#So her not actually getting banished again but retreating into her temple to question her morals

[screamsofanoutlawbrain]

I have the silliest theory for pt.2 of Dark Cacaos showdown with Mystic Flour. (I'm gonna just call Dark Choco 'Choco' and Dark Cacao 'Cacao')

Cacao is quite literally on the brink of following the rest of his kingdom into flour. Before Choco appears through the flour, reaching out a hand and picking up Cacao's sword. Cacao is stunned silent and is pulled to his feet by Choco, and gets his sword put in his hands.

Choco is basically talking some sense into Cacao (in turn, stopping Mystic Flours hold on Cacao's soul jam) before Cloud Haetae appears, angry that "How dare someone selfishly stop Mystic Flour from reclaiming her soul jams second half!" and Choco argues back with that it's rightfully Cacao's soul jam, Mystic Flour is killing Cacao's kingdom, and that Cacao is here in the first place to protect and aid his kingdom.

Choco, while using only a normal sword, fights off Cloud Haetae while Cacao is still coming to terms with all that's just recently happened. later, while Choco and Cacao are trudging through the flour storm, Choco and Cacao end up fighting the Dumpling Kings(those four Dumpling guys from back in chapter one), having a similar argument that Choco had with Cloud Haetae.

Crunchy Chip, Caramel Arrow, and the rest of the watchers wake up in a place made of flour, and meet Peach Tree Spirit (that pink cookie next to Mystic Flour on the title screen) and learn some more about Mystic Flour from a different perspective, learning that many of Mystic Flour's followers died when outsiders came in to find treasure, and how it greatly affected Mystic Flour, the isolation and grief that came with the years after making her turn to apathy and futility, almost forgetting why she cared about life in the first place.

Peach Tree Spirit tells them that they're in a purgatory for those who chose to become flour, like she has been for many, many years, but she hasn't moved on to becoming fully flour, she doesn't want to leave Mystic Flour alone when she gets there.

Choco and Cacao go forward deeper into the temple, getting out of the flour storm, and finding Mystic Flour in the deepest part of the temple, infuriated that Cacao and this new person (she doesn't know Choco is his son, she didn't even know how Choco got there) survived. Mystic Flour goes off on them, and Cacao fires back with anger, but not a physical fight yet. Until she says that all connections with people are useless, and that's what angers both Choco and Cacao even more. The fight happens, and at its height, a wave of flour is flown through the room by Mystic Flour, which is then combated by Cacao's sword (The levels of magic present in the room is almost sending him into that berserk state), and the magic clash of Mystic Flour's Apathy and Cacao's Resolution, making the Flour start to twist and form into shapes (that kinda look like cookies) and Dark Choco takes a bit of life powder out of a bag, and throws it into the flour.

Due to Mystic Flour and Dark Cacao being busy fighting each other, neither notice that the cookie-like shapes in the flour are starting to look more like cookies and are starting to speak. Cloud Haetae enters and witnesses what's going on in the sidelines, the flour in the air slowly disappearing as it forms back into the cookies who died from the pale aliment, and Choco helping them get a grip on themselves.

Soon, the watchers (+ Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip) get to their senses, and nearly attack Mystic Flour, but a scream fills the room, putting everything to a halt, even Cacao and Mystic Flour's fight.

The scream was from Peach Tree Spirit, now just Peach Tree, in horror of everything that is happening. Yeah, she heard from the watchers and dark cacaoions that it was because of Mystic Flour, but surely it must've been a mistake, the Mystic Flour she knew wouldn't have done anything like that! But it was true, the Mystic Flour she knew is nothing like the one that is here now. Peach Tree questions both Mystic Flour and Cacao, and points out the hypocrisy in Mystic Flour trying to take Cacao's half of the soul jam, Cacao has the soul jam to protect and aid his kingdom, a task he has not strayed from unless he has strayed from the soul jam, and that Mystic Flour taking it would go against her own (once) morals. This shakes Mystic Flour only a small bit, but completely shatters Cloud Haetae's view on Mystic Flour, and he points out that what Mystic Flour has tried to do to Cacao's kingdom is the same thing that happened to her temple. Which stuns Mystic Flour more.

Then, Mystic Flour and Cacao fully realize that the people lost to the flour are back (minus those who moved on while in the purgatory). This is what sends Mystic Flour into a crisis, while Cacao directs the watchers to get out of the way of any attack that Mystic Flour might make, Choco goes under the raidar for only a momment, staying behind with Dark Cacao.

Mystic Flour retreats into another part of the temple, Peach Tree following a ways behind, while Cloud Haetae leads everyone else outside of the temple.

On the way out, Dark Cacao, Crunchy Chip, and Caramel Arrow ask Dark Choco how the witches did he do anything of what he did. Choco responds that he followed them and that there's a few more people from the Cookies of Darkness who are planning to leave and are willing to share information on how to combat some of the beasts magic.

They travel back to the Dark Cacao kingdom, get the information they need out of Dark Choco to cure the Pale Ailment, and cure the ones with the Ailment before Choco and Cacao actually have a conversation about what just happened, and Dark Choco goes into the wild of the Dark Cacao kingdom again willingly.

[a-lil-perspective]

*whispers into mic*

Baby Asher is precious and lives rent free in my mind and I can’t stop writing snippets with him even though I have an actual story to finish. But like I’ll just be sitting somewhere and suddenly start doting over Asher like what. He’s just a beautiful bebe (if my description in chappy 14 wasn’t enough) and I’ve literally been on the hunt for reference photos because I have this exact image in my head and grrr I just want y’all to see him. Look Crosshair makes cute kids and that’s how it be.

Anywho. I had a point here. Oh!

Baby Asher loves the water—even if Daddy doesn’t. :)

———

A trip to the Naboo lake country; a hotspot among infants and Commandos alike.

Mainly infants.

Asher’s chubby, six-month-old legs tremble as his toes dig into the sand to brace himself and oh he’s got his Father’s focus and determination, bobbing eagerly to reach that sparkling tide just out of reach. This little Commando is ready to walk, ready for adventure; whatever awaits. His sharp brown eyes are alight over the soft waves padding into the embankment before him.

Mommy holds his itty bitty hands - more like he holds her two fingers - to keep steady. A balmy gust of wind rustles through his sun hat, blowing it clean off and somewhere towards Daddy who carefully spectates from afar. The tide catches in the wind and sprays up in a light mist, peppering wet kisses across his face. He shudders at the sensation, nose crinkling as it pulls a delicate sneeze from him. The few bulbous baby teeth he has shine bright through a mostly gummy smile, and he lets out an absolutely delighted coo that Mommy mimics somewhere above him. It’s unlikely that Daddy would have had such a positive reaction to the water assault.

Speaking of Daddy.

Now this is a sensation the Ramser’ika knows exceptionally well. A kiss: warm, tender, and dutiful, pressed to his temple with an adoring hum to follow. Shade envelops him once again, now that the hat is placed back atop his head. Mommy is the epitome of comfort, but nothing compares to the rich timbre of Daddy’s voice close by. It resonates even when he retreats.

Crosshair closes his eyes and breathes in the warm sun and his son. His sun. A shiver runs up his spine, but he’s not cold. When he exhales it’s shaky, when he opens his eyes he finds his wife’s aimed his way. It’s a questioning look, her brows creased with concern. Crosshair feels that of a faint smile flicker reassuringly her way.

The wife of Crosshair eases herself down onto the soft stretch of sand, crossing her legs and placing Asher atop her lap. The resilient baby squirms in protest, babbling - no doubt about his desire to swim. If only Mommy and Daddy would get on board.

Emphasis on Daddy.

She beckons for Crosshair, a seemingly harmless act but even so: deliberate, and challenging. Wonderfully tempting. Her radiant smile only solidifies this fact. Asher’s, even more so.

The waves gently lapping at their feet do not feel as welcoming.

Crosshair shakes his head as politely as he can.

Still, he can’t resist inching closer to be by their side; it’s magnetizing. When he finally reaches them she hums, her eyes cast over the water. Her features are smoothened, but, knowledgeable. She always knows.

“What’re you gonna say when he starts asking you to swim with him.”

Crosshair sinks down beside her, pulling his legs to his chest to avoid the nipping waters. He banishes any disgust riddling his features, instead lacing his fingers with her own and relaxing a fraction when she gives him a soothing squeeze. He contemplates an answer through his tracing along her knuckles.

What will you say?

Crosshair asks himself these questions and more. Too many to count, too many times to count. He looks to his son and each time, a new question forms. Some days Crosshair finds the answers almost immediately. Sometimes he files them away to be examined at a later date, knowing they’re unavoidable but wishing all the same. Other times, these questions age with him, returning when he’s a little older, a little wiser, greeting him with congenial mannerisms Crosshair himself has thoroughly refined with the way he acquiesces - welcomes, even.

What he doesn’t welcome is large, brotherly, demolitioning hands scooping him up and sending him sailing through the air before he realizes, plunging into the lake below.

“Cross here will dive right in!”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 4. ) “I've wanted to do that all night.” Time stood still. Only the sound of lips reconnecting, hungrily consuming each other echoed in the dead of night. The air surrounding them sizzled with charged chemistry, and bound power that longed to be released. His hands possessed her body with fervent need that she was not accustomed to, her fingers plunged themselves with an air of desperation that defied logic. In the stillness of darkness where Apollo, the god of sun, was banished from, their embrace could easily be considered as public indecency. Something out of a Hollywood film. Bonnie tasted delicious sin, addictive fervor and a dash of regal arrogance in his lips. But for a moment in time, the young witch held onto the quiet suffering she hid from the world. Even her friends knew nothing of it. Similarly, Kyrian savoured untamed passion, a raging sea of power rolling its waves against soothing touch and the telltale bitterness of trepidation. In her, he found a mirror of his own missing soul. Cuts and bruises covered their hearts, the work of art of cruel hands out to maim unmarred flesh. Injecting space that brought the separation of their lips, Kyrian's thumbs brushed the chocolate au lait hued skin on a path from the corner of her eye to her temple. The midnight skies of his eyes probed hers with a tenderness that brought weakness to her knees. “Forgive me if I overstepped my boundaries.” He paused to watch her again. In a methodical study of the subtle changes to her expression. “I just—” In a move rather uncharacteristic for her due to the impulsive nature of it, Bonnie hushed him with a finger against the softness of his lips. The only part of his anatomy that was soft to the touch. The rest of him was made of sinewy steel. “Shut up.” The interjection curving her lips in a rare smile that reached her eyes, combusting the dullness of green into flames of vibrancy that breathed life again. “You talk too much, Kyrian No Last Name.” A practitioner of the oldest language in the book himself, Kyrian tumbled right into her web of charms with a killer grin plastered to his mouth. “I thought I had redeemed myself with the activity we just indulged in.” Noble features contrasted with the irreverence bleeding from his shit-eating grin. “Come on. We should head back before you get yourself in trouble again.” His fingers practically within reach of hers, Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath before denying him the touch of her with a brusque tug of hand. “Excuse me?! I got myself in trouble? Funny. Unless I was deep into a dream-state, I just remember going after your pompous ass because Mr. Badass decided to throw a children's tantrum. Good night, asshole.” Her temper ablaze, her steps echoed down the street as she strutted without delay. Drenched in utmost disbelief, he stood gaping after her. No woman had dared to talk back to the same extent as Bonnie just had. Thoroughly amused by the fire in her veins, Kyrian's gaze trained on her retreating backside. Under the unseen attack of a desire he hadn't tasted in over two thousand years, he stood rooted to the pavement whilst admiring the sensual gait of hers. Her curves, highlighted by tight jeans and revealing top, extinguished the existence of humidity in his throat until a temperature, of the likes of which had been felt in the wasted lands of Sahara's desert, tormented him. Her name tingled his tongue, taunting him. “Bonnie! Wait. I—” Rudely interrupted by his ringing phone, he silently cursed his luck before lifting the index finger in her direction. “Hold that thought.” “Give her all she wants to know. Keep an eye on her while she chooses to stay. And for the love of God, don't piss her off.” Acheron's rumbling voice rang in his ears with its commanding tone the second Kyrian took the call. In all the years he'd known the man, he still found his boss' antics bizarre, even for their kin. Never had he gotten used to Ash's omnipresence and power that made a mockery of his. “Are you certain of this? Is she even capable of dealing with the truth?” The concern for her didn't surprise him but the speed in which it burst free to raise a red flag carved lines of contemplation upon the surface of his forehead. A rare occurrence for him who courted danger on a nightly basis. “Ease your mind, Commander. She'll be fine. You've seen it yourself, she's a fighter and capable of handling a lot more than we may assume. Besides, she's not entirely uninitiated in the supernatural matters. And she needs all the knowledge we can offer if she's going to stand with us.” “Alright. Your wish is ever my command, o Great Lord of the barbarian horde that roams the night.” “Tame your sarcasm, Greek. It won't be of much help to you near the spitfire you pursue.” With taunting laughter, he hung up.

A set of green eyes burned him alive, demanding him to speak but words were lost to him as Acheron's parting words resounded loud and clear in the valleys of his mind. Was he referring to his current predicament as he chased after her or the unsettling emotions she stirred deep within him whenever she stood a little too close to him? “So?” Bonnie's impatience tangible, he advanced toward her after shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dark jeans. Extending an arm, his fingers coiled about hers. This time, she welcomed the touch without protest. The seething beast had been tamed for now. “Come on.” “Where are we going?” The tilt of her head wrung another grin from his lips. Her suspicion and unwillingness to trust another was rather endearing to his eyes. “My place. It won't be long til the sun is up now. Have I mentioned that Ash just gave you the green light? Congratulations, Bonita. You're about to venture into a darker world.” His suggestion ignited an odd sense of excitement that she thought she had long lost. Embarrassed by the ridiculous speed of her heart, a wave of heat warmed the apples of her cheeks. —What is this sorcery? The lack of trepidation in her bones scared her the most. Logic had been a great ally to her in the past, especially where all things supernatural stood. Yet, with him, she kissed it goodbye. Instead, her mind opened its gates to welcome the truth of a world that hid in the thicker shadows of mystified rumours and legends. “You're scaring me, Kyrian. . .” That smirk of his returned with renewed vengeance. It merely existed to provoke her, she swore. “No, you're not.” They had been walking for a few minutes when St. Louis Cathedral came into view. Bonnie took a moment to admire the church's architecture that rose from the ground in all its splendor in the form of an echo that traveled all way back into the great Renaissance era. Like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head, she trained her gaze on him with a hint of censure swirling in it. “What? How do you do that?” She laughed when her mind offered her an explanation that defied even her magic. “Don't tell me you can read minds...” The seriousness reflected upon those midnight depths silenced her. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” He nodded. “That's not creepy or anything...” Bonnie mumbled under her breath, successfully stroking his massive ego. When he halted beside a ridiculously expensive Lamborghini Diablo, her eyes bulged. And her steps grew uncertain. “It won't bite, you know?” “Do you actually own this?” “No, I'm stealing it with the keys in my hand.” The tone of mockery awakening the demon that breathed fire within, he gestured her to get in. Nodding in semi-automatic mode, Bonnie slid into the passenger's seat in disbelief. “You must be loaded! Holy...” “You'd be amazed in how much you can save for two thousand years.” The causality of his words impressed her but the number prompted a more dramatic reaction. She sucked in a breath. “You're joking...” She stated, half expecting him to laugh and admit his intention to fool her. He didn't. “Two thousand one hundred and ninety-seven years old, to be precise. But who's counting?” Involuntarily, she chewed on her lip while letting her gaze to drink in the beauty of his body. “For an old man, you don't look bad. I wouldn't have put you a day over two hundred myself.” His laughter warmed her. “You know what they say about men who drive cars like this fine automobile. That they're merely compensating for. . .” Against her better judgement, her lust-filled gaze fell on the bulge in his jeans. She couldn't help teasing him. The temptation was too great. Without a word, his fingers locked around her wrist before pressing her hand against his swollen groin. The bastard. . . With a dip of his head, his lips brushed the skin of her ear when he whispered. “Let me know if you need further convincing.” Nope. No compensating there. Bonnie felt her breath vacating her lungs as raw desire bit her viciously, her hand still intimately pressed against him. Thankfully, she caught herself right before the escape of a moan. But smugness had already taken over his features. He knew. She lifted her chin defiantly and unashamedly, and a grin mauled by ungodly mischief tugged at her lips. Then, she shifted the direction of her nails, burying them into the fabric of his jeans in hopes to unshackle a degree of chaos and misery as the sharpness of her nails bit into his groin. And the hiss that followed did wonders to her mood. “Next time you invade my thoughts, it will be much worse, buster.” Kindly offering him a reprieve of her attack, she let her gaze wander beyond the window of his car. “And here I thought you might want to keep my package safe from harm.” He said whilst pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. She murmured, playful exasperation still drenching her words. “You thought wrong.” “Mmm.” A heartbeat later, the beast of a car purred back into life. While he drove them to his home, she took the moment of silence to reflect on the little she already knew. She licked her lips, a mountain of unanswered question plaguing her mind. Despite her mercurial behaviour and bite of her tongue, he couldn't resist her. Like an eternal flame, she burned bright even during the coldest nights. It took him a few minutes to reach the Garden District, even less to open the iron gates that welcomed him into his antebellum mansion. Right then, Bonnie felt the sting of a figurative slap from her consciousness. What was she doing? Persuaded by a complete stranger to go to his house. This reeked of danger and recklessness but fear still refused to make an appearance. Again, she found it disturbing. As if under a spell, her gaze found his. The atmosphere thickened with electric chemistry in the same beat of the heart. And her voice faltered when she finally asked the question scalding her tongue since the moment they've met. “What are you?”