#Definitely not just for narrative ease

[bucketsofmonsters]

On The Altar

cw: kidnapping, size difference, attempted human sacrifice, indoctrination, culty vibes, blood, hunting animals for food, self-loathing, allusions to drowning, heights, non-human genitalia, voyeurism, oral sex, threesome, unprotected sex, everyone in this is having a rough time

male dragon x male knight x fem reader

word count: 12k

Your breath caught as you stared at yourself in the mirror and a sort of disappointment washed over you. The white ceremonial dress draped across your form, fitted perfectly to you. 

You were supposed to look better than you ever had. Your heart sank a little when realized you didn’t think you did. 

Your birthday a few months ago. You thought you looked better then. 

You should have toned it down, not given yourself such a high bar to clear. It was your own fault, really. 

It had just been your last one. You'd wanted to make it count

Your head felt heavy with the ceremonial braids in your hair and the golden crown atop your head. It matched the rest of your accessories. Golden bracelets and necklaces and cuffs that circled your biceps. 

You wondered if it was real gold. Of course, everyone said it was but it seemed like a difficult thing to manage, a whole set of new golden adornments made every year just for it to be lost. A Sisyphean task. 

You didn’t have to worry about that. Your responsibility was far from that of the clothing and jewelry makers. You didn’t have to do any work at all, a crowd of women ensuring you didn’t so much as lift a finger on your day, bathing you and dressing you in unfamiliar clothes. 

You’d spent the whole day preparing. This was the first time you’d had a chance to breathe. 

Excitement and nerves all swelled inside of you, neither able to snuff the other out. 

Time was flying by and you weren’t sure whether you wanted it to slow or speed up. Part of you wanted to cherish these last few moments but it was almost here. It was almost your time. 

They tied you up. Not that they had to. You weren’t going anywhere. It was just tradition. 

You forgot to treasure your last moments of sight before someone behind you pulled a blindfold over your eyes. 

All you were left to do was imagine it. Being pulled from where you stood on the shore, being dragged under the water, the air leaving you as you fulfilled your duty.

And the town saved. 

They’d do it again next year and again the next, just like they had for decades. But this year was yours. You would save them. 

What a privilege it was to die for them. 

You wondered if the ropes ruined the lines of your dress. You supposed you’d never find out. 

Something hooked around your shoulders and you couldn’t help but flinch. You took in a big gulp of air instinctually, knowing what was coming. 

You braced yourself to be dragged forwards and instead slipped backward as you were lifted in the wrong direction. The ground disappeared from under you before you could fall. 

Your legs kicked, searching for anything below you, but you found nothing. The wind rushed up around you and despite your lack of vision, you could feel that you were rising up and up and up. 

You were meant to be dragged down to the depths and yet here you were, being hoisted into the sky. Claws dug into your skin and you were still blind and disoriented. Fear overtook you. 

You reached up and felt at whatever was carrying you, finding scaly skin connected to the strong talons digging into your shoulders. 

And then, as quickly as you’d been scooped up, you were being dropped. Rocks scraped your skin as you tumbled onto a hard stone floor. The bindings had come undone during the fall and you scrambled for your blindfold, squinting when the harsh light reached your eyes. 

As your vision began to adjust, you saw an enormous figure in front of you. At first, all you could see was a silhouette. Massive wings curled into the figure and the dragon that was slowly coming into focus in front of you stared right back at you. 

It was retreating into mounds of shiny things, gold and silver, old pieces of armour and crowns and candelabras piled into the cave you’d been thrown into. 

It stood out amongst the collection, a hulking creature with scales that shone a dark bronze that matched little of his horde. It was probably 20 feet long, its head cocked to the side as it watched you. 

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to get as far away from the creature as possible. 

You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. If you tried to run it could just scoop you up again. Besides, the last thing you wanted to do was activate a hunting instinct. Maybe right now, covered in gold jewelry, he saw you as something for his horde. It was certainly preferable to the alternative. 

He didn’t seem to be eating you, which you took as a good sign. Maybe if you removed the gold from yourself, it would lose interest in you and you could sneak out. If you rushed and were lucky, maybe you could even make it back in time. A sacrifice without the ceremonial adornments wasn’t ideal but it would certainly be better than nothing. 

You slowly lifted your hand to the golden cuff on your bicep, praying it wouldn’t think you were trying to take it. You tried to rip it from the white fabric of your dress, wanting to return home with at least some of your dignity, and your clothes, intact. 

Its head tilted further to the side and then a voice sounded, echoing off the walls. “What are you doing? Why would you ruin such a lovely dress?”

You froze at the noise, looking up wide-eyed at the creature. It couldn’t have. That wasn’t possible. Dragons were forces of chaos. Mindless beasts, nothing more. 

You blinked slowly, wondering if maybe you hadn’t woken up this morning quite yet. Or perhaps you’d been pulled underwater too quickly to notice and this was the oxygen deprivation messing with your mind. 

“Hello,” you responded. 

Its jaw opened to reveal layers of teeth in a ghoulish imitation of a smile. “Hello!”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest. “What… why did you take me?” You tried your best to keep your voice steady. The last thing you wanted was to upset the creature. 

“You were out there to be taken, yes?”

Oh. You supposed you were. Perhaps you’d been sending mixed messages to the monsters of the world. 

You wondered if maybe some town made sacrifices just like you to dragons.

“I was,” you said cautiously. “But not for you. For the creatures of the deep. Fishing is our life, it’s how we survive. We need the waters to be safe.”

“Not… what? You’re… but I thought. So you weren’t out there for me?” He sounded heartbroken. 

“It’s fine,” you said, keeping your voice level. “Misunderstandings happen. Just take me back and everything will be fine.”

“No, it doesn’t make sense. You’re covered in gold. You can’t just cover someone in gold and not expect a dragon to come snatch them up. You must have known. You must be for me.”

“Well, I’m not. And I would love to go home now.”

“What do they even want with you?” it asked, avoiding any discussion of bringing you back. “I don’t know much about humans but I know you aren’t water creatures. They couldn’t even take you anywhere, they’d have to come all the way up to visit you every day.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What?”

You’d assumed he’d taken you for the same reasons as the creatures you sacrificed maidens to every year. To take and consume, to feel worshiped. But it sounded like this dragon had entirely different ideas as to why a monster would want a sacrifice. 

“I wouldn’t have to just visit you,” he said. “I could be with you all the time. Take good care of you. No water involved. I’d keep you warm and fed and completely dry.”

“I’m not given to be a pet,” you snapped. 

The creature reeled back and began backpedaling instantly. “I didn’t mean you’re like a pet, I just meant…”

“They were going to kill me,” you said. “I’m a sacrifice. They need to kill me. It’s the only way.”

It took him a minute to understand what you could possibly mean by that. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to understand. 

You didn’t have time for this. “Just take me back,” you pleaded with him. 

He paused. “They’re going to kill you?”

“It’s none of your concern what they’re going to do.”

He dropped his head low, resting it on his tail with a huff. “Then I’m not taking you anywhere.”

Your heart sank. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can’t let them hurt you.”

You let out an exasperated groan, burying your head in your hands. “It has to happen, without it so many more will perish. 

“What if I start terrorizing your village!” the dragon said, with the intonation of someone who’d just had a great idea but none of the content. “Or say I would if I didn’t have you. Then your sacrifice won’t have been for nothing.”

Reasoning with him was starting to seem pointless. “Please don’t.”

“Well, either way, I’m not letting you go back. If I let you go, it would be like I hurt you. No, you can stay here.”

You could not do this, couldn’t argue with this strange creature who was incapable of understanding how vital it was that you returned so your town had its proper sacrifice. 

You stormed over to the corner of the cave, leaning against the cold stone wall with a huff. 

He just stared at you, neverendingly, undeterred by your attitude. 

“It can’t be comfortable over there,” he called out to you.

“Leave me alone!” you shouted back, curling in further on yourself. 

He wanted to approach you, you could tell that much. His hesitation was evident and he took small steps forwards before pulling himself back, repeating the gesture over and over until he seemed to come to a conclusion. 

“Alright. I can go for a while. Don’t hurt yourself.” 

With that, he gave you a final once-over and flew out of the cave. 

He was hard to read. The way a dragon worked was unfamiliar to you. The most you could do was take guesses and try your best. Hopefully, you wouldn’t be around long enough to figure out the intricacies of dragon body language. 

You should run. If you were going to have a chance to escape, this would be it. 

As you edged out of the cave, your dreams of making it down the mountain were crushed. There was, technically, a sort of path down the mountain. It was barely a few feet wide with a sheer cliff at the edge of it. 

You hadn’t eaten since this morning. You were scared and exhausted and there was a slight tremor in your hands you couldn’t quite seem to rid yourself of. There was no way you could safely traverse that path. 

You went back into the cave with a huff, waiting for your captor to return. 

Eventually, he did, blood dripping down his face as he dropped an animal in front of you. It was hard to tell what it was with the way it was mangled. It was clearly a fresh kill. 

You stared blankly at him, edging further away and into the cave wall. 

At your lack of reaction, he nudged the creature towards you. “You should eat,” he said. 

“I can’t eat that.”

You prayed he wouldn’t try and force you. 

“Why don’t you just eat me?” you spat at him. “At least it would be better than this.” 

At least then you wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that you’d failed, and your village would pay the price. 

He tilted his head once more. “Why would I do that? I’ve wanted to meet a human for a very very long time. I’ve got another friend too, come look.”

He started to wander back into the cave, behind piles of gold and you hesitantly followed him on shaky legs. 

When you reached the back of the dark cave, you found a single, frightened sheep sitting atop a massive patch of grass that seemed to have been uprooted from the ground. 

“I took him from a field. I couldn’t eat him, he had sad eyes.”

��Do I have sad eyes?” you asked. Maybe that was why he insisted on keeping you, refusing to let you go back home. 

He looked at you and as hard as it was to read the facial expressions of a dragon, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Is it that bad?” you asked as you looked away.

“Not bad. You just look like you're hurting.”

If you were it was because of him. This was supposed to be the best day of your life, the only day that mattered. And instead, you were here, looking at a poor terrorized sheep who was in the same position you were in. 

“So, what can you eat?” the dragon asked. Before you could give an answer, it said, “Nevermind, I’ve got an idea.”

You didn’t get the chance to ask him what it was. He was off again, moving through the cave until you heard the telltale flapping noise that meant you were alone once more.

You looked down at the sheep again. 

Maybe not entirely alone. 

He returned swiftly with a whole market cart in tow. It had piles of bread in it, although they were a little worse for wear from the flight. You had no doubt that some unsuspecting farmers had found it raining loaves of bread as he made his way back. 

You were too hungry to worry about scolding him for the thievery. You grabbed the first piece you could get your hands on and took the biggest bite you were capable of.

Your dragon watched, seemingly entranced by the sight. 

As you chewed your first bite of freshly baked bread he asked, “I did alright this time?”

You nodded, unable to speak through the mouthful of food. 

As you finished scarfing down your bread, you sat in the grass with your new sheep companion and asked your captor, “Do you have a name?”

The dragon considered this for a moment. “No. No one has ever needed to call me anything.”

“Oh. I thought dragons would have names.”

“They do. Just not me.”

You looked up at him, brow furrowed. “What, just you?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations from the noise cascading through the stone under you. “Didn’t bother to give me one. I was the runt so you know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. I don’t really know how people work. With dragons, the littlest one always has to go. That’s the way it is.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get a little lonely but now you’re here!”

You rolled your eyes, collapsing back into the grass. If you closed your eyes you could pretend you were outside your village lying in a field instead of trapped in a dark cave on a cold mountain. “Yeah, now I’m here.”

The moment couldn’t last. It was too cold, there was no wind. The air smelled different. 

“You know,” you said. “We had stories about dragons. Big terrifying ones that wanted to hurt people. My mother used to tell me stories of Pytho. I was so scared of him when I was little.”

“Oh.” You heard his wings rustle and opened one of your eyes to peek over at him, shuffling uncomfortably in place. 

“I could call you Pytho,” you added. “It’s the only dragon name I know.”

“If you think it fits, I suppose. I thought you said he was big and scary?”

You laughed. “Well, from my perspective, you’re pretty big and scary.”

Instead of being pleased at your words, he reeled back. “Are you scared of me?”

You shrugged. “I was. Not so much anymore. Honestly, I think on any other day, I would’ve liked you”

“But not today?”

You shook your head. “Not today.”

“Well then,” he said as he began to curl up into a ball, “Maybe tomorrow.”

You backed up, leaning against the cold wall, and tried to suppress your tears at the thought that there would be a tomorrow for you at all. 

When you woke up, it was all still real. A dragon snored beside you as a sheep stared at you with the saddest gaze you’d ever seen. 

Maybe, as you looked at it, it thought the same thing about you. 

Pytho stirred from his slumber, immediately turning to check on you.  

When you felt his warm breath directed at you, you realized just how cold you were. Not that you were going to do anything about it. Your only source of warmth was the dragon in front of you and you were going to go nowhere near him. 

You clench your fists, doing your best to stop the shivering. 

He didn’t seem to notice. With the warmth that he radiated, you were sure that the concept of being cold was something that was foreign to him. 

You turned away from the creature. If he wouldn’t take you back, the least you could do was deprive him of your attention.

It wasn’t much but it was all you had. 

The day passed slowly but still, it passed. You spent it wallowing in the corner. 

Pytho left you alone after the first few outbursts. He seemed to understand that you needed your space. You could appreciate him for at least that much. 

As the sun began to set once more, you began to realize just how much warmth and light the day had brought to this miserable cave. 

You curled in on yourself, not far from how Pytho slept. 

You watched him begin to settle in for the night and saw a moment of hope where he tried to move closer to you. You glared at him and he stopped in his tracks. 

“You’re still upset with me,” he noted. 

“Of course I am. There’s nothing for me now. It was supposed to be over and now it’s not. You took that from me.”

“I took your ending,” he said, and you knew he understood.

“You did.”

“You’ll find a new ending someday.”

“But that one was mine. It mattered,” you said, frustrated that he couldn’t seem to get it.

“You matter.”

You scoffed. “I did.”

“You do.”

You turned away from him with a huff. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”

“Goodnight, little human.”

You fell into a fitful sleep against the cold stone of the cave. When you woke, however, you felt warm and safe. 

You opened your eyes to find Pytho standing over you, his body heat covering you in waves of warmth, even when he wasn’t touching you. 

“You were shivering,” he said, like it was that simple. You were cold, he was warm. There wasn’t anything else to be done. You hadn’t even known he understood what shivering was. 

You slid away from him, back into the cold. 

He watched you. That’s all he ever seemed to do. Watch you. “You’re mad at me but you’re punishing yourself.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. “Let me go back.”

“I will not.”

You tried to sleep again but the cold felt harsher now, crueler. It was your turn to watch him, remember the waves of heat across your skin. 

You waited until his breathing leveled out, the rise and fall of his chest becoming uniform. You couldn’t handle a smug look or excitement. You just needed to sleep. 

You took the few steps between you slowly and gently leaned against his side. 

Almost instantly, without thinking, he curled around you, bundling you up in a nest of warm scales. His breathing was steady against your side. 

You’d never slept better. 

You woke to find his head a few inches from yours, propped up on his tail and staring at you with a soft gaze. 

“Good morning,” he said.

You gave him a hum of acknowledgment back. 

You were wracked with guilt. How could you be enjoying this, allowing yourself even these minor comforts? It wasn’t right. None of this was right. 

You pulled away from him, feeling sick.

Traitor. You’d betrayed them after they’d put so much trust in you. Who knew what was happening to them now, while you slept feeling warm and comfortable. 

“You still want to go?” he asked in hushed tones as you backed away, clearly afraid of the answer. 

You nodded. “I’m always going to want to go. I have to make this right.”

He let out a pained whine and moved towards you slowly, giving you the chance to stop him. 

You didn’t.

“You could be happy here,” he insisted. “Why won’t you just be happy here?”

“It just wasn’t meant to be." 

“Don’t want you to get hurt,” he whined out. 

You pressed your forehead to his. “Does it not matter what I want?”

He let out a huff and hot air cascaded over your face. He was always so warm. 

You pressed a kiss to his scaly nose. “I know you want to help, but I have to do this. Please let me do this.”

And he stared. Just stared at you, like he was drinking it in, trying to memorize you. 

Finally, his face fell and you knew exactly what it meant. 

“If you change your mind…” he said. “If you ever get the chance, come back to me. You’ll always have a safe place here.”

You nodded, still holding his head in your hands. You knew you never would, but it was nice to imagine returning someday. 

You looked down at your dress, dirty and torn, and you finished ripping off the golden cuff you’d started to tear days ago. 

“You can have this if you want. For what could have been.”

His eyes were glassy. You didn’t know dragons could cry. He grasped the golden cuff in his talons, tucking it away far from the rest of the gold, instead next to his beloved sheep. “For what could have been.”

A forlorn laugh escaped you as you looked at him. All three of you had sad eyes now. 

Before either of you had the chance to rethink it, he moved towards the mouth of the cave and you followed. 

Familiar talons grasped your shoulders and you were off again. 

This time, there was no blindfold. An entire landscape unfolded below you and you watched towns and rivers and forests pass you by at incredible speeds. 

Your hands reached up to grab Pytho’s legs, the seer distance to the ground making you dizzy. 

The flight was shorter than you remembered. You wished it wasn’t but as your feet touched grass, real grass rooted in the real ground, you knew there was nothing to be done. 

He dropped you off near the village but still outside of it. It was for the best, you couldn’t imagine anyone inside the town would be particularly pleased to see him. Worst case scenario, they might even try and hurt him. 

As soon as you’d properly landed he flew off, leaving you behind. No parting words, no last look. Before you knew it he was gone, a distant silhouette on a blue sky. 

 Good. You didn’t want him to see what might happen here anyways. 

The walk back was too quiet. You could hear the birds and the wind but none of it was enough to drown out the blood rushing in your ears. 

You didn’t know why your heart was pounding so loudly. This was what you wanted. You were back, ready to repent for the crime of being stolen. 

The first person who saw you was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than ten. He wandered on the outskirts of the village but as soon as he saw you he turned and ran back into the town, probably telling tales of your miraculous homecoming. 

You’d been so caught up in your return you had managed to think of little else but now, as you neared society once more, you realized what a mess you’d become. Your sacrificial dress was brown with now much dirt it had collected, ripped and shredded and hanging off of you in tatters. You were sure your face and hair were just as dirty. 

You walked further and further into town, unsure of what to do with yourself. You’d assumed someone else would tell you what to do but instead, they grouped together and stared, whispering and pointing as you trudged your way through the village. 

As you reached the center of town, you found a gathering waiting for you. 

You stopped in front of them, waiting as they inspected you. The same people who’d helped ready you and told you how vital you were to the town now looked down at you with thinly veiled disdain plastered across their faces. 

“I came back as soon as I could,” you said, your voice sounding small and weak. 

The man at the front of the group, the one who chose the sacrifices, made speeches about its vitalness every year, spoke. His voice boomed across the gathering. It didn’t feel fair. He was accustomed to speaking to crowds like this. You weren’t meant for this, of course you sounded small. “We chose another,” he said, and his words echoed in your ears. 

Your heart sank in your chest. Of course they did. What else would they have done? At least it meant the town was safe. So why did it sting so badly? 

“I can do it next year,” you said. “Please, let me do it next year. I’m here now.”

The man turned up his nose at you. “You abandoned your post.”

You could feel yourself getting more and more frantic as he spoke. “No, I was taken. I came back as soon as I could, I promise! Please.”

“An example must be made.”

You nodded, searching for a way out, any way you could still be useful. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

The women who’d helped you bathe and get dressed a few days prior surged forwards, grasping at your arms. They held you in place as you refused to struggle. 

“This is what happens to deserters,” he called out over the crowd.

You could barely think, barely hear his words. 

The fact that you’d been replaced kept running through your mind. You’d been raised for this. It was all you’d ever wanted. You’d dreamed of it. 

You weren’t so sure you wanted it anymore. 

It didn’t matter anyways. It was too late. You’d left. 

The man chanting to the crowd pulled out a knife. 

It felt like what you deserved. Your chest tightened with guilt and fear. Now it wouldn’t even be for anything. Just an example, nothing more. 

Maybe it was saving them, in a way. Saving them from an epidemic of girls who thought they could escape it and damn the town in the meantime. Maybe you still could die for something. 

A thudding sound echoes in your ears, slightly out of time with your heartbeat. It felt almost grounding, helped you ignore the chants of deserter and heathen. You didn’t have the strength to try and defend yourself, to insist that no, you’d fought to come back. You weren’t even sure you believed that anymore. You latched onto the thudding, anything to get those words out of your head. 

And then the arms that had held you down were being ripped away and instead you found yourself being lifted. This was not the endless upwards motion of your dragon. Instead, you found yourself hoisted onto the back of a horse. 

Hard metal dug into your side and you looked up to see a knight in full armour, his face hidden by his helm and his arm hooked around your waist. 

You pounded your fists against him, fighting to be let go. “No!” you shouted. “I need to do this. I need to be forgiven.”

The knight's grip on you tightened and the horse you were both on sped up. Neither seemed to find your fighting anything more than mildly inconvenient. 

Before long, your struggle slowed. You were becoming very used to the intense frustration that accompanied being trapped, being taken away with no regard for what you wanted. 

You lost track of time as you rode. You’d just been trying to make things right, even if you couldn’t do what you were meant to do. The universe seemed intent on stopping you. 

Maybe you’d done something wrong, offended the cosmos so severely you were no longer permitted to do what you were meant for. 

As the horse slowed, the knight's grip on you loosened. 

He set you gently on the ground in the midst of this unfamiliar forest and you glared up at him. 

“Can I go now?” you hissed. “Or am I still being kidnapped?”

“There were going to kill you,” he said as he dismounted his horse.

“You don’t know what was going on,” you insisted. “Maybe I deserved it.”

He rummaged around in his saddlebag. “Maybe.”

You reeled back a little, not expecting him to agree with you. “Oh. Can I go back then?”

“No. Here, eat this.” He held out some dried meat in your direction.

You refused it. It would be a waste anyways. 

“Why can’t I go?” you asked. If he didn’t even know if you were in the right, what reason could he possibly have for taking you? 

“I’ve heard about your village, you know. I was worried I was too late. They’ve messed with your mind. It’s not your fault but you’re not making good choices right now.”

“My choices are fine,” you shouted. “Who are you to decide that? You don’t even know what I did.”

“What did you do?”

“I shirked my duty. I should have been there.”

“For what?”

“To be their sacrifice.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

You did, but he couldn’t know that. It was beyond him. 

It was hard to remember where you were. It didn’t make sense. Why weren’t you home? Or were you? You knew that you should be. Why wouldn’t you be? 

You saw your dress, dirty and crumpled and ripped. You’d ruined it. How would you go through with the ritual now? 

Something in you always knew you’d ruin it somehow. And now things were all wrong. Who else’s fault could it be?

The knight pushed some food at you and once again you were in a forest far from home. 

You threw it back at him. “I said I don’t want it. Aren’t you going to eat?”

That damn helmet stared back at you for a moment before he said, “Maybe later.”

“Do you have a name?” you asked, desperate to get anything from him. 

“Phillip.”

You missed your dragon. At least you could see his face and try to figure out what he was thinking. 

He got up without warning, and you jumped a little at the sudden movement. 

He froze for a second as you did, staring down at you before continuing on, trudging through the nearby bushes. 

He returned in a few moments. 

“There’s a pond back there,” he said, gesturing towards the foliage. “It’s not too cold, you should be fine.” He started to move back towards his horse before pausing for a moment and adding, “It might make you feel better.”

You went to inspect this pond as he tended to his horse. 

It was a small pond, the trees around it curling over the top of it, mostly blocking out the sun. You dipped your foot into the water and found that the knight was technically right, it wasn’t cold enough to hurt you. It still wasn’t a pleasant temperature but right now it was the best you were going to get. 

As you tested out the water, you watched from behind the bushes as he mounted his horse and started to ride away. 

It made sense. You wouldn’t want to keep you around either. At this point, you were just ungrateful dead weight. 

You considered taking off your dress and attempting to keep it dry but at this point, it consisted more of rips and dirt than anything. Dousing it in water might do it some good. 

You sunk into the cold water, doing your best to get the dirt out of your hair. As long as you were in here, you might as well attempt to get clean. 

You wondered if you could find your way back to Pytho’s cave. If you could manage to get close you were sure he’d be able to find you. At least you hoped he would. It was the only place you had left to go. 

You had no real desire to prolong the bath in the cold water. You just didn’t know what came next. After this, where could you even go?

Your fingers began to prune and you know you couldn’t do this forever. 

As you exited the pool in your sopping wet, muddy, ripped ceremonial dress, you decided you needed to go. You weren’t sure if you were trying to find your village or Pytho but it didn’t really matter, you had no sense of what direction either was in. You just needed to be headed somewhere. 

You made it half a dozen steps before you collapsed. 

You didn’t even notice he’d returned until he was right in front of you, staring down at you collapsed in the dirt in your soaking-wet dress. 

You watched his helmet as he looks you up and down, lingering a second too long on your chest before snapping his head back up towards your face.

He cleared his throat and you would have bet money that his face was bright red beneath his helm. 

“Apologies, my lady. I thought you might want some fresh clothes.”

He held out some folded clothes with a pair of leather boots balanced atop them. 

No. It wasn’t right. This was supposed to be the last outfit you ever wore. It felt like a betrayal to take it off. 

“No thank you,” you said from your spot on the ground. “I’ll stick with what I have.”

“I know they’re not much but they’ll fit.”

You shook your head again. 

You heard a quiet, muffled sigh escape him. “The sun is setting, you’ll freeze to death if you wear those. You can change back in the morning if you really want to.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

You took the clothes with a sigh. “Fine. Turn around.”

You’d never seen him move so fast. It was like he was afraid you’d start stripping the second you decided to change. 

A giggle escaped you and you watched his shoulders tense up at the noise. It seemed like the two of you were having entirely different kinds of crises. 

You got dressed as quickly as you could, a chill starting to set deep in your bones. He’d found you a faded red tunic that hung midway down your thighs and some pants that miraculously fit pretty well. 

The boots had thick woolen socks inside and putting them on felt like heaven. You swore you’d never wear pretty shoes again as long as these were an option. 

You didn’t bother telling Phillip he could turn around. He’d figure it out in his own time. Or he wouldn’t. It wasn’t really your problem. 

As you got ready to sleep, you watched him, keeping track of time as best you could. It took him about twenty minutes before he finally peeked over his shoulder, finding you sitting with your back against a tree. 

You gave him a halfhearted smile and he cleared his throat. “You should rest now,” he said. “We have to leave at dawn.”

“And when are you going to stop dragging me around with you?”

“Whenever you’d like. I can drop you off at a town tomorrow. I just have something I need to attend to first”

You knew by now not to get hopeful. “Can you drop me off at my town?” You kept asking but you didn’t know what the point of it was. There was nothing for you there anymore. The most you could do was repent. Pay for what you’d done. But for what?

“I can drop you off at any other town.”

You slid down the tree, basically lying on the ground. “Alright. 

He spent the rest of the night in full armour and you wondered if maybe part of him thought you might attack him. Either that or these woods were more dangerous than you knew. 

He awoke you the second the sun began to peek over the horizon and you groaned, trying to kick him away from you. 

He would not be deterred, coaxing you up and onto the back of his horse. You got on behind him and wrapped your arms around him for stability with minimal protest. You didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. 

It took you too long to realize you'd left your dress behind, discarded in the mud.

The ride was much more comfortable when you weren’t being held captive. 

Forests and plains and mountains passed, all foreign and strange. You’d never left your town before, never seen anything like this. Even in your bad mood, it was hard not to admire it. 

Your heart stopped as you noticed one of the mountains that the two of you were fast approaching seemed familiar. 

It had taken you too long to recognize it but in your defense, you were used to seeing it from a cave right at the peak.

You shut your eyes and prayed to anyone that might be listening that you’d ride right by it. 

If the gods were listening, they had a special hatred for you. You weren’t sure you could blame them. 

 Phillip lead the horse along the precarious path you’d deemed too dangerous only days ago.

You needed to figure out a plan but you had nothing. 

With only a few minutes left before you reached the peak, Phillip dismounted, holding out his hand to help you down. You half considered trying to take his horse to go warn Pytho but you had no real idea how to ride one on your own and you couldn’t shake the feeling you’d ride the pair of you right off the cliff edge. The poor creature didn’t deserve that. 

You dismounted and Phillip nodded, getting right back on the horse. “You stay here, I won’t be long.”

“No,” you yelled, a little louder than was necessary. Phillip flinched, probably worried it had echoed up the mountain and warned the dragon at the top of his presence. You hoped it had. “I want to come.”

“These are dangerous lands, m’lady. I will not let you get hurt.”

You scowled at him. “You know, people won’t stop saying that to me.”

The helm stared down at you, unwavering, before he gave his horse a swift kick in the side and it rode up the narrow path. 

You took off in a dead sprint after him. 

You neared the top of the path, panting, just in time to see Phillip creeping into the cave, sword drawn and at the ready. 

You had no idea what to do. You couldn’t just stand here and do nothing but you felt frozen in place. 

The problem was, you’d rather neither of them were hurt. It felt like an impossible situation. 

Pytho needed to be warned but as gentle as he’d been with you, he could decimate Phillip in a second. That much you were certain of, no matter how competent of a knight Phillip might be. 

You finally willed yourself to move, darting into the cave to see Pytho standing over Phillip, who had his sword positioned right at the dragon’s neck. 

Before you could even think, you shouted, “Don’t hurt him!”

You had no real idea which of them you were talking to but both stopped in their tracks, heads spinning towards you. 

For one moment you were terrified one would take advantage of the distraction to harm the other and then their blood would be on your hands. Before the worry had time to settle, Pytho swung his tail around, hitting Phillip over the head with it. 

He instantly collapsed to the ground, going limp. 

You rummaged around in the saddlebag as Pytho stared at you. When you finally found rope you raised it triumphantly. 

Pytho’s gaze followed it up. “What is that?” he asked as you rushed towards the knight. 

“It’s rope,” you informed him as you tried and failed to drag him across the floor. As soon as Pytho realized what you were doing, he swept him effortlessly into the corner for you. 

You bound his hands behind his back, tethering him to some heavy golden chair that would at least slow any escape he tried to make. 

“You’re back,” Pytho said behind you, his voice airy and incredulous and so very grateful. 

You turned from binding the knight with a big smile. “I am. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it back but this guy led me right here,” he said, nudging at him with your foot. 

He didn’t seem to hear any of it. “I can’t believe you’re back.” His eyes were wide, refusing to leave you. 

You nodded, grabbing Phillip’s abandoned sword and throwing it right off the mountain, listening to the clanging noises as it bounced all the way down. You glanced nervously at Phillip as you returned, leading his horse over by the sheep. “I am. This is so rude but can you please go for a couple minutes? If you’re still here when he wakes I’m afraid he might perish from fright.”

He nodded. “If that’s what you want. I will be back.” 

He bumped his head lightly into you before heading out, flying off somewhere. 

And not a moment too soon. 

The knight stirred from his slumber. The only way you could tell was by how his helm slowly moved up, rising to meet your gaze. 

The second he did he tried to move before realizing he was bound. “Why?” he asked you. “I don’t understand, you… Was this all a trap?” His voice cracked and he sounded genuinely hurt by the betrayal. 

You felt a pang of sympathy in your chest as he struggled against his bindings. Quiet fearful noises escaped him as he glanced between you and Pytho’s horde.

You shushed him, your hands up in a quiet surrender. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’ll be just fine.”

“We? You’re in cahoots with this monster?”

You bristled at the harsh langue but did your best to be forgiving to the frightened man. 

“He’s not a monster. He helped me. Why are you even here? He hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s not what I heard. From what I’ve heard he’s been snatching up women.”

You groaned, rubbing at your temples. As you did, the knight leaned forward as much as he could and even through the stoic armour, you could tell exactly when he realized. 

“No. But… but you….”

“I just wanted to help my people. I don’t know why every creature within a thousand miles is trying to stop me.”

“If he took you, how did you escape?”

“I didn’t. I asked him to let me go, to be able to make my own choices, and he did. Because he respects me and didn’t kidnap me on the back of a horse!” You tactfully decided to omit the original kidnapping. At least for now. You had a feeling it wouldn’t help your case. 

“Please, it’s a dragon, it…”

“He! He’s a dragon! And at least he’s allowed me to make decisions.”

He reeled back. “I… you were going to get yourself killed. I couldn’t just let you get yourself killed. It isn’t right.”

“And it’s not your choice to make.”

He hung his head, helmet clanging against his chest plate. 

Pytho chose then to return, his tail swishing happily as he walked. He rubbed up against your side, letting out a happy rumble as he did. 

“So they let you go?” Pytho asked, ignoring the man on the floor. 

“Not exactly. They were going to kill me. They wanted to make an example of me.” You couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t imagine that the example they wanted to set was getting rescued by a knight but I suppose that’s the hand they were dealt. 

Pytho turned his gaze to Phillip. “You saved her?”

He nodded hesitantly. 

Another pleased noise escaped Pytho. “He’s a good one. I’m glad you didn’t let me kill him.”

“About that,” you said and you watched Phillip freeze up, all of his limbs locking. You glanced at him, adding, “I said we weren’t going to hurt you, calm down. I was just going to say, Pytho, you should let him go.”

The dragon tilted his head. “Why? I like him, he’s shiny.”

You suppressed a laugh. “He’s not shiny, his armour is. It’s like clothing.”

“Oh. Why do you creatures insist on that stuff? Seems awfully restrictive.”

Phillip cut into your conversation, saying, “I can’t leave.”

You looked over at him, a wave of irritation rushing through you. “Why not?”

“I can’t leave you here with this beast.”

You had half a mind to throw something at him. “Get this through your head, I don’t need you to save me.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” he continued, undeterred. 

“Fine. But I’m not untying you and risking you hurting him.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Pytho’s head swiveled between the two of you as you bickered. As the argument finally finished, he asked in a hushed tone, although still lough enough that Phillip could hear, “Does that mean we get to keep him.”

You snorted. “Guess so. It’s your lucky day.”

“It really is,” he said, voice as genuine as it could be. 

The sunlight was fast fading and you knew how cold it could get in here. You had no intention of sleeping alone but you glanced at your mostly willing captive. 

“Pytho?” you called out. 

He turned to you immediately. “Yes? Do you need something?”

“Could you go get some wood?”

“Of course I can,” he said, already speeding off. 

When he returned, he had a whole tree in his mouth and another in his talons, dirt still clinging to their roots. 

You bent over laughing as he dropped them both in front of you, tail swishing behind him. They’d barely fit through the mouth of the cave, filling up a significant amount of the room and knocking over at least one pile of gold in the meantime. 

You got to work snapping off some of the more reasonably sized branches, having Pytho move the trees back outside as you finished. 

You set them up a few feet away from Phillip, far enough away that he’d be safe but could still feel the warmth. 

“You can breathe fire right?” you called back to Pytho. It would be unfortunate if he couldn’t because you did not have the proper tools to start one here. 

He nodded, visibly eager. “Do you need one?”

“Just on the sticks here. Make sure not to burn anyone,” you said, nearing Phillip to ensure that he didn’t forget there was a person inside of the shiny armour and cook him. 

With a quick and surprisingly controlled burst of flame, the pile of sticks turned into a quaint little fire. 

You gave Phillip a pat on the shoulder as you headed over to Pytho. “Goodnight. Have fun sleeping in full armour.”

He didn’t respond. 

You left the fire behind to go curl up with Pytho. No fire could compare to his warm scales, of that you were certain. 

A happy rumble escaped him and ran through you as you leaned against him. 

He spoke in hushed tones, face right in front of yours as his tail curled around you. “I can’t believe you came back.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you said, giving him a quick kiss on his snout. “But I think I realized I didn’t really want to be anywhere else.”

His head leaned into your touch immediately, a wistful look in his eyes. 

“I wish I could do that.”

“What, kiss me?” you asked with a laugh. “Well, how do dragons kiss?”

Without another word he licked a long stripe up the side of your face, leaving a sticky residue behind. 

You giggled as you felt his spit on your cheek. “Well, my way is definitely less messy.”

He let out a noise that sounded almost like a purr, resting his head in your lap. “I like it your way.”

You hummed quietly and you wished he could feel it reverberating through his body the way you did for him. You curled happily into warm scales, surrounded by an overwhelming sense of safety, and fell asleep in your new home. 

The next morning, you realized you had no idea how to tell if Phillip was awake or not. He could have escaped and left only his empty armour behind and it would be impossible to tell. 

What you did know was that he hadn’t eaten. 

Pytho still had some slightly stale bread from your last stay here and you’d brought in all of Phillip’s supplies. You grabbed some dried meat and the freshest of the bread that you could find, heading over to him. 

“Good morning,” you said, hoping he could hear you.

He shifted, just barely, to turn to you. It seemed like the most positive reaction you could hope for. 

“Okay, you need to eat. Here, just let me.” You went to lift his helm but paused as he flinched away from your hand. 

“Please don’t.” His voice was low and shaky. 

You backed off, keeping your hands up and away from him. “Okay,” you said, “But you do need to eat.” 

There wasn’t any other way to do it. You reached behind him, pressed close to him as you untied his hands. As you struggled with the knots, you felt his breath hitch in his chest. 

After a few moments, you pulled away from the newly freed knight, rope in hand. “Tada.”

He froze once more, something you were getting used to, and just stared down at the rope for a minute, flexing his hands by his sides. 

With no warning, he grabbed the food you’d gathered for him and stood on shaky legs, giving you a small nod before he headed out toward the mouth of the cave. It was near where the animals were being kept, tied up to some golden pillar near the front. If he wanted to, he could leave here and now.

You waited patiently for him, avoiding looking in his direction, even if you were sure he’d gone far enough that you wouldn’t be able to see him. 

He quickly returned, fast enough that he must have scarfed down his food.

He presented his hands to you and it took a second to realize he was waiting to be tied up again.

You scoffed, looking at him dubiously. “Is that really necessary?” It seemed silly to tie him up again after that.

His hands stayed out and you rolled your eyes as you grabbed the rope. 

You tied them in front of him this time, taking much less care with the knots as you did. 

“Where are you a knight of?” you asked as you pulled the knot taut. “I see no insignias anywhere on you. That doesn’t seem normal.”

“My kingdom is long gone, m’lady.”

“Still so respectful, even after everything I’ve put you through. Well, sir knight, how can you be a knight with no kingdom to serve?”

His head cocked to the side as if baffled by the question. “I know nothing else.”

You paused a moment before asking. “How long have you been doing this?”

He remained ever impossible to read, although that never stopped you from trying. After a long, stoic pause, he simply shrugged and said, “I’ve lost track of the years.”

“And so what? No kingdom to speak of, you just keep fighting?”

“I do what I’ve always done.” Like it was as simple as that. 

“Don’t you get tired?”

“I never have the time.”

“Well, sir knight, I think you were just about due for some rest anyways.”

He didn’t respond, the helmet following you as you left him.

He was so stoic. You weren’t sure how it was easier to get a read on a dragon than a man but somehow he’d managed it. 

Anything other than silent staring began to feel out of place. 

“M’lady,” Phillip called out. You turned, confused. It wasn’t like him to start a conversation. 

“Yeah?”

“Where is my sword?” he asked. 

You’d forgotten he was unconscious for that. “Oh. I threw it off the mountain.”

“You what? Why?”

Pytho chimed in immediately. “I can get it.”

You shifted between him and the entrance to the cave as quickly as you could. “No, you will not.”

“Why?” asked Phillip.

“What do you mean why? You tried to kill him.”

“I won’t attack him unprovoked.”

“You already did attack him unprovoked.”

“I didn’t have all the information. For that, I am truly sorry, sir.”

Pytho’s chest puffed up at the title. “You are forgiven. And I am sorry that I almost destroyed you.”

That caused Phillip to reel back a little. “You did not. I can best a dragon easily, I almost slit your throat.”

Pytho huffed and you smelled a bit of smoke on his breath. “You did not.”

“Okay,” you said, cutting in. “You’re both very dangerous. I’d still love it if we could keep the sword where it is.”

Phillip nodded. “I understand your hesitancy.”

He said it tied up on the floor. Despite not having a weapon, despite his promise not to try and hurt Pytho, despite the fact that you'd already untied him so he could eat. 

“This is stupid,” you said, pacing up to him and immediately setting to work on the knots and ignoring his quiet noises in protest. 

It didn’t take long to undo them, you’d put barely any effort into tying them in the first place. 

“We have to free you so you can eat anyway, I don’t understand your obsession with this little performance.”

Phillip froze, still holding his hands together despite the lack of rope. 

“What should I do?” he asked you quietly. 

You threw the rope to the side. “That’s up to you.”

It took him hours before he was even willing to stand from his spot on the floor. 

His movements were all colored by hesitation. You understood. The freedom made staying a choice. And even when he managed to stand, to move from his corner, he stayed.

He stuck to his corner as often as he could, but nonetheless, he stayed. Watching him sleep alone in the cold, you were certain that this was how Pytho had felt every night when you froze your ass off far away from him. 

You both lit the fire for him every night. Pytho has started running off to get wood without you even asking, even if the trees that remained outside left you with enough wood to last years. 

His armour got lighter as time passed, forgoing pieces from time to time. No matter what, the helmet stayed. It felt like a part of him, like you could imagine there possibly being a man under there. 

He was adjusting to the newfound freedom about as well as you’d expected. 

With every small sign of growing comfort, something else went wrong. 

A few days after his freeing, while Pytho was out gathering more food for the two of you to eat, you heard him muttering in the corner. 

You drifted closer and he paid you no mind. You couldn’t make out any words but you could tell it was frantic.

“Phillip,” you said softly, doing your best not to startle him. “Are you alright?”

You had no idea if you’d frightened him, he remained entirely unreadable. All except for his hands. He had foregone his gloves and much of the armour on his arms and you watched as he nervously fidgeted, threatening his fingers together, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly, his hands never staying still for more than a moment. 

“I’m wasting time here,” he said. “I have things to do. I have a duty to this land.” 

You knew it was near impossible to get through to him but you couldn’t help the urge to try. “It’s a waste to rest?”

“It is. I need to go, need to continue on.”

You sat beside him, as close as you could get without touching. “You should take me back home on your way. I’ve got a duty too, you know.” 

His head fell back. Metal against stone sent a clanging noise echoing across the walls. “That’s different. You were brainwashed.”

“I wasn’t. The monsters are real you know. I’ve seen them. We all do, every year. I really would have been saving them. Whatever girl they chose instead of me really did save them. Maybe you don’t think it’s right. That’s fine. It’s an important duty nonetheless.”

“It’s not the same. I’m not being marched to my death.”

“People will still need saving in a week, in a year, in a century. There’s no real, final end to it. There has to be ends to it for you. Little ones. There just has to be.”

His head was turned towards you and you squirmed, feeling like you were being studied. 

Finally, he said, “It upsets you.”

“What?”

“That I never stop. That upsets you?”

You nodded. “It does.”

“I can stand tiny ends to it. To ease your mind.”

A sad laugh escaped you. “I’d rather you did it for you.”

“That’s the best I can do right now. You’re the same, aren’t you?”

And you supposed you were. “I can’t go back. I can’t do that to him. Or to you, I guess.”

A small laugh escaped him, a noise you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. “You guess. I’ll take it.” 

Pytho returned, entering the cave a little too quickly and knocking one of his piles of treasure over. He dropped a cart in front of you, this one with boxes of pastries covering it. 

“The humans seemed to love this one,” he said with his disarming, open-mouthed grin. 

“Who are you taking those from?” Phillip asked incredulously, and you were almost certain you could hear a smile in his voice. 

You grabbed something that looked chocolatey and when you felt that it was still warm you almost sobbed. “I don’t care who he’s taking it from,” you said, taking a massive bite of it. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

You scarfed down three pastries, offering a small piece to Pytho, just so he could taste it. He spat it back out, questioning how you could ever eat something like that. 

And then you remembered your stoic knight, still sitting beside you, just watching you eat, and a sense of guilt overtook you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said and he perked up as you addressed him. “You know, I could turn around or we could close our eyes. We wouldn’t have to see anything. So we could eat together.”

You didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t wait for him to politely refuse, instead turning around and signaling for Pytho to do the same. You shut your eyes, just for good measure, as you leaned against the dragon. 

The quiet thud of the helmet being set on the floor made your heart swell. 

As you took another bite of a pastry, this one filled with a beautiful lemon cream, he slid his hand into your open one and ate behind you, slower than he’d ever eaten before. 

Even if it was for you, you hoped he enjoyed it. 

And still, no matter how much progress you made, every night he still slept in that goddamn corner. 

You were glad Pytho curled up around you at night because then at least you couldn't see him, sad and alone next to his fire, away from the two of you. 

You knew Pytho could tell it bothered you. He always did his best to distract you, pull all of your attention to him. He’d gotten pretty good at it. 

He was nuzzling into your side, pulling giggles from you as he gave you a big, slobbery kiss on your face. 

“What are dragon kisses for?” you asked. 

“What?”

“I’m just curious. Humans kiss their kids, their partners, their parents, all sorts of people they love. Dragon kisses don’t feel like something you can do as casually as a kiss on the cheek.”

Pytho perked up immediately. “You love me?”

You pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Of course I do.”

He purred at you as he answered your question. “Well, dragon kisses are just for mates. We aren’t an overly affectionate species.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You know, maybe you can’t kiss like a human but I could kiss like a dragon.”

He tilted his head and you decided to take the gesture as a challenge. 

You opened your mouth and licked a broad stripe up the side of his face. His scales tasted ashy and were incredibly smooth against your tongue. 

A wave of heat passed through him as you did, a deep guttural sound escaping him. 

You pulled back, trying to get a better look at him. 

“What was that?” you asked quietly. 

He ducked his head down in a poor attempt to hide from you. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

Something clicked in your head. “Hold on. You said dragons only kiss their mates.”

He nodded hesitantly. 

“You kiss me all the time though.”

He whined again, his tail moving away from you and curling in front of him. “I’m sorry. I know it’s strange, I know you’re human, I can't help it. You're so soft and nice and I love you so much…”

As his words got more frantic you kissed his snout again, shushing him. “You should’ve told me. If I’d known my big, strong dragon wanted me maybe I could’ve done something about it sooner.”

You practically watched his eyes glaze over, head tucking into your chest as he purred more. 

You gave him all the kisses you could, peppering them along his head wherever you could reach. After about a dozen, you decided to try another dragon one, licking along his jaw. 

You were flipped and pinned under him in a second, looking up at a ravenous face. His wings were folded over the two of you, blocking you from the outside world. In here, it was just the two of you. 

You couldn’t be happier. 

“Please, let me see you,” he hissed and you struggled to get your clothes off as quickly as you could. You kicked your pants off and they got caught on your ankles, spurring on a minor giggling fit, feeling absolutely giddy. 

And he just watched, perfectly content to stare down at you as you waged a minor battle against your clothes, desperate to get your bare skin against his. 

As you lay below him, finally fully naked, you didn’t feel shy or self-conscious. It felt right, the two of you, like this. 

“I will never understand clothes,” he informed you. “Why would you ever cover this up?”

His head shifted around, looking at every part of you he’d never gotten to see before. 

As his head moved downwards, you could tell exactly when he noticed how wet you were. He stopped moving entirely, nostrils flaring and eyes locked on you. 

He nosed at you and you opened your legs for him, spreading them as wide as they could go. 

His tongue snaked out instantly, licking a hot stripe through your folds. Whatever he found there seemed to interest him because the next thing you knew his thick tongue was snaking deep inside of you, your walls stretching around him. 

You let out a strangled cry, fighting to not snap your legs closed at how overwhelming the sensation was. 

His content vibrations ran through you, causing a spark of pleasure to run up your spine. 

His tongue found a spot deep inside of you that’d didn’t quite feel like the rest, rubbing against it experimentally and you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. 

It was too much. You’d never felt anything like this before. 

His jaw was cracked open over your stomach, his impossibly long tongue reaching as far into you as it could go. 

His tongue slowly withdrew from you and you didn’t know whether to beg for him to keep going or take your reprieve from the overwhelming sensation while you could. 

You noticed his hips shifting and glanced down. Your heart skipped a beat. 

He was massive, probably a foot long. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you whispered.

The dragon shook his head. “No, I would never try. You’re too small, it would break you. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“What about you?” you asked, feeling bad you couldn’t reciprocate. 

“I have everything I need,” he said, nuzzling into your chest once more. “But if you want someone your size, we could always ask for help.”

Your face heated as you realized what he was implying. To be honest, you’d entirely forgotten Phillip was there, too caught up in what you were doing. Oh god, he’d probably heard everything. 

Pytho lifted his wings as you looked at Phillip, who had turned to face the wall. 

“I am so sorry,” you called out, embarrassment washing over you. 

He turned to you slowly and you prepared to get yelled at. 

Instead, his voice came out breathy and strained. “Do you want me to help?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared back at him. “I do. 

He moved towards the pair of you. “I live to serve”

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted so badly to kiss him and you just couldn’t.

So instead you made do, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards you. He fell next to you, both of you leaning against Pytho. 

He froze a little as your hands neared his helmet and you whispered, “Trust me.”

He untensed, although you could sense his anxiety. 

You grasped the side of his helmet slowly, tilting it gently to the side to reveal a sliver of his neck. You moved towards it, taking all the self-control you had to go slowly. 

He shivered as you neared him, your breath ghosting over his skin. 

You started gently, pressing soft kisses into his skin. 

Before long you wanted more, nipping at his neck and sucking marks into it as he let out little whines. You could feel his throat move as he swallowed, could feel his muscles tense as you moved.

Eventually, he pulled you away from him and you looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“Um…” he said, his voice shaky and high. “If you do want me to… to help. You need to stop doing that. 

You smiled, resting your forehead on his helm. “If you insist.”

The way you’d pulled at his clothes, shifting his shirt out of the way, meant you could see as he gulped. 

His hand hovered inches over your hip, as if afraid to touch you. You covered it with your own, pressing it onto bare skin. 

You didn’t mind his staring so much now. You could feel the waves of awe coming off of him as his hands gently slid up and down your sides. 

You hooked your fingers into the front of his pants and pulled him closer to you. 

“Please,” you asked. 

He didn’t bother taking his pants off, instead pulling them down just enough to get his dick out, already painfully hard. 

Pytho’s tongue had more than prepared you and Phillip seemed like if someone breathed on him wrong he might come so you wasted no time, pulling him over to you. 

Pytho sat there, watching as Phillip pushed inside of you. He was painfully slow, groaning with every inch. 

Your walls fluttered as his hand pressed tentatively down on your clit and he had to stop entirely, breathing slowly. 

“Do you know how hard it was,” he gasped out as he buried himself fully inside of you, unmoving. “Hearing all that and not touching myself. It felt like torture. 

You could feel Pytho shifting behind you, molding himself against your back as you saw his hips twitch, grinding against nothing. 

You opened your mouth to speak when your words were cut off with a sharp thrust. 

Phillip gripped your hips so hard you were worried it might bruise in the morning. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

He slowly found his rhythm, desperately trying to pull you impossibly closer as he thrusted inside of you.

You felt something hard against your back, moving as Phillip slammed inside of you again. And then, as if sharing one mind, you felt a sticky substance coat your back just as Phillip gave you one final, hard thrust, groaning as he came inside of you. 

As soon as Phillip pulled out, Pytho rushed to snake his tongue back inside of you. It was so dexterous, pressing up perfectly inside of you as he tasted both you and Phillip. 

Phillips fingers intertwined with yours as your back arched and you felt waves of pleasure run through you. Pytho seemed intent on working you through it, his tongue moving steadily until you could take it anymore. 

You pushed at his head and he lifted it, mouth slick and eyes looking just as dazed as you felt. 

You were all gross and sticky and you’d never been happier in your life. 

Phillip snorted. “I was supposed to kill you.”

“Plans change,” you said. 

“You never could have killed me,” Pytho declared and you couldn’t help but smile as their argument began again. 

You woke up in a tangle of limbs. Your head was tucked into Phillip's chest, his arms wrapped around you with just the tip of Pytho’s tail betwixt you. You were both entirely surrounded by him, curled up protectively around you. 

Pytho had to take both of you down to the nearest lake to get clean the next morning. He sat patiently at the edge of the pond as both of you washed off the mess from the night before. 

Phillip helped you clean, scrubbing your back and running his fingers gently through your hair as you both stood in the waist-deep water. 

You’d had the good sense to remove your clothes but Phillip had to clean his along with himself, standing in the water in his pants, shirt, and that helmet. 

It seemed a little silly but you wouldn’t bother him over it. It would come in due time. Or maybe it wouldn’t and honestly, you didn’t think you would mind. 

Pytho was content watching the two of you, occasionally shifting his tail to splash water at you, a favor you returned to him readily. 

As the cleaning finished and the three of you sat on the shore, drying off, Phillip braided your hair as you both leaned against your warm dragon. 

You were curious where he’d learned it but scared to ask, to remind him of anything other than this perfect moment. 

He did not seem to understand how precious and fragile this moment was, breaking the silence by saying, “I can’t stay here,” and shattering everything. 

You looked at him with panicked eyes and Pytho hid his head under his wing. 

“What?”

His next words came slower, more gently. “I think we’ve made a little home here. I do. But I can’t just stay.”

You nodded. You understood. “Neither can I. You’re going off adventuring again, right?”

He nodded and you immediately added, before you could lose your nerve. “I want to come.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” he said, his voice not commanding but instead cautious and worried. 

“Please. I need to do something, to help someone. I feel like I’ve got a debt on my back. I can’t let it hang over me like this forever.”

He went to protest but you stopped him. “I don’t care what you think, I can’t live with it. Please.”

He nodded. “First, we’re going to need to find my sword.”

You gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it won’t be too hard.”

“And we can’t come back every night,” he continued. “You’re going to have to spend days on the road. You sure that’s what you want?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I can manage for a few days.”

Pytho lifted his head from where he was hiding it. “Come back? You said you can’t stay?”

It took a second to understand what he could possibly be asking. The idea of leaving him forever was so inconceivable to you that you hadn’t realized what this must have looked like. 

You rushed over to him, kissing his forehead. “No, I’m not leaving you. Neither of us are. We just…I just can’t stay in a cave for the rest of my life.”

“People will still need helping,” Phillip chimed in, standing behind you. “I won’t ever stop doing this. It’s what I was made to do. But it's been too long. I think it was about time I found a home to come back to.”

You smiled at him as you leaned into your dragon’s side. “I think it was.”

#terato #terato writing #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster bf #dragon x reader #dragon boyfriend #dragon #dragon bf #The cws on this are wild #Phillip’s armour set up is a little wonky compared to most real armour #I attribute this to his accursed knight status #Definitely not just for narrative ease #I would never #also I came up with this idea and then wrote the whole thing in like 6 days #Everyone say thank you ducky #lol

[seventh-fantasy]

圣人有情而无累

dihua + 情 | 莲花楼 mysterious lotus casebook

#莲花楼 #mysterious lotus casebook #asiandramasource #dailyasiandramas #cdramasource #asiandramanet #cdramagifs #cdramanet #gifshistorical #cdrama #cheng yi #dihua #lhlgifs #jielin's edits #my posts #情 sentiments (not romance or love) / 圣人有情而无累 a sage possesses feelings but is unburdened by it #sgm lxy was described to be cold and unfeeling to the extent he's likened to a ''dead person'' #not bc he was above feelings. bc clearly when he was made to face it...it went very badly #so llh ending at the point where he's so composed and at ease despite having to leave everything he cared about behind. yeah. #one would think llh would have been dead from bicha by then. but he's never been more alive tbh #very much a xianxia/cmyth narrative. by the theoretical definitions of xianxia/cmyth #it's a dihua thing to me also since it is them that evoked in one another each of their own ordeals with 情 #dfs said to lxy that 你的弱点就是喜欢当英雄. what is good pretending your motivations are so noble #bc dfs had lived his whole life for himself and only himself. he does not pretend to be more than that #and the interesting thing is when it's followed by 一个剑客不该有弱点 as if he's speaking as the 理 of wulin. #being weak is bad and it means you'll lose. that's just the rule of wulin #he is that sort of paradoxical existence... #lxy goes on to prove otherwise as llh. while existing to bring to surface the 情 in dfs #-> just know i do not know what i'm talking about anymore i just have lots of convoluted thoughts about these two im incoherent about #uhhh enjoy some nice gifs!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Just like how kalim embodies scarabia's mindfulness in his own way, how do you think other boys embodies their respective dorms spirit?

For the sake of ease and consistency, I will be using the official TWST localization's terms for each dorm's core value.

Please note: these are my personal interpretations; even the definitions of each dorm’s “spirit” is not explicitly defined within official TWST materials, so I’ll be running with my own definitions before covering each NRC student. Additionally, since I’ll be covering 22 characters in this post I may not have time to get into painstaking detail for each one.

***Main story spoilers (including late book 7) below the cut!!***

The Queen of Hearts' Spirit of Strictness

Literally speaking, strictness refers to following rules or beliefs exactly. There is rigid enforcement of these rules or beliefs, and very few, if any, exceptions or mercy granted.

Right off the bat, it’s easy to see how Riddle aligns with the spirit of strictness. He is the embodiment the law in Heartslabyul, serving as both judge and executioner to his students. Riddle insists that the rules—no matter how nonsensical—be followed, and he does not hesitate to unleash his wrath and collar those who step out of line. He is strictness itself. Beyond book 1, we do see Riddle trying to be more patient and flexible—however, the fact remains that he upholds rules and continues to have trouble with circumstances where he has to think independently or without a set of instructions to refer to.

Trey is known for frequently indulging others and behaving in a manner which some may call kind. The twist here is that Trey’s strictness is present in the “big brother” role he adopts when dealing with his peers. He’s generally more lenient than Riddle, but Trey often alludes to the fact that he shouldn’t be underestimated or thought of as a nice guy. There are moments when Trey gives others their comeuppance for misbehaving (such as in his dorm uniform vignettes, where he deprives first years of cake for complaining about his same-y baked goods). The thing is, most don’t see it coming because he’s typically so… nice. When he wants to be stern and put his foot down, he certainly can—it just isn’t something that happens a lot, since he’s more mild-mannered than his classmates.

Cater is strict with his public image, specifically how his peers view him. This is most obviously seen in his obsession with social media. He's constantly taking pictures and posting, being heavily involved on Magicam—a space where he can control the narrative about the type of person he is and the life he has. Cater keeps up this front in real life as well, acting cheery and sociable with his classmates while masking a far less motivated and sad side to his character. (This is implied in his Lab Wear vignettes, where a mandrake he infuses with his own magic becomes gloomy and huddles into itself.) There are occasions when Cater expresses that he is lonely or that he wishes he had more friends growing up, but he never fully opens up about his true nature. He strictly keeps that part of himself locked up tight and is seemingly afraid of what others would think of that persona.

Like Cater, Deuce is strict with himself. In Deuce's case, this arises from a past of delinquency and the desire to reform and to be an honors student that his mom can be proud of. Because of these goals, Deuce tries very hard to excel in class (but often falls short) and to behave in a way that he believes honors students would. This means changing the way he looks (he let his natural hair color come back in; it used to be bleached blonde), the way he speaks (not using foul language), the way he dresses, and, most importantly, the way he acts. Of course, his temper gets the best of him at times and his delinquent self bubbles back up (like in book 1 when the eggs were ruined), and Deuce is currently working on better repressing that.

Ace is probably the most carefree and the least stereotypically "strict" of the Heartslabyul group. Instead of having a focus on enforcing rules, Ace is usually the one breaking or defying them. How, then, does he embody the Queen of Hearts' spirit of strictness? I believe it comes through in some of Ace's most iconic scenes: the ones where he is calling others out on their bull crap. Time and time again, it's Ace that is bluntly telling others what they're doing or saying is hypocritical or wrong, or that they haven't truly taken accountability. He does this no matter who he is facing, be that his own dorm leader (book 1), an undead bride (Ghost Marriage), or Malleus Draconia himself (Endless Halloween Night). Ace has his own set of morals and beliefs, and he speaks them loud and clear without imposing as harshly as Riddle does.

The King of Beasts' Spirit of Persistence

Persistence is when one continues their course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition. In other words, there is an obstacle in the way of achieving a goal, and one persists in the face of that obstacle.

Leona is a somewhat strange case to make for persistence because initially he comes off as a very lazy character. We quickly learn that though he appears unmotivated, he’s comfortable scheming and thinking multiple steps ahead to cut out difficult or unnecessary work. There’s no doubt that Leona has had a challenging childhood, feeling like he was always being compared to his brother and never recognized for his own talents. We feel the effects of Leona losing this hope as late as book 6, when Leona says that Jamil is capable of change, unlike himself. Some fans even speculate that Leona’s dialogue implies he has fallen into depression as a result of frequently being dismissed and put down in spite of his efforts to be seen. Even when Leona is dealing with such trauma, he cooks up a plot to return his dorm to glory and to support its future. He, the lowly second born prince, wants to prove himself and his team of misfits, as being worthy of respect and admiration. When the plans fall through, Leona is quick to give up (which seems to go against the idea of Savanaclaw’s persistence). However, I would say this is part of his character growth in book 2. Later in the main story, Leona also throws in the towel quickly—but it doesn’t contradict his development; he knows when to strategically retreat in book 6.

Ruggie comes from an extremely impoverished background. He has had perhaps the least “cushy” life out of the entire NRC cast. Even so, Ruggie was able to study and work hard enough to earn decent grades, get multiple part-time jobs, and pick up many useful survival skills. He’s street smart and knows that what he lacks in strength he can make up for by sticking to someone who is strong (Leona). (Their relationship is mutually beneficial!!) Ruggie knows that just having money isn’t sustainable in the long run, so he’s hauling ass now to make something of not only himself, but also for all the people in the slums.

Jack embodies persistence through the events of book 2. At first, Jack tries to get Leona to see reason by letting him know that he genuinely is a figure Jack admires. He’s put in a moral dilemma when Leona argues that even if they play dirty, he has good intentions. If Jack interferes, he is messing with the future job prospects of his dorm members. Jack wrestles with the question before ultimately coming to the conclusion that he has to tell others about it—and, what’s more, put his own pride as a lone wolf aside to confront Leona and stop to his machinations.

The Sea Witch's Spirit of Benevolence

Benevolence may refer to meaning well or general kindness and compassion. It involves a willingness to help others and caring for them.

Azul, being at the head of the operations at Octavinelle, passes himself off as a benevolent man who will listen to your woes and grant your wishes. In fact, he does—but at a price. The shady ring he’s running is NOT wholly benevolent; the deals can definitely come across as malevolent in book 3 (when Azul wrote the contracts in such a way that the loopholes could fuck clients over). The deals themselves (assuming no foul play), however, are neutral since both parties agree to the terms. Contracts are written with the idea that they will benefit the clients. And Azul is, of course, also seeking out benefits for himself, as that is the nature of business dealings.

Jade represents a kind of benevolence associated with acts of service. He’s Azul’s right-hand man and information broker—furthermore, much of how Jade presents himself alludes to being a butler or some other supportive role. Jade just generally behaves in a way which benefits others. He acts demure and servile, then uses the trust he has gained through service to ply what he wants out of others. Jade does it so sweetly and so expertly that his prey don’t usually notice, or willfully overlook it, being far too impressed by his abilities to fixate on his ulterior motives. This strategy works even on notoriously stern individuals such as Vil (Jade Dorm Uniform vignettes).

Floyd gives “free hugs” :) is… well, ironically, the “kindest” of the trio in a weird way. While this is highly dependent on his mood, the fact of the matter is that Floyd is the easiest to read in terms of “telegraphing” his actions. If he’s in a bad mood, he usually will not hide it. You know what you’re signing up for as soon as you see him. He also typically doesn’t put forth an effort to manipulate or to scheme like Azul or Jade would; Floyd would prefer to be direct and get it over with already. That, in a sense, is the mercy that he offers: something swift and plain to see.

The Sorcerer of the Sands' Spirit of Mindfulness

Mindfulness is a state of being aware of oneself and the present moment. A mindful individual can aknowledge and accept one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations. Mindfulness may also extend to being aware of others and perceiving their own states of being.

Kalim is not viewed as the most intelligent or crafty of leaders, but where he shines is in his ability to welcome and to bond with his dorm mates. His emotional intelligence is extremely high, which proves itself to be a useful skill in getting to know others and to earn their trust. Kalim has made a name for himself in Scarabia because he is always there to listen and lend a helping hand to his dormmates. He is unabashedly open about his own emotions too, crying when he is sad and trying hard when he is frustrated or dissatisfied. He often asks to know what is wrong when he senses upset within his classmates and wants to do what he can to rectify those situations. This is peak mindfulness--not only is Kalim acutely aware of his own emotional state, but he's also pretty consistent with sensing those in others (the one big exception here, of course, is Jamil). Sometimes Kalim can be blindsided by his own blind faith in others or his overeagerness causing him to blurt things out unintentionally. He's definitely not perfect in this regard--however, there's plenty of room and willingness to grow and to learn (something which Kalim has expressed both in book 5 and in birthday vignettes).

Jamil more readily fits in with a less savory interpretation of mindfulness. He thinks ahead and uses what he knows of others to manipulate them or put himself in an advantageous position. This notably occurs in book 4 (when Jamil plans to use the feedback of Yuu and the Scarabia members to dethrone Kalim), as well as in events (like Beans Day, where he plans to entrap Kalim when Kalim cooks a fragrant lunch that Jamil purposefully packed for him). He uses what he notices or knows about others (Azul’s shadiness, rumors about Lilia being a bad cook) to avoid interactions which could be less than beneficial to him. Jamil’s main fault is that he fails to recognize people’s strengths (something which Leona calls him out for in book 6), and instead focuses mainly on their weaknesses, shortcomings, and how those could be exploited (mostly because he’s in a position where he cannot outright act in certain ways without suffering some consequences). Jamil is aware of these potential consequences and finds or plans workarounds for them. However, he is also mindful in a more conventional sense too. He’s usually the competent one in Scarabia’s leadership and fulfills the organizational tasks that Kalim doesn’t. The duo is like sun and moon; they balance each other out.

The Beautiful Queen's Spirit of Tenacity

Simply put, tenacity is determination and endurance. One is persistent in maintaining, adhering to, or seeking something valued or desired. Each of the members of Pomefiore knows what they want, and they are stubborn in their pursuit of it.

Vil makes it clear in book 5 that he wants to win VDC/SDC, thereby proving to himself and to the world that he is capable of more than playing the part of a “villain”. He already had high standards for himself prior to book 5 (exercising, doing skincare, maintaining a healthy diet, etc.), but you can see how single minded Vil is toward this one goal. He drives his team members hard and even cancels a major job offer from his manager so he can dedicate all his time and energy into seizing the win. And how many times has Vil lost in the past??? Countless, I bet. Yet here he is, trying again and again, even when he knows that happy endings aren’t guaranteed and his efforts may not bear fruit after all.

Rook pursues any and all things beautiful!! He used to just be content admiring beauty, but with Vil’s prompting, Rook soon also found value in beautifying himself. It means Rook can also put beauty out into the world, and helps him better appreciate other works of art. This man is infamous around campus for his… admittedly creepy and unnerving habits. He follows people around, documents them in photographs, memorizes their personal details, etc. His keen eye has also earned him praise though—Vil can comfortably rely on him for honest feedback, and Neige recognizes him as a dedicated member of his fan club. Rook is nothing if not determined and dedicated to his craft.

Epel is tenacious too, but in a way that Vil would not approve of in all circumstances. Epel is stubborn in his thinking and refuses to let go of his hometown roots. He’s very proud of where he comes from, so he puts up a fight with Vil when Vil demands that Epel address his upperclassmen more politely. Epel sees the command as a threat to himself, and a challenge to the hometown he loves. Additionally, it takes Epel a while to reevaluate his deeply ingrained views on gender norms. He’s all-around very strong-headed!

The King of the Underworld's Spirit of Diligence

Diligence is when one is involved in careful and persistent work or effort. This principle generally governs all of STYX, the blot research organization operated by the Shroud family. Their job is a thankless one—they do such important work, yet it isn’t recognized by the general public due to STYX’s secretive nature.

Idia, as the temporary acting director of STYX in book 6, gets involved in their research. There’s many Phantoms kept in the STYX facility, so there are many safety precautions in place and care taken to ensure no one is harmed. (Ironically, it was Idia’s lack of diligence that led to Ortho’s passing.) Outside of book 6, one can say that Idia has a diligent personality, at least when it comes to his hyperfixations. He becomes dedicated to media that captures his interests to the point where it actually incentivizes him to leave his room (Ghost Marriage) and overcome his meek stutter to speak confidently and lecture people (first Halloween event, his Dorm Uniform vignettes, etc.).

I believe Ortho is diligent in being Idia’s emotional support both before and after Ortho is officially recognized as a separate student. He cheers Idia on and encourages him to touch grass socialize, wishing nothing but the best for his big brother! Ortho wasn’t always like this either; he used to be quite stiff and monotone, and had to learn how to emulate emotions by carefully observing and absorbing media. His motivation in book 6 is also fueled by diligence—Ortho worries about what he can do to support Idia’s wishes, and this is ultimately what drives him to taking over STYX and unleashing the Phantoms. Then, in Fairy Gala: What If, Ortho stubbornly tries to come up with his own ideas regarding the theme of evolution rather than rely on others for answers. He works hard to developing his own concept and is able to put on a show-stopping performance with it!

The Thorn Fairy's Spirit of Nobility

To be noble can refer to strength of character, mind, and/or literal position, birth, rank, or social status. No matter which definition you go with, I think they could all apply to the members of Diasomnia.

Regarding noble status, Malleus and Silver are both princes. Lilia and Sebek may not be nobles themselves, but they (in addition to Silver) serve royalty and have close personal connections to people in high places, be it via friends or via family. Diasomnia is very well-connected.

Beyond superficial nobility, one can say that those in Diasomnia are noble in character as well. To begin with, Lilia has sacrificed himself for his country on multiple occasions. This isn’t limited to going to battle, but also ferrying his princess’s egg to safety, traveling the world for knowledge on dragon eggs, and going so far as to give up his own life force to hatch Malleus. And what does Lilia get for all of this? Banished from the capital, screamed at, shunned—all because he is a nobody, a bat of no status. Despite this, Lilia does not become bitter nor hateful, he instead opens his heart and mind to the world and seeks to instill others with the same wisdom. Through all the tragedies he suffered, Lilia rose stronger than ever rather than sinking to the same levels as the narrow minded senators that rebuked him.

Silver is, perhaps, the most overtly noble in character. He extols the virtues of listening and getting along with others, often serving as the peacemaker between parties (typically between Sebek and their peers, but we’ve also seen Silver smoothing things out between all of NRC and diurnal fae). He also assumes the best of others and is ready to leap into action to protect them at a moment’s notice. His kind and gentle nature attracts many forest animals to him, who can likely sense the purity of Silver’s heart.

Sebek’s brand of nobility isn’t geared at others in general but rather is pinpointed on one person (that being Malleus). He is noble in the sense that he dedicates himself to his prince. It’s no secret that practically everything Sebek does is to “live up” to perceived standards so as to not shame Malleus or the Draconia royal family—from doing well academically to dressing neatly and throwing himself into training… Sebek’s passion and eagerness is what makes him stand out. It could also be said that he fiercely defends his friends and those who have earned his respect (albeit maybe not worded in the most tactful ways). That, too, in a sense, is honorable.

Finally, we have Malleus. What can be said about him that hasn’t already been said? He is the prince of a nation, so there are many people looking to him for leadership. As such, Malleus must always conduct himself in a manner that puts his country’s best face forward and expects the same of others. Indeed, he reprimands Sebek for behaving in poor taste and instructs him to apologize to Leona, the prince of another nation. However, what is most telling about Malleus is his impetus for Overblotting. He deludes himself into thinking “this is what is best for everyone”. In his mind, he frames forcing everyone into dream states so they can stay forever and have their happily ever afters as the “good” and “noble” thing to do. He’s definitely not doing this for himself, he argues, it’s a gift for everyone. And throughout book 7, Malleus tries to gaslight others into this belief too 💀 when bro’s already convinced himself of this and refuses to see otherwise—

#twst #twisted wonderland #Octavinelle #Diasomnia #Heartslabyul #Savanaclaw #Scarabia #Pomefiore #Ignihyde #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #twst en #twisted wonderland en #question #notes from the writing raven #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis

[alargehunkofdebris]

the necessary anguish of the Good Omens 2 finale

Ah ok. So after 4 years of waiting post Season One and ten cumulative years of bookish fannery, I watched bonified New Content of Good Omens. And when those credits rolled, I sat there, not in my expected state of pleasant satisfaction, but in a state of abject shock.

I actually don’t know if I’ve ever had such a reaction to a show before. Or, rather, that I could still have such a reaction. I’m thirty, for goodness sakes – I was planning on being thrilled and charmed and entertained, not having my hands shake so much that it was hard to type a text. I wasn’t planning on losing an entire night of sleep because my heart wouldn’t stop pounding really hard, Neil. This was not expected. I had an estate sale to run the next day – by God, I needed that sleep.

 Anyway. These are my thoughts on the season, and on this upswell of mourning/unhappiness at such a gut-wrenching ending. As always, this are my dumb opinions and nothing more; take with a grain of salt, etc. 

I have seen a lot of suffering on Tumblr today. Everyone is in pain, and it makes sense. I, too, am in pain. But I might be in the minority, because I thanked God/Mr. Gaiman when things turned to pure pain in the end. Because narratively, despite the anguish we all feel, this is how it needs to be. And I was getting real worried there for a second.

When we have a mini-series (ie, a show with a set number of seasons) it can’t act the same as a series without a set end. We’ve got three potential seasons; therefore, they logically should behave like a three-act play, or the three acts in the standard Western movie/book plot. This middle season is the middle act, the second act. While it definitely doesn’t work exactly the same way, and needs its own story arc to work as a season, it is still functionally the middle part of one overarching plot.

And what usually happens near the end of the second act? All Is Lost, and the Dark Night of the Soul.

We NEED this to happen. This is what makes a plot delicious. If we’d had this perfect, lovely, romantic season where the stakes aren’t raised one bit and everything is fixed at the end, we would want for nothing and the gorgeous tension that keeps us waiting and watching would be lost. We wouldn’t feel that drive to create fanfics and fanart, we wouldn’t have the need to speculate or dream, because most of the tension was eased, and you just can’t have that if you want a highly anticipated third season. We’d have nothing huge and concrete to look forward to.

In fact, I was getting really worried once the Ineffable Bureaucracy started happening on screen, because I could see (I thought) past that bend in the road toward the end. I could see how this season might conclude, with big happy confessions of love and hugs and handholding (that’s all I expected, because I only expected the same chaste level of affection with both angelic/demonic couples) and then…then it’d all be over. What more could there be? I mean, there certainly could be more, but THIS is the main thing people waited for. The Happy Confession. The hug. The handholding. Whatever we got. And in my mind, having it now, at the end of season two, just wasn’t adding up – it did not fit. It couldn’t. No, we can’t have this now. It doesn’t work.

I get this peculiar thing that happens when things start getting too “everything is great!” in a story. I get the “someone needs to die” instinct. Instead of pure happiness that things are going great, there’s this feeling of intense discomfort, because I feel the weight of the shoe that’s failing to drop. I need it to drop, or else it throws off my entire standard-Western-narrative-trained brain’s balance. In the build up to The Scene, when things seem to be going swimmingly and heading directly towards the happiest and syrupiest of endings, I had to pause and pace my living room and roll around on the floor to alleviate the sheer build up of stress. Things can’t go this well. They can’t. There hasn’t been enough bad things, this is too sweet, too much. Can’t handle it. This can’t just be pure wish-fulfillment at this point; Good Omens shouldn’t work that way, it never has. We’d be happy in the moment, but then it’ll ultimately be a let down. No more danger. Nothing keeping them apart. No more tension, no more story. It was all too easy.

And then, finally, that shoe dropped. After a season of mainly getting along and being just thrilled with each other, they began to really argue. Things got horrific and serious, and I literally let out a breath of relief. I was able to watch without pausing every two minutes for a breather. Ok. Things weren’t over. This wasn’t the end. We had more to wait for.

And then it went on. The confession started, but in that gorgeously wrong way. And for the first time that season, I was actually feeling the stress of the story. Yes, there was danger throughout this season, but it was always layered with humour and wit. You didn’t get a demon scene without them doing something hilariously stupid. You didn’t get an angel scene without them being delightfully out-of-touch. The stakes were high, but they weren’t allowed to get EXTREMELY high. We never thought there was any question of them getting out of scrapes unscathed, because it was never all serious.

Never…until now. There was zero humour at this point. After 6 episodes of being pleasantly delighted, I was feeling the dread. However, I still thought I knew where it was going.  

See, I thought I had it figured out. If I had any extra money, I would have bet some of it. I knew that, whilst they’d likely have some kind of subtle confession of love and caring, and perhaps a touch – a hug, or a hand-hold (like Gabe and Beez) – I knew we couldn’t expect a kiss. This is a story thirty-three years in the making, and it’s always been in that grey area. They weren’t humans; they didn’t necessarily show affection that way. Besides that, we’ve had so many TV shows that get close, but rarely ones that go all the way to smoochville. OFMD was one of the very first, but it was new. It wasn’t an old, established story from the 90s like this is. It didn’t have decades-old fans waiting with bated breath for canon content. For Good Omens, we heard it time and time again in interviews; it’s a kind of love story. They had this kind of marriage. They cared for each other. They had a bromance. It’s close, but never quite there. So I thought I knew exactly how this would go, and would be thrilled with what we got. 

And then it absolutely didn’t go that way. It went exactly as far as so many hoped. And it went there like a knife to the gut.

And it was perfect.

Goddamn, what a season ending. Despite my lack of appetite and failure to sleep, I could not be happier with what Mr. Gaiman did. I am screaming crying throwing up and I’m thrilled about it.

The middle of a story is typically what drags; it never holds the highest stakes. Lord knows what we’re going to get in season three (knocking on wood), but I can only expect it to get bigger and heavier. And by God and/or Satan, am I prepared, in this deliciously painful purgatory, to wait and see.  

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens 2 #go2 #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #neil gaiman

[mrghostrat]

some tips for writing flow

i've had a lot of comments complimenting my writing style, most of which don't know how to explain or describe what they like about it. i never really knew either, but i've been paying more attention to the way i write things lately, in the hope of being able to understand and explain it.

a lot of this is "based on feel" with no hard and fast rules, but there's also very tangible techniques you can hopefully work into your own writing, if that makes sense? idk is this anything—

1 - sentence beats, and alternating them.

this is probably the biggest thing in my writing. i've realised my sentences can be measured in beats, based on their length and how many sections they can be broken into. the pattern changes often, and i don't have a concrete rule in how i fill a paragraph (again, i've only just put words to any of this), but it's probably the most important part of my flow. let's have a look:

1 beat: • this is probably the biggest thing in my writing.

2 beats: • i've realised my sentences can be measured in beats • based on their length and how many sections they can be broken into.

3 beats: • the pattern changes often • and i don't have a concrete rule in how i fill a paragraph • but it's probably the most important part of my flow.

it looks like a favour certain patterns, the only real "rule" i use is to construct a paragraph with various beats, and never put two side by side. whenever i'm struggling with my flow, it's usually because i've put two of the same beats next to each other and everything feels either stiff or crowded. i rarely put two side by side, unless it's for specific emphasis.

the other exception are paragraph breaks: these are a pause for breath, and allow us to reset the pattern. i often start and end my paragraphs with single beat sentences, and it doesn't feel like they're running on because there's that lovely breath between them.

2 - short paragraphs

the rule we learn in school is that new paragraphs are for new ideas. convert this to prose, and we can consider "ideas" to include the character's thoughts, new narrative tangents, and physical movement around a scene.

one of my biggest struggles reading "bad" fanfic is when paragraphs are too lumped together. crowley will walk into the bookshop, see aziraphale across the way, wander over to a shelf, select a book, then pour himself a drink all in one big chunk. i can't parse that. there doesn't have to be a new line break for every new action, but grouping the relevant ones together and breaking in between broad motions (i.e. walking across a room, acknowledging a character) can help ease readers through the scene.

paragraphs are a breath, not only for sentence flow, but for processing the action within a story. similarly, purposefully keeping multiple actions confined to a single paragraph can make them feel quicker, while breaking them up into multiple paragraphs will slow down the pacing (even if the amount of detail describing each action is the same). included some examples because i'm struggling to explain this one

3 - mixing metaphors

this might sound less flow related, but i used to struggle with it a lot as a young writer, and paying more attention to it has definitely helped clean up my flow and writing overall.

i love a good analogy, but it can be easy to get carried away, and this can bog down the prose. my personal rule is that i can get silly with my metaphors (see: the mon chéri magnet), but i can only use one at a time. no talking about the magnet in aziraphale's chest and the angel and demon on his shoulder within the same scene.

if i'm getting silly and long winded with a metaphor, i also try to limit the length of it to one or two paragraphs. paragraph 1: set up the metaphor, establish the analogy. paragraph 2: come back to the reality of the scene, then mention the metaphor once more to link it all together. if i'm feeling cheeky, then i mention the metaphor again ONCE in passing, a couple of paragraphs or even chapters later

the magnet was a fun one, because i kind of flipped how i would usually present a metaphor, with the long winded tangent coming last instead of being the set up. and even though i used the metaphor 3 times, it felt like 2 because the set up was really just a planted seed for what i'd be mentioning later in the theatre. referencing the "whispered curse in the dark" also helped tie the scenes together and keep the analogies neat and tidy in our heads

meanwhile i got a little more carried away with the space metaphor in postcards (i feel like there's probably a 4th and maybe even 5th mention during the bookshop scene), but each one was blink-and-you'll-miss-it brief that didn't slog down the prose.

4 - avoiding repetitive pronouns

we're all going to struggle with this, and i don't have a secret hack for avoiding a wall of "he this, he that, he then," and i honestly try not to beat myself up over it too much. but there are two things i check to make sure it's not getting too repetitive:

1. looking within a paragraph

apparently everything revolves around paragraphs and the breath between them lmao. i don't have a strict rule like "use the character's name once per paragraph, then 'he' for the rest" or anything like that, but it's in that kind of vein. i simply pay attention to one paragraph at a time to watch for too much repetition, and if i notice it's been one or two whole blocks without switching from 'he' to a name, i'll chuck one in to break it up.

2. paragraph starters

this is so picky. and i don't know if it does ANYTHING, but it bugs me when i'm writing and i notice every paragraph starts the same way. maybe it has no effect on the flow at all. but i like to make sure my paragraphs aren't starting with the same "he" "he" "he", and that forces me to go back and switch around the pronouns in recent sentences, so the next paragraph can flow on more smoothly.

5 - use interruptions appropriately

edit: sneaking this one in here as a final thought! i just want to mention the use of em-dashes, semicolons, footnotes, and parenthesis mid-sentence. it's common to favour one in particular, but each have spectacular uses and can add miles to the pacing and flow of your prose.

em-dash (—) interruptions, cutting off dialogue— pausing to make a point — like this — in the middle of a sentence.

semicolon (;) helps with making lists and continuing a compound sentence that doesn't really link with 'and' or 'but'; when you want to pause, but a new sentence would break the flow of things.

footnotes (¹) these should be optional additions to the text imo. you should be able to keep reading without looking at the footnotes and not lose an ounce of story. they're additive, not necessary.

parenthesis ( () ) a great way to interrupt yourself (less sharply) than with em-dashes, include longer pieces of information (like what you might put in a footnote, except more crucial to the narrative that you don't want people to miss!) and adding sass (lol) and tone to your prose.

#*taps mic* IS THIS ANYTHING #includes some bnf teasers :) #note: ADDED A 5TH POINT AT THE END AT THE LAST MINUTE #writing tips #writing process #fan fic #fan fiction #fic #rat writes #good omens fic

[the-darklings]

Matthew calling Wanderer "Lady Dream" killed me dead and the only thing that can resurrect me is a drabble of Dream himself saying it (please)

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: jealous!Dream if you count that as a warning.

notes: got an idea that's too potent when I saw this, so LETS GO!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

“I messed up.”

Dream Lord doesn’t pause in his measured stride at your edgy words, his flame-kissed coat trailing after him. The Dreaming castle is abuzz, accommodating additional visitors from different domains, and you can’t recall the last time everyone was this frazzled. Everyone has come together as a well-oiled machine would, but tension hangs thick in the air. No one is happy about the new visitors or their purpose for being at the Dreaming. Dream himself hasn’t had a free second since; indeed, neither have you.  

“I highly doubt it,” he replies.

“No, Dream. I did mess up.”

“You have wandered realms for millennia, Wanderer,” Dream reminds, slowing to peer at you over his shoulder. His features soften a touch from their near-permanent rigidity lately. His voice, too, eases into a husky, gentle drawl, “You are familiar with royalty and courtiers from countless kingdoms. A great number of them regard you highly. Your insight and advice in navigating this situation have been greatly appreciated.”

Your unease quells briefly, soothed by his sincere comments. It’s still too easy to be caught off guard by Dream’s attempts to be more open, more appreciative of those around him. 

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, forcing down a gulp. “It's hard enough to remember a dozen different customs not to insult the guests. But I wanted to bring this to your attention first. Personally. So you don’t hear it from someone else first or, worse, the narrative gets twisted.”

Dream Lord rotates your way fully, moving closer. You’ve paused in a gallery. A new addition to the castle with multiple tapestries stitched from thick, luxurious cloth that hang across previously barren walls. Each one depicts various panoramas from different domains across the cosmos. It’s been a small, self-indulgent project you’ve undertaken in between travels, but given your recent company, it has gone down better than expected. Everyone relishes their kingdoms being paid homage to in the land of dreams. 

“What happened?” Dream questions somberly. “Did someone hurt you? Threaten you?”

Your hands wring together at the seeping darkness in Dream’s voice, fingers knotting. You swallow under his steady, hard scrutiny. 

“No, nothing like that. Certainly not with Cori around. It’s just… Cluracan invited me for a walk in Fiddler’s Green and, well, you know how he is. A flirt and an outrageous one.” A forced chuckle escapes you. Dream doesn’t smile or laugh with you. Some emotion pulses through his regal features, tucked from sight in seconds. “He’s a bit odd for a fae, if I’m honest. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drunk this time. So we got talking, and he was rather charming. It took me too long to realise he was, you know, hitting on me.”

You clear your throat, dragging your stare from the walls back to the Dream Lord standing in front of you. Dream’s bearing is stony, tense, his gaze hooded and mouth flat. Those pale irises seem to glimmer in the dusky light of the setting sun. 

“Hitting on as in… courting,” you rush ahead, examining the strain in his jaw. “He asked if we were mates. And I think I’ve spent too much time around Hob because I figured he meant pals, you know? Friends. I forgot fae have a different definition of ‘mates’. So I immediately laughed and said: Well, of course, Dream and I are mates. We’ve been mates for centuries. So Cluracan got this intense look on his face—I mean, he gets under peoples’ skin even more than Cori—then actually bowed. And then, well…”

Dream seems to glide closer—close enough to touch, to breathe in, his words a cold caress, “Then what?”

You swallow. “Cluracan said: I must apologise, Lady Dream. I meant no insult with my offer. I now understand why Lord Morpheus refused my sister. I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to him. I would not wish to complicate this matter further.”

A shiver races down your spine when Dream’s arm slips lightly around you, settling on your lower back. “And then?”

His words are impossibly soft, but there’s something about the way shadows pool around Dream’s sloping, sharp features that set shivers skittering down your spine. His hand seems to burn through your coat. There’s something about the tension you discern in each digit, as if he’s holding himself back from dragging you nearer and pressing you to him. He’s done so in the past numerous times, tucking you from sight in the folds of his starlit coat. Quiet, peaceful, cold and hot like those raging stars you sometimes glimpse in his eyes. 

“Then he, uh, left.” You don’t dare to move, curious to see what Dream Lord will do next. “And tripped in a creek. Which is weird because I’m certain there’s never been a creek there to begin with. It’s like it appeared out of nowhere. But anyway, I just… I thought I’d better tell you personally because Cluracan seems set on calling me Lady Dream now, and I don’t want you to overhear and take offence to it.”

“Why would I take offence to such a thing?”

You blink at his unhurried, probing question. Dream’s thumb strokes gently downwards—it’s so light, the contact, a mere graze, but there’s such potent power imbued into it you’re as good as naked beneath it, sensing the gesture through clothes and down to your marrow. Your breath wobbles before steadying. “Well, the implication…”

“Implication.” A deep, considerate hum vibrates from Dream’s chest, followed by a weighty, “Does this implication bother you?”

Does it? You’ve never cared for labels. Dream, to you, is everything. Those who matter most are aware of that, so why would anyone and their opinions matter? But they do. Deep down, you’re well versed with power that comes merely from what names you can evoke—whose favour in this vast cosmos you hold. But deeper than that lays a simpler sentiment: if you are his, in soul and name, you cannot be anyone else’s. Until you declare you are taken, then you are open. The brimming, dark scowl and icy, caressing whispers from his lips are displays of discontentment but not at any misstep on your part. But, rather, at the thought of another holding you so close. Another leaning down to touch their lips against yours. At the idea that you would permit anyone else this intimacy.

But there’s a more reticent sentiment to be read in the ancient, weary lines of his unchanging face: if you wanted another, he would not interfere. He would not hinder your happiness if you moved on and found someone else. He would not hinder you even if he wanted to. 

You slant yourself closer. “No, I suppose it doesn’t bother me.”

As if you could ever want anyone else but him. Sullen, stubborn, flawed, but yours despite it. 

Old ghosts flee from his regard, the weight on his shoulders lightening—a tiniest of smiles curving one side of Dream’s mouth.

He slants closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “Good. Because the title rather suits you, Lady Dream.”

an: Cluracan is a canon character that should appear pretty early on in S2 once Netflix stops being cowards. anyway, here's to hoping and hope you enjoyed : )

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #sandman fic #morpheus imagines #dream imagine #sandman dream #sandman corinthian #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman x reader #fic: today i bury you in me

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hey! I've gotten super into solo rpgs but I tend to find combat boring. Are there fantasy themed rpgs with less focus on combat that you would recommend? (If they are soloable, that's also a win!)

THEME: Fantasy Solo Non-Combat.

Hello friend, thank you very much for your ask! I'm going to direct you to two Solo-themed game recommendations first, before I dive into today's recs.

Character-Focused Solo Games: Games that focus on character-building. Lighthearted Solo Games: Fun, non-serious solo games.

A Year in the Spirit World, by ToriBee.

The wind rustles through the emerald canopy above as you open your eyes to an unfamiliar world. You're lying on a bed of lush moss, the gentle warmth of the Spirit World sun caressing your face. Around you, a forest of towering ancient trees, each pulsating with an otherworldly glow. It's ethereal, enchanting, and unlike anything you've ever seen.

Drawing from a deck of fate, you'll encounter spirits, creatures, and natural phenomena as enchanting as they are daunting. Each encounter might test your spirit, challenge your harmony with this world, or tempt you to act against your values.

There is some combat in this game, but it certainly doesn’t seem to be the focus. The game is about survival, but you’re as likely to be navigating social situations as you are to be fighting enemies. What I like about this game is the spirit companion who will travel the world with you: there are four different options, each of them cute and enchanting. If you love Studio Ghibli films, you should definitely check out A Year in the Spirit World!

The Goblin Thought, by Kai Medina.

The goblin hoard - a pile of goods and trinkets - is a place of greed, yes. But it's the same greed that thrives throughout this land of men and beetles. It's the allowed selfishness that helps us learn and grow, walk and run, screech and scramble. The hoard is the goblin's memory.

The Goblin Thought is a unique and engaging journaling game that combines chance and narrative to create a compelling story. Players take on the role of a goblin, collecting memories and items in their hoard as they navigate through a world of wonder and danger, allowing for growth and change. With a deck of cards and a six-sided die, each turn presents new challenges and opportunities for creative storytelling, drawing, and reflection. 

This game is placed in a fantasy setting, but with a larger purpose. It’s both a journaling game and a thought experiment, a chance to place yourself in the shoes of someone whose history exists within the hoard they have accumulated. Each card you draw from a deck has three prompts attached to it, so you have the potential to play this game (and build a history) for a very long time.

Little Shepherd, Little Spy, by @psychhound.

You try to keep out of the whole war business.

It’s just not really your thing. There are more important things to worry about, like Gethin, your biggest ram, getting stuck in the fence again, or Ffion rubbing against the raspberry bushes and getting her wool all sticky.

Life is pretty simple for a humble shepherd such as yourself.

Little Shepherd, Little Spy is a solo journaling game about being a spy in the fairy war. Choose which side you're on, then draw tarot cards to interpret the messages coming through the information ring. Your tarot card tells you what book to look at and what page. Then you copy down all the relevant information on that page and consult your spy codebook.

I absolutely love fairy games and the premise for this one is super interesting to me. Your character will be interpreting messages that take the form of books that you have on your shelf, and you’ll determine which book to look at (and which page to read) by drawing tarot cards from a deck. If you look into this one I definitely recommend setting aside some time, and perhaps selecting a few books for each category to have on hand, to ease the cycle of play.

The Wandering Library, by AP.

You are the proud owner of a Wandering Library. Whether you bought, built or inherited it, it is your home. Travelling as far and as wide as you desire, your days are spent encountering an assortment of customers, exploring new locations, and tending to your beloved home of books.

This is a a game designed to generate prompts for you to answer in as much or as little detail as you would like. All you need is two six-sided dice and your preferred method of journaling. Using the tables provided, you will explore locations and meet different people, recording your adventures and encounters as you travel in your Wandering Library.

This is a simple one-page game that presents you with a few starting questions, and the supplies a grid of prompts that you’ll roll 2d6 for. Each prompt is a new event, complete with a question, asking how your character reacts. There’s plenty of room for your own imagination. The house is a travelling library, which feels pretty fantastical to me! This game will likely last a few hours or so; it’s not really built for extended play.

Fetch My Blade, by Ethan Yen.

For years you have served your Master faithfully. A loyal companion, you accompanied your Master through the difficult times, and the good times. Now, you are called in a moment of dire need: a Stranger has challenged your Master to a duel, alluding to time before you. Your Master rises to the challenge, calling you forth. This is your moment. You have trained for this. It is time to do your Master proud. 

FETCH MY BLADE is a solo journaling roleplaying game where you play as the dog of a retired legendary master of the sword, tasked with a quest of your own: retrieve your master’s fabled weapon in time for their final duel. On your quest, you will uncover and explore your Master’s guarded past-- transforming your character, deepening your relationship with your Master, and ultimately influencing your Master’s fate.

This is a lovely little game of exploring a dog’s relationship to their Master, and developing a backstory as you play. I don’t think there’s specifically a setting in place for this game, but the presence of swords certainly points towards the fantastical. There doesn’t seem to be any specific combat in the game, but violence is considered to have happened in the past, as the game provides a content warning regarding a war that has already happened.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #fantasy

[thesunfyre4446]

I don’t know how the narrative that Helaena hates Alicent took off. Even before episode 6 people seeing her crying as a literal infant took at as Alicent (a teenage mother of 2 with a useless husband and no guidance) was a bad mother and Helaena hated her at like 6-9 months old.

Have they ever been around children?? Sometimes they cry and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Plus it’s the Middle Ages, anything could have been wrong with Helaena. Gas, Colic, teething. These are not things that have just appeared in modern times and even in modern times there are sometimes no solutions for it.

Older Helaena has been written as neurodivergent and on the spectrum. She seems to have an aversion to touch but people ignore that Helaena does at times allow her mother’s physical touch and affection and Helaena should definitely be allowed that choice.

Alicent allows Helaena to be as she is and she doesn’t reprimand her daughter for her quirks and things that in the time period would be seen as unladylike behavior. So yeah, Helaena totally hates her mother. She and her children are forced to spend their free time in her bedroom embroidering and playing. They definitely don’t look comfortable and at ease there at all.

Just as Aegon didn’t look right at home in Alicent’s arms during his nameday celebrations or that she didn’t look just as comfortable with him. Just like she didn’t ignore proper Royal protocol to have him and Helaena sleep near her as babies. Just like we don’t see her showing Aemond affection and comfort or offering him reassurance.

Alicent hates her children and they hate her. /sarc

oh yeah, helaena just HATES her mother so much anon!

it's not like alicent is her ONLY caregiver... she has an amazing father that loves her, she doesn't need evil :( alicent! :( also... look! she has an amazing relationship with her loving big sister rhaenyra! wdym rhaenyra and viserys don't care about helaena???? it's all because of :( alicent :(

i also interpret helaena as neurodivergent. in ep 6 we see helaena talking to alicent about her bugs = her hobby. that IS helaena's way of connecting with her mother. she wants to be with her mom and talk to her, but she's not always comfortable with touch and alicent respects that.

but there are times when she does accept alicent's touch.

respecting and understanding your child boundries, even though you don't always understand them (alicent's "some things just are" line in ep 6 was amazing) is obvs horrible parenting anon!!! alicent is clearly a bad mother :\\\\

sometimes helaena is ok with touch, sometimes she isn't. this has nothing to do with loving her mother.

"Alicent allows Helaena to be as she is and she doesn’t reprimand her daughter for her quirks and things that in the time period would be seen as unladylike behavior." THIS.

#house of the dragon #hotd #team green #pro team green #asks #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #i love them #anti viserys targaryen

[demontobee]

Parallels between Lord Jim and Good Omens (2)

I have rewatched GO2 at least 10 times now (still counting, obvsly), and every time I notice new easter eggs that emerge from the massive web of intertextuality that Neil Gaiman created for us here.

So today, I wanted to focus on the way Aziraphale came up with the “undercover” name “Jim” for Gabriel. He read it on the spine of a book: Lord Jim.

That book was written by Joseph Conrad (a Polish-British writer with dubious ideas about colonialism) and published in 1900. The plot basically follows the life of a young idealistic seaman called Jim who has to defend himself in a trial that concerns a sinking ship which he and other members of the crew abandoned in a storm, leaving it and the helpless passengers to their fate. The ship did not sink in the end, and he was the only member of the crew who was held accountable for his deeds by stripping him off his naval certificate. The trial is where he meets the narrator of the story, Marlow, who is strangely intrigued by the young man, who seems to be engulfed by guilt and shame over his morally wrong decision to leave the boat. The narrator tries to help Jim to his feet and lands him a job as a post manager at some remote colonial outpost. There he becomes a hero by capturing a local bandit. Later he falls victim to a scheme against him, and a pirate raids a neighbouring community and kills the son of their chief, Jim’s close friend. Jim then goes there, and the chief shoots him as a revenge for his son.

I mean, the most obvious parallel is that Gabriel gets named after Jim. He, too, abandoned his ship (Heaven; and the question here is, did he know it might be a sinking ship as well?) and was put on trial and lost his position as archangel before he came to Aziraphale for help. But that’s not all there is to it.

Let us start with the formal (concerning style and structure) aspects:

narrative structure:

“Marlow has complete control over the story … and he exercises his power in increasingly complicated ways. Time is broken up: in a single paragraph of narration, Marlow will reference the past, the present, and the future. By manipulating the flow of the narrative, Marlow is able to create juxtapositions and contrasts that highlight particular aspects of the story. He is a master at withholding information …” (Source: Sparknotes)

As I have already discussed in another post, this is more or less how narrative structure works in GO, too (S2 maybe more than S1, but this still applies to both). We get minisodes from the past that directly reference and juxtapose situations in the story that takes place in the present. Take, for example, the Job minisode, which gives us information about the development of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, but we also see how devastating and hard it was for Aziraphale to realise that sometimes he had to lie (or do something considered wrong in heaven) to do the morally right thing. This sequence is juxtaposed with the relative ease he exhibits in the present day when he has to lie to heaven on a regular basis (in this case, about the miracle and hiding Gabriel, which is kind of a big lie, too). The show also plays with our understanding and expectations of how time works, as S2 starts with a scene that takes place “before the beginning,” which undermines dramatic structure as it has been known and accepted since Aristotle. It is also interesting to note that in S1, we have a strong sense of an almighty narrator, since god herself is narrating the whole time and she sure lets us know that she is playing her own ineffable game here. In S2, however, we don’t have a clear narrative voice. This might make it seem like the narration is more neutral or less meddled with, but in reality, it just makes things even less reliable and situations more ambiguous, as we have no single voice to interpret them for us. Someone is definitely “withholding information” here, and I guess we’ll have to wait for S3 to get the full picture.

language/style:

“Marlow constantly ponders the "message"--the meaning of Jim's story. His language is dense with terms like "inscrutable" and "inexplicable," words that denote imprecision and indecipherability, but which also possess a certain quality of uncertainty in themselves, as words. He struggles to name things, and is often reduced to wondering if there even is a meaning to Jim's story and his fascination with it. Sometimes he concludes that the meaning is an "enigma"; sometimes he decides there is no meaning to be found at all. Words are constantly being contested in this novel; at least three major episodes center around the misinterpretation of a single spoken word.” (Source: Sparknotes)

I mean, “inscrutable” and “inexplicable”? Why not just call it “ineffable”? I also love how Crowley seems to wonder about the meaning of things (especially the distinction between “good” and “bad”), as one of the first things we here him say in S2 is something like: “Do you ever ask yourself what’s the point. I mean angels, demons, heaven, hell … it all seems a bit … point … less.” And obviously, the whole show is full of misinterpretations of words (e.g., “what does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like my exactly and your exactly are different exactlies”), or, as we are all painfully aware, a whole way of communicating with one another (“aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear”).

Now for some similarities concerning informal (aka content) aspects:

moral balance and “naïve heroism”:

“Even more tortured is the analysis of idealism and heroism that lies at the center of Lord Jim. Jim is a young man who enters the world motivated primarily by fantasies of daring and noble deeds lifted from cheap novels. His ideals break down, however, in the face of real danger; they are, in fact, untenable when applied to any form of reality.” (Source: Sparnotes)

That sounds like both Crowley and Aziraphale in a way. They both set out as naïve idealists, and both of them learn (Crowley earlier and faster that Aziraphale) that their (heavenly) ideals do not hold in the complex reality of life. A lot of what we see in S2 is Aziraphale coming to terms with accepting that doing the “right thing” on earth often involves breaking his heavenly rules and allowing for “shades of grey.”

struggling to comprehend own identity and moral consequences of own actions:

Both the narrator, Marlow, and the protagonist of his tale, Jim, are trying to figure out their identity. Marlow seems to tell the story mainly to kind of make sense of identity itself but also of him personally, while Jim tries to make amends for his morally wrong behaviour and tries to manifest his identity (as a hero) through action.

In GO2, we have a lot of identity struggles and questions of “who am I?”: Jim the amnesiac angel is the most blatantly obvious case, but we also have Aziraphale negotiating his identity constantly, e.g., in the Job episode when he asks “Then what am I?” after having lied to heaven for the first time . And I mean Crowley is just on another level of liminal identity entirely, isn’t he?

As a bonus (and I am probably going overboard here, but well), this is the description of Jim’s death:

“Then with his hand over his lips he fell forward, dead.”

  The imagery reminds me of something…ahhh yes:

Feel free to add your thoughts in the tags or comments!

#good omens #good omens s2 #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #neil gaiman #crowley x aziraphale #meta #lord jim #go2 meta #jimmmm short for gabriel #thank you neil gaiman

[fanhackers]

An Intimate Sound–Podfic and Confluence

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about podfic, i.e.., audio versions of fanfic, read out aloud. Podfic, as an audio-based medium, sits at the confluence of disability accessibility, performance, and of course, simply being a new form of narrative text.

In the first ever published article on podfic, Olivia Riley states:

“Audiobooks, another auditory predecessor of podfic, share podfic's emphasis on fictional narrative and vocal performance as well as other qualities typical to all the audio mediums so far discussed, including portability and ease of access. The comparison of podfic to audiobooks is particularly important because in my investigation I ran across numerous instances of listeners explicitly comparing the podfic experience to that of an audiobook, while only one referenced podcasts in relation to these audio narratives; thus, we must take into account how fans theorize their own texts and experiences.”

This particular comparison between audiobooks and podfics interests me; podcasts, whether fictional or non-fictional, arguably may be more intimate, in so much as we may get to listen to the speakers’ personal opinions, thoughts, ideas, etc. And yet, podfic finds itself standing more with audiobooks, despite sharing half its name with podcasts. I’d like to complicate this further, drawing from my own experience of both running zines with audio components, as well as interacting with fellow fans who make podfic, and who have had podfic made off their own work: fans are sometimes hesitant to provide permission to have their work read out aloud, concerned about the voice and audio work “exposing” perceived flaws in their written texts.

There’s a certain intimacy involved in the process, certainly, more than just that of getting a work beta-ed, or proof-read. It’s similar to the collaborative nature of fanart for fanfic, except fanart is welcomed with a lot less hesitance.

In the same article, Riley further goes on to explore this very intimacy:

“The audio performances of podfic produce a queer network of relations between the performer, the text, and the listener. To begin with, the text itself is an actor in podfic. All the podfics examined for this article were explicitly queer in their content, featuring queer(ed) characters, queer themes, romance, and often explicit sexuality. The characters in these podfics carry variously transformed and reimagined genders and sexualities. These podfics are palimpsests of many texts and authors, including the fan fic being read aloud, the source text the fan fic was inspired by, the contemporary fanon and fan community that shaped the fic's production, the various music and sound effects often used in these recordings, and the labor of all the creators who made these media. Further, through the reader's performance, listeners receive a unique interpretation of the fan fic being read, conveyed through the intonations and other subtleties that emphasize and elide various textual significances. This profusion of overlapping and sometimes contradictory layers of meaning impact how a listener understands a character's gender and sexuality, refusing the simplicity of heteronormative binaries.” RILEY, OLIVIA JOHNSTON. 2020. “PODFIC: QUEER STRUCTURES OF SOUND.” TRANSFORMATIVE WORKS AND CULTURES, NO. 34. HTTPS://DOI.ORG/10.3983/TWC.2020.1933.

There is, then, a definite sense of vulnerability in getting podfic made off one’s work. But podfic, I’d argue, is almost the most celebratory fan-object fandom has ever produced—it sits again on a confluence, not just of medium and accessibility, but of multiple creatives, all of whom have a singular contribution in making the final product. Podfic is, in many ways, a community object, more so than most fan-objects, simply by its nature of needing multiple inputs. 

What are your thoughts on podfic?

#author: shyams #fanhackers #podfic #fan studies #transformative works #gift economy #fandom

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

As an autistic, I very cautiously watched Extraordinary Attorney Woo.

There are many things to say about it, but positive isn’t a word that does it justice.

Loving. This show was written, directed, and acted with love. Young-woo is a full person. She’s not infantilised, sanitised, or model minority’d (much, but I’m on ep 1 and every person who calls her special have social context for saying so).

Aside from the fact that she has a friend her own age that swears around her and says dirty things, what sold this to me was the visual symbolism (and I was pretty much hand full of cash by the point a co-worker helped ease a movement issue).

In most autistic character shows, directors frame shots for Maximum Empathy effect. A group, usually secondary characters, and the main autistic one, always shot with a type of distance between them. The symbolism of otherness, loneliness, not belonging. These shots tend to shadow the characters characterisation, close at the heel, half personality trait in itself. These shots are never momentary, never impact driven, or epiphany oriented. Ever-present. These shots are misery porn and they’re for neurotypicals.

I hate these shots. They re-affirm a depressing reality, and often place an anxious wedge between me and whatever friend group I’ve accumulated when I attempt to fix it.

Autistic people are not the stories that are told. Autistic pain is. But autistic pain that is disgestible for NTs. Pain that is dramatic and loss coded. Pain that can be projected upon. It’s fantastical in nature and it falsely depicts autistic life as depressing.

It makes the message: their lives would be better if they were different. They’re inherently separate and can’t be folded in.

I hate it.

As a message of an experience it’s fine. All people have this experience after all. Otherness is not an autistic trait. But NTs want it to be. Need it to be. Not being them must be hell. Autism must be a sad state of being, not just life on this planet.

And that’s the difference. That’s what I love about this show. One episode in and I trust it.

Young-woo is never framed as separate. Every shot, she’s part of the group. She’s not an intruder, or an outsider. She’s different, sure, her mannerisms definitely tell that story (and boy do I love the actress for the soft way she did it), but narratively? Narratively Young-woo *belongs*. She belongs and the feeling of her not belonging is the responsibility of other characters to overcome.

She gets to be happy. She gets to succeed. She gets to be accepted and valued. Not because she overcame the ever rising hurdle as a poor fleabitten underdog, but as a woman with prejudice set against her, a woman who lacks advantages, a woman. She even gets to affirm that she *is* different, when someone tries to rectify their opinion of her by saying she’s just like everyone else.

She is different and it’s a fact. Not a sad one, or a righteous one. She’s a person. People are snowflakes. She belongs to that snowstorm as much as they do.

Please watch it. It’s wonderful.

#extraordinary attorney woo #woo young woo #it’s beautiful #I expect I’ll cry at some point #and she’s not MAGICAL either #she’s just good at her job #actually autistic

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Sense and Sensibility (2024, Hallmark) a review

I had expectations for this movie. They were not surpassed. It didn't perform below them either.

Spoilers under the cut.

So, this is a short movie (1.24hr long) a tv movie, a hallmark movie. You must keep that in mind as a frame of reference for what I'm about to say. You cannot really compare this with theatrical movies on equal footing.

Where to start. Costumes and sets. It is Bridgerton's world and we live in it. Everything is VERY colorful and shiny and not very real looking; that was to be expected. I think that sort of semi-fantasy aspect didn't hurt at all, and it was consistent. If you are not going to stick to the time period, at least go ham and show me something really interesting. I'm looking at you, Netflix Persuasion. There are some dresses that are pretty, and some others that... aren't. Considering that apparently the costume designer had to make something like 60 pieces in a month, it's kind of impressive that it came out as it did.

One funny bit, though, in this respect, is that they complain about how small the cottage is like some actual estate houses aren't the same size IRL XD Allenham we only get to see from afar, and it is rather disappointing.

Music: nothing to write home about, to be expected. Yes, we got one of those Vitamin String Quartet modern-song-played-by-strings. IDK. They were a bit dorky in their heyday, I don't know why they are so sought after in these pieces lately. I digress.

The acting. Deborah Ayorinde was a really good Elinor. She definitely deserved better writing and direction. The rest of the cast was good enough; I feel some roles really benefited from their characters being a bit hammy already in the source material (Lucy, Mrs Jennings, Anne, Fanny, Robert), others were really struggling because of being given very poor dialogue (Mrs Dashwood), and others were just... not good (Willoughby and Brandon, sadly). Edward was... a very special case. I can only describe it as the actor having two expressions: one, an attempt at reaching Hugh Grant's adorkableness AND Dan Stevens' ease at the same time, and two [SCREAMING INTERNALLY], but I guess those two were indeed enough to make it work just fine!

Which leads me to the writing. We all knew this adaptation was going to live or die in the writing, and most likely die.

The thing is that most of it is written around repeating 95' and 08's greatest hits, while attempting to compress the narrative into an hour and a half. And that goes as well as you can expect it to. Some scenes are painfully rushed -Brandon's backstory was extremely awkward to get through- some things are over before you have any time to assess their real weight -Marianne's illness, and many others end up being... incongruous.

Let me stop a little on those. The movie keeps Margaret, and gives her the whole play acting as a pirate with Edward from 95', but then removes the only real plot relevant thing she does in the book. So why keep the character at all? (Willoughby asks for Marianne's handkerchief in exchange for Queen Maab, instead of cutting a lock of her hair).

Because 2008 makes Brandon suspicious of Willoughby from the get go, this one makes it so that they know each other and implies that Brandon knows dirt on Willoughby, but then plays the rest of the story straight, which makes it... pretty inconsistent.

Speaking of Brandon, we have reached adaptation #5 that cuts out the fact that he tried to elope with Eliza sr. This time the backstory is that his father promised to let him marry Eliza if he proved himself as a soldier, but when he came back, he found his father has kicked her out of the house. Yeah, that was utter nonsense.

The adaptation makes a clumsy attempt at including the dinner at Mrs Ferrars... but Brandon isn't there to see Marianne defend Elinor.

We needed to have a "Brandon rescues Marianne in the rain" scene, but in this case, she's not faint or anything, he just grabs her because she's sad XD

And the list goes on and on and on. It was to be expected that the shadow of both 95 and 08 would be large over this one, but it truly is to the point that the references and contrivances are almost constant. Which is a pity because I think most of the original choices were interesting.

For example, Marianne twists her ankle running after Margaret, to try and stop her from asking something embarrassing, which is a good choice in terms of showing that Marianne is passionate, but she has more sense than Margaret.

On his deathbed, Mr Dashwood makes Elinor promise that she will take care of her mom and sisters and keep the family together. That added pressure on Elinor works really well in the context of the adaptation, and ads a new layer of interest.

John Dashwood is written mostly as a hapless but not malicious idiot. This is similar to what From Prada to Nada did (though there it made more sense because of the father having two families simultaneously), but I'm not sure where was that going. They did cut the Palmers, so I suppose the choice was so that they could go to Norland instead on their way to Barton (it is never established that Norland is so far away as it is in the book, so I guess one could give it a pass), but in that case, I feel the most cost effective shortcut is... have them go to Barton? Because we do get to see Barton (Marianne goes alone with Brandon to see it close to the end, and they get engaged before Edward returns, don't think much about it, manners and such are... for this movie... loose guidelines. But it isn't super offensive most of the time).

Anne Steele is decent fun as she's supposed to be, but Lucy really suffers the flattening. The mastermind has been flanderized into just a mean girl, and that's a pity.

Oh, Edward is sassy at times! And the sassy jokes land! I have to say it is not my preferred way of doing the character, but he does show some sass at the end of the novel, so, you know, I'll allow it I suppose XD

Edward's return and proposal started pretty good, but it overstayed its welcome. I cannot emphasize enough that, when writing this kind of proposal, you must avoid the word love if you can, and if you must use it, use it once, and with great reluctance.

The movie chooses to dedicate quite a time to the reveal of Edward and Lucy's relationship, and it's honestly... decent? For a scene made out of whole cloth it stands on its own feet reasonably well. But there's no Fanny freakout. This is probably the most shocking plot twist in the adaptation. This very on-the-nose Hallmark adaptation decided to cut the Fanny freakout of all things. Impressive restraint.

One thing, however, that was sadly cut out was Elinor and Marianne's conversation about Willoughby at Barton. It is instead replaced by an unsubtle comparison between Willoughby and Edward, and an exchange between Brandon and Marianne. It is one of the several points where the storytelling relies on previous knowledge of the work.

These are my main, disordered thoughts. I leave you with this choice from the ending, that I cannot form a thought about:

At Elinor and Edward's wedding, on the first pew are in attendance, from center to side: Mrs Dashwood, Margaret, Marianne, colonel Brandon... and Eliza Williams with her baby in her arms.

As a summary, I'd say Elinor and Edward's story was good enough, the relationship between the sisters was sweet, there were some odd choices, some interesting choices, and overall the writing was severely downgraded by attempting so much to stick to the choices of previous famous adaptations.

#Jane Austen #Sense and Sensibility #Sense and Sensibility Hallmark #Sense and Sensibility 2024

[lacyscabinet]

mean!dom!lottienat x bratty reader with aftercare, you can choose the plot!!

A/N: dear anon, this is definitely not what you asked for im sorry, don't come at me, or at least not ONLY at me because in fact, this is a collab with @lottienatswife:) go follow her lolllll, craziest collab ever. We are not smut writers and this is personally my first smut ever lol, we just decided to have fun with it!!!

Also this is pretty long :)

THIS IS SATIRE (maybe)

hope you'll enjoy either way :) (Marina if you see this go away this is not for you, this post is Marina DNI)

TW: smut, lots weird stuff, quirky seggs, tentacles are mentioned, dildo attacks girl's face, toys and ropes :)

Night at Lottie's

“Where are you parents again? On a business trip” Nat asked from Lottie’s bed, Wannabe by the Spice Girls played in the bedroom, Natalie didn’t exactly enjoy that but whatever made her princess happy.

“They are at a funeral actually” Lottie answered from her spot in a rocking chair near the bed, lately she has been getting into reading, the current book she’s reading? Poems of Sappho, she told you and Nat multiple times that she would’ve loved to join a book club, if only those were real…

Nat frowned but before she could say anything Lottie continued “Uncle Joe passed away last night”.

After her affirmation Nat moved from the bed and got closer to Lottie, placing a hand on her knee “I’m so sorry Lottie…was it a peaceful death at least?”

“He was actually eaten alive by a dolphin-” Lottie couldn’t even finish her sentence, suddenly interrupted by the door slamming open, you were running for no apparent reason, maybe the writers just need a narrative expedient to make you end up sprawled on the bed…or maybe not…who knows? I definitely don’t.

Either way, Nat’s backpack, which was conventionally thrown on the floor, made you trip and not so gracefully fall on the bed, face planted in the mattress, bum in the air, emitting a little groan.

“Eager aren’t you?” Nat exclaims and without missing a bit she gets closer to you and just like you landed on the bed her hand lands on your ass, giving it a smack.

Lottie gasps still sitting comfortably on her chair, looking intensively at your interaction with Natalie “Little sapphics” she whispers with a hint of amusement.

“Hey!” you yell at the contact of Nat’s palm with your skin, but Nat doesn’t really seem to care since she has her hands already placed on your hips, flipping you around and manhandling you until your back was against the headboard, her body straddling yours and keeping your hands in hers. And even though you felt like a barbie being tossed around by a three year old kid you actually didn’t mind at all, and while you and Nat were clearly having the time of your life Lottie opened a package of organic rice cakes and munched on it while watching attentively “It’s just like national geographic” she mumbled to herself while chewing.

Nat leaned in for a kiss and who were you to comply after all, and as the smooching got more and more heated your bodies grew sweatier and sweatier, especially your hands, making Nat falter, causing your foreheads to collide in a painful crash.

“STOP STOP STOP!!!! CUT OFF THE CAMERAS CHAD! NATALIE, Y/N ARE YOU GUYS OKAY?”

“NO!”

“OH DAMN, MHHH, 20 MINUTE BREAK EVERYONE!”

*some time later*

As Natalie straddled you, with her hands on the wooden headboard this time, Lottie, finally may I add, got up from the rocking chair placing her rice cakes on in and walking to the bed sitting down on it next to Nat who was already aiming at your shirt pulling it off with ease, revealing your bra. Natalie shifts over to look for something in the drawer, rummaging through it and pulling out a quite peculiar object out of it.

“Is it a unicorn horn?” Lottie wonders as soon as she looks at it

“I’m pretty sure it’s a dildo Lottie” you said, still laying under Natalie, your affirmation made Lottie’s eyes squint “Then why is it rainbow?”

“I don’t know maybe it’s gay” you shrugged as Natalie kissed your neck not really caring about whatever conversation was going on between the two of you, raging hormones they say.

Slowly realising the destination of the gay allegated sparkly rainbow toy Lottie’s eyes widened  "NAT! NO.... IT'S NOT BIG ENOUGH!!" Lottie yanks it out of Nat's hand, and gets out her purple- "it's not purple its heliotrope, damn I’ve told this to the production so many times and nobody listens"... heliotrope dildo... it was bigger than the rainbow one “It kinda reminds me of an octopus” you said as you looked down at the thing “Did you know that one of the tentacles of an octopus is actually it’s dick?”

“Not now Lottie please” Nat brushed her off as she started undoing your pants, pulling them off she smirked at the sight of your undies...Peppa Pig printed underwear was really something...Natalie bit her lip she took off her own pants, as did Lottie. Nat was wearing her super special underwear, pink Hello kitty underwear, Lottie on the other end showed off her spiderman (writers care to specify it’s PS game spiderman) panties.

"So…my little gold digger…” 

“Lottie, leave the dirty talk to me please-”

“SHUT UP...can I tie you up??" You look at Lottie... and shake your head, you already knew what was going to happen, she did it all the time, and you needed money for that one dinosaur pillow. As expected Lottie groaned and pulled out  her wallet which was conventionally already on the bed "I'll pay you"

 "deal..!" You happily take the money shoving it inside Nat’s bra “Keep it safe baby” you gave her breasts a pat pat “Since when are my knockers a piggy bank” she mumbled but neither you or Lottie paid too much attention to that.

Lottie had already taken out the purple…no wait…heliotrope ropes she kept stored in a small box and tied your wrists up to the bedpost. So now that you’re stuck like a worm on a hook Nat and Lottie exchange a knowing look, as Natalie adjusts a harness to her hips

“Kinda looks like a bricklayer's belt”

“Shut up” 

Then she immediately pulls off your panties and once they are discarded she lays her chin on the mattress to see your core "....mmph…" Nat hums in satisfaction once she sees the faucet was left running “While Lottie’s parents cry at the funeral I make this pussy cry” 

“HEY UNCLE JOE WAS-” “DON’T THINK ABOUT UNCLE JOE RIGHT NOW LOTTIE” 

Suddenly Lottie shoves Nat away, taking her turn to stare at you. Determined, Nat pushed Lottie down the bed, gracefully slapping her face with the glittery gay dildo, and just like that, after she regained her spot on top of you, the object found its home…once again.

After a couple of small thrusts Natalie really started going at it and you started moaning, in that exact moment, jealousy creeped inside Lottie and once again Nat was shoved away, this time ruthlessly shoved down the bed and onto the floor. Taking Nat’s out of you so she could insert the heliotrope toy. Your faucet kept running, until it broke and Lottie cheered, she broke it first.. and Natalie groaned still on the floor, annoyed.

Lottie carefully unties your wrists, placing little kisses on the small bruises the ropes caused.  "You want shoulder rubs?" Lottie asked, while pulling you on her chest to let you rest your back against her breasts "What about pussy rubs?" Nat smirked.

Before you could answer, Lottie shoved a rice cake in your mouth as Nat just groaned, unbuckling her harness and throwing it aside. 

Lottie pampered you with little kisses on the top of your head while she rubbed both your shoulders and neck, slowly, Nat crawled back on the bed, giving a kiss to both you and Lottie, hugging the two of you and laying her head on your shoulder.

*later that night*

“Y/N? Are you still awake?”

“Yeah”

 "I never got to fiddle with your riddle”

“Technically you-”

“LOTTIE ROBBED THE GLORY!!!" 

If you've reached the end, here's your throphy 🏆

#natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x you #nat scatorccio x #natalie scatorccio x y/n #lottienat #lottie matthews #lottie mathews x reader #lottienat x reader

[comicaurora]

If you've finished The Dragon Prince, S5, what's your opinion? Personally I'm still processing everything and there were a few things I was kind of "ehhhhh" about, but those were just one-off moments and overall I'm satisfied, even though it ended up playing out very differently from how I was expecting (for one, I was certain Aaravos would be getting out by the end of the season).

I liked it a lot!

SPOILERS AND STUFF:

Because I liked it a lot, most of my more specific thoughts are about the few things that sort of jarred me a little bit and felt a little rough or strange. But before I get to that I wanna list some of the stuff I loved:

Soren! My sweet boi has finally gotten the acknowledgement the previous seasons denied him. Soren locking eyes with Deadwood and going "yo same issues" was incredible, and after the last season treated his abduction by and confrontation with his abusive father as 90% comedy funtime hijinks in a nightgown, it was really refreshing to see him get a chance to actually shine in a serious, heartwarming context and be narratively rewarded for it.

In fact, that whole sequence with the pirates was incredible. I knew there was no way they were gonna cleanly outrun the bad guys, but I was not expecting how exactly they would catch up.

They did a lot of elegant work this season setting up Claudia as going from being family-motivated to being anger-motivated, and I like that, because at the rate things are going she's gonna run out of family to be motivated by in T-minus one episode, and if she's going to continue being the main boots-on-the-ground antagonist she's going to need some new motivation to swap out for her dad. Showing her actively reveling in having power over creatures that used to frighten her is a clever way to ease into that.

Viren's arc this season of being forced to confront his own coping mechanism, "I had no choice", was damn elegant. He had to realize he did have a choice the whole time, even if it was a choice between two bad options - he took every step along the path of his own free will, and he can choose to stop walking at any time. I'm not anticipating a redemption arc - my guess is Aaravos is going to let him die and just keep his soul imprisoned with him, "your soul is my treasure" and all that - but it was a very cool way to confront the audience and Viren with his humanity, which is easy to lose sight of when he spends all his time being a horrible dick.

The stuff with the Nova Blade screams "sneaky poetic double meaning" and there's absolutely no way it can actually kill Aaravos. The fact that the novablade and the three quasar diamonds they need to let Ruunan out of his coin after four goddamn seasons are all in the same place called the Starscraper that is so most definitely a boss arena makes me absolutely certain that they won't get there until some sort of final battle or immediately-pre-final-battle confrontation, but it's also almost guaranteed that the novablade is not going to cleanly resolve everything because the characters were realistically sus about that poem but quickly dismissed their entirely reasonable concerns. My guess is the novablade has already stabbed Aaravos once and he's the dude from the poem who was somehow both immortal and "no more," which feeds into the other thing they're 100% setting up, which is that Callum is one thousand percent going to be the one who lets him out in an ill-fated attempt to save his loved ones, which would cleanly make Callum three for three. Which segues into my "things that bothered me a little bit" zone-

Every time there's a story where the heroes are like "we're going to make our way through the incredibly circuitous and hard-to-navigate traps and secrets to finally find our way to the closely-guarded and ludicrously dangerous macguffin so we can take it with us and put it somewhere much less guarded" I feel my investment slip just a little, because how can anybody be surprised when the bad guys then get ahold of it with a tenth of the effort it would've taken them to get through the circuitous treasure hunt themselves? Claudia was not on track to figuring out the secret in time, and Aaravos didn't seem to have a way to tell her directly, and once the deadline ran out she'd have almost no reason to want to release Aaravos anymore. I worry this plotline could've solved itself if the heroes hadn't inexplicably concluded that they could guard a magical prison better than a centuries-deep conspiracy of archmages and archdragons.

The Dragon Prince character writing is usually rock-solid and very good at showing slow growth and development, while occasionally being vulnerable to characters seemingly losing their braincells to facilitate plot points that they would reasonably be too smart to let happen. That happened a few times this season, most notably with Zubeia getting very clearly bit by a shadowbeast - something we know everyone riding on her back saw, because Corvus intervened to get it off her and nearly died in the process, and we later see Soren talking to her about it - which means Amaya at minimum, and probably Callum and Rayla as well, should reasonably be expected to have both the information "a wound from a shadowbeast magically festers and turns the infected victim into a shadowbeast" and "zubeia was injured by a shadowbeast." So it's a bit weird that this doesn't come up and they just leave her alone about it, and only Soren - who doesn't know about shadowbeast stuff - even asks her about it.

I have this theory that there was a draft of the season's plot where the main characters had access to a different space of information - for instance, knowing about Zubeia's wound and its implications instead of her inexplicably brushing it off, hiding its true severity and then nearly dying. The most notable instance of this feeling struck me in the same episode, when right after Amaya's incredibly dramatic "go!" moment and the gang are about to fly away, Callum pointedly looks down one last time, then sees her shove Corvus and herself into the book drop, and he says "they made it into the book drop! they'll be totally fine!" and then they fly away. It feels a little jarring because it seemed like the natural flow of the episode would've been to let Amaya and Corvus's sacrifice play out as expected, with Chekov's Book Drop at their backs to save them as soon as the heroes were out of sight. Then Amaya and Corvus could show back up later in a big heroic moment, possibly even keeping the camera off them until Amaya rides to Janai's rescue a few episodes later - a classic "aragorn goes over the cliff jk he's fine" style reveal.

The reason they didn't do this, I think, is because it would've been hard for the kid heroes to be quippy-fun-time jokey-joking mere hours after losing their last living relative to presumed horrible zombie death. And I get that! But I think that was a notable factor in the way some of the episodes were structured around making sure that the heroes mostly got to spend their time being light-hearted and funny, which meant troubling information was artificially kept from them and encouraging information was shoehorned into their eyeline in slightly contrived ways so they could stay safely partitioned away from the actually heavy emotional implications of their situation. That's why I think the pirate episodes hit the audience as hard as they did, because suddenly the story dipped really seriously into the extremely painful and scary side of this otherwise fun and exciting fantasy adventure, and the characters shone in the unusually serious environment.

I kinda feel the same about Viren, but in the opposite direction. He spent the entire season comatose and safely partitioned away from the other characters, and while his highly symbolic coma dreams were extremely cool and revelatory to see, it feels like a squandering of his character potential to keep him from interacting with anyone but Aaravos - which is why I think they're gonna keep his ghost around at minimum. Hell, maybe Claudia will take a page out of his book and store him in a coin for safekeeping. Either way, they've had no problems sticking Viren on the proverbial shelf for seasons at a time and it seems like it's just too convenient for them to stop now. Viren's inner life is very cool, but I want to see him actually interact with the real world, because he's so bad at it.

I don't really know why the sunfire civil war thing is still happening, and my only theory is that Aaravos is still influencing the bald elf guy he possessed to kill the Queen back in season 3, meaning that these guys will be bolstering the ranks of General Problems in season 6 onward. I don't mind that concept, but I kind of feel like the problem they're running into is they killed their actually interesting Dickhead Royal back in season 3, and without Prince Kasef they have to make do with We Have Kasef At Home, aka Karim, who's not good enough at machiavellian scheming to be interesting and not enough of a dickhead to be fun to watch. They didn't even let Amaya take one of his eyes and make him look cooler, so I can only assume he'll be usurped as the primary threat next season and replaced with someone actually threatening, aka Aaravos. It seems plausible that Aaravos is going to sell both the poison and the cure, promising a way to fix Lux Aurea's corruption, but it's just a weirdly disconnected plot thread at present.

The thing with the ocean archmage felt like a very transparent Yoda homage, which started out cute and then went on about three times longer than I wanted it to, and it kind of highlighted the running theme of how every new character in this story is introduced saying "I absolutely cannot let you do this thing you need to do to progress the plot, no way no how." and then after some arguing and quips and ten minutes of wasted time and optional sidequests they're like "you may now proceed with the story." The ocean archdragon had the exact same gimmick in the opening scene, even the pirates were introduced that way. I think part of the reason the pirate episode felt so different and cool is that it broke the episodic formula in almost every way and highlighted some character tropes that the lighthearted tone doesn't normally allow for, which is why people keep describing it as "like a fanfic, but in a good way!" It took the characters we were at this point very familiar with and put them in a Situation, and fans love it when characters get put in Situations.

Kinda feels like the show only remembers Ezran has geopolitical kingly responsibilities when it's most inconvenient for the gang, and while I find his presence in this season refreshing, it is a little weird that he can just run around adventuring and getting kidnapped by pirates without anyone bringing up how the throne and the crown are burdens like they've been banging on about for the previous four seasons. I assume that'll come back into focus later, but it ties into the same thing I've observed where it feels like the characters are very carefully contextualized to only have to consider serious responsibility things in very specific contexts, usually when it will facilitate actively frustrating character arcs and decisions, so they can just loosely quip and react to things the rest of the time.

Anyway I had a dang good time, excited for more! Harrow is one thousand percent in that bird.

#asks #not aurora #media recs

[supernovafics]

could i please request steve x reader to bug collector by haley heynderickx :)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k words

summary: in which after being thrown into the insanity happening within hawkins and somehow making it out alive, you feel different, to say the least. it’s hard to move on from everything that happened, or even fully process it, and steve is the only one that can make things feel even the slightest bit better

warnings: post season 2 but pre season 3, explicit language, some fluff, lots of angst, steve being so boyfriend coded it’s crazy

author’s note: i hadn’t heard of/listened to this song before you sent this request but now i absolutely love it 😭 (sorry this kinda took forever but i hope you enjoy!<3)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t foreign for you to wake up in his bed. In fact, it was probably the most slightly normal constant in your life at the moment, and you liked that. You would be eternally grateful for Steve Harrington’s bed. 

However, one thing you didn’t like was the severe lack of curtains in his room, which made it hard to comfortably sleep past eight o’clock. Every time you were abruptly woken up because of that, you would tell yourself that you were going to buy him curtains, but somehow you always forgot. So you took the bright early morning sunlight shining right in your eyes as your cue to get out of the bed. 

You sleepily padded to the bathroom, brushing your teeth with the toothbrush that was designated as yours and then pulling on a wrinkled t-shirt over the tank top you were wearing because of the slightly cold February weather.  

A soft “Hi” fell from your lips when you walked downstairs and into the kitchen, spotting Steve at the stove. You pushed yourself up on the kitchen island and watched him as he finished cooking. You liked watching him– there was something about the mundanity of the act that made you feel at ease, like things in your life were at least a little normal. 

It also showed the self-sufficiency of a boy who had been fending for himself for god knows how long because his parents were rarely ever home, and that was something else that made you realize that your previous assumptions about him had been wrong.

Before everything happened a few months ago, you were convinced that the “King Steve” douchebag narrative was unequivocally true. But, now after actually knowing him, it seemed as if the exact opposite was what was the truth. 

“Hi,” He said as he handed you a plate of eggs, bacon, and a buttered piece of toast. You placed the plate in your lap and Steve stood next to you with his on the counter. The simplicity of the moment made you smile at him.

“Thank you. You’re way too nice to me,” You told him before taking a bite of bacon. “One day I’ll wake up earlier than you and cook breakfast.”

Steve laughed a bit at the conviction in your tone. “I truly doubt that could ever happen. But, also, if you did make breakfast, that would ruin our routine of me doing breakfast and you doing dinner.”

“Should it be concerning that this has happened so much that we have a routine?” 

You knew what the answer to your question was but you still couldn’t help but ask it. How close you and Steve became over the past few months still confused you a bit as much as it made you feel completely at ease. 

“What? You don’t like spending time with me anymore?” He playfully asked, his bottom lip jutting out and making a pouty face that you tried hard not to laugh at. 

“When you make that face, definitely not,” You told him, smiling a bit. But then just as quickly as the smile came, it left because your mind got serious again, and you pulled your eyes away from his and let your thoughts wander back to that confused place. That place that was also full of so much worry and dread that sometimes made it hard to fully enjoy these good moments with Steve. 

He lightly poked your thigh. “What are you thinking?”

Somehow it didn’t surprise you that he was able to tell that your mind was spiraling, and it also didn’t surprise you that you immediately wanted to tell him what was going on in your head. 

“I don’t know,” You shrugged lightly and let out a small sigh. “It’s just sometimes I can’t help but think that if things were normal, if I was normal and could process everything that happened without having those fucking dreams, we wouldn’t be having moments like these.”

The dreams, or more so nightmares, that had plagued you almost every night since everything happened were the main reason why you’d find yourself sleeping at Steve’s more often than not. 

When it first started, it had been a week since everything happened and after the third nightmare in a row, you decided to call him. Him instead of anyone else involved because it just felt right to do so. You two had been in that junkyard and down in those tunnels together, protecting the kids while also protecting each other, so it felt like there was some sort of unspoken bond or link between you two now. 

“I don’t think there’s any “normal” way to process the shit we all went through,” Steve told you, and you knew he was right about that. “Also, even if you didn’t have those nightmares and there was really no reason for you to come here most nights, I’d still need you here. I’d still want you here.”

You let his words wrap around you like a warm blanket and push away your worry, at least for the time being. “Glad to know you still like spending time with me.” 

“You’re probably the best thing that came out of all the shittiness that happened,” He said with a small smile and it wasn’t hard to detect the sincerity behind his words.

“You are too,” You smiled back at him. “Those nightmares suck and I hate having them, so I’m happy I have you. And your bed. Mainly your bed, actually.”

He playfully poked your side, causing you to laugh, as he said, “I’m gonna make you sleep in the guest room tonight.”

You laughed harder. “That would be evil. If I have the worst nightmare of my life tonight, it’s all your fault.”

“I guess I’ll just have to live with the guilt,” He jokingly shrugged and you used your foot to give his hip a light kick, happy that you were still sitting atop the counter because it gave you some sort of leverage.

Steve let out a mock-offended “Ouch,” and then his voice got soft. “You wanna talk about what it was last night?”

Even though your answer was always no, Steve would still always ask that question because he thought maybe one day you’d actually wanna talk about the nightmares and maybe talking about it would help. A part of you also knew that it would probably help, but still, that didn’t mean that you ever wanted to talk about it. 

The nightmare was pretty much recurring, it just became different versions of the same story every night. It was always a pack of demodogs surrounding you, Steve, and the kids, and there was nothing that any of you could do to fight back, so what would happen next was always inevitable. But, the demodogs never got you. Instead, they would always get everyone else, the people you loved and cared for— the people that you wanted to protect. Which made it so much worse than if they had gotten you because there was nothing you could do to help save everyone else. 

Last night they had taken Dustin and then Lucas, and you’d woken up mid-scream right as they started chasing Max. 

Just the thought of the nightmare made you feel like you were right back in it, so you couldn’t even imagine trying to say it out loud. 

You swallowed down the lump in your throat before shaking your head at Steve’s question. “Not really, no.”

“Okay,” He said softly as his hand found your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze before almost seamlessly changing the subject. “Hey, look what I got yesterday.”

He went to the pantry, rummaging through it a bit before pulling out a box of graham crackers, marshmallows, and a couple bars of chocolate. 

“We’re making s’mores?” You asked, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yes. You told me you never made them before, which feels like a crime, and I noticed the graham crackers at the grocery store and it gave me the idea and the rest just fell into place from there,” Steve explained. “And yes it’s freezing cold in the middle of February, and not the peak of Summer which is ideal s’mores making weather. But, we can do it tonight at the fireplace.”

Hearing his words made your heart swell. He was so fucking good to you. So thoughtful and sweet— definitely even sweeter than the s’mores you’d be making later. 

You reached out, beckoning him to come closer to you. “I really wanna kiss you.”

He smiled at that as he moved into the open space between your legs, placing the items in his hands down on the counter, and then letting his hands find your hips. “Do it.”

One of your hands found his cheek, which helped you steady yourself as you leaned in and slowly slotted your lips against his. 

This had happened so many times over the past few weeks, but still, kissing Steve managed to surprise you. The soft feel of his mouth against yours, his tongue expertly grazing your bottom lip to make the kiss deeper, his hands squeezing your hips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

It almost made you never want to kiss anyone else.

But even so, you two were on the same page about not wanting anything serious anytime soon, or maybe ever. He and Nancy had just broken up and it was clear that he was still at least somewhat hung up on her. And for as long as you could remember you’d planned on leaving Hawkins once you finished high school, which meant there would be no point starting anything with anyone. 

Therefore, because of those reasons, you two were simply unlikely friends that made out sometimes. In your mind it was no big deal. 

“I really wanna kiss you” were the words he said to you a few weeks ago in his car after he picked you up from your shift at the arcade and you two were talking about nothing in the driveway of your house. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his blunt honesty before whispering, “Do it.”

And from there things shifted. You and Steve were no longer simply friends helping each other through a tough time. However, you weren’t dating either; although, a lot of the things you two were doing could’ve been considered as such. It was a line that was continuously toed but never fully crossed. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

A movie was playing, but neither of you were watching it. Well, actually, maybe Steve was, but you wouldn’t know since you’d fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder. 

The position was surprisingly comfortable and you would’ve stayed as you were until the moment Steve lightly shook you awake and dragged you to his room so you could sleep in his even more comfortable bed. However, it seemed as if your mind was almost always against you because of how quickly the completely normal dream you were having morphed into the all too familiar nightmare, and you abruptly awoke with a start.

You let out a loud yelp and your heart was racing as you blinked and glanced around the living room, needing a moment to realize that you were awake now and completely safe and no longer watching Steve getting chased by a bunch of demodogs. 

Because, instead, he was sitting right next to you. One of his hands found yours and gave it a light squeeze as he whispered, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Your gaze met his and you nearly cried at the way he was looking at you with so much concern in his eyes. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” He said, his thumb started softly stroking the back of your hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yes… No? I- I don’t know, it’s just…” You sighed and looked away from him as you finally let out what you’d been holding back for a long time. “It’s always pretty much the same thing that happens– the demodogs hurting all of you guys and I’m unable to do anything to stop them or help. And every single time it feels so real, and it hurts just as much as it did the first time I ever had the nightmare. I hate it.” 

The one thing you didn’t tell him was that sometimes it felt like things would never get better. It felt like you would be permanently stuck in this stage of processing it all; which consisted of you barely processing anything and only being so fucking scared and worried. 

Steve let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t forget that El closed the gate,” He said softly. “None of it can hurt any of us anymore.” 

You felt yourself nodding at his words, trying to let them truly sink in and soothe your worried thoughts, but it was hard; way too hard to forget everything that happened or even move past it. And the fact that you couldn’t do so made you feel so upset with yourself.  

“I’ll be right back,” Your voice was quiet, but Steve heard you, and you were detaching yourself from him and rising from the couch before he could question you. 

When you made it to the bathroom down the hall you didn’t even bother turning on the light because you didn’t want to see what you looked like right then. You leaned against the sink and buried your face in your hands as you quietly cried. 

You wished you could go back to two hours ago when you and Steve were sitting in front of his fireplace making s’mores. It was a moment that was simple and easy and normal. It was also a moment that had mainly been filled with laughter because of the number of times you accidentally burned your marshmallows.

Now you were crying in his bathroom about everything that was wrong in your life and how you felt helpless, like nothing would ever be able to go back to how it used to be. 

You were unsure how long you’d been in the bathroom but when a knock sounded at the door you knew that it probably had been too long. 

You haphazardly wiped your tears away before opening the door, and Steve didn’t waste a moment to pull you into his arms. It was hard not to turn into what essentially felt like a pile of mush in Steve’s arms, and you let yourself cry even harder into his chest. 

“They never should’ve roped you into everything too,” He muttered as he softly started rubbing your back in small, soothing circles.  

“I wanted to help,” You told him, words slightly muffled by his shirt. You pulled back a bit and looked up at him. “And I don’t regret it, even though I probably should. But, they’re just kids. They’re the ones that really shouldn’t have had to deal with all of that shit.” 

One of his hands came up and cupped your cheek, wiping away some of your tears. “I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

You shook your head at his words. “You’re doing everything right.”

You could tell that he wanted to say something but was holding back. There was something about the look on his face that made you furrow your eyebrows curiously and you almost asked him what he was thinking, but he spoke before the question could form on your lips. 

“I love you.”

The three short words came out softly and they probably should’ve surprised you so much more than they did, but for some reason they didn’t. 

Because they just made so much sense. The two of you had been practically attached at the hip for the past two months, going from being nothing to one another to being the closest you’d ever been to anyone. Moments with him were the only thing that could make you feel completely safe and okay. 

So, this moment– him telling you that he loved you and you desperately wanting to say it back– felt practically inevitable.

And it didn’t even scare you how much you wanted to say the words right back to him, even though you knew it would probably complicate things and make leaving Hawkins, whenever that day came, so much harder. “I love you too.”

Your arms came up to loop around his neck as he gave you the softest smile that effectively melted your insides. 

For the first time in a long time, or probably ever, you felt like maybe just maybe things would actually get better.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff #request<3