be real here for a second, if I was a Digidestined kid, I would ABSOLUTELY be Mimi. I’d complain about getting dirty, about hunger, the heat, having to fight, just the same as her. Hell, she was my avatar for the longest time because I almost physically resemble her!)

(Also because, when that shot came up, I was also playing with my hair in the exact same way. It’s a sign!)

Her relationship with Palmon is interesting. In the first episode, when the In-Training Digimon fail to take down Kuwagamon as they are, all of the Digimon are physically struggling against their partners to get back to the fight except Tanemon, and Mimi merely asks her if she feels the same as the others. Does this speak to Palmon sharing Mimi’s preference for non-violence, or did she pick up on this trait of Mimi’s this early on? In the second episode, Palmon asks...

...which, okay that’s a pretty obvious trait of Mimi’s, let’s be fair. But it does show that Palmon has been analysing Mimi at least a little.

Palmon was very often on the same wavelength as Mimi. She cried when Mimi cried. When Mimi was upset at something, no matter how small, Palmon at least looked to be sad as well, possibly just out of wanting Mimi to not be sad. The biggest rift between them was in the Princess Karaoke episode, where Palmon’s eventual disapproval of how Mimi was acting was the final straw in convincing Mimi that she was in the wrong. It took Palmon a long time to figure out that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t the good guys in this situation. The Japanese version has a throughline where Palmon tells Mimi that she hates her, tells her again in her dream, and then tells her that she loves her at the end of the episode, which is exactly what Mimi needed to hear every time. (The dub doesn’t have this, but it does have Palmon telling Mimi that she’s a spoiled brat instead, which is still pretty heckin’ harsh.)

It could have been any of the pairs in the situation of the final episode, where one doesn’t want to say goodbye so they run away, deciding to just never see them again. It could have been Kari and Gatomon, not wanting to say goodbye so soon after meeting for the first time. It could have been TK and Patamon, because they’re the Young Ones who don’t know how to face their emotions yet. It could have been Tai and Agumon, because shows like this like to have the important events happen to the front-line main characters. But it wasn’t any of them, it was Palmon who couldn’t face saying goodbye, and Mimi who nearly didn’t get a proper sendoff for closure.

Palmon and Mimi’s relationship was shown to be very strong, very trusting. For Palmon’s words to be the point where Mimi realised that she was being selfish, she must have valued Palmon’s opinion of her a lot more than she realised. She was happy enough for Joe, Tai and their partners to think that she was selfish, but Palmon was where she drew the line and snapped out of it. The fact that Mimi was inconsolable in the final episode when she (nearly) didn’t get to say goodbye just shows this further.

I think my favourite thing about Palmon is that she Digivolves into Togemon. She’s this cute little flower girl, and then she’s a fucking huge cactus who’s ready to throw down in every way imaginable and will punch a dude in the face. Also dumb plant jokes. And she’s a little bit dumb of ass, but that’s okay.

I don’t know, I just like them both. They’re also #aesthetic goals, if I’m honest. Palmon’s an adorable little fucker, I had to restrain myself from posting every Palmon face I thought was cute. I’d go ahead and say that she’s in my top 5 favourite Digimon. While Mimi’s voice acting was pretty good, Palmon’s was fantastic, and I could listen to her talk all day. She had random voice cracking moments and that one time she laughed I physically made squeeing noises. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, she is PRECIOUS.

Plus, Palmon wearing Mimi’s hat? ADORABLE. I like to think that, after the hat fell off the tram at the end, Palmon found it and kept it.

The last thing I want to say about Palmon is that is her name derived from Palm, like palm trees? Should it be pronounced that way???? They don’t in the dub, but they alsy like to pronounce “Dramon” very wrong, so maybe we shouldn’t take their word for it. Maybe it’s correct anyway, because she is, indeed, a pal.

TL;DR GIRLS GOOD

[oneletteredwondered]

Odd

Logan's first day of public school.

Minor warning for some brief bullying.

Addams family au, based off this picture and au by @misplaced-my-notes hey ily.

--

The long black car pulls up to the blue gates of the public school. Children are running about all directions inside the property, yelling and screaming. Some are sitting on the dirty ground smacking their hands together in some strange ritualistic pattern. There are adults standing on the outskirts keeping careful watch in case someone gets hurt.

Logan stares out the window with his messenger bag over one shoulder. There's a notebook on his lap for the express purpose of taking notes on the other children. He twists his suit jacket in his hands.

Logan is not intimidated.

"Thank you for the ride, Thing," Logan says. The disembodied hand on the steering wheel scutters and turns to face him. It bounces once and raises a finger. Logan huffs.

"I am not nervous." He says, purposefully unclenching the hem of his jacket. Thing bounces twice. Logan deigns not to answer it.

He exits the car, taking a second to make sure his outfit is wrinkle free and shuts the door. He thanks Thing one more time through the open window and begins to make his way up to the blue gates. He has a pen in his notebook at the ready.

He's scribbling notes as he walks, peering over the top of his notebook at the other students. They are so different from him. It's to be expected when under the assumption they have been in public school for their whole lives while Logan has been home schooled for his.

His first observation is that the other students have more finite social skills, moving from person to person with a simple question but not taking the time to really get to know them. Base level acquaintances by definition but he hears the word friend be tossed around. None of them exhibit the requirements for 'friends' in his opinion.

"Question if I may," he approaches a group of girls in the sand. They look to each other then back at him. He marks down silent communication on his pad of paper to explore later.

"I observed you putting your hands together. What is the benefit to that?" He asks. The girls once again give each other looks that Logan can't decipher.

"You mean patty-cake?" One finally says. Logan writes that down.

"It's a game." Another says but this time the tone isn't nice or questioning, but bordering on rude. Logan finds them staring at him with creases near their eyes.

"What benefit does it serve?" He asks anyway.

"Do you not play games?" And then they are laughing and he doesn't know why. Logan is confused. He does not like being confused. Further more, he does play games. Just last week he and his Uncle Remus played how many light bulbs does it take to to short circuit his nervous system. 37. His brother Remy filmed the whole thing for their next family reunion.

It doesn't matter because the girls get up and walk away from him, one of them smacking his notebook to the dirt and laughing again. It's rude. Logan picks it up and shakes the dirt off. He feels a burning on his face. 

A new feeling he is not a fan of.

A bell rings and Logan plainly follows the teachers rules to find his designated classroom.

He spends the next hour ignoring the teacher and detailing the interaction, trying to figure out the nuances of what he did to get the girls to act unkindly. He comes up with nothing, which is more frustrating than he cares to admit.

He spends the next hour after that arguing with the teacher about Christopher Columbus because they have wildly different accounts of what he did to the world. In the end, Logan has something called a detention and one of his classmates is crying because he talked about murder. He was simply trying to inform them of the truth.

Logan does not pout.

During the scheduled lunch period Logan spends the time alone at a table, writing notes about the hidden groups within groups at each table. It's not until the hour is almost up that he realizes the other children are whispering and looking at him, and it doesn't look nice either.

This is proven as when the period ends, someone snags his notebook, holding it over their head where Logan can't reach without looking undignified jumping for it.

"What are you writing about you weirdo?" They taunt. Logan just stands and stares at them. Without his notebook he begins to details his observations out loud.

"Taller male uses his height against others. Perhaps a tactic learned at home. Possibly used to try and seem more likable by his peers. Uses physical attributes as they are certainly lacking in the intellectual department." Logan places a hand to his chin in thought, circling the student who took his book. A small crowd of students forms around them.

"What did you just say to me?" They ask dumbly. Logan sighs.

"My apologies, I didn't realizes your critical thinking skills were so severely missing. I said you are not smart so you try to be liked by being stronger than others." The bully stares at Logan angrily. Logan stares back. Suddenly the bully shoves the notebook back into his hands.

"Mr Saga! He called me stupid!" The bully points a finger at him accusatory. Logan gapes.

"I did not! I called you severely lacking in intelligence. There’s a difference!"

"Mr Addams." An authoritative voice comes from behind him. Logan turns to see a teacher looking disapproving back at him.

"Come with me Mr Addams." They say. Logan follows plainly, turning to glare at the bully as they look smugly back at him. It's then that Logan realizes they planned their words and got Logan in trouble on purpose. How rude. 

Logan writes that down.

He gets a small lecture from the teacher about how it's impolite to call someone stupid, which Logan clarifies, again, he did not, in fact, call any one stupid. The teacher just sighs.

"Since this is your first day and you're coming from being home schooled, I'll let you off with a warning, try to not let it happen again." Mr Saga says. Logan narrows his eyes but agrees for the time being.

He exits the classroom to find another student leaning against the walls beside the door. They perk up seeing him, waiting for him. They wear a flowy blue skirt and there's a white bow in their unruly curly hair. They give Logan a bright smile.

"Hi." They say first.

"Salutations." Logan says back. The other giggles and Logan isn't sure what they found funny.

"I just wanted to say I thought it was cool the way you stood up to Nate like that. He holds things over people's heads a lot." They inform him. Logan makes a note in his book as he walks, the other student falling in line with him.

"What are you writing down?" They ask. Logan studies them for a second, trying to figure out their motive. They just smile softly at him behind their round glasses.

"I am detailing the differences from being home schooled to those who have been in public schools." The other makes an 'oh' noise.

"Actually if I may, might I inquire some insight from you?" Logan stops in the middle of the hallway, his walking partner stops as well. They nod their head happily, swaying back and forth.

Logan details the conversation he had earlier with the girls in the sand, confusion apparent as he is unsure what he did to make them treat him like that. His new friend giggles again. It doesn't sound mean at all and a part of Logan wishes to detail the noise in his book.

"It's not uh, common, to ask questions like that, so they uh, probably, just acted mean cause they didn't know what else to do." Well. Even if they didn't sound sure, it's a better explanation than Logan could come up with. He details the theory in his book.

"My name's Patton by the way!" The student says. Logan holds out his hand. Patton blinks at it.

"Logan Addams," Logan introduces himself. Patton still hasn't shook his hand. Logan shifts awkwardly.

"It's polite to take my hand," he tries to explain. At that Patton grins wide and takes his hand. But he doesn't shake his hand proper, instead he squeezes it and doesn't let go.

Logan sputters and suddenly Patton is dragging him through the hall, telling Logan all about the strange slapping hand ritual from earlier. It's a game of some kind apparently, made for the pure fact to be fun and sometimes challenging with no purpose otherwise. Logan does his best to remember these details but Patton's hand is warm in his and it's very distracting.

Warm. Not like the burning of earlier where he felt sad and angry. This is soft warmth that makes him flustered and.. happy? Patton guides them to class, making some excuse about getting lost. The class laughs at their misfortune but Patton shrugs it off, so Logan figures it's best to do so as well.

He decides not to speak during class, writing and writing all the information Patton provided to him down. It's important for research, nothing else.

At the end of the day Patton is by his side again, walking him out the front gates and chatting aimlessly about seemingly nothing. They wait together for a while, cars moving in a line to pick up the kids. A long sleek black car is last in line.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Patton calls, beginning to step away.

"Do you have a guardian coming to collect you?" Logan asks curiously not really wanting their conversation to end. Patton is.. willing to talk to him.. and provide valuable commentary. That's all. Patton shakes his head to the question.

"I live with my grandma just a few minutes from here, so I just walk home," he explains. Logan swallows a lump in his throat.

"Would you care for a ride home then? As thank you for being helpful to me today." He adds quickly. It doesn't stop Patton from beaming at him and that causes something downright strange to happen to Logan's stomach.

"Thanks Lolo," He says and Logan is so caught up in that something he's barely coherent when he opens the door to the car for Patton like a gentleman, and Patton screams.

"THERE'S A HAND!" He yelps, skittering to hide behind Logan and pointing over his shoulder into the car. Thing taps the wheel hard.

"Yes of course there's a hand." Logan says plainly.

"Its name is Thing, its my family's house keeper." Logan goes on, sliding into the car. Patton looks between Logan and Thing with very clear fear in his eyes. He slowly slides in beside Logan and closes the door.

"Can it.. uh, actually drive?" Patton's voice squeaks.

"He is the safest driver in our family." The car moves and Patton is frozen still and not talking as they pull out of the the school lot. He barely manages to give directions to his home. Logan isn't sure what happened. Patton was so.. cheerful a moment ago. Logan fiddles with the hem of his suit then reaches over to give Patton's hand a squeeze like Patton did for him earlier in the day.

Whatever it does, it works, as Patton begins to smile at him again and Logan finds himself smiling back, but just a little. Patton is relaxed by the time they pull up to a small cottage styled house.

"Thanks for the ride Logan, uh.. Thing?" Thing lifts a finger in a wave and Patton waves a finger back at it, a giggle slipping out. Logan ends up staring unable to look away. There's that noise again, the one that he wants to document and hold onto and hear again and again. What is wrong with him?

"See you tomorrow Logan," Patton says impossibly soft and he's looking at Logan so nicely and Logan manages a quick 'bye' and the door closes. Logan scoots to the window and watches as Patton enters his home.

Thing begins the drive back home. It taps the steering wheel.

"It was fine," Logan says curtly, hands crinkling his notebook on his lap. He thinks back over the day and he ends up warm again thinking about Patton and that strange thing happens to his stomach again.

Once home Logan wastes no time in heading to the moonroom in the back of the house. The sides of the room are all glass, but thick black curtains cover them while the sun is up, only opening when the moon is high in the sky. It's filled with plots of rose thorns, the petals and bulbs scattered all over the floor so when his parents waltz they swirl around them.

His father is there, wearing something long and black, a swirling shadow around his neck as he reads from a large tome with witch words written on the inside. There’s a pendant in his hand that sways as he walks the room. His skin is deathly pale and cold, but still manages to give comforting hugs when called for.

"Father," Logan says when he enters. The shadow thing around his father's shoulder puffs into nothingness and takes its rightful resting place under his father's eyes.

"Logan dear, how was your first day at the public school?" Virgil asks, taking a seat at one of the long tattered benches in the room. He pats the seat beside him and Logan goes to sit by him.

"I believe myself to be ill." Logan tells him plainly. Virgil gasps and goes to touch his forehead.

"Did one of the other school children give you a pox? Your Uncle Remus would love to experience it with you." Virgil says. Logan pushes his hand off. Holding his father's hand doesn't feel the same as holding Patton's he notices bitterly.

"I do not think any of them were sick to my knowledge but I am feeling.. Odd." He settles on. Virgil tsks sadly. When Logan had announced he wanted to attend the public school to study the other kids, Virgil had encouraged his brilliant mind.

His son confided that it's not that he didn't love his father's lessons on the occult or his padre's lessons with the sword, but this is an experiment all on it's own, one he got to do all on his own. Seeing his child so distraught about something they were so excited about is distressing.

Virgil looks up as his husband enters the room, giving him a pointed look towards their son. Roman flicks the ashes of his cigar into one of the potted plants and takes a seat on the other side of Logan.

"What ever is the matter son?" Roman asks. He takes one more puff of his cigar and tosses it. One of the plants jerk up to eat it. Virgil glares at him because they have discussed it's not healthy for the plants to be smoking yet.

Logan recounts his day for his parents, flipping through his notebook as he does. Virgil and Roman are attentive, nodding approvingly to Logan's banter with the teacher about the misinterpretation about Chris Columbus, and Roman laughs heartily when Logan explains how he never actually called someone stupid. He has way better insults that stupid anyway.

"And then Patton, he-" Logan cuts off his words with a pout, feeling that strange feeling again. Virgil plays with his hair comfortingly.

"Is Patton a good one or a bad one?" He asks.

"He's good." Logan says quickly. Roman raises his eyebrows at that. He and Virgil share a questioning look over Logan's head.

"He's good, but he- he makes me feel weird. He makes me feel sickly." Logan explains.

"Even though he's good?" Virgil asks. Logan nods but he doesn't look happy about it.

"He's sweet and kind and explained some of the social instances for me." Logan swallows hard.

"He makes my chest feel like it's constricting. Shortness of breath isn't healthy and while talking to him I almost stuttered which is concerning for my brain scan last week did not have any abnormalities." Logan had been upset about the lack of abnormalities, but now he's more upset cause if there were, then at least he'd have a working theory of the cause of this sudden feeling.

He's hugged on both sides by his parents and even though he's still confused it does make him feel slightly better.

"Maybe we should meet your new friend?" Roman asks. Logan stiffens, then nods. The word friend echoes in his head. Are he and Patton friends? It is something he is going to have to inquire about. He hops off the bench and heads to his room, finishing what little homework he has, then proceeding to electrocute his brother until his eyes are glowing blue.

And he takes time to think about Patton. He used a full page in his book to try and document his laugh. He feels odd for sure but not bad. He will have to conduct more experiments he decides, almost smiling at the idea of spending more time with his.. new friend, and the experiments of course.

"Ah, young love," Roman laments back in the moonroom. He takes Virgil's hand and kisses up his arm to his lips. Virgil allows the affection.

"He doesn't realize it yet though," Virgil chides. Roman just smirks at him.

"He will figure it out eventually. He takes after you in that regard." It's teasing and Virgil pushes him away and stands. Roman is quick on the upkeep, chasing to catch Virgil by the waist and pull him into a dip.

"You mustn't tell him," Virgil says hanging from Roman's arms. "You know how he gets when the answer is spoiled for him." Roman pulls Virgil back to standing, twirling him around the room, rose petals dancing at their feet.

"I have full confidence in our little mad scientist," Roman says with a dashing smile. Virgil returns it with a smirk.

"Just like you have full confidence with me?" He's teasing. Roman lights up.

"Is that a dare my darling?" He leans in. Virgil laughs dark and low, gripping Roman by the lapels of his white suit.

"It's a threat," he whispers against Roman's lips. A pleasant shiver runs through Roman as he kisses his husband quiet, knowing the feelings tormenting Logan will come to light all on their own.

And when Logan finally invites Patton over, and the soft boy screams at Virgil's pet spider, giving Athena the fear she deserves and hasn't had in such a long time, and Logan spends an hour comforting him, both Virgil and Roman decide Patton is good, and that Logan has made an excellent choice for a friend.

--

AN: So I wrote this and then after saw OP artist put Emile as Uncle Fester... so I'm claiming creative liberties with making Remus Uncle Fester because a) he and Roman are actual brothers and b) I love him.

[crypticpaw]

Touchy Subject

Entrapta X Hordak fic!

Author’s Note: Back at it again with my cat/dog stuff! Wanted to post it here too ‘cause it’s not doing as good on Ao3 as my first one!  I really hope you guys like this one too!

-Emily! Emily, did you get it? - Entrapta yelled at the other side of the room while digging through her tool box. She had misplaced her pliers again! And now had to stop everything she was doing to look for it. Emily came back with a sad beep and no pliers. Entrapta growled to herself, throwing everything over her head, making a mess in the Sanctum. Raising herself on her ears, she looked through the higher shelves, but nothing. -Oh, you've gotta be kidding me! Where did I leave that damn thing?! -she exclaimed, throwing and empty juice box on the ground out of frustration. -Left what where, Entrapta? She turned to look at Hordak, standing in the Sanctum's entrance. Imp screeched and flew over to Emily, landing on top of the robot, exchanging beeps. Entrapta jumped back at the floor at his side, looking around. -Hordak! Great timing! -she wagged her tail. -Have you seen my pliers? I can't find them anywhere! She sniffed a trail through the ground, trying to pick up her scent, but nothing that she hadn't already recognised. Hordak followed her with his head, a small smile on his face. -Have you misplaced it again? -he purred. Her pouting face and the way she stomped her paws when she was frustrated was always amusing to him. Entrapta's whole demeanour entertained him greatly since they started working together. The way her ears perked up when a noise startled her, how her whole backside moved when she waged her tail too much, how she had "zoomies" when she was too excited. His smile grew. Entrapta turned to him and Hordak frowned his face again. "The wanton show of affection is an act of lesser species!", Horde Prime's voice echoed in his head. -Yeah, I can't find it anywhere! Can you help me look? -she said from under a table. -Is it not in your room? -he sniffed as he entered the Sanctum. -No, I looked there! I've been looking for 20 minutes now! -she growled. -Oh, no! What if I left it on Dryl?! But I couldn't have left it there! I used it yesterday- MRAAAAAAOOOOWWLLL!!! Entrapta took a step back, scared. Her eyes widened as she turned to Hordak. She didn't even know he could make a sound like that! He jumped a few steps back, growling and hissing, his right front paw off the ground shaking. A drop of blood fell on the ground. -Are you okay? -she rushed to him. -WHY IS EVERYTHING ON THE GROUND?! THAT'S THE THIRD BLOODY TIME THIS HAPPENS!! -he cursed. She took his paw and turned it. He had stepped on a nail, and it had gone deep. -Oh, it's just a nail! -she said, trying to calm him. -I know how to fix it! Don't move, it'll sting a little bit! -What?! Before he could do anything, she grabbed the nail with her teeth and yanked it off his paw. He yowled and fell back again. Licking the blood off, cursing under his breath. Imp flew back to his shoulder, chirping worried. Hordak chirped back at him, reassuring the kitten, but he couldn't put pressure on his foot again without it hurting. -Don't put it on the ground! It'll get dirt on the wound! -Entrapta held his paw up with her ear. -I've handled worse! Hordak tried to pull his paw away, but her grip on him was strong. She was awfully stubborn when she wanted, like when she had built him his new armor. She had tossed him around like a ragdoll, like his weight was nothing to her. It was impressive. The crystal in his chest glowed. It did that every time he thought about her. He felt his cheeks warm up. "What is this?!", he thought. His heart seemed to swell whenever she was close. Entrapta turned back to him and he turned his head away. He hissed when she put a cream in his paw. It burned. -Sorry, I know it hurts! I stepped on a nail when I was a puppy too! It hurt like hell! -she giggled. -My nannies had to chase me 'cause I didn't want them to touch the wound 'cause it hurted so much! Hearing her voice calmed him, as she rolled bandages in his paw. He thought it was a bit much for a simple wound, but he wasn't about to stop her. -Thank you... -he said, a little too low. Entrapta smiled, blushing a little. Her tail wagged and she kissed his paw after finishing his bandages. It Hordak stopped on his tracks. She had returned to look for her pliers, but he just sat there, looking from his paw, to her, and back. His nose wrinkled in confusion. -What was THAT?! -he asked, absolutely shocked. -I kissed your paw better! -You... what...? Entrapta tilted her head, confused. -I... kissed your paw better... -she replied slowly. -Why do you look confused? -I am. I don't know what "kissing it better" means. Entrapta shook her head, processing what he had just said. -Well... basically, when someone you care about is hurt, you kiss over the wound as to hope the pain goes away faster... -she sat on her ears to explain. -Don't you do that? With Imp, I mean? When he bumps his head while flying? Imp screeched, undignified. Great, now he was actually going to demand Hordak kissed him. He side-eyed the kitten in his shoulder to stay quiet. -No! I comfort him, but I never kissed anybody! -he puffed up his chest. -The wanton show of affection is an act of lesser species! He said it outloud without thinking. Entrapta's ears dropped, her expression hurt. Hordak immediately started internally scolding himself for it. -N-not that you are- I meant- I didn't- What I m-meant was- he stuttered. Imp screeched at him again, begging him to stop, he was making things worse. He was already a defective clone, tossed on this planet to die, might as well own to it. -I... I liked it... -Hordak mumbled. -You what? -Entrapta smiled brightly, her ears perked up and her tail started wagging. "I... I liked it...", Imp repeated to her, in a louder tone. Hordak growled at him and Entrapta laughed. -But I thought it was an "act of lesser species"! -she giggled. -To Horde Prime it is, but... I am a defective clone, as you have witnessed it yourself... -his ears drew back. -And as such, I'm subjected to the same feelings as yo- She kissed his cheek. He turned to her, cheeks red. -Oh my gosh, you're blushing! -her tail wagged madly. -What?! -You're blushing! Your cheeks are red! -she pointed at him. -Blushing is the involuntary reddening of someone's face due to embarrassment, emotional stress, or from some kind of romantic stimulation! And you're doing it! Hordak walked to one of his cloning pods to look at his reflection, and sure enough, red as a tomato. It made him blush even more. -U-unimportant! Even if I do enjoy it, I have a reputation to maintain, and- she kissed him again. And again. And again. -What on the eternal void are you doing?! -he bared his teeth. - What? I thought you liked it! -she laughed, hanging upside down on her ears. -If you would not interrupt me- she kissed him again. -ENTRAPTA! The dog cackled, kicking her legs, Imp laughed with her. Hordak growled and turned to leave, but Entrapta grabbed him with her ears and attached herself to his back. She kissed his fur tuft on his head and Hordak hissed. He ran, trying to shake her off, but she wouldn't budge! Entrapta kept kissing his cheeks, his head and his nose, and he kept growling and hissing to no end. When he finally bumped into a wall, she took the chance and lowered herself in front of him and kissed his lips. Hordak snapped. -ENOUGH! -he grabbed her scruff and put her back on the ground to face him. -GET YOUR DAMNED EARS AWAY FROM ME! I AM NOT YOUR TEST SUBJECT! YOU WILL GO BACK TO WORK AWAY FROM MY SANCTUM AND NO ONE WILL KNOW THIS EVER HAPPENED! AM I UNDERSTOOD?! Entrapta flinched, her ears glued to her body. She pulled down her mask and rushed away trough nearest vent, tail between her legs. He took a deep breath and smothered his fur, which was tingled, and walked to the throne room. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- She ruined it again. Entrapta sat in her bed, in her room, fidgeting with her ears, quietly wiping away her tears. "Quit your whining! You did this to yourself!", she scolded herself internally. This is the second friendship she managed to ruin within a year! First her Rebellion friends, now Hordak. She was scared to even go to Scorpia or Catra now. Entrapta curled up in her own ears, thinking to herself. She got what she deserved, really. Just because he had liked a little kiss on his paw, doesn't mean he would like to be smooched all over! She took it too far, pushed his limits. She had been so caught up in her stupid little crush she forgot all about him. Hordak had been nothing but sweet and supportive of her, Entrapta didn't know what she would do without him now, grown so used to his presence. She sobbed. She had admired him since she first saw his portal. Then, she noticed how he held himself with an air of confidence and power, how he could make the most snappy soldiers shut their mouths with a look. She envied that. He was perfect... And she had scared him away! Entrapta always had problems with touching others, except with Hordak. She was surprised to find this out, and acted on it without even thinking maybe he could be uncomfortable with touching too. Like an absolute jerk! "Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!", she hit her own head. Looking at the vent, a terrible feeling grew on her chest. She wiped her tears and crawled back in. He deserved, at least, an apology... ----------------------------------------------------------------------- What had he done. Hordak sat in his throne, in the throne room, petting Imp, listening to his force captains give a report on something. "You idiot! You absolute imbecile!", he scolded himself internally. His force captains talked on as he did not hear a word. Thankfully, because he didn't have any pupils his soldiers never really knew where exactly he was looking, so he mostly drifted off while they talked. His tail wagged back and forth in irritation. What was he to do now that the damage had been done? The only friend he had ever made and he yelled at her to keep her paws off him. After everything she's done for him, Hordak doubted things would be the same without her again, he could barely work in his Sanctum without her there. He sighed. -Lord Hordak...? -one of the force captains asked sheepishly. -What? -he hissed. The two of them looked between each other. -W-what are we to do about the leak in the pipes- -I don't know! Get a plumber?! -he growled. -Is there anything to report about the Rebellion?! About something important?! -N-n-no... -THEN STOP WASTING MY TIME! -he bared his teeth. They turned around and left in a hurry. He slumped back in his throne with a groan, still thinking on how to fix things with Entrapta. She probably didn't want to look at his face ever again. The way she so quickly coiled her ears back when he yelled, how her tail hid between her legs, the hurt in her eyes. He would never forgive himself. As a clone, he shouldn't have interest in anything that had nothing to do with his mission or his maker, but yet, here he was, sulking away at the thought of hurting an Etherian's feelings. An Etherian Princess, worst of all! The ones he was suppose to crush into submission if he was to conquer this planet! But Entrapta had been nothing if not a light in his life since they first started working together. A light even brighter than Horde Prime's... Hordak shook his head at his own blasphemy, wiping the thought away. He should probably go look for her. She deserved, at least, an apology... -Hordak...? His ears perked up and he turned to the vent near his throne. Entrapta shyly peeked her head out to look at him, marks on her cheeks from tears already dried. "You complete and absolute fool! Look at what you've done!", his mind yelled at him. -Entrapta... -the cat's ears dropped, a pain greater than anything he had ever felt swelled on his chest, to think he had made her cry. -I...-they both said at the same time. -Please, Entrapta, you can go first... She slowly made her way to the back of his throne and sat there, scared to get closer, fidgeting with her ears. -I... I wanted to say sorry... for what I did back there, in the sanctum. -Entrapta said quietly. -I should've stopped when you told me to... I overstepped your boundaries and... I apologize... Hordak shook his head. -No, please, it's me who should apologize! -he purred. -You were only trying to comfort me and I manhandled you and yelled at you, which I should've never done! He extended his paw to her and she took it with her own, kissing it and slightly blushing. Hordak scooted over to the side, giving her room to sit with him. She took the hint and hurried over, wagging her tail happily. Their noses touched when she turned to him and he nuzzled her cheek. Entrapta circled him, wrapping him in her ears and cuddled beside him. Hordak rested his head on hers, purring loudly, as Imp chirped to Entrapta wanting in. She opened her paws and held him tight. A loud stomping noise and beeping came from the corridor, as Emily barged in carrying Entrapta's pliers. -Oh! Good girl, Emily! -Entrapta took her tool and held it in triumph. -Found it! Hordak curled his tail around her and her ears' grip on him tightened. He smiled as all of his worries melted away in Entrapta's hold.

Thanks everyone for reading! Please tell me if there any any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language!

[slashscowboyboots]

The Blackboard Jungle: Mother Earth and Father Time (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands ​ @smokeandmirrorz ​ @sodalitefully ​ @roger-taylors-car ​ @harley-m-rose ​ @whisperess33 ​ @shawolat​ ​ @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

All credits to the songwriters

“Well, how did your date go?” Jeff asked, raising his eyebrows.

You made an undignified strangled noise, and he grinned.  “Not a match, huh?  Was he a J-E-R-K?”

“Was he a cotton-headed ninny muggins?” Colton asked, peering over your desk at you.

“Yes,” you laughed, “he was definitely a cotton-headed ninny muggins.  Do you like ‘Elf?’”

“You sit on a throne of lies,” he replied, his head dropping below the edge of the desk.

“And that’s that on that,” you said, looking up at Jeff.

He let out a low whistle.  “Ninny muggins?  Mmmm.”

“It was bad.”

Jeff placed his hands on his thighs and bent down to you.  “How bad?  Like gnaw your arm off and flee the trap bad?”

Leaning close enough to feel the warmth of his torso, you whispered, “Like the teacher’s union would need to provide me with bail and attorney fees bad.”

He pursed his lips, so adorable you nearly toppled off your chair.  “Oooh, you were thinking nasty thoughts.”

“Very nasty.”  You glanced at Mari and Tad.  Their romance was on-again, the two of them sitting quietly and coloring the yellow and orange leaves both classes were making.  Watching them brought a lump to your throat, knowing they would spend the rest of their lives together, side by side, their bond growing stronger by the year, and you just kept meeting all the effing ninny muggins the world had to offer.

Jeff noticed where your eyes landed and pulled a tight smile.  “They make it look so easy, don’t they?”

“They do,” you murmured.  With a sigh, you got up from your desk and turned on the TV.  You originally had a few qualms about showing your class the animated version of “Charlotte’s Web,” fearing it might be too much, but when your pupils hadn’t shown much concern for the passing of the class’s pet hamster Mr. Whiskers (RIP little guy, you deserved better), you decided to go for it.

They settled into it without much fuss, giggling at Templeton’s gluttonous visit to the fair, but you weren’t so strong.  Tears stung your eyes at Charlotte’s first run through of “Mother Earth and Father Time,” but when she said goodbye with:

He turns the seasons around

And so she changes her gown

Mother earth and father time

How very special are we

For just a moment to be

Part of life’s eternal rhyme

you couldn’t stop the tears from falling, and when her children left Wilbur, you were uncontrollably sobbing.  Looking over at Jeff in the dim light, you could see the tears shining on his face as well, and when the bell rang, he pressed a strong hand onto your shoulder.  “Stay here,” he commanded, then he led the students out to the bus.

“What’s with her?” one of your pupils asked as they walked past your desk.

“She hasn’t been the same since that hamster ate it,” another replied.

When he left, you cried even harder, so frustrated and disappointed that he wasn’t I.Z., that the feelings that grew stronger every day for him were so misguided, and you laid your head on your desk and bawled until you felt gentle fingers combing through your hair.

“Y/N?” Jeff said quietly, “are you okay?”

You looked up at him, sitting on the edge of your desk, and wiped the tears off your heated face, embarrassed by your outburst.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

His mouth pulled into a disbelieving frown.  “It’s okay, you know.  That-that shit hits a little different now than it did when we were kids.”

“Yeah, I can’t even hardly listen to ‘Landslide’ when it comes on the radio anymore.  I just thought life would be different by now.  The scenery would’ve changed or-or something.”

He leaned forward and wiped another falling tear off your face.  “It’s hard when you don’t have your soulmate.  I know.”  He moved even closer, placing a warm hand on the side of your wet cheek, and you nearly turned your head to kiss his palm when you heard a small voice say, “Mr. Isbell, I missed the bus.”

“Ok, Iris, I’ll help you get home,” he said, sliding his hand off your face, then he hopped off the desk and walked her out the door.

“People are talking, you know,” Patti snapped.

“They really are going to be talking if I have to wear this dress.”  Especially when my nipples spring out and see the light of day.

“Yeah, that blue is too pretty.  Can’t have me being upstaged.  Girl,” she barked, and the shopgirl appeared in the large dressing area.  “Get me another tea length option.”

You turned this way, then that, struggling to free yourself from the zipper in the back, feeling your armpits beginning to sweat.  It had been hours since Patti had picked you up, and you had been through nearly every strapless dress in the store.  You threw on your robe, then pulled the curtain back to look into Patti’s snarling face.

“Everybody’s talking about you and this Jeff Isbell.  Fran even left a passive aggressive post on Facebook about certain people being in each other’s classrooms all the time, and I had to like it.  Plus Cynthia made an Insta post about him coming out of your class crying while he put the kids on the bus.  I liked that too.”

You accepted a glass of champagne from the tired looking attendant with a gentle “Thank you.”  “Let ‘em talk,” you said, taking a sip.  “They will anyway.”

Patti held up the dress, eyeing it critically, then shook her head and sighed like the overdramatic pain in the ass she was.  “You know, I didn’t want to have to do this, but I really can’t have my dream wedding be overshadowed by whatever kind of scandal you’re determined to get yourself swept up in.”

It was all you could do to not spit out your champagne.  She was so irrational it was funny, and it almost sounded like-

“I really am sorry, Y/N, but I can’t have you coming to our wedding with everyone talking about you and him.  It’ll take all the focus from me, and that can never happen.”

Fighting the urge to twerk with your ass in her face all around the dressing room, you put your clothes back on while Patti pecked at her phone.

“Did you call me an Uber?” you asked, pulling your shoes on.

“Hell no.  I told Brittany Clark she was moving up in the ranks and to get down here right now.  I only have this room for 15 more minutes.  You can get your own damn Uber, tramp.”

It had been over a week since you’d seen Blaze, but to your amazement, he was sitting on your front porch when you arrived home.

“Where have you been?” he asked, slowly standing up, the pain in his knees from riding bulls for years evident.

“I fed a loudmouth bitch a meal that’s called Fist City,” you said, shaking your sore knuckles.

“Really?” he laughed.  “Are you on the run?”

“Maybe,” you said, wrapping your arms around.  “But you’re the outlaw stealing my heart.”

“Well,” he sighed, pulling away from you and turning away, “you may ask for me to give it back.”

“Why?  Blaze, why?”

“They took my saddle in Houston,” he whispered.

You opened your front door, then turned to him.  “Get in here,” you said, pulling him into your arms.

“I may be through with bull riding, but you ain’t through riding bull riders,” he laughed.

“I’ll never be over riding bull riders,” you smiled, throwing your leg over his.  “And you’ll never be through riding bulls.  You just have to get back on the bull that threw you.”

“I thought that was the horse.”

“Whatever.  The point is, Blaze, you can’t give up.  Don’t stop believing.  Hold onto that feeling, when the bull starts bucking and the clock is ticking.  Hold onto that immortal feeling, cause that’s all you got.”

“No, baby,” he growled, rolling you underneath him.  “I got you too.”

“You got me forever, Blaze, if that’s what you want.”  You reached up and wiped the tears off his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.  “How very special we are.”

“Like Mother Earth and Father Time,” he replied, then pressed his lips to yours.