#and end up rocketing towards almost near-certain death together. they just wanted to know more. those two always want so much more

[octothorpetopus]

Morning Destinies

By minnesotamemelord (me) on AO3

Description: Geralt and Jaskier get along. Well, they bicker like an old married couple, and there have been several near-fistfights, but they get along as well as a witcher and a bard can. But there are certain things, like stepping in between Geralt and a target, that threaten that careful balance, although not for the reasons one might think...

Under a stifling layer of clouds, which had opened up to pour freezing rain into the road, two men and a marched out of town, already splattered with mud from the soaked path. Geralt patted the horse's flank.

"Almost there, Roach." He slicked his hair out of his face, leaving a streak of mud above his left eye. "Come on, Jaskier."

"Yep! Coming!" Jaskier had to jog to keep up with Geralt's long strides. He hummed a tune quietly to himself, his fingers moving as if playing an invisible lute. Geralt kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road before him, pretending he couldn't hear. It was catchy, he'd give Jaskier that. And his voice was actually quite pleasant to listen to. It was just that Geralt enjoyed taking the bard down a peg or two. Just to keep them even. "So, what are we killing today?" Geralt struggled to keep from rolling his eyes.

"I'm killing a warg. You are staying with the horse."

"Hmph." Jaskier shook his head in a futile attempt to shake the water out of his hair. "Couldn't we have waited until it stopped raining? That inn had a number of nice, warm beds upstairs just waiting for us, but instead, we're out here in the rain."

"You could have stayed. I told you not to come."

"Well, what else was I going to do?" Geralt briefly considered making a run for it and abandoning Jaskier in the middle of the muddy road, then decided against it. Instead, he stopped, looking down at the ground in front of him.

"We're close." He pointed a massive finger at what looked like a large wolf paw print. "That way." Without waiting for Jaskier, he tugged on Roach's reins and turned into the woods. He heard the sound of boots squelching, and didn’t even have to look to know Jaskier had fallen in step beside him. He did give one sidelong glance, still. Jaskier had his arms wrapped around himself and was shivering with a vengeance. Sighing, Geralt unclasped his own cloak and draped it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier nearly collapsed under the weight of the heavy wool, and he had to hold the end to keep it from dragging behind him, but he stopped shivering.

”Won’t you get cold now?”

”I’m a witcher. Witchers don’t get cold.” That wasn’t true, but Jaskier would have given the cloak back if he thought that Geralt would be cold without it, which he was, a little. The trees created a thick canopy of dark green leaves above them, which sheltered them from the rain, but also blocked out any sun that might have broken through the clouds.

”So, what’s a warg den look like?” Geralt held up a fist and pointed.

”Like that.” It wasn’t dissimilar to a rabbit’s den, like a small cave in a shallow hillside, only it was much, much bigger, and surrounded by more of those huge wolf-prints. ”Fuck.”

”What?”

”The villagers told me there was only one, but there’s got to be half a dozen. At least.”

”Really? Where are th-“ Geralt was so distracted by Jaskier’s admittedly stupid questions that he didn’t see the warg rocketing towards him until it slammed into his side, taking him off guard and knocking him onto his back. He’d never wrestled a warg before, and as unpleasant as it sounded, it was even worse in reality.

”Jaskier!” He roared, the warg’s snapping jaws mere inches from his face. “Take Roach and get the hell out of here!”

”Yep! Right!” Geralt turned his attention back to the warg. With a significant amount of effort, he threw it off of him, and watched as it slammed into another. More wargs were leaving their den, and by the time the last one appeared, there were ten. Geralt pulled his sword off his back and prepared for battle. But the wargs didn't move, they just watched him with narrow black eyes. Geralt tipped his head, almost an invitation, and they rushed forward from all sides. Geralt's sword was nothing more than a flash of silver as it whirled around him, decapitating one of the giant wolf creatures and slashing another across the stomach. He was on pure autopilot- killing these creatures came more easily than talking or breathing for him. He tore through the wargs one, two, even three at a time, until all that was left was a pile of warg carcasses, only one still alive by the entrance to the den. Geralt paced towards it, raising his sword over his shoulder to deliver one last killing blow. His vision clouded with adrenaline, it was no wonder he didn't see the flash of maroon silk until it was already in front of him. If Geralt hadn't been a witcher, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, but he was, and he did. His sword stopped less than an inch from Jaskier's throat. Jaskier's blue eyes were so wide that Geralt caught his own reflection in them. His face was splattered with mud and warg guts. His gold eyes were wide and wild and filled with bloodlust.

"Jaskier-" His throat caught, and he struggled to get the words out over the heavy rise and fall of his chest. "Jaskier, what... the hell... are you doing?" Jaskier, his hands still raised to hold off Geralt, sidestepped, some of the tension in his face dissipating with the distance between his throat and Geralt's sword.

"Geralt. please." Geralt followed Jaskier's eyeline to the final warg. "It's just a baby." Now that his tunnel vision had widened again, he could see that Jaskier was right. This warg was only the size of a large dog, and its eyes were genuinely and legitimately terrified.

"It's still a baby that's going to grow up and terrorize this village. Just like its family." Geralt swung his sword back once again, and this time, Jaskier grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait! Please! Just... chase it off. But don't kill it."

"One of three things is going to happen right now, Jaskier." Geralt hefted his sword onto his shoulder and ticked them off on his free hand. "One: I kill it, and no one in this village or any nearby have to worry about being attacked again in a year. Two: I don't kill it, I chase it away, and it dies because wargs are pack animals and it can't survive on its own. Three: I don't kill it. It lives out in the woods, isolated, and in a year or two, it comes back and attacks the village again, or some other village. And then someone like me has to come in and kill it. So no matter what, it dies. The only question is-" Geralt narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "-do I give it a merciful and quick death now, or do I subject it to a life of isolation until it either starves or gets killed?" Jaskier's chin fell to his chest.

"Please," he repeated. "Give it a chance." He managed a smile. "Besides, if it does grow up and decide to come back, then you get paid again." Geralt couldn't smile back.

"Fine. I'm not going to go through you just to kill a glorified wolf pup." He sheathed his sword, sent Jaskier a brief glance, considering, and turned on his heel, rain coursing down his back. He wrapped Roach's reigns around his leather-clad fist, and started back on the road towards the village without bothering to make sure Jaskier was behind him. Usually, he was sure Jaskier would fall in step, but this time, he wasn't so sure.

He did. Against all odds, Jaskier followed Geralt back to the inn. He hovered at Geralt's shoulder while he got paid, and sat across from him at the table. They drank ale in silence for awhile before Geralt finally spoke up.

"Jaskier, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm having a drink, scoping out the locals-"

"Jaskier." Geralt sighed. "You could've died."

"Yes? And? I've almost died a lot, Geralt, that's sort of the side effect of being your best friend-"

"Jaskier!" The only word Geralt seemed to be able to force from his mouth was Jaskier's name.

"What? What, Geralt? Yes, I could've died, but that wouldn't be the first time I've been rather close to death. In fact, it's been a week since a djinn almost killed me. But you've gotten me out of it every time, haven't you? So I'll keep buying the ale, and you just keep saving my life." Geralt slammed his tankard down on the table, splattering ale.

"Damn it!" He roared, drawing the attention of most of the inn, although they were easily silenced with a laser-focused glare. "Jaskier, it's not just that you were going to died- not that you might have died, you were going to- but this time, you would..." The words didn't come easily, but Geralt forced them out with more effort than the entire fight with the wargs had taken him. "You would have died by my sword, Jaskier. And that- I couldn't-" There were no more words. Nothing else he could say. Jaskier looked up at him from under thick lashes, and appeared to consider briefly.

"Geralt, you express a desire to kill me on a daily basis."

"Maybe. Maybe I do." Geralt swallowed the last of his ale in one go and stood, awkwardly straightening his back. "I'm going for a walk."

"A walk? Geralt, it's nearly midnight, and pouring rain outside!" Geralt-" The inn door slammed behind Geralt, cutting Jaskier off. He tossed his head back, letting the rain wash away all of his discomfort, dirt and shame and blood all mixed together and flowing away. The roads of the village were lit by lanterns that created a gentle golden glow around Geralt, although he paid no mind. His shirt was soaked through in five minutes, but all he had wanted for weeks was one minute to gather his thoughts, which were a whirlwind inside his head. He found himself outside a shop- it was closed this late- but it was quiet. He leaned against one of the walls, pushing his hair out of his face and turning his face up towards the sky.

"Geralt." His golden eyes snapped open.

"Since we've met, it seems you've developed an affinity for following me when I very clearly don't want you to." Jaskier chuckled, but it was laced with nerves. Geralt understood that. "I'm too tired to pretend I didn't mean what I said. So whatever you're going to say... say it."

"I don't have anything to say." Geralt pushed himself away from the wall and stared Jaskier down.

"Then why did you follow me?" Jaskier shrugged.

"I thought you might."

"What would I have to say?"

"I don't know."

”I left because I thought I might find some peace and quiet out here. But you seem to want to make that impossible.” Geralt pushed past Jaskier and stormed off in the direction of the inn. He didn’t look back to see if Jaskier was following him. Usually, he just sort of... expected the bard to be right behind him, ready with a song or his cracking wit. This time, Geralt wasn’t sure he was there. And frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to be.

”Geralt!” Damn it. “Geralt, would you slow down? You know I can’t keep up with you when you walk fast!” Geralt walked faster. if he responded, that would only encourage Jaskier. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could lose the bard in the winding streets. But he didn't, and Jaskier caught up to him right as he reentered the inn.

"Why do you insist on bothering me at all times? Was I not clear when I asked to be left alone?" Geralt hissed, turning on his heel so that Jaskier nearly skidded to a stop to avoid crashing into him.

"You say you want to be left alone," called Jaskier as he followed Geralt up the steps in the back of the inn, the ones that led from the tavern on the lower floor to the rooms for rent above. "You say that, but I don't believe it. I've never believed it. You need people, Geralt, you always have, but as soon as they start to get you, you wriggle out of reach. I can't tell if you just don't want anyone to know you, or if you're afraid, or if you really don't believe anyone could, but I know you, Geralt!" For the first time that evening, Jaskier raised his voice. Geralt hesitated at the top of the steps, stopped in his tracks. "I know you, whether you want me to or not! I have seen the very best and the very worst of you. I have seen you fail and I have seen you succeed beyond your wildest dreams. I have seen you, Geralt of Rivia, and you cannot ever take that back." They were standing in the narrow hallway now, the sounds of the tavern below muffled through the wooden floor. Jaskier shrugged helplessly. "I can't say anything more."

Geralt couldn't think of anything to say. Geralt had nothing left to say.

"Hmm."

"Don't 'hmm' me right now. Have you really nothing to-" That was it. Something, some kind of barricade that had built up in Geralt a long, long time ago, snapped, and everything it had been holding back, everything familiar and everything unrecognizable, flooded into his system, overtaking it until it seemed he was no longer in control of his own actions.

But he was in control. He was very much in control, maybe more so than he had been in a long time. And so he was in control when he crossed the narrow hall, took Jaskier's face in his large hands, and kissed him. He kissed Jaskier as a fiddle played beneath the creaky floorboards and rain poured down on the thatched roof. Geralt felt Jaskier's warm hands cover his own, and winced as he felt Jaskier's back slam into the wall. He broke the kiss after what felt like hours, his chest heaving. The air around his shoulders was far lighter than it had ever been, at least within memory, and he teetered ever so slightly, feeling drunk and dizzy and dazed. Jaskier stared up at him in wide-eyed wonder, his hands still holding Geralt's on either side of his face. But then he seemed to blink the wonder out of his eyes, and reality set back in.

"Geralt," he said, his voice constricted and measured. "What about Yennefer?" Geralt didn't know how to respond. He shook his head slightly, a smile forming on the edge of his lips.

"I don't really want to talk about Yennefer right now."

"Aren't you and she... you know, together?" Geralt let out a soft snort of laughter.

"No."

"But I thought- In Rinde-"

"Jaskier." With more tenderness than he had felt in the last several decades, Geralt slipped his hand out from under Jaskier's and placed it gently back on top, lacing their fingers together. "Do you trust me?"

"I do. Of course I do."

"Then believe me. If I wanted to be with Yennefer, I’d be with her right now. I’m with you, Jaskier. I’m here.”

”You know, I don’t know if that was more or less romantic than you meant it to be.”

”Jaskier?”

”Yes?”

”Shut up.” And with that, Geralt leaned into another kiss.

Later that night- or maybe early the next morning, it was hard to tell- after they had stumbled into bed, Geralt lay awake. He had watched Jaskier fall asleep, watched his beautiful blue eyes flutter shut. The sun would be up soon, and then they'd have to face the world and all its eccentricities, but for the time being, it was still dark enough to qualify as nighttime. They were so close now, so close Geralt could feel Jaskier's shallow breaths ruffle his hair, which fell loose around his face, pulled from its bindings at some point during the night's endeavors. He had one hand resting gently atop Jaskier's bare ribs, and the other was slowly beginning to go numb trapped under Jaskier's hip. But he didn't dare move and wake the bard from his slumber. So he let his hand fall asleep, and waited patiently for the inevitable dawn.

Dawn came only an hour or two later, and as the pale sunlight of early morning streamed in through the window, spilling into a pool of brightness onto the bed, Jaskier blinked awake. His hair was a mess, sticking up in spikes at all angles. His eyes, hazy and unfocused, finally fixed on Geralt, and he smiled, a sleepy half-yawning grin.

"You didn't sleep."

"Witchers don't sleep."

"You know, I feel like you're lying about the characteristics of witchers, but I don't actually know enough to tell."

"That's my secret." Jaskier's eyes flicked up to the bright sun coming through the window.

"Morning already?" Geralt mustered half a smile.

"Morning came too soon today."

"Yeah, I would have pegged you as more of a nighttime guy." Geralt, still absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over Jaskier's side, chuckled softly and stared up at the day beginning outside. The rain had cleared. The sky showed no signs of ever having been covered in clouds. If he hadn't seen it last night, he would have been sure that it had never rained.

"I'm not. Not really."

"Really?"

"At night, it's almost always just me." Jaskier reached up to brush a lock of white hair off Geralt's forehead, and Geralt couldn't help but smile. "Me and my thoughts. But in the morning, I get up and I go about life, and I put everything aside until I go to bed again, and the cycle repeats itself. I've spent what seems like a dozen lifetimes waiting for the sun to come up. And now, I can't help but wish it would just go back down."

"Morning doesn't have to change anything, Geralt. It's just like nighttime, only the sun's up."

"Morning changes everything. Always does. Not always for the better. Not always for the worse. But there's always change."

"So." Jaskier looked pensive. "What does that mean now?"

"I don't know. I think it means... we get up." Jaskier nodded, but he didn't look done. Still, he sat up, giving Geralt's hand, which was now fully numb, some relief.

"I, uh- I can't quite recall where my clothes went."

"I think they're sort of... everywhere." Geralt looked around the room for the first time. Articles of both of their clothing were mixed together and tossed in every corner. Jaskier pulled the top sheet off the bed, wrapping it around his midsection. “Jaskier. I did see you naked last night.”

”Yes, but morning changes things, doesn’t it?” Jaskier cocked an eyebrow, a sudden edge overtaking his usually amused tone.

”That’s not what I- Just wait a minute, would you?” Geralt groaned, running his hands through his hair. Was he usually this bad at talking to people? He hoped not. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

”No? Then how did you mean it, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he began to pull his pants back on.

”I only meant... do you believe in destiny, Jaskier?” Jaskier has his back turned to Geralt, but turned around just long enough to fix Geralt with a highly skeptical look.

”That’s a very odd question to ask, witcher.” Geralt winced. Jaskier only called him “witcher” when he was upset, which wasn’t often.

”And that’s not an answer, bard.” Jaskier only raised his eyebrows again. Sighing, Geralt waved a hand, beckoning Jaskier, who eventually gave in and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

”I suppose... I don’t believe there’s anything written in the stars for me, that sort of destiny. I don’t think I’m big enough in this world for that. And I don’t think I have any great fate awaiting me either. I think... destiny is just what happens to us. What else is there? If you make the wrong choice and it gets you off track from your so-called destiny, how are you supposed to know? Well, not you. You still have a child to go claim. But the rest of us, without the prophetic futures, the rest of us would never know. Even if destiny does exist in that sense, it doesn’t matter, because we’re all too small to have any idea.”

“Okay.” Geralt stared up at the ceiling for a moment, considering. “Then what I meant is... morning changes our destinies, Jaskier. As every morning does. Because there’s a thousand paths that can be taken from this morning and the next and the next and the next until one day, you die. And this morning is no different. We just have to choose.”

”Choose? Choose what?”

”That’s the thing about destiny. Isn’t this what you were saying? You don’t know what you’re choosing, because you don’t have all the options. And that’s just life. So-“ Geralt fixed Jaskier with his gold eyes, analyzing him. “-what do you choose, bard? What’s your destiny?” Jaskier turned his head up towards the ceiling and laughed, a warm, bright sound. “Why are you laughing?” Geralt asked, but he couldn’t keep himself from laughing. That was it about Jaskier. He was infectious.

”I’m laughing because...” Jaskier quieted, and he stared straight back at Geralt. “Because I choose you. You, Geralt, are the destiny I choose this morning.”

”Oh.” Geralt had to admit that he had not expected that. “H-“

”If you’re about to ‘hmm’ at me, don’t,” Jaskier warned, but he was grinning.

”Fine. I won’t.”

”How about you? What’s your destiny this morning?” Geralt laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in a long time. It seemed there were a lot of things he was doing for the first time in a long time now.

”Do you have to ask?”

”Of course I do. Who would I be without a million annoying questions?”

”A slightly better version of yourself.” Jaskier looked mock upset.

”Take that back.”

”Make me.” Jaskier shook his head and leaned over in one smooth motion to kiss Geralt.

”You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured, his lips still pressed against Geralt’s. “What is your destiny, Geralt?”

”I don’t know. But whatever it is, you’re going to be there with me, and you’re going to write a song about it, and then we’ll go to bed and the sun will come up and we’ll choose a new destiny.”

”Not me,” Jaskier said, breaking the kiss. His hand still rested on Geralt’s cheek. “I know what my destiny is, now and forever.” With that, he rolled off the bed and began collecting the rest of his clothes. Geralt did the same, until they were both finally fully dressed. “Geralt?”

”Hmm?” Geralt responded, strapping his armor on, his back turned to Jaskier.

”I love you.” He choked on his own breath for a moment.

”You do?” He asked, not quite prepared turn around and face that kind of declaration.

”No, I’ve followed you around for nearly two decades because I love getting ridiculed and getting paid shit playing in rowdy taverns every night- actually, that part’s kind of fun- but that’s not the point. The point is, I’ve loved you since I was 18 years old, and now that you know, we can get on with our lives.”

”I-“

”You don’t have to tell me you love me, Geralt.” Geralt felt the lightest touch on his shoulder. “I don’t expect that from you. Because for all your protests and all your insults, I know you’ll stand by me until you can no longer stand. That’s how you can tell me you love me.”

”You’re a strange man, Jaskier.” Geralt leaned back into the touch, and a small smile spread across his face.

”My real name is Julian, actually.” Geralt whipped around, eyes wild.

”It’s what?”

”Never mind. You can call me whatever you like, witcher.”

”So I shall, bard.”

Under a sun-flooded sky, two men and a horse left town, off to find the next adventure. They walked side by side, in perfect step with one another. It seemed to any passerby that they were no more than a witcher and a bard, two relatively uninteresting faces in the crowd, but the truth is that they were so much more. They were two men that had finally discovered the true meaning of destiny: it’s not the things you’re meant to do. It’s the things you choose to do. And every morning, a new destiny awaits you with the rising of the sun.

Destiny isn’t in the stars, it’s in yourself.

Destiny isn’t fate.

Destiny is you.

#the witcher #witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #henry cavill #joey batey #the amazing devil #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher fic

[bowan-deflorentine]

The dream came and went as it pleased, it seemed, but it was always the same. 

Again Bowan found herself standing grimly at the railing of her ship, watching the flames eat away at wood and flesh alike as the Horde frigate burned on the waves. Screams from the crew carried clearly over the water, cries for help and mercy or simply those of fear and fury at the death that was rapidly closing in. 

The fire, the screams, the sea. It was always the same. Smoke wafted across the waters, choking the deck of the Revenge. Sparks, too, carried on the wind, bright against the black fog and dark sea that spread out in all directions. 

A grin spread across her face as the Horde sailors died, horrific, terrible deaths. Her teeth bared, like a snarl, like a predator. That's what she was now, wasn't she? This is what she wanted, and now she had  it. And there was her prey, burning, and she was smiling.  Why was she smiling? She shouldn't be smiling. How terrible, how cruel. A voice- the same voice every night, not her own, not the crew- whispered somewhere in the darkness. 

This will never bring them back. But you know that.

Oh, how she knew that. She always knew that. So in reply she only laughed, bitter and strained. Why was she laughing? It wasn't funny. This was horrible, this was sickening. Why did she do this? What would they think of her if they saw her like this? 

The Horde ship was finally swallowed by the sea, but the screaming didn't stop. She could still hear them beneath the waves, and others too. More screams now, but this time they rang out at her back. Her wolfish smile vanished. She knew where those screams were coming from, knew what she would see when she turned around. 

Wake up. Don't look. Don't look back. 

But she did. She always did. 

Teldrassil. Towering up into the night, it's crown ablaze, it's trunk splitting from the heat. Ashes and sparks poured down from the inferno, and though it stood so very far away, the agonized wailing was just as clear and close as those had been on the Horde ship. But that was gone now, not simply sunk but as if it had never been. So was her crew. Nothing else was important now, forgotten in the depths of the nightmare. She was alone.

Bowan knew these new voices, had heard them every day in a happier life. They screamed, so far away and out of her reach, but all the same the cries were piercing, all around her. The city went up in flames, and all she could do was watch.

Again.

Embers blown on the wind alighted delicately on the sails and those, too, were soon burning. Her ship was going down, and her with it. Wood splintered, sails curled and withered, the deck groaned as the fires weakened the beams. And even when the Revenge buckled under its own weight and she plummeted into the smoking darkness below, all she could do was watch the tree burn.

You were too late. You didn’t save a single soul, did you?

Her feet hit the water first and she crashed through the surface, sinking down and down and down into the cold sea. The orange glow of Teldrassil above the waves vanished quickly as she was sucked deeper and deeper.

That was where the nightmare usually ended, drowning in the blackest, coldest depths. It was almost over.

Bowan waited. It was taking longer than usual. But when she took an experimental breath, she found the water didn't rush in to fill her lungs. But it wasn't air. So she waited some more, wary but morbidly curious.

She was so sure she was sinking, but without light she had no idea how deep, or how fast, or where she was going. Down, most likely, but which way was down? The distinction wasn't clear anymore. No light. No sound. Only dark, freezing water. 

But then, after what seemed like an eternity of sinking, with her coat billowing out around her and her long dark hair trailing behind, something was... glowing. The softest orange glow, like a torch in the fog, slowly but steadily grew brighter far, far below. Or above- was she going back towards Teldrassil, towards the fire? Bowan squinted, trying to peer through the darkness as the warm light grew brighter, richer, hotter. But it was too still for fire; it did not flicker or dance. Instead it felt as if the light itself was watching her, staring right back.

That light struck a chord of fear in her heart, and she knew she desperately did not want to see where it was coming from. In vain she tried to swim against the forces that dragged her down.

Wake up. Wake up.

She only realized how fast she was descending when a black pillar rocketed up from the light below, soaring up with deadly speed. Kicking back through the water, she barely managed to avoid the razor-sharp peak as it sliced through where she had been only moments before. The dagger-like crown was soon lost to the abyss above as she sank further, following the length of the obelisk down. Wherever it began, it was somewhere down in the eerie orange light. Soon another emerged, and another, until the ocean was filled with those ominous dark towers, piercing the shadowed waters all around, and still even deeper she sank. 

The orange glow had become more intense, deepening into a brilliant red near the depths of wherever the light was coming from. A sense of sick dread slowly filled her gut, feeling at once unwelcomed, yet drawn in like a moth to flame. It was becoming too bright to look at, and even when she covered her face with her hands did she see the light still. Only then did she realize how it burned, her eye, her body, her mind. The water itself was scalding, boiling hot- she was burning. Had it always felt like that or did she just not notice before? Again she thrashed as panic set in, struggling to break free of it's pull, willing herself awake.  Leaving so soon? You’ve only just returned.

The voice she felt more than heard, so deep, bellowing, boneshaking. It came from all around, reverberating through the waters. Curling up in terror, she clapped her hands over her ears trying to block out the booming sound, for all the good it would do. As the echoes of the voice rattled the pillars and the sea again fell silent, she risked another glance down into the crimson depths. Her descent had slowed somewhat, and instead of plummeting she was only lazily sinking, but ever deeper and deeper. Something was… wrong. Something the voice had said. “Returned”? That couldn’t be right. How could she return somewhere she had never been before? Oh, but haven't you? Again her teeth rattled with the intensity of the voice. Something was… moving, down in the depths, something huge and slithering through the fiery light. That broke her out of her horrified ball, and she clawed for where she hoped was the surface, fighting the pull. She had to wake up. Oh gods, snap out of it! Wake up! Are you so sure you are not already awake? 

It's just a dream! Please, wake up!

Maybe if she thought of the waking world she would return to, could escape this terrible new nightmare. She would wake up on her ship, and by midday they would all be in Stormsong, and from there she would charter a ride back to the Eastern Kingdoms so she could begin her search for- 

The fires claimed all. You are alone with only your crimes for company. 

Again the voice assaulted her senses, and she was all at once deafened, blinded, burned. This time, when it spoke, several of the looming pillars in the distance swayed. No longer rigid obelisks, they bent and curled in on themselves, the ends spiralling together, impossibly huge and miles and miles long. Not stone, something worse, fleshy, something terrible and unspeakable, and they all connected to whatever was moving down there in the orange light. 

She screamed- in pain, in horror, in fear- but with no air in her lungs the sound was choked out of her. Saltwater filled her throat, drowning her cries, and finally it was over. The light went out, and the darkness rushed in.

Bowan finally jerked awake with a gasp, sucking in lungfuls of crisp night air. Thrashing to escape the yet-unseen force that tangled around her limbs, she suddenly found herself on the rickety wooden floor with a thud.

Her eye darted around the room fearfully, taking in her surroundings as she struggled to catch her breath. 

Old wooden walls, a carved desk, the small window, the moonlit sea beyond. Overhead, her hammock, rocking gently with the motion of the ship. Her ship. She knew where she was. It was over, she was safe. She was okay. 

The thin blankets, sweat-soaked, were wrapped around her legs from her frenzied tossing and turning, half still on the hammock and the rest trailing down after her. With shaking hands, she clumsily untangled herself and, after gathering the sheets, climbed back in with a heavy sigh of relief. Silver light filtered down through the cracks between the planks, and beyond the window the moon’s reflection was visible on the waves. It was everything that the horrible place in her nightmare wasn't- cool, quiet, familiar, safe. 

And what a nightmare it was. She was certain she had never had that one before, but couldn’t shake her uncertainty or apprehension that it wouldn’t be the last of its kind. It left a cold, heavy pit in her stomach, and she was no stranger to nightmares and horrible dreams. But it was nothing more than that- a dream. 

Wasn't it?

#my writing #writing #Old gods stuff AHOY

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sparks Fly (3/?)

After the first night, things go smoother for you. Thor watches in fascination as you smooth over household issues he did not even know were issues. Things are more harmonious, the budgets are more balanced, and every day you take care of some headache for him that he had no idea how to solve. In the evenings as you ate dinner together, your head bent over an instrument, the god said a prayer to the Norns for their wisdom in bringing you to him. 

The Avengers accept your presence and so do Thor’s people, mostly without question. Your skills are mostly useless in combat, but your kind heart and the joy that just being near you seem to bring to Thor earns you their affection. Rocket is especially taken with you, seeking you out in the afternoons as you sit with New Asgard’s children at your feet, spinning out a tale to entertain them. He often stood nearby, listening. He didn’t know what about you was so soothing; perhaps it was the way you never treated him like a pet or some dumb animal. When he spoke, you listened, fixing your golden eyes on him calmly. You accepted flowers from Groot. You were just… soothing. And somehow, you always knew when the tricky spot behind his right ear needed to be scratched. Thor watched you spinning out a tale and smiled to himself. The children were quiet, and the Avengers nearby were similarly enthralled. You held your audience in the palm of your delicate hand, and Thor realized at that moment that for him, this was his truest love match. You were what he had been meant to find on Midgard, of that he was sure. 

You drew this installment of your tale to a close to the groans of the children and stood easily from your stool, smiling as one small girl brought you a violet. You picked her up, laughing and touched your forehead to hers tenderly, letting her put the flower behind your ear. Thor couldn’t see his face, but he was confident he was giving you what young Peter Parker had called heart eyes. He couldn’t wait to see you cuddling your own children. His children. He’d kept his physical distance from you aside from thoughtful touches and kissing your hands. He was afraid that if he started touching you, he would not be able to rein in his powers and desires. Thor had his guesses about the parts of your past you kept hidden, and he felt that patience was going to be necessary. There was something about the way you started when anyone touched you unexpectedly. The way you still flinched at raised voices or someone’s hand passing to close to your face. It broke his heart when he saw it. 

You dressed to fade into the background in the mortal clothing that you had procured for yourself with Natasha and Carol. Baggy clothing, hoodies, and jeans converse sneakers. Sandals. Functional buns and braids in your hair. You seem to want to hide, and for now, Thor doesn’t push. He doesn’t insist on the dresses and blouses he’s dying to see your curves in. After years of standing out as a way to keep you isolated, you seem to want nothing more than to fit in. You can feel Thor’s eyes on you as you walk across the yard headed towards the stable to take a ride on Declan. It was nice being able to do whatever you wanted whenever you felt like it. Thor had asked that you took one of his friends with you when you went out so that they could protect you if anything were to happen. You assented to his request with no fuss. The creature called Rocket and your “Ladies in Waiting” was your favorite companions. They allowed you your silence. They let you be with no questions. 

Carol and Natasha fall into step with you as you walk and you greet them with your usual quiet smile. This place is confusing but comfortable. Not quite home but lovely in its way. Your betrothed was a puzzle. You could feel his eyes on you, tracking you. You didn’t mind it, his watching you. His eyes were hungry but not… not the same way Madoc’s had been. You did not know how you felt. You liked it when he touched you; his warm, calloused hands were gentle and reassuring. You often thought about how he pulled you onto his lap and held you. You hadn’t expected to feel so safe with his arms around you and his fingers in your hair, massaging away your fear. His middle was soft. Comfortable to be cushioned against as he held you. He was just comfortable. That was the right word for it. His hands hadn’t strayed from your waist, and your hair and the deep rumble of his voice had almost lulled you to sleep like the distant thunder of a summer storm rolling in.

 You desperately wanted him to hold you that way again, but how did one ask for such a thing? He’d been so careful. So polite with you that you felt almost as if he might have found you wanting. That thought made your stomach twist. You had no experience beyond fear and pain and discomfort. You were afraid he'd be disappointed. More importantly, you were fearful that if he ever found out... You winced unable to keep your thoughts to yourself entirely. Natasha laid a hand gently on your arm, "Y/N?" she asked softly, "You know you can talk to us, right?"Carol took your arm on your other side, "Thor is our friend, it's true;" Carol said, "But whatever you say to us doesn't need to go further than right here." You shake your head and smile, "It's nothing, really." you say. It sounded off even to your ears but something. This fear was too much to confide in anyone. Too intimate. You didn't know really why it all felt so wrong, but it did. Natasha and Carol trade looks over your head, and they let you keep your thoughts to yourself. They chatted around you, keeping up commentary on the others. They had their suspicions about what you were thinking about. They'd seen you in the quiet moments in your rooms lost in thought when you were just relaxed enough to let some emotion show on your face. They knew Thor was in love with you. So in love that there was next to nothing you could ever say or do to turn him from you. The King was wrapped around your slender fingers, and you'd done it without even trying. It had been sweet to watch his fumbling attempts at doting on you. Loki had been appalled, "Gods," he snorted, watching Thor blush when you shyly took his hand as you walked, "It's like he got fat and forgot how to seduce a woman. This is almost pathetic." Natasha had shaken her head, "He's not trying to seduce the Princess," she'd said, "If he tried that she'd run away from him." Steve nodded in agreement, "And whatever he's doing, she does not exactly hate it." 

You wait for The ladies to get their horses saddled before swinging yourself astride Declan's broad back, patting his neck to tell him to go forward. "How do you stay up there without a saddle?" Carol asked, urging her horse on with difficulty. "The same way you stay astride with a saddle," you say chuckling. When she looked confused, you add, "With my thighs." Natasha laughs and tugs the end of your braid fondly making you realize how bawdy that sounded and you blush scarlet. "Though Declan wouldn't let me fall," you say, "He is a spirit of the forests where I was born. Of the forests, my family is tasked with protecting." You pat the Stag's neck. "I am the last of my house, and so he feels he must protect me to protect his forest." Natasha opens her mouth to ask a question, and you smile a little, "I am not my mother's only child. But I am her youngest child. The day Madoc's army came, I was at her feet. She was teaching me something... I do not recall what." The Stag snuffled and snorted, and you sigh. "When they breached the wall, She slung me across Declan's back and bid him run. And so he did. He tried to make it to the next court where I might be safely hidden, but it was not to be. So he stayed with me, doing what he could to keep me from any major harm." 

Carol watches you for a long moment, your posture straight and your hands resting on your thighs as if you did not just tell them about an escape from certain death on the back of a magic deer and finally asked softly, "How many siblings did you have?" she asked. "Six. Haldora, Jamie, Callum, Alayne, Oak, and Rowan." Just speaking their names hurt after so long keeping them locked away. You look up, turning your face to the sun and take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. There are no more questions after that. You ride along in silence, trying not to overthink about the day of the siege and the sounds of the screams. You stop suddenly when you hear a sound. It is a soft noise, barely noticeable above the forest sound. Declan kneels to allow you to slide off his back easily and waits, snuffling. You move through the brush silently and lift a very injured fox kit from the bush, cradling it in your arms murmuring soothing nonsense in a language that is decidedly not human. The creature should, by rights, be snarling and snapping in pain, but it is not. It nestles close to you, and you sit sideways on Declan's back, "Back the way we came, old friend." you say, light authority in your voice. The Stag obeys, and Carol and Nat follow. You hold the fox kit gently all the way home and carry it straight to the stable to begin to heal the poor creature. 

In the stable, Carol and Nat leave you be going to have a drink and soothe the discomfort of knowing more concrete details about your past. Thor sees them without you and has a moment of panic. The girls laugh a little, "Your lady is safe," Carol said, "In fact, she's brought home a new pet." They tell Thor about the fox kit that you carried home in your arms and subsequently tease him about the way his face softened, and he had almost literal heart eyes. Thor blushes and excuses himself, going in search of you. 

He watches you from the stable door, your musical voice bringing magic into being. When the kit was asleep in your arms, on her back and practically snoring tired from being hurt, he walks towards you, "New pet, sweetheart?" he said, a soft smile on his face. You look up at him, shy and blushing, "She needed help," you say, "I'm sorry. I should have asked you." Thor caressed your jaw softly and kissed your forehead, "You have such a loving heart," he murmured, "I could never be angry at that." He watches as your lips part in surprise, and you smile at him, and he aches in ways he hasn't since he was a boy first in love. He can't stop himself; he caresses your lower lip with his thumb and steps slightly closer to you. Several emotions flit across your face and then nothing. You stand wooden and panicked, pupils were blown wide and blood pounding. Thor stops. Just stops. Dropping his hand from you and moving back. "Sweetheart," he breathes, "I'm sorry. Please don't be afraid. Not of me." Thor sits down on a bench and holds out his arms to you, when you stumble forward he scoops you gently and kisses your hair. "Whatever they did to you was not your fault," he said. "It's not your fault, and I love you," he reassured.  When the tears start falling, he only rocks you softly, his tears sliding down his cheeks into his beard. He doesn't know how long he holds you that way. But by the time your tears are spent, and you sleep, the stars are out. He carries you not to your bed but his, unwilling to let you go. He takes off your sandals but otherwise does not undress you before pulling you to his side your head on his chest and the fox kit curled on his soft, cuddly belly, tail over her nose.

Thor doesn’t sleep well that night, despite holding the plushness of your body the way he’s longed to since that first night. His thoughts are murderous. That man is going to pay for the thing he’s done. The things he let happen to you. He strokes your hair, rubbing the back of your neck to keep you soothed into a restful sleep, his deep voice rumbling stories to you. His exploits as a boy. Things about his mother. Anything to keep your monsters at bay, if only for a little while. Anything to keep you comfortable in his arms a little longer.

tags: @thekairos @amalthea9 @lancsnerd 

#thor x reader #thor x you #thor odinson #natasha romanoff #carol danvers #rocket raccoon #loki laufeyson #thor imagine #Angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #thicc thor

[artificialqueens]

Five People's Thoughts on Adore and Bianca: Laganja Estranja (2/5) (Biadore-ish) - doctor bitchcraftt

Yes gawd mawma, it’s finally time to hear from Laganja, okurrrr?  

1. Courtney Act

2. Laganja Estranja

3 & 4. Raja & Raven

5. Trixie Mattel

A/N: Laganja isn’t a character I’ve written before, and I wanted to avoid reducing her to a caricature of her own behavior by exploring the deep insecurities exposed by her Untucked outbursts and her version of calculated competition.  She’s the quintessential unreliable narrator, and I hope that comes through properly.

Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Laganja had been pleased to find Adore in her group for Drag Race, both as a friendly face and a known quantity: good, but not going to outshine her in the end (she didn’t even cinch).  They’d gotten on well before the show, and she couldn’t wait to kiki with her on camera.  More importantly, she wanted to find a moment to ask if she’d managed to stash anything for later since her nerves had been buzzing for hours already.

Striding into the workroom, she landed a perfect death drop that hopefully would capture the fans’ attention once the episode aired.

Sizing up the rest of the competition proved more challenging.  She almost immediately dismissed Vivacious (what the fuck was that on her head anyway?) and cautiously considered the likelihood that BenDeLaCreme would turn out to be playing the long game behind her sweet persona.  Laganja weighed the potential benefit of establishing Gia as an ally, felt a twinge of envy for April’s showy costume and Latin charm, and came up suspiciously neutral in her impression of Kelly Mantle.

After the photo shoot and gleefully celebrating her first win, she sat back and waited for the other queens to arrive, ignoring how much she really wanted to light up to calm her nerves.

Kelly hadn’t lasted long anyway.  One queen down, and six new bitches to add to the mix.

********

The first thing she noticed when the second group walked in was how much older Darienne and Courtney looked in person (although she had to begrudgingly admit that Courtney’s fishyness was impressive).  Courtney was pretty, but her makeup wasn’t drag-worthy.  As for Darienne, well, a queen who couldn’t wear high heels wasn’t a queen at all in her book.

Joslyn seemed genuinely nice, although probably not savvy enough to last long.  On the other hand, she would definitely make Laganja seem even more polished by comparison, so maybe she would be worth keeping around for a couple of weeks.

Trinity had faded into the background, and Laganja figured she would stay there.  Part of her empathized with the air of someone struggling with their own inner issues, but she couldn’t afford to play nice.  Trinity didn’t seem likely to pose a threat, and it was probably safe to leave her to her own devices.

Most of all though, the last two who came through the doors set off alarm bells in her head.  

Milk looked like a demented marionnette wrapped in organza, but the sheer outlandish energy coming off her might be a problem as the challenges progressed.  She also wondered if Milk had any dance background, watching her assured movement in and out of drag.  So far no one else seemed to be able to match her for flexibility and ability to tear up the floor, but she planned to keep an eye on the bearded wonder.

Last across the threshold and sporting neon eyeshadow that badly needed blending, Laganja recognized Bianca Del Rio.  The queen had to be pushing forty (Alyssa had mentioned her a few times, calling her ‘established in the business’), but her padding and wig line were flawless.  Beyond the packaging though, she recognized the sharp eyes of a fellow competitor.  Combined with her sharp tongue, Laganja might actually have some serious competition.

********

Scream Queens

After the first acting challenge, when Laganja found herself laughing along with Bianca’s cutting retort to Adore, she wondered if the other queen might actually not be as much of a problem as she’d anticipated.  If she was going to devote energy to taking down all of the girls verbally, then it was less to focus on everything else.  Adore rarely played well with other queens in her experience, so why should Drag Race be any different?  It meant that Laganja ought to have her undivided support, at least until she was sent home.  

Bianca didn’t appear concerned with playing to the camera outside of the challenge, nor did she make an effort to capture airtime in the workroom.  Moreover, she didn’t make any attempt to showcase her slender legs (nice, but not as nice as Laganja’s) to take attention away from her overdrawn face, which could only be a serious tactical error.  And while the old Hollywood glamour admittedly flattered her petite figure, it wasn’t edgy or exciting for someone who claimed to be a costume designer.  

The oversized rhinestoned collar was actually impressive.  Not as imaginative as her butterfly fascinator, but definitely interesting.  

Laganja had studied the looks on Bianca’s garment rack, and while a part of her coveted the craftsmanship (apparently Bianca made everything herself), her overriding impression was that the queen was stuck too far in the past.  People like Laganja, and Adore, were the new face of drag, outside of smoky clubs and bars.  

Also, the obsessive neatness and organized rows of identically styled wigs made her supremely uncomfortable.

********

Shade: The Rusical

In the Gold Bar, she struggled to contain her tears when a message from her parents played.  Everything was finally coming together, and she could picture the crown on display in Alyssa’s dance studio for everyone to know that Laganja Estranja of the Haus of Edwards was a true winner.

Sniffling, she turned her attention back to the other girls, waiting for their separate conversation to end so they could finish validating her experience.  It started out well, and even Bianca was complimentary towards her parents.  Who would have thought she had it in her?  (She was half convinced that Bianca spent every night off set thinking up ways to insult everyone else.)

And then, right as Laganja felt safe in relaxing just a little, Bianca cut across her moment with a joke.  It wasn’t the joke itself - she couldn’t care less what the bitter bitch thought of her - but then all of the other girls laughed and started another conversation without her.  Worse, they seemed to be laughing at her, which wasn’t fair at all.  The prickling sense of doubt came roaring back full force, and she couldn’t afford to let anyone see it, especially not here.    

How could they be so insensitive?

…how dare they?

“This was my moment!” she sobbed, not even hearing what was said after and barely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth.

This couldn’t be happening.

****      

Later, when she was calm again and Adore was disappointed in not winning the main challenge, Laganja found herself torn between annoyance on her behalf (Courtney Act was so *pitchy*) and being secretly relieved that one more episode was complete without the judges being drawn under Adore’s charming spell.  

The thing about Adore, was that her powerful voice wasn’t going to make up for her thrift store drag budget.  Her punk rock rebel schtick was only going to go so far, especially in comparison to queens with professionally made looks.  Laganja hated to think it, but Bianca Del Rio’s unclockable hairline next to Adore’s messy shake-and-go Party City closeouts was a point in her favor.

More importantly, she was relieved to unload her frustration at being dismissed on a friendly ear.  Adore might be a little slow, but she definitely stuck up for her friends.  Bianca wouldn’t catch her off-guard again, and not with Adore now aware of her awful behavior.      

********

Snatch Game

Laganja woke up feeling peaky and drained.  She panicked for a moment, thinking about the cameras catching her looking tired.  The only solution, as Alyssa had taught her, was to put on her biggest wig and blow the other bitches out of the water.  Digging in her suitcase, she located her pièce de résistance: a high braided turban that was sure to deflect from anyone noticing the bags under her eyes.

Her tactic seemed to be working, because the other queens were staring with impressed expressions as she showed off her flexibility for the camera.

Crisis averted.

Unsurprisingly, Bianca was the first one in full face and wig while the other queens were still baking and contouring.  She moved around the workroom purposefully, offering to help DeLa with her old lady face and brushing out Trinity’s wig.  When her black-clad form (why did Bianca suddenly look so tiny?) appeared behind Laganja in the mirror, she steeled herself for more negativity.

“Want me to help?”

Laganja blinked, certain that she’d heard wrong, and tried to continue.

Bianca watched her fumble with her highlight for a few seconds before holding out her hand.

“Give it to me, queen.”

Laganja froze, brush in midair and compact clenched in her other hand.

Rolling her eyes, Bianca made a ‘come here’ gesture before plucking both items out of her hands and tugging her shoulder until she turned around.  Gripping her chin gently, Bianca started moving with quick, precise strokes.

“It’s easier if you start near your hairline, and…"  The rest of what she said was lost as Laganja’s mind spun into overdrive.  There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motive, yet here she was helping her competition.

She zoned back in as Bianca set down the brush and highlighter, and nodded briskly.  

"Let me know if you want me to show you how to do it next time.”

As she walked away, Laganja could almost understand why Trinity and Adore seemed to love Bianca and talked about her being great.  Sometimes when the cameras weren’t rolling, she even felt a sense of camaraderie.  It never lasted long enough to convince her that it was real, because the moment filming started and her anxiety rocketed upwards, everything that came out of her mouth seemed to annoy the older queen.

****

She left the Snatch Game set nearly in tears.  Rachel Zoe was an easy part of her repertoire for her friends, but everything had felt so off today.    

It took a trip to the bathroom and a five-minute private mirror pep talk before Laganja felt ready to take on the Night of 1,000 RuPauls.  What she really needed was to get away from everyone and smoke, but that hadn’t been an option for weeks.  

Staring into her own eyes, she tongue popped for luck and resolved to slay it on the runway.

Bianca gave her a curious look when she breezed back into the workroom.

”Everything all right, queen?”

Laganja steadfastly ignored the attention.  

Halfway through gluing her lace down, she realized that Adore was no longer perched on the chair beside her.  Looking around the room, her heart dropped when she located her friend.

Instead of lingering at her station like usual to keep Laganja company and her mind off her nerves, Adore was off in the corner.  Off in the corner with Bianca, who had paused in the middle of piling hair on her head to lace her into a cincher.  Bianca’s cincher.  

Bafflingly, she was actually being nice to Adore and not sabotaging her, because as far as Laganja could tell, there wasn’t anything wrong with the garment and she had seemed genuinely concerned that Adore was comfortable and happy with the final product.

She didn’t understand Bianca at all.

****

The fragile sense of calm that she’d achieved on the main stage crumbled the moment Adore pointed at her and Gia as being in the bottom.

Hearing Adore laugh at DeLa’s naive question about Rachel Zoe hit like a bad death drop and for a moment Laganja couldn’t breathe.  

She scrabbled for something to defend herself with.  Bianca was an automatic target - after playing nice with her makeup, she had turned right around and messed with her in the Snatch Game.  Laganja wasn’t buying her “I hate everyone equally” excuse this time, not when she was obviously trying to come for her.

Looking across the lounge, she was overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal as Adore claimed that Bianca wasn’t singling her out for attack.  

It felt like the floor was slowly collapsing under her feet.  Not only had her friendship with Adore been far less of a stabilizing force than she’d expected, but Adore had actually joined forces with Bianca against her.  

It wasn’t the only thing, but that was the last heave it took to upend the cart of her control.

“Did you or did you not come for me today?” she snapped, hoping that someone else (Gia? Joslyn?) would stand up for her.  

“…hold up girl, I’m not trying to create a moment -“

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she badly wanted to grab the stupid pillow off of Bianca’s lap and throw it at Adore’s bitchface.  

“I’m not saying you came for me but I do feel a little shafted by you today.”

The words were spilling out and Laganja gave up trying to hold in all of her frustration and hurt.

”I don’t remember the exact comment you said, but earlier I do feel like you were saying -“

Her breathing was too shallow, but all she could see was Adore’s newly cinched waist.

“I don’t even know, but I felt a little hurt by you earlier,” she finished lamely, unable to articulate the pain and panic welling up in her chest.

She no longer recognized her rebellious good time party girl, always a few steps behind.  Adore wasn’t even trying to support her, just offering empty words as she she spent her time cozying up to Bianca.  While the person on the other side of the table looked like Adore and spoke in Adore’s voice, she might as well have been a stranger.  

Laganja shied away from Bianca’s touch on the way back into the hall.  Not five minutes after coming for her, Bianca had to be mocking her with her ‘advice’.  

She couldn’t trust anyone here, not anymore.

Why didn’t anyone else see what was going on?

********

Oh No She Better Don’t

“Miss Laganja Estranja. Next time you death drop, reverse that and drop dead.”

Adore’s read felt like a stab in the back and Laganja didn’t even bother to try to smile.  Everyone was laughing at her, Bianca’s cackle rising above the others.  

********

Glamazon by Colorevolution

Surveying the others, Laganja was certain that her black and white runway look would win the judges over - no one else had anything as edgy.  Even Adore was wearing a Forever 21 sweater and a miniskirt, but she could forgive her friend the look because their commercial had gone amazingly well.

Joslyn looked like an extra from a porn about magicians, and Courtney…well, that weird sparkly tuxedo thing was a look.  Courtney was blathering on about someone called Clause No Me (whoever that was), but it wouldn’t matter if she was wearing Dior, because her boy legs were on full display.  Not to mention, the giant pile of hair that DeLa was pinning up made her think of a butt plug.  Laganja was surprised that Darienne hadn’t made any catty comments about it given the palpable tension between them.  She started to move closer, but was distracted by the activity in Bianca’s alcove.

Still in pantyhose and corset with her skunk-striped hair, Bianca was helping Trinity zip herself in.  The domino dress was well-made, although she ought to be carrying drinks in Monte Carlo in it.  Laganja admitted she might even ask Trinity where it came from.

As for Miss Perfect herself, Laganja once again grudgingly had to give her credit for the ensemble as Bianca started to get dressed.  The enormous ball gown skirt seemed to materialize from nowhere in a cloud of tulle.  How the hell had she fit that in her duffels?  It wasn’t even creased, and it must have contained miles of crinoline.  Laganja had barely been able to close her five suitcases, but Bianca’s luggage all seemed to be under the maximum amount.  Not to mention, she’d only unpacked a bag and a half of wigs.

She started to pace anxiously, balance thrown off after the high of performing.  Her feet carried her to Adore’s table, hoping to mend their friendship, but once again Adore was busy talking to Bianca.

********

It wasn’t fair.  She had to keep her chin up, because the road to success was never easy, but it also shouldn’t have been this hard.  

She’d promised her parents and Alyssa that she’d bring home the crown.  Her parents seemed to finally be at peace with her drag, and it would be everything she’d ever wanted to validate following her dreams.

Laganja just had to hold on a little longer, prove to Ru that she deserved to be America’s next drag superstar.

********

Queens of Comedy

The comedy challenge was a disaster.  

After seeing Adore perform with shaky insecurity, Laganja’s confidence had risen.  All of the other girls were trying for a ten, but she was going to dial her personality up to one hundred.

Except instead of howling with laughter, the old people in the audience stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.  She dug deep for the best jokes that never failed to entertain her usual crowd, but nothing worked.

Barely keeping her angry tears in check, she slumped back into her seat and watched the rest with a stony stare.

Witnessing Bianca Del Rio effortlessly work the audience was awful.  Every laugh she drew from them hit her like a punch to the stomach, reminding her of how inadequate her jokes had been.  

Worse, seeing Adore’s rapt attention made her physically ill.  Bianca was now the recipient of the same wondering smile that Adore used to give her when she performed.

Nothing made sense.

Without heels, Laganja towered over Bianca; she couldn’t understand how the queen could still make her feel insignificant without even saying a word.

She was sick to death of Bianca’s clever insults and her perfect white teeth.  She hated her stupid dimples and how her voice grew soft when she spoke to Adore.  

Adore was her friend, or at least she used to be.  If Bianca had to pick someone to be nice to, why did it have to be Adore?  

This was supposed to be her moment.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #laganja estranja #biadore #canon compliant #five thoughts #doctor bitchcraftt

[frekydeki]

Much Like Lightning

Summary: You were once someone who would laugh at the one bozo in seven hundred thousand that got struck by lightning... Except now, you are that bozo. Add to that the fact that you get thrown back into time where the comfy dungeon you're stuck in is visited by a certain earl and his butler, and the Queen of England decides they're the only ones fit to babysit you, makes your bad luck like a nice little sundae on a good ole rainy Sunday. You happen to fall in love with the sinfully beautiful butler and accidentally earn the affections of others along the way; hey, just think of it as the cherry on top of your very unlucky sundae,

Pairing: (Reader x Various) (Reader x Sebastian, more specifically)

 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4: Upcoming

"Dismissed." The professor giggles to the class. Her good wishes are washed out by bags being zipped and textbooks being slapped shut. Your strong gaze, however, remains stilled on the pouring rain outside; thunder shudders in through the shut windows... You would rather avoid driving in this kind of weather. It makes your hands shaky, your tongue swells, and sweat collects on the surface of your skin... Sometimes the scars littered across your back even start to hurt. "(Y/N)?" Your professor softly calls, her round glasses glaring because of the white light shining from the large lights above. Her slack mouth twitches, brows nearly melting off her face; your stomach begins an acidic burn at the look she is giving you... "I'm fine!" You put a smile on your face as well as you can. "It's raining pretty hard out there..." She slowly speaks, "Want me to drive you back?" Your hands are soon in a flurry in front of you, heat popping into your cheeks. "No!" You clear your throat and fold your hands in front of you, trying to collect your frantic personality, "No," Your voice comes out smoothly, "I have an umbrella." She watches you with blinking eyes, waiting for you to fill the silence. "Not a single drop will touch me." Her head begins to bob in acceptance, her back stiff and shoulders slouched; you put it up to her age, which is higher up in the numbers. "Have a good one, Professor Bennett." "Good night, (Y/N)." You step from the classroom, into the large, empty hallway. Through the doors you can see the glare of headlights passing; you can just barely hear the rain tapping the glass gently. From your black bookbag you pull your umbrella, and then take to stuffing your headphones into your ears and turning your music up loud enough to drown out all possible sound. The black metal of the door is cold on your clammy hands; you should put your hood up just in case - you even pull at the ends of your hoodie to try and cover your hands from possible rogue raindrops. "Hey." Is purred from your right, you close the door that you'd begun to open, to meet the brown eyes of the boy wiggling his eyebrows at you. You pop one of your headphones out with a twitch in your brow. "What are you doing tonight?" Your skin crawls as you try to piece together what hiccup of a pickup line he's going to use this time. "I'm..." Your eyes dart to the left, "Going to study... I have a test in history this week. Skipped class too many times this chapter." Watching the way his eyes turn down and the color in his cheeks fade away would make any sweet girls stomach rocket into hell; lucky for you you're a terrible human. 

"Oh, well... Maybe we could study together?" "Charlie, you're not in my class." "I'm good at history." "Then, maybe some other time." You tap his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, "Just, not tonight." Offering him a hesitant smile, you say your good-bye to him with a flimsy, "Goodnight Charlie." You aren't a big fan of liars. You have too much experience with them, knowing all of the reasons, the tactics and strategies, and most of all, all about their consequences.  It's obvious that while honesty can be a little more difficult, it's somehow way easier. That being said, you should also mention that you're a hypocrite, because you just blatantly lied to Charlie's poor face. Study? It probably would have been more believable if you would have just said "Generic excuse" to him or something. You know damn well what you're going to do tonight; it's almost a ritual at this point. Unlocking the door to your car, you plop down into the seat and screech about your leather seats for about two minutes; summed up, they're bad in the winter because they're so cold and they're bad in the summer because they're too hot - all around they're bad. After turning your car on and letting the engine warm up, you finally work up the strength to pull the headphones out of your ears. This time, for sure, you won't have a flashback. You click the car into drive and putter from the parking lot, leg pulling back from the gas peddle several times. The corners of your mouth bury themselves into your cheeks, stretching your dry lips into a concentrated line, and your brows stitch together. Your eyes never stutter from the lane - barely checking the lights - and every time a car hisses by, you turn your radio up louder and louder. Living so far away is a menace, especially for a girl like you; on rainy nights like this, after your classes, you turn into a danger to society and should be off the road at all costs. But, you're stubborn. Determined to be self-sufficient... Anyways, there's nothing you should be afraid of. By the time you pull into your secluded driveway, your dinky car is about to fall apart because your music is so loud, and you look like you've been through ten world wars. Shaking hands spend a long while trying to unlock your front door. The longer you spend trying to unlock the door, the sound of the rain hitting the ground gets louder, and the harder your hands shake; you put a whole new meaning to try and run away from the rain. Some girls run from it like it's life or death - for their hair, for their outfit, whatever it is - but for you, it is. Finally, finally, the door swings open, and you tumble in like you've just barely dodged a bullet. You shed your wet jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack, your last name engraved on the top  of it with some weird looking ducks on either side of it; your mom has an obsession with them. You smile to the familiar faces saying their welcome homes, "I'm home, Mom, Papa." You head for the living room finding it surprisingly dirty for your tastes; you pick up the empty wrappers and the two plates on the end stand. "Gosh, we've kind of let the place go, huh?" You call. You start the dishwasher and wipe up the kitchen counters before snatching a bag of chips from the pantry. Marching down the hall with a little less passion in each step forward, you stop in front of the thin table lining the downstairs hallway. "You should be proud of me, Pops. I made it home tonight without a flashback." You call a little above a whisper. "I learned about show versus tell in creative writing today." You babble, lighting an incense, and watching the smoke rise to the white ceiling, parting at the brown beams running horizontally across it. "I'll show you just how well I'm doing now. Watch over me." You stare at their smiling faces, stuck in that simple brown frame. Almost a minute passes in silence, until you whisper again, "I wish you could have made it home with me too." You swallow the knot in your throat and nod, forcing a smile to your trembling lips. "Goodnight, Momma, Papa." "Sebastian!" You call, clicking your tongue, and turning sharply from the table. You shake the bag of chips, hoping he'd take it as a bag of treats. You don't hear his bell tinkering towards you for a minute, so you shake it again. "Sebastian! Here kitty kitty! Let's go to bed," Peaking into every room as you head upstairs to your bedroom, you grumble under your breath, "Where the hell are you, ya little shit?" You stomp up the stairs, opting out of tearing the upstairs apart looking for him quite yet; you should get in your battle uniform. You step into your cluttered room and pull a new pair of floral pajama pants and a random t-shirt from your dresser and then dress sluggishly. Chirping from the cage hanging in the corner of your room draws your attention up. You smile to the sweet blue bird staring at you with those endless eyes. His food must be out; he did eat a lot for such a tiny little thing. "Hi, Ciel." You did get a little kick out of your dry humor every time you would snuggle into your bed with a good book in your lap, and Sebastian sitting on top of your dresser staring hungrily at Ciel. "Speaking of Sebastian," You begin, pushing his small bowl back into its place, which he flutters to instantly, cocking his head at you, "Have you seen him?" He squeaks back incessantly, to which you back away with half lidded eyes and a lift in your upper lip. "Okay, you don't have to be such a brat about it." You step into the hall and cup your hand around your mouth, calling for your black cat. You check all the rooms, but to your disappointment your kitty didn't show up in any of them. Clicking your tongue again and glancing around as if he were hiding in plain sight, you find yourself at a loss of where your cat could've gone. And, just out of the corner of your eye, you see a little black dot sitting in your back yard. Your body is plastered to the window in a second, staring in the orange eyes of your soaked feline who's sitting outside on your uncut lawn. Panic soarS through the entirety of your body as you tumble down the stairs, nearly skipping every step, and shoot through the back sliding door. "Sebastian!" You scream at your annoyingly calm kitty. His head flicks to look at you like you were disturbing his peaceful bird watching, but you ignore his plane stare and still hustle to embrace him. "What are you doing out here? You scared me!" You hug him to your chest as you turn away and look at the library window, left damn near wide open. "That's how you did it, huh?" He meows up to you as you begin to head inside. "I swear, mister, if I didn't know that that story was just a fairytale I'd almost insist you are Sebastian. It gives me the heebie-jeebies, ya know?" You babble to him. "Still, I'm-" Boom. It feels like someone punched you in the back of your head. Every muscle in your body tenses as your legs stop moving and you begin to fall forward. Blinding light is all you see in the reflection of your back door. Time seems to be slowed down as you watch the lightning retract from the ground behind you, and your kitty scramble inside. Hitting the ground, you watch those orange eyes of Sebastian's turn back around and eye you in wonder. What a weird cat.

#black butler #reader insert #X reader #Sebastian x reader #reader x various #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #Sebastian michaelis x reader #ciel phantomhive #black butler fanfiction #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #baldroy #finnian #mey-rin #tanaka

[alwaysaprille]

Anyway...

I’m back for my regularly scheduled “April Attempts to Break Down the Trailer” post. This will be a long post (obviously) as I like to do these frame by frame. I’m going to be honest, I thought the trailer was good, but also that it lacked a certain punch. I’m pretty sure this is mostly due to the fact that nothing actually new was revealed, but we’ll continue on with the speculation (This will be a two parter btw):

Our opening shot is a barren wasteland, lots of dirt and sand and hot sun, with a lone figure walking across the screen:

The first lines are “Bellamy, I doubt you can hear me on this piece of crap radio....” which (in my opinion) confirms the theory that Clarke has been sending her radio communications almost exclusively to Bellamy and Bellamy alone.

We hear lots of bits about Clarke’s time alone on Earth, but some of the opening narration we’ve heard before (in the S4 finale), which leads me to believe that these are VARIOUS lines taken from multiple radio broadcasts.

Here we’re given our first of (many) parallels with the line: “Please don’t feel bad about leaving me, you did what you had to do.” Reminiscent of Bellamy telling Clarke the same thing around the fire after their 2x05 reunion.

I’m a big fan of this shot of Bellamy. It appears that he is alone (although we can’t see around the corner so this could be misleading). I’ve stated numerous times over the course of the hiatus that I’m really excited to see Bellamy’s development as a leader and I think a part of that is bearing the weight of that leadership alone (even if you don’t have to). I like the idea of a story line where we really get to see Bellamy as a leader (alone) and what that means for him-in both a negative and positive light.  (I’m also a fan of the fact that both Clarke and Bellamy are wearing blue shirts here)

As I suspected, this image:

overlayed with the words “By now Monty should have the algae farm producing, how bad does it suck.”, confirms that they’re not mourning anything but their taste buds and good food.

I wonder if this is the moment that Clarke found “Eden”. Terrible CGI aside, it is nice to look at.

The following two images are some of my favorite of the trailer:

This one I love simply because of the symbolism found in the fact that Bellamy’s page is the only one (that we see) that has come free of it’s bindings. This typically means that someone has spent a long time looking at or manipulating that particular page in a book. I wonder who that could be.

This one I enjoy because it confirms that Clarke didn’t just tell Madi the fairy tale we heard in the S5 Sizzle Reel, she also created the book. These four images taken together tell a story in almost chronological order, Octavia in her war paint with her sword at her back as she prepares to begin the conclave, Bellamy as he looked when he chastised Clarke and Jaha for considering cheating, Octavia after she won the conclave and created “Wonkru” and that last page is a bit unclear, but it’s Clarke running into Becca’s lab as the Death Wave approaches. I can’t help but wonder if Clarke didn’t draw a scene for every part of the 8 months she spent with her friends and family on the ground.

I don’t know if anyone has pointed this out, but in this shot you can clearly see the small patch of green where Clarke and Madi reside, and it makes my heart a little warm to know that Clarke’s friends are looking at the place where she lives even if none of them recognize the significance of it.

The lines over this scene:

“We should light up the ring so they can see us.”/”First we find out who they are and then we ask them for help.” confirm what a lot of you all have been saying from the start, Eligius and SS7 arrive together. If that is indeed the case, then this sets us up for a Clarke and SS7 reunion no later than Episode 2. I’m also a fan of Raven and Emori in the back near the computers, and the general blocking of this scene (with Bellamy to the front and centered-showing that he’s the leader).

The Eligius ship is HUGE. A lot bigger than I thought it would be when we originally saw it coming in for landing in S4. There are probably a lot more people than we expected to be in that behemoth.

 My man Zeke makes his first appearance in the trailer (but not his first appearance in my heart), and we can tell there’s already some division between his ideals and those of the apparent leader of Eligius, Charmaine. She’s certain they have to go to war to maintain their piece of green and Zeke doesn’t understand why they have to go to war at all.

These next to screencaps are posted out of the order in which they appear, but that’s because I believe this is their actual episode order, i.e. I think several of the scenes in this trailer are from the same episode and these particular scenes fit into a certain order that’s undeniable (this part compiled with the help of @octanakin ):

We see a shot of a small white craft heading towards a spot labeled “Docking Bay A”. I believe the craft contains several members of SS7 and they are docking on the Eligius. Recall Bellamy’s earlier line about figuring out who they were and asking if they can help? It seems they get right on that and physically head over to the Eligius.

This is definitely Bellamy entering the Eligius ship. Note that he’s not wearing a suit, and his face is not bruised here. 

We have a moment that matches this scene:

Raven and Echo have joined Bellamy outside of the rocket. They’re clearly in an airlock, and Echo has pulled her knife, so she must see something threatening or at least wants to be prepared. 

This scene is next:

I think Bellamy’s line about “Clarke didn’t die so that we could get back to the ground and make the same mistakes.” probably comes after someone in the group expresses doubt about trusting Eligius. I say this because the largest issue over the previous seasons was that it was always someone vs someone else. Grounders Vs. Arkadians Vs. Mt. Weather Vs. The Planet. Maybe Bellamy thinks it might be wise to try to work with people instead of against them. 

Then this shot is likely next:

I imagine they’re exploring the ship and find at least 30 Eligius prisoners in sleeping pods, with Echo saying: “What happens when these guys get to the ground.” implying that they’ve perhaps wandered into something they shouldn’t have or that everything isn’t what it seems. 

Murphy saying “What the hell, let’s be good guys” to Echo and Bellamy here could be in space or on the ground, although I’m leaning towards space because of the outfits and locations. So perhaps after they realize Eligius is up to no good, they decide to sabotage that somehow which leads to: 

Bellamy is fighting for his life here, he’s definitely on the Eligius ship, but he’s no longer wearing his jacket. So I’m thinking they initially believe everything is all good with Eligius, stumble across the cryo pods, Echo being the spy she is realizes this is literally a sleeping army, a Trojan Horse if you will, and then everyone else is like...”Oh, shit!” 

A continuation of the fight here, this is definitely Echo as she’s the only one wearing short/cap sleeves and she’s slashing him with something (probably the knife she pulled in the beginning of the episode). 

This tragically blurry snap of Murphy and Raven running is also in Eligius, so I imagine this is about the time they also realize something is just..not right.

Here we have Murphy, strangely  not wearing a jacket (but carrying a bookbag) telling Emori (or maybe the whole group) “See you on the other side.” (Nice Jasper shoutout here).

Emori looks understandably worried, and you can see that she’s wearing the orange suit, while Echo (and someone else, likely Raven) put on their suits, on Emori’s other side are Monty and Harper, both already in their black suits.

And that means that the above shot, with only 5 figures in it, one piloting (likely Raven), another copiloting (likely Emori), two black garbed figures sitting closely together (Harper and Monty) and one figure behind Raven) are heading to Earth, without Murphy and Bellamy.

Now, we’re going outside of the trailer and to a picture JRoth posted a while ago:

Bellamy is bruised here, they’re still on Eligius and he’s wearing the same shirt he was wearing in the scene with Raven and in the fight. Murphy is wearing his jacket again, so I’m wondering if  they managed to make piece with Eligius by keeping the leader of SS7 and Murphy volunteered to stay (here I’m thinking of Richard saying that Bellamy might be Murphy’s one real friend). 

Which leads me to believe that Clarke’s first glimpse of Bellamy will actually be relatively early on in the Season perhaps episode 1 or 2, through the scope of her rifle, as he exits the Eligius ship as a prisoner, similar to this shot:

This ends Part 1! Part 2 coming in a few hours!!!

#a BBPS original #March 14th 2018 #the 100 #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellarke #raven reyes #john murphy #monty green

[eliz1369]

All Types of Courage

Rating: T (though not for Shinpachi’s lack of trying) Ships: SaiChi, HaraSen, & kinda Brotp Amagiri/Saito Length: ~2800 words Setting: Star Wars AU

Sorry this is so late, and also sorry, because I’m sort of, kind of, maybe hijacking this SaiChi&Friends day to indulge my love of Star Wars. (Not sorry. May 4th only comes once a year after all) This focuses more on Saito and Amagiri than it does SaiChi specifically. Of course, it also turned out way longer than I intended and somehow HaraSen ended up in there… *Ahem* Anyway, hope you all enjoy.

“Sen, maybe…”

“Don’t even think about it, Chizuru.” Sen said as she began buckling herself into one of the two passenger seats in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. “He’s nothing but a big bully.”

“Yeah, a big bully with a lot of big guns…” Heisuke muttered under his breath as he stood in the cockpit doorway and eyed the sleek, heavily armored private yacht, flanked by a pair of TIE Interceptors positioned in front of them.

Sen shot a glare at him before pointing Chizuru to the other passenger seat.

Harada’s grin was confident as he glanced back at her from the pilot’s seat. “Don’t worry. Just sit back and relax. We got this cover-”

“Are you rebel dogs listening to me? You have five minutes to surrender and give me the girl or-”

Nagakura rolled his eyes as he reached forward to press the comm button.

“Not really, but go ahead and keep talking. Oh, and the answer is no, and you can stick it right up your-”

Harada cleared his throat, cutting Nagakura off.

Releasing the button, Nagakura turned and winked at Chizuru with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he flipped to the encrypted channel they had set up for the group.

“Like Sano was saying, we got this. Besides, there aren’t many people better than your boyfriend when it comes to handling that little toy fighter of his. Right, Saito?”

Chizuru felt her cheeks flush at the mention of the man she had quite unintentionally fallen in love with and who was currently sitting in one of the three x-wings arrayed behind them.

“Ah,” Saito affirmed, his tone carrying neither pride, nor embarrassment at the praise. Though after a brief pause he added, “An x-wing is not a toy.”

Okita’s laughter crackled over the comm, “Oh, you’re in for it now. Be careful what you say about Hajime’s ship.”

“Can we focus?” Hijikata interjected. “The blonde bastard has stopped talking and he isn’t going to just sit there forever.”

As if on cue, the pair of Interceptors peeled away from the yacht, speeding into a wide pincer formation. Despite everyone’s reassurances, Chizuru felt her nerves return and she bit her lip anxiously. As much as she was grateful for everyone’s support, she also feared for their safety.

“Saito, stay with the Falcon in case Kazama brings his ship in, Souji and I will handle the Interceptors.”

Chizuru let out a soft breath at Hijikata’s order. She couldn’t help but feel safer knowing it was Saito watching over her. She knew without a doubt that she could trust in his skill and his promises. He had said he would protect her, and he would.

Saito’s and Okita’s acknowledgments were cut off as Harada said, “Leave the Interceptors to us and Saito. I hate to admit it, but our shields won’t last long against that yacht if it does engage. Those Interceptors aren’t making it home without him, so if you can get him to run, they aren’t gonna want to be left behind.”

“Right. You catch that Souji?”

“I never did like wasting time on small fry.”

Hijikata’s and Okita’s x-wings shot over the Falcon’s canopy, their afterburners fully lit as their s-foils opened into attack position.

“Oi, is that you in that hunk of junk, Harada?”

Harada frowned as he eyed the two incoming Interceptors. “Damn it, Shiranui? How’d you get this channel?”

“He just insulted our ship, and you’re worried about the encryption?” Nagakura grumbled, clearly incensed by the jibe.

“Magician’s don’t tell their secrets, now do they. How about a challenge? You and me, one on one. Or three on one, I don’t really care. Oh, and don’t worry, I haven’t passed this on to Tall-blonde-and-High-’n-Mighty.”

Harada hesitated a moment before he said, “Saito, you good with handling the other guy?”

“Affirmative.”

As soon as Saito’s acknowledgement came through, Harada was already beginning to stand.

“Alright Shiranui, you got yourself a deal,” clapping Shinpachi on the shoulder, he began to maneuver his large frame out of the crowded cockpit. “Heisuke, you’re with me. Take the belly gun.”

Sen’s mouth gaped open as she stared at Harada.

“Wait, he’s flying?”

“You bet sweetheart. Shinpachi‘s the best flier I know. He can do things with this ship others can only dream of.”

Shinpachi grinned as he hopped into the pilot’s seat. “Aw, Sano. You’re making me blush.”

Behind her, Chizuru heard Heisuke mutter, “Yeah, if by ‘things’, you mean almost getting us killed.”

“Oi! That was only once! ...Well okay, twice, but the second one wasn’t on purpose!”

The fact that only the second near death experience had been an accident, left Chizuru with more questions and concerns, than actual reassurance. None of the banter seemed to reassure Sen either, who looked like she was warring between wanting to smack someone, and taking the controls herself.

Harada paused to rest a hand on Sen’s shoulder. “Come on, trust me.”

Sen took a deep breath and after a moment, a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she said, “Okay, but you’ll be hearing from me if this goes sideways.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

With that, Harada and Heisuke left the cockpit, leaving just her, Sen and Nagakura.

“All right ladies and gents, hold on tight. We’re about to do some fancy flying.” Nagakura turned to yell over his shoulder, “Oi, Sano, Heisuke! You got less than a minute before I start plastering you to the walls.”

Somehow Chizuru didn’t think he was kidding.

Still shouting, Nagakura slapped the comm. “Hey, Shiranui, lets see how good a flier you really are! First to three tags is the winner!”

Saito had no doubt that the crew of the Falcon would be able to handle themselves against a single Interceptor, especially with their pride on the line. They were a rowdy and rather disorganized bunch, but even in the short time since circumstances had shoved them together, he had found them to be more honest and trustworthy than most people who didn’t break the law on a regular basis.

Rolling his x-wing into a smooth right turn, Saito brought the nose of his ship to face the remaining Interceptor. As he did so, he flipped the switch to lock his s-foils in attack position.

“Shadow, set turbolasers to 500 meters.”

He didn’t know what kind of fight he was going to be in for, but he preferred to keep his focal point close. Interceptors were faster and more maneuverable. He wasn’t about to waste energy on wild shots.

His R2 unit beeped a short affirmative.

Much like him, the black, little R2 unit was short and to the point, rarely engaging in the scolding and bickering Souji usually got into with his own droid, Echo.  At first he hadn’t intended on naming the droid, but Souji had insisted, under threat that he’d name him himself. It had been one more thing that had set them apart among their former imperial brethren. In the end, he’d simply settled on naming him after his black color, but the droid had seemed to like it and took a certain amount of pride in just how discrete he could be.

To Saito’s surprise, the Interceptor wasn’t racing toward him. Like himself, it seemed to hang in space, waiting, analyzing. Not something one usually associated with a fighter jock.

A light lit on his console, and over the background thrum of the other’s chatter, shadow twittered that he had an incoming message.

Even though he had a strong suspicion of who was trying to contact him, he asked, “Who is it from?”

Shadow burbled the droid equivalent of a shrug as text scrolled across the small monitor in the console.

Sender Unknown. Message carries Imperial markers.

That confirmed for Saito that the message had to be coming from the Interceptor facing him. Based on who the Falcon had been talking to and the unusual actions of his opponent, he thought he knew who he was facing.

He took a careful, calming breath before he flipped the comm switch and said, “Yes?”

“I am glad you agreed take my call.”

He had been right. It was Amagiri…

He had fought the man hand to hand to a standstill only a few days previous. In the end Amagiri had let him and Chizuru go, at great risk to himself. It would be a poor way to repay him for his kindness if he killed him here. Saito couldn’t help but feel that if he found an opportunity to let Amagiri live, he would take it. Not at the risk of Chizuru or the others, or course.

“What do you wish to discuss?”

“While I do not begrudge you your relationship with Yukimura, Lord Kazama does, and I am afraid this is one more thing which separates us this conflict. Before we begin, I wished to inform you of who your opponent is, and that I am regretful things must end this way.”

“As am I.”

Silence lingered for a moment and having nothing else to say, Saito closed the channel.

At the same moment he eased his x-wing’s throttle forward, Amagiri’s interceptor began matching him. The was one of the most dangerous moments for a fighter pilot. A head on pass meant his opponent had just a good a chance of hitting him as he did of hitting them. With easy movements, he jinked his fighter in random directions, always making sure to keep Amagiri within his firing cone. Green shots splashed across his forward shield at a rate far faster than he had ever seen an Interceptor fire. The starbursts blurred his vision and he only managed to get off two relatively sure shots before they rocketed past each other.

He pulled hard on the stick, knowing the Interceptor’s superior maneuverability meant he had a good chance of Amagiri ending up on his tail. This time Souji wasn’t there to watch his back.

His internal compensator couldn’t quite match the forces of his turn and Saito felt himself pressed back into his seat.

He had taken some heavy fire on that first pass, so he risked a quick glance at his shields, but to his surprises, they showed almost no drain. That shouldn’t have been possible, unless… Unless Amagiri had lowered the power of his shots to increase his firing rate. Using the fire as a screen to make up for his ship’s dangerous lack of shields.

Clever…

It would seem Amagiri was skilled at more than just hand-to-hand fighting.

His turn wasn’t sharp enough. Shadow gave a short warning trill and a quick glance at his scanners showed Amagiri closing in on his tail. Green bolts began flying past his canopy. One or two connected with his shields, taking significant chunks out of their meters.

“Shadow, divert power to rear shields.”

Having snapped off his order, Saito yanked back on the stick, pulling the nose of his fighter up and over. As he did so, he rolled so that he was now flying in the opposite direction from which he had started.

Green streaks again traced over his canopy. His maneuver hadn’t worked. Not that he had really expected it to. A tactic as clever as the one Amagiri had used wouldn’t come from a novice pilot.

Saito felt a tremor run through his ship and multiple flashing red lights on his console told him that one or more of Amagiri’s shots had pierced his shields. Nothing critical seemed to have failed yet, but enough was enough.

He knew Shadow would be furiously doing what he could to repair the damage and reroute systems. The sooner he ended this the better.

Shoving hard on one of the foot pedals, he dropped his forward thrust to zero, sending his fighter into a flat spin. He braced his arm against the side of the cockpit to help fight the forces overwhelming his inertial compensator. 

Hold… Hold…

At just the right moment, he released the pressure on the pedal and threw his thrust back up to full. He found Amagiri right in front of him and snapped off a shot before rolling away. He knew even as his finger had depressed the trigger that the shot would go wide, and it did, skating right past the upper tip of the Interceptor’s wing.

Again he killed his thrust and sent his fighter into a flat spin, the fractions of a second it took for the ship to rotate feeling far longer than they actually were.

This time when he re-engaged his thrusters, Amagiri’s ion engine was dead ahead of him.

Instead of firing off a turbolaser blast, he flipped over to photon torpedos. The clear tone of a lock sounded in his ears, but an uncharacteristic screech from Shadow made him glance down at the screen.

Recomend proton torpedoes inoperable. Damage to system may result in catastrophic failure if used.

“Acknowledged.”

The text cleared from the screen, replaced by notifications as Shadow brought one system after another back to life. Even if the system was registering operable, clearly he droid had noticed something that caused him concern.

Amagiri threw his ship into a sharp dive and Saito followed him, matching every jink, twist, and turn. Amagiri was certainly better than average, but he was no Souji when it came to handling an interceptor.

He had several clear shots, but instead of flipping back over to his turbolasers, he said, “Shadow, reopen communications with Amagiri.”

When the droid gave an affirmative beep that the connection had been opened, he said, “Will you yield?”

This was a risk. Amagiri could say one thing and then take the opportunity to turn on him, but everything he had seen of the man thus far had told Saito that Amagiri would keep his word.

There was a long pause as Amagiri threw his interceptor into a series of tight rolls that Saito barely kept up with. He could hear the warning tone from the interceptor continuing to sound over the comm, and eventually…

“I will yield.”

With those words, Saito disengaged his torpedoes, probably to both Amagiri’s and Shadow’s relief, and decreased his thrust, letting the interceptor pull away from him.

Slowly Saito let the chatter over the group’s encrypted comm filter back into his consciousness.

There seemed to be an increasing amount of swearing coming from the Falcon, much to his displeasure. He knew how uncomfortable it made Chizuru, even if she never actively voiced her disapproval.

Neither ship seemed damaged at this point, and when a red beam washed over the interceptor, he thought the conflict would be over. to his surprise, instead of being destroyed, the ship seemed perfectly fine as it continued looping, scoring a hit on the Falcon’s upper turret.

“Damnit,” Shinpachi shouted, “What are you doing up there Sano? Sleeping?!”

“Ha! That’s three! Looks like you losers owe me a lift outta here!”

“Fine… but if you touch one wire on this ship, I will personally throw you out of the airlock,” Harada said.

With Chizuru seemingly out of immediate danger, Saito turned his attention to the only remaining threat.

The yacht’s pristine hull was now scored with turbolaser fire and arcs of electricity danced across its surface where one or two torpedoes had bored their way through the hull’s armor plating.

With a flicker, the ship’s rear shield collapses and one of the x-wings scored a direct hit on the engine.

That seemed to be more than enough for Kazama, because his ship began an about turn as it tried to escape the conflict.

“All right Souji, that’s enough.”

One of the x-wings, who he assumed was Okita, fired off one more shot, blowing out one of the large canons that had given them so much trouble in their last encounter with the ship, before he turned and followed Hijikata back toward the Falcon.

A beep from Shadow informed him of an incoming call from Amagiri.

“Saito, your reputation is well earned. It was an honor to fly against you.” There was a short pause before Amagiri said, “May the Force be with you.”

“And you as well.”

With those final words, Amagiri turned his Interceptor in the direction of Kazama’s ship. In moments, the fighter had darted into the small hanger and the Yacht leapt to lightspeed.

Saito took a deep breath as he turned his fighter toward where the falcon was trying to dock with Shiranui’s Interceptor.

Their fight with the Empire was far from over, and he doubted Kazama was finished with them, but for now, they had won. For now, Chizuru and the people he cared about were safe. For now, they had peace.

#saichifest 2018 #hakuoki #saichi #star wars AU #just because I can #:P #day 1: courage #day 2: respect #saito hajime #Yukimura Chizuru #amagiri kyuju #and everyone else

[twilight-deviant]

I'm curious. What are the reasons Wyatt might not be good for Lucy?

You’re trying to get me in trouble, anon. lol. I’ve just been mumbling under my breath about it. I guess I shouldn’t be afraid to speak though, even if it is against the (for some reason) most popular ship. Um, I can’t tell from your tone if you ship it, or if you hate it, or if you’re neutral, so if I offend your ship, I apologize. I’m just calling it like I see it.

Can I make this a general post about Wyatt? Since the tag you’re referencing was mainly about my outlook on Wyatt. But I’ll tie Wyatt/Lucy back into it.

Under a cut because it’s really long and also so anyone not wanting to hear a more critical reflection of Wyatt’s character can abstain.

I should probably preface everything which follows by saying I don’t hate Wyatt. True, of the four main characters, he is my least favorite and the least interesting, but that’s neither here nor there. I think he’s an all right character (nothing groundbreaking) and that he is decently three-dimensional. But the reasons I find him to be a departure from the standard, cookie cutter hero character are, apparently, quite different than what everyone else cites.

So… despite what the fandom almost unanimously believes, Wyatt is not a precious cinnamon roll. He is not a good person. I’m not saying he doesn’t want to be one. And he definitely thinks he is. But he is also kind of a jerk. Which is fine. I like my characters with some depth. I just get a little frustrated by people ignoring his faults or sweeping them under the rug. And I definitely don’t get why everyone thinks him having a relationship with Lucy would be the most healthy and well functioning thing. (Look, I ship Flynn/Lucy, but I’m also calling a rose a rose. It is what it is.)

I leave my own preconceived hangups at the door. Ever since I first watched the trailer, I was already rolling my eyes at the inevitability of the show trying to force them together, like every. single. other. show. on. television. It’s boring, if I’m being honest, predictable. But then I watched the Pilot and was intrigued when they called themselves brother and sister. Actually, I was downright giddy. I couldn’t stop going on about it. I thought hey… maybe they’re actually going for a different dynamic, something unique. Then they did it again in the second episode, a third time in Stranded, and I became really excited at the idea that they would develop a sibling relationship instead. How cute is it for Wyatt to be younger than her and yet end up acting like a big brother? Plus, it’s a lot easier to overlook Wyatt’s faults when the relationship between them isn’t romantic. So, digression aside, I’ll answer your question now.

I’ll start off small and build up, kay?

Wyatt is not over his wife. He’s not. He’s still obsessed with her. He regularly prints out pictures of her and stares at them, tapes them to his wall with the newspaper articles. He sits at a bar looking at her picture and drinking. And his obsession isn’t going away any time soon. He isn’t going to wake up one day in the near future and move on. It’s already been four years, and he is still feeling it. And he’s not done yet. Lucy’s journal claims that Wyatt is still obsessed with Jessica. We don’t yet know exactly when Lucy writes the journal, but Flynn does say that it’s, “A few years from now.” So a few years from now, Wyatt is still obsessed with Jessica and her death. We can’t honestly expect him to be all in with Lucy until he’s over Jessica. That’s not fair.

Inappropriate/Inconsiderate. He’s a guy. Fair enough, right? Excuse it if you want, but what he does in the Pilot is still a jerk move. Wyatt and Lucy are locked in a cell together. They’re standing, they’re pacing around, he’s staring at her breasts. It makes Lucy visibly uncomfortable. She scoffs and turns away from him. Oh, but it was all tactical, right? He had to stare at her chest before his eureka moment hit. Sure. Whatever. Okay, but then (and there’s no excuse for this) he watches as she takes off her shirt and bra! That’s downright sleazy. And the fandom romanticizes this instance? How would you feel if this guy you JUST MET was leering at you and, oh yeah, you’re locked in a room with him? There’s a certain expectation of consideration where you don’t make people feel uneasy. Let’s just say “gentleman” isn’t a word I’m throwing around with Wyatt Logan, aight?

Unstable. There was that part in the beginning of The Alamo where Wyatt is being reassigned. And I have to admit, I was surprised. He handled it with integrity, maturity, and respect towards his superiors. Fiction is so full of loose canons, I’d never seen that before. I was impressed. But boy, he got me good. Because just wait until the adults are away. He immediately descends into an erratic mindset. He begins experiencing flashbacks that are one step away from full-blown hallucinations. He is tortured by survivor’s guilt to the point that it affects his decision making skills. He already had enough of that going on because of his wife. In the Pilot, he’s so distracted by saving Kate the first time that he lets Flynn get away. And then a second time. And then a third time. I have to wonder how Wyatt has the psychiatric green light to be approved for combat, much less such a vital mission whose outcome literally affects the fate of the entire world. The episode posed the question if Wyatt is the right man for the job, and somehow the answer was… yes? Come on. This would never happen in real life. Wyatt’s instability is a liability. Let’s be honest with ourselves, he’s about as unstable as Flynn.

Oh, speaking of…

He’s as bad as Flynn. Not “as” bad, but committing a lot of the same transgressions. You know the body count between them is about the same, right? Granted, several of the people Wyatt has killed are Flynn’s men, self-defense shots with a low impact on the timeline. But others?

That’s sort of… what Flynn does. All the time. And why he does it. 

And the justification here, why we shouldn’t care, is because the guy was a Nazi? Look, he wasn’t a member of the top brass. He was just a soldier guarding some random spot in the woods. He’s not making a lot of decisions about the war. Was most likely drafted. He was just a guy doing as he was told, and he got shot in the back. And any descendants he might have had disappeared. They certainly weren’t Nazis. He was just some grunt. I seem to recall Wyatt’s outlook on the life of a soldier as, “I don’t get trained in why. Just who, what, where, and when.” It’s a bit… heartless. It shows a lack of empathy. That’s all I’m saying. (No, I’m not a Nazi sympathizer. But I do consider the individual within the cause.)

Wyatt actually killed at least six people in that episode. But there’s really no telling how many more were casualties of the rocket he and Rufus set off. Most likely (and at least) there were the four who were next to it when it exploded. Which would bring Wyatt’s contributive body count in that one episode up to ten. But given the massive fire the rocket ignites, there were probably more. (And we can’t even calculate how many of their descendants were wiped.) Honestly, if I did a legitimate tally, he has undoubtedly killed MORE people than Flynn.

He also killed Lieutenant Louis Coulon’s son, which can’t have not had an impact somewhere. And he was a good guy who wanted to feed them. Poor fella.

Wyatt has killed other people in the past. Like Rittenhouse’s men, but those were in self-defense so we have to let it go. Even though an unscheduled death going back 236 years definitely affected a lot in the timeline. That’s dozens of people who weren’t born, though it could easily be a hundred or more.

Wyatt has NO concerns with preserving the timeline, which is Lucy’s primary mission. And it’s very disrespectful how he OFTEN changes events on a whim, ignoring Lucy’s advice (and sometimes her pleas) to be more careful, leave less of a footprint. In response, Wyatt tells Lucy that history is her job and expects her to be his damage control as he runs about doing as he wishes in his mission and changes almost as many things incidentally as Flynn does intentionally. Lucy is so passionate about history and maintaining it and… Wyatt doesn’t really care a lot of the time.

Wyatt is manipulative. To be fair, this is mostly something seen with Flynn. He does it three times in the Watergate Tape episode. He toys with Flynn a bit, makes him think that he’s really willing to listen him. Flynn expresses that he wishes Wyatt would believe him, and Wyatt decides to run with it, use it. I’d let this go because, hey, Flynn was threatening to kill him and that’s just survival. I actually like the idea that Wyatt was consciously trying to trigger Lima syndrome. It’s devious, and I like it. But there’s one instance that sits unwell with me. There’s the really great scene (Goran is such an amazing actor) where Flynn finally fills in the blanks and says what happened regarding his family’s deaths. It’s extremely raw and emotional, obviously a sore spot, to put it lightly. And after Flynn has basically overshared his soul, Wyatt says, “Look. If any of this were true, you have a time machine. Why don’t you just go back and save your family?” It actually took me a few viewings to realize how, well, insidious the suggestion really is. Wyatt KNOWS you can’t go back to a time you already exist. And yet he’s hoping Flynn doesn’t? So he took the heartbreaking story that was shared with him and he then tried to twist and exploit Flynn’s desperation and love for his family until he could convince the man to go back to the night it happened and, in the process, destroy himself. Wyatt tried to weaponize Flynn’s mourning. It’s just very… unsettling. It’s very cold.

And then a lesser instance with Lucy, though his motivations are conjecture. But I gotta be honest that, once again, it just doesn’t sit well with me for some reason. The scene in The Capture of Benedict Arnold where they find out Rittenhouse is one man and the team is trying to decide how they’ll proceed. Lucy isn’t on board, and Wyatt sort of says everything he can to bring her around, up to and including the illogical proposal that it might even bring Amy back. He wants something, and Lucy’s standing in the way of a united front. Keep in mind, Wyatt’s already on board. Flynn bought his cooperation from the beginning. So every point he makes here is for the sole purpose of convincing Lucy. He mentions all the people who will suffer if they don’t do it, and yeah, it’s a great cause but it’s not his cause. It’s not his motive for why he’s doing it. He wants Jessica’s killer. The plight of hundreds is his tactic for convincing Lucy. And the way he finishes it by saying, “What you really believe in is helping people,” it sort of feels like emotional blackmail. He presents the argument in such a way that Lucy can’t ignore that her disagreement and inaction will cause the deaths of all those people. He’s pressuring her to agree with them. Like I said, his motives there are debatable, but I don’t like it.

Temper. Wyatt is a great guy. So long as everything is going his way and everyone is doing what he says. Source? Just… any scene with him and Judith Campbell, honestly. He immediately flips a switch with her, and it’s somewhat frightening to know how quickly he can turn on a person. He has a temper lying in wait, and it can be unlocked with very minor provocation. It’s an overall bad episode for Wyatt with an unfortunate peek at the darker side he definitely has. He tries ordering Lucy and Rufus around the entire episode, snaps at them when they disobey or lose focus. Lucy even tells him he doesn’t give the orders, not that he gives it much mind. He tells her to take it up with Agent Christopher, which she obviously can’t do in the past. Wyatt knows and takes advantage of the fact that when they are isolated the past, he becomes the default power of authority. He doesn’t use it often, but it is a trump card. Lucy and Rufus cannot stop him physically. He’s a well trained soldier, and they’re nerds. Wyatt is aware.

And, ya know, just adding, he goes on to use Judith as bait, something he knows could be dangerous given his nonanswer when she asks if he would do the same with a woman he loved. Lucy told him Judith is important, and he still used her, risked her.

His temper ties in with this next point.

Everything! In! This! Scene!

Good lord. Red flags popping up like daisies. Can we extract the facts from this scene? Maybe if we’re not watching two people act, the story will shine through and hit a little better, a little clearer.

Wyatt and Jessica go out to a bar.

Jessica runs into an old boyfriend of hers.

Wyatt becomes immensely jealous. Even though he and Jessica are married. (Now, I don’t know the girl. Yet. But unless he has proven and established reasons to worry about her being disloyal, this is very insulting.) Wyatt is an over the top jealous, possessive person. 

Let’s add distrustful.

Wyatt’s jealousy leads to him drinking too much.

I’d like to mention the obvious here in that after drinking “too much,” he then drives them home. So… drunk driving added to the list of offenses.

They leave the bar, and, once they are alone, the fight begins.

The shouting becomes so unbearable that Jessica would rather get out of the car than stay in it with him.

Instead of letting it go, at least until they get home, he actually, legitimately stops the car.

He lets her out on the side of a highway. It wasn’t a city block or a rural street. Only highways have mile markers. Have you seen a highway? It’s typically a long stretch of road that might not have anything on it for miles. That’s why they have mile markers. He let her out there.

Because of this, Jessica is (predictably?) killed.

This isn’t a tragic backstory. Flynn has a tragic backstory. He was just a man doing his job and they killed his family. What Wyatt has is the consequence of his actions. The one redeeming aspect of the whole ordeal is that he does at least blame himself for it. I mean, he should. So at least he does.

I dread the day when (not if) they inevitably show us the flashback of that night and end up retconning so much of how the scene is represented. Because Wyatt is a fan favorite now, so they’re going to make every decision he made that night look like a natural course of events that could happen to anyone. You know they’ll do it.

Jealous. Related note to the above point, people think it’s cute every time Wyatt “gets jealous” when other men pay Lucy attention or flirt with her. Noooooooo. Once again, red flag. We’ve heard what happens when he gets jealous. WHY is this cute?

Did I ramble? Definitely. Is anyone going to read all of that? Definitely not. Sorry I couldn’t keep it brief, Anon. I’m a very contemplative individual who thinks too much about fiction. It’s dangerous to ask me a question. lol. No matter how simple it may sound when asked.

I think what we’re supposed to do with Wyatt’s character (which so few do– no one?) is acknowledge that he is a protagonist who is not 100% good. He is the mirror image of Flynn, an antagonist who is not 100% bad. They have so much in common, I truly believe we’re supposed to draw parallels between them. 

So for lots of reasons, I don’t think Wyatt is good for Lucy. Really, unless he changes himself drastically, I don’t think he’s good for anyone. His wife is literally dead because of his jealousy and his temper. And Wyatt just… can’t really handle it when people disagree with him, not when he’s too invested in his own idea. Lucy is too strong willed for something to actually last for very long between them. I hope it never starts. But I rarely get what I want in these matters so…

Once again, I don’t hate Wyatt. He’s still an okay guy. I didn’t list his positive attributes because it wasn’t relative to the question. And there are enough posts about that. But yeah, one day, the glass just sort of shattered and I noticed all of his bad traits that had been building up under our noses the entire time. They add up. He’s just a flawed, unstable hothead. But at least he’s three-dimensional.

#To tag... or not to tag... To tag... or... #NBC Timeless #Timeless #Wyatt Logan #Lucy Preston #What the hey #This has been a Wyatt Logan PSA #No one's going to read all of that anyway. lol #You're welcome to disagree and argue with me #I don't like to argue but you can if you want #but I really only have one instance of opinion instead of fact #which I said was opinion #So I don't know what you'd be arguing but... #Look just admit Wyatt isn't a completely good person #He still has good traits. I'm not denying those! #But yeah a lot of bad ones #They make him human #Acknowledge his many flaws #That's really all I'm asking for #I mean dang MY favorite character is Flynn #Do you want me to list his flaws? #Alphabetically- chronologically- or by severity? #I make no excuses #I can love him as he is #That piece of trash #I can't believe someone lit my fuse #I was going to mumble to myself Anon! #Hahahahaha #I'm sorry I took like three days to answer this #I wasn't ignoring you. It's just long. Haha