#phantom allusions anyone?

[moonsuke]

Episode Nagi 31

I love how the difference between Nagi and Isagi/the traditional Blue Lock ego is highlighted here again: “いま世界で一番熱いのは俺だ!!!"　"世界一のストライカーは俺だ!!!"

"The most fired up in the world... is me!!!" vs "The best striker in the world... is me!!!"

It's just the way it’s said with "Ore da!!!" (is me!!!) at the end. That's their ego speaking and Nagi really doesn’t care about being the best striker lol. What he, who never felt nor experienced much before Blue Lock, really cares about is more personal, like feeling the heat, fighting for something at stake, the joy of “winning”, being reborn, finally feeling alive and just having his existence validated. It’s very much linked to personal growth.

I guess Kaneshiro said it best with geniuses having self-type egos. It's becoming clear how much he takes into account Nagi's character when creating all the different ego dichotomies considering how neatly he fits into each. Same with Isagi. I guess they really are meant to be the ultimate representatives of their type and the polar opposite of each other.

And speaking of Isagi, I’ve quite mixed feelings about his phantom appearing lol, mainly because I wanted some genuine BarouNagi team up (fuck u knsr). But reading it again, in a way it’s highlighting to us they were both on the same wavelength. At the last critical moment, both were able to summon an ultimate play by visualising their ultimate rival, a very “genius” way of doing things.

Also seeing these panels made me feel some type of way:

How you can’t tell whether they’re looking at Isagi’s phantom or at each other in understanding (I think it’s the latter), to their quiet acknowledgement of each other as their shared visualisation of Isagi vanishes… In a way it’s kinda cool? How it shows them teaming up but still keeping that distance and friction between them while connected by their common goal to win Isagi. It’s a very “manly” (otokorashi) team up lol.

But also fuck you knsr, he always does this!! This “giving you what you want but not in the way you completely want” schtick. Always!!! He’s always treading on mixed allusions and “the borderline” <_<

I guess he really doesn’t want any other rivalry outside of Isagi so whatever’s between BarouNagi shouldn’t be labelled as such. He’ll never stop my yearning for more BarouNagi tho, in any form <_<

Anyway, I’m convinced now that he’s trying to match up events between the main series and the spin off. Idk what’s he trying to do but the Isagi focus in the newest chapters of both series ain’t a coincidence. Personally, I actually kinda like Nagi being “obsessed” with Isagi mainly because I like it contrasting and complementing his attachment to Reo, but the Isagi glazing by everyone is getting a bit much x_x

And speaking of events matching up, the next Episode Nagi chapter will be released on March 7, and it’s titled “いつか死ぬ君へ” (to you who’ll die someday)… I’m convinced the current BM vs PXG match will end before then and we’ll get to see Nagi again in the main series… And the EpiNagi chapter with the ominous title is gonna be linked to that…

Nagi in the main series has been set to “die” for a while now considering his talk with Barou “Go die and come back, you coward”. Even with Rin, death was mentioned “Do babies think about death when they’re born?” “This place is filled with tepid losers so I’ll go down to hell”.

Kinda side tracked but interesting how Barou’s talking about being reborn after dying, yet Rin’s talking about descending to hell willingly. I think it might be a foreshadowing to Rin’s downfall… or not… but anyway…

Nagi’s written to be set to die because no way is his downfall arc gonna be magically resolved in such an anticlimactic manner. He can’t be reborn when he hasn’t even died which makes it very fitting for “to you who’ll die someday”… right? Not to mention his whole skull motif and telling Reo to not die before him… So if anyone is dying during/after their final match… it wouldn’t be Reo.

But what I find most “telling” is probably this last page:

It matches up completely to how Nagi looked losing his ego after beating Isagi. I’m pretty sure it’s on purpose, to make us think back to main series’ events and with that title…

Fuck, I’m getting so scared and sad yet also excited thinking about this next chapter. March can’t come soon enough, I’m only hoping Nagi’s story will be handled well ;-;

[sitkowski]

punish || part two

two || my body's the communion

pairing: incubus!jolly x f!reader cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ (for this chapter) female masturbation, allusions to dreamwalking, violence, mind manipulation, character injury, more murder, cliffhanger ending word count: 2k author's notes: chapter title comes from "holy fvck" by by demi lovato, divider by @saradika-graphics

masterpost || punish masterpost || taglist signups || playlist

You feel strange after your night with Jolly. Not in a bad way exactly, but it’s almost as if you’re hungover or you’ve got a cold coming on with how worn out you feel. The next morning, you can barely get out of bed. And even a few days later, you still feel a little run down. It takes you a little while to get back to feeling like you have a regular amount of energy. Eventually, you just pass it off as having some sort of bug going on. 

But that wasn't the strangest part. Because not only did you feel run down, you would also have these moments during the day where you felt almost euphoric. One time during work you had to hide in the bathroom because you weren't sure what was going on but if you didn't know any better, you'd been two seconds away from orgasming at your desk. From absolutely nothing.

It’s a very fucked up week for you. And you don’t think to tell anyone what’s going on because what could you say? You had a sex hangover that left you feeling as if you were having phantom orgasms? Instead, once you were feeling better, you put it out of your mind. Until you see Jolly again.

The thing is, you don’t see him in person. You’ve just started dreaming about him. Vivid dreams that normally leave you waking up sweaty and disoriented. Tonight is no different than any other night of having him there; he’s perched at the end of your bed, watching you with those dark eyes of his. The way he’s looking over your body makes you feel like he’s touching you even though he’s still in one place.

“This is what you dream about, pet?”

You don’t speak, just nod your head as your hand snakes down your body beneath the blankets and slides into your panties. The footboard of your bed creaks, and you look down to see that Jolly is holding on to it. His hands don’t look right, nails turned into claws that gouge marks into the wood. Still, your fingers move between your legs. You twist your head from side to side, clenching your eyes shut.

“Ah ah,” his voice is closer to you, it’s everywhere. Your eyes snap open, expecting him to be close. But he’s still there, leaning over the bed. His mouth is curved, and you see sharp teeth. “Eyes open. You’re going to look at me when you come.”

Your dreams are not only erotic, but also terrifying. Because every time you’re close enough to reach your edge, Jolly’s visage becomes monstrous. It still doesn’t stop you, and you’re not sure what that says about you. Maybe it’s something in your subconscious that you don’t fully understand.

When you awake later, it feels as if he’s still there in your room. You have to sit up and turn on the light just to chase away the lingering shadows and ensure that you’re alone. Running a shaky hand through your damp hair, you drag yourself out of bed and into the shower. When you take off your clothes, your eyes catch on the bare skin of your side. There are marks there, and you twist and turn to inspect them. Four faint lines run along your torso, just deep enough to be noticeable. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you’d been clawed by something—or someone—with sharp nails.

Your fingers brush the marks and a cold sweat breaks out over your skin. Maybe you scraped against something, or scratched yourself in your sleep. Both are delusional options but you refuse to believe that something that happened in your dream came out in real life. 

By the time you emerge from the shower, the scratches have faded and you thought that you’d imagined them. Foggy remnants of your dream. You put it out of your mind; the marks, the weird behavior you’ve been exhibiting, even your night with Jolly. You try to move on.

But then, you see him again and this time you know it’s real. It’s very real.

For a reason you’re not fully understanding, you go back to the same bar where you met him the first time a few weeks ago. You’re there alone this time, and maybe you’re fooling yourself thinking that he isn’t the reason you’re there. But if you were to really think about it, it’s like you were drawn there. You go up to the bar and order a drink, surreptitiously looking around the crowd, hoping to spot him. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

The feel of eyes on you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you spin around, almost expecting to see him. But there’s no one there. Picking up your drink, you knock it back in a few swallows, letting the alcohol burn your throat. Instead of ordering another, you make your way through the crowd towards the back of the bar. There’s a hallway where the bathrooms are at one end, and an emergency exit at the other.

The emergency door sits open, but no alarm is going off.

You walk outside, not reacting to the cold sweat that has broken out over your skin. The alley behind the bar is dimly lit and grimy, but you don’t seem to care. You move down the steps and walk towards the back of the alley instead of the opening that could probably lead you to the parking lot. You should go home, but you’re doing this instead. And you don’t know why.

Jolly doesn’t often go after the same person twice. Sure, it’s happened before. A relationship that’s lasted a year or two, sharing comfort and sex with the same person until he has to make that choice for them and himself whether or not he’s going to remain. More often than not, it’s easier not to get attached. He’s not immune to good old obsession. Though he’s never had to chase his prey down, sometimes he gets a little kick out of making them come to him again. It makes the end that much sweeter.

He’s been sneaking into your dreams for weeks, feeding on the pleasure there. It’s not as much of a meal as when he consumes a soul but it gets the job done. Some people just taste better than others, and he’s found you to be a little intoxicating. Jolly’s hopes that he could just live in your dreams and have it be enough were dashed the minute he saw you walk into the bar. He knew how this was going to end, and he’d seen you looking around hopefully. Your need for him lingered around you, and he gave your mind a gentle push before slipping out the back of the bar.

"You know what they say," he murmurs from the shadows and you turn around, a shocked noise falling from your lips and echoing off the buildings. "Always follow your dreams, even if they lead you down a few dark alleys."

“You scared me!” You stated the obvious, and Jolly can’t help but laugh.

He can taste your fear as if he leaned in and licked it right off your skin. But that’s not all you’re feeling. You came looking for him, after all. Even before he led you out here. He’s been on your mind as much as he’s been in your dreams.

“Then what are you doing wandering around out here if you’re not looking for me?”

“I was—” you falter, unsure of what actually brought you out here in the first place.

Jolly beckons you closer and after a moment of hesitation, you take a few steps towards him. The moment he touches you, he can feel how much you’re affected by him. He had planned to lure you out here to make a final meal of you, but seeing you like this, he thinks he’ll keep you around a while longer. You inhale sharply as he trails his fingers down your arm, barely touching you at all.

“I’ve been having these really strange dreams since that night with you.” You confess, a blush staining your cheeks.

Jolly is curious about exactly how much you remember from those dreams. The longer you’re away from him, the less you’ll remember. But standing so close to him now, you’re looking at him as if you’re looking for the monster beneath this human skin he wears. Few have actually seen it, and despite being in his natural form in your dreams, you won’t be so lucky to see everything. He doesn’t think that you could possibly be ready for that.

Before anything else can be said, there’s a noise behind the two of you. You peer around Jolly’s shoulder to see a man standing in the mouth of the alleyway by the steps. The stranger is watching the two of you, and Jolly is about to tell the man to leave as he staggers closer, but your fingers close around his arm and you look up at him with confusion.

“Joakim Karlsson.” The man says Jolly’s name so confidently, and he feels you stiffen beside him.

“Do you know him?” You ask.

“I don’t,” Jolly realizes that he’s going to have to deal with whatever this is without you seeing. “Stay here.”

He doesn’t recognize this stranger, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know him. He’s met lots of people over the years, and it’s quite possible that he’s made an enemy or two in his time. Given the amount of bodies he’s left behind, the amount of blood on his hands, he’s surprised this hasn’t happened sooner. 

“I’ve found you, finally. I know what you are.” The man was older, in his sixties if Jolly was guessing correctly. Something wasn’t right with him. “You took my wife from me, you made her sick and then she was nothing but a shell.”

This isn't going to end well for anyone. Jolly looks from the strange man back to your confused face. He steps in front of you, trying to block you from this man's view. He doesn't really think about it, defending you. You were nothing more than a meal, and if he was being honest with himself, given the choice he would protect you over this man who is clearly someone who Jolly has wronged. He doesn't have the chance to tell you to move, the man lunges and sinks a knife into Jolly's stomach. The pain means nothing to him. He can hear your screams behind him, and he sees the man's face go white with fear.

Without a beat, Jolly grabs him and snaps his neck like a twig. He drops his body carelessly to the ground. You don't stop screaming. Someone’s going to come, and Jolly needs to get himself out of the alley before that happens. That probably means taking you with him. When he reaches for the handle of the knife, that’s when the pain starts. Not many things can hurt an incubus, but this man who’d stabbed him had done his research.

The knife had been blessed.

Jolly stumbles and falls to his knees, and you rush to his side. The sight of the knife makes you ill and scared, and you try to get to your cell phone but he shakes his head.

“Pull it out,” he insists.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you know what happens when you pull something out of a wound?”

“Pull the fucking knife out now!” He yells and you jump.

It takes you a few precious moments that Jolly doesn’t really have to finally wrap your hands around the handle and give it a hard yank. The blade leaves his body with a wet sound and you choke on a sob.

“Now, I need you to do something for me, pet,” he murmurs, bloody hand stroking your cheek. “I need a piece of your soul.”

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[darlingpwease]

Oh dear just trying find some more Yandere Xie lian

... words are modest enough to work, but we can work with it /pos

the flower and the butterfly

you're too stunning; how did someone like me get you?

𔓘 unhealthy behaviour (mutual dependency, gaslighting, clinginess, obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulation), mild religious themes (worshipping, allusions), abandonment issues, touch starvation, domestic routine, forced relationship / kidnapping if you squint [?]

𔓘 heavy petting, rough sex, hypersexuality, role playing, CNC, mild primal kink, body worship (r.), praise (r.), hyperstimulation (g.), fingering (g.), breeding (g.), mild cum inflation (g.)

Xie Lian was mind-blowing. Not only in his appearance or behavior, which made him look like a timid coquette or a charming maiden, but also in the fact that you definitely do not want to test either his patience or his nerves, especially if you know him from the time when he was His Highness the 'eccentric' Crown Prince, who loves bright clothes and funny conversations, in which his warm hands were always reaching out to you, as if you were a continuation of his own body, — and you must admit that little has changed since that time, at least for you.

Xie Lian was still as charming and full of life, it's just that his temperament and disposition became colder and easier — for anyone but you, however. He still loved physical activities and delicious food, he still loved to emotionally warm and take care of you, he still allowed you to guide him and relied on you to solve logical problems, trusting your advice and words — and did not forget to wrap around you like a vine around another firmly standing plant, and the fact that his figure was just as flexible and slender, while soft palms could rest on your shoulders or chest, only made you feel even more as if you were hugging the first beauty of the Celestial Empire.

... Xie Lian did not like solitude or mundane things, the 'earth' that could pollute, — rather, he was that social aerial butterfly who loved to fly from flower to flower, despite how down-to-earth and firmly standing he was. At least not before.

Previously, he valued his status highly, worried about people's opinions, was afraid of public discussion and was more like the very flower that wanted to attract attention to itself, blooming stronger and stronger than a butterfly. Rather, you were the butterfly — the one who was able to attract the attention of a beautiful and alluring, but unable to move flower, only trying to grab you and lock you in, so that you would not go anywhere else. But for you, he has always been a fragile but luxurious flower, which you took care of as the apple of your eye, taking care that no one plucked and turned him over — after all, you have been with him since childhood, his most faithful companion, so it was natural that you were especially deep and intense related to him; so much so that no one even understood how you manage to be so synchronized and mutually supportive at the same time, as if it is worth separating you, you both will die even at dawn if cannot be sure that will meet again soon, but if you believe, you will never die before see each other again.

You couldn't deny that you spoiled Xie Lian with your determination mixed with almost imperiousness, while Xie Lian gave you too much of this unconditional acceptance and warmth for you to just give it up. He was everything, your everything, but it was nothing strange — nothing more than the relationship of a butterfly and the sun.

You only found out that your 'sun' was a flycatcher when the petals closed over you, leaving you inside forever.

Xie Lian valued social status most of all, always cared highly about people's opinions, was always afraid of 'what people would think', he lived for people. But when he was really bad, only you stayed and didn't go anywhere, even if the scratches from his nails still sometimes hurt like a phantom on your skin, — you will never dare to blame him, seeing with your own eyes how something breaks that you swore to protect your whole life, and that you won't give up no matter what. Because that's your goal. You will never give up, even if it means dying.

Xie Lian also knows that it is he who will protect all the time that he will have, no matter how little or much.

You have always affectionately almost teased him for how driven he is and easily obeys your will, like a duckling following a parent duck, but he also learned a lot during the time you guarded his back from attacks and shielded him from words. You were always in front so that he could follow you, keeping and guarding. You've always told him that as long as you breathe, nothing and no one can hurt him unless you die.

Butterflies are not meant for a harsh life. Butterflies should fly, eat nectar and dance in the air. Xie Lian loved butterflies and he loved you. And he never hid any of this, even if the second fact definitely confused you and made you brush it off when he brought you flowers or peeled fruit with a playful smile, 'as if you couldn't do it yourself' or 'as if you were a person of royal status'. Xie Lian never denied it, even though he knew it wasn't true.

You were his Deity.

His Everything.

And when the petals close, plunging you into eternal darkness, he knows what he's doing. After all, a sun like you is able to hold and shine even in the deepest nights, and it promises that you will not go out.

Never

You are the most precious thing he has left

𔓘 Xie Lian is very clingy — from the day you first met, bumping into the burning gaze of beautiful eyes, and until the very last day, which is never destined to come, he is always by your side just as you are by his side. Xie Lian hates to separate — never — and is always looking for reasons why you should stay together. Contrary to his gentle introversion, he feels really good only when he holds you in his arms or when your hand rests on his waist — and never in other cases. His pure adoring gaze never leaves your figure, fearing that one day you will leave him or leave him, no matter whether by your own will or someone else's, and he will never allow this — and the fact that there is no one in the world who could be his competitor or rival, given his strength, only makes the situation even worse for any of your attempts to leave his side at least for a moment.

When his slender elegant fingers take you by the shoulders, entwine around your waist, gently take your arm, wrap your fingers, or when his nose burrows into your neck, buries itself in your thigh, finds peace on your lap or hides rosy cheeks in your chest, — you know that you have no chance to get out of his sticky, strong embrace, as if your body was first his and then yours, “just like my heart...”

Xie Lian never allows you to leave him even for a moment — if there is a need for you to be disconnected, then he will rather give up everything than let you go. Not you. So many people have already left him — he won't survive if you leave too. Please. You're the only thing he needs. He feels so good. Isn't he good enough? Why do you want to leave? Isn't your cute little house perfect? Isn't the backyard garden laid out for you delightful? Isn't the way you live an ideal for you too? No, you can't. You have to be there.

Always.

You both gave up everything you had to stay together.

You promised that you would follow him in life and in death, for better or for worse. You are his and he is yours. And the fact that his hands never leave you, and his gaze never comes down from you, only confirms this. After all, can you refuse him? You swore — officially and unofficially; you followed him on sunny days and rainy days, through rivers of blood and deadly storms, when he was loved and when he was hated, but your will, mind and heart were adamant, despite fleeting thoughts and desires that could disturb you. And now you want to leave him?

It's your responsibility. It's your duty. You can never leave him.

... This is an order.

𔓘 Even if Xie Lian can sometimes fall into capriciously childish, desperate attempts to keep you, if he sees that you are trying to brush him off or want to leave him, no matter under what pretext, using his authority as the 'crown prince' and having a chance to make childish tantrums if you are too overwhelming and he knows that it will be effective — but otherwise, if Xie Lian is not subordinate, he is, at most, democratic and ready to share responsibility with you. Otherwise, he prefers to follow you in an almost 'sacrificial' manner and go wherever you tell him or wherever you go. If you say go west, he won't even look east; if you say sugar is black, he won't even think about saying it's white.

Despite his emotional playfulness and slight eccentricity associated with the desire to get emotional feedback, Xie Lian never seeks to take away power or responsibility from you, entrusting himself into your hands like a fluffy fragile cat who is sure that you will take care of him exactly as he deserves, and knowing perfectly well that even if your treatment will be 'unfair', then it will mean that he was bad and must improve.

Undoubtedly, he will be offended and will try to get fair treatment, but if you insist, he will only nod and obey. He is not someone who is interested in a power struggle or a change of power dynamics in a relationship — being behind you and with you is much better than against you or ahead of you. Xie Lian has never had any difficulties helping you and presenting things, even if it is clearly morally wrong or aggressive actions, — despite his peacefulness, there are things that are above the norms of morality or understanding of ordinary realities.

And there is nothing special that you are this 'thing'.

The flower never condemns the butterfly for what it does before it gets on the flower, or what it did while it was on the flower.

You are caring and affectionate enough, giving him small gifts (especially things that remind you of the past, like familiar flowers or small hairpins that he would definitely have worn in the past, even if he now mostly keeps them as his most precious things) and taking care of those household chores that he cannot, trying to preserve the memory of his beloved mother through the absence of such 'ordinary' skills, and you accept him as he is — while he accepts you as you are, without objections and questions.

You've been together for more than eight hundred years — doesn't that mean you've already had a diamond wedding eight times, even if you're still not married?

“It doesn't matter,” Xie Lian purrs softly when you point this out, hiding his face in your chest, wrapping his strong thin arms around your waist like a warmed cat. “If you want, we can officially get married. But we're not going anywhere from each other anyway.”

You have nothing to say to him. Having given up everything that was, following your impulse, entrusting everything to him when Xie Lian gave you everything he had in despair, so that you would not abandon him — you could no longer imagine your life without him, you did not know how to live without him. Just like he is without you.

You yourself do not notice when you become as close as a married couple; when it becomes natural for you to stroke his head on your lap, braid his hair and weave flowers and ribbons there, when you let him take care of your hairstyle and clothes, when you absentmindedly adjust the bandages on your hands — the same as at him — or look at him, leaning your shoulder against the door jamb, while he happily hums, doing his thing, although you are sure that out of the corner of your eye he is still watching you. When he hugs you on the back while cooking, takes care of your house and garden, watches you mend clothes or sweep while he fixes doors and windows; when Xie Lian hugs you in a dream, nervously enthusiastically huddles with a shy giggle while he thinks you are asleep, or briefly kisses your cheek before going to bed, and you are sure that he thinks that you are asleep, but you do not have the courage to try to even gently stop him.

In the end, there is no need for this — he has already become like a husband to you for a long time anyway, giving you his body, heart and mind, and you can only accept and give in return, taking care that Xie Lian knows that you love him and take care of him, no matter what.

𔓘 It doesn't matter to him what your sexual preferences are. Do you like dick? Do you like pussy? Are you top? Are you bottom? It doesn't matter — Xie Lian is always ready to meet you in any position and in any form, as long as he feels that you are as excited as he is, even if at first you can be sure that he is 'innocent' and 'pure', given his external and internal manifestation and attitude. But even if you are the first for him in every sense, he knows what he is doing and what he should do — more as an instinct than as a theory or, moreover, practice, although he is not above eavesdropping or fleetingly asking even when he was Crown Prince.

He is in a strong connection with his body and knows what can excite him or how to please even a lying log — especially if you are less sexually active or need a long warm-up — and even if the violent blush does not leave his cheeks while he nervously touches your body, openly admiring, Xie Lian gives his best until he feels that you seize the initiative and get involved in the process, digging your fingers into his hips while his stomach takes your shape and gives you a view of you inside him, feeling how wet and tight he is even if he can't help but hiding face behind hands, whining and moaning your name, mumbling something like 'deeper' and 'stronger' mixed with 'yes yes like that' and 'please please please' when you press his face into the pillow while fucking him.

His body is more than responsive and sensitive to you, and even if you pull his hair, spit in his mouth, spank and leave bites and hickeys all over his body, Xie Lian looks at you with adoration and worship, constantly thanking and admiring, as if unable to shut up from euphoria and delight, screaming your name and 'how good it feels' for him even while he is drooling and almost crying, trembling all over, but unable to stop squeezing and wrapping strong legs around your hips, locking you inside his supple heat.

No matter what, Xie Lian will never stop worshipping you, and during sex it gets even worse, as if the way his pussy or dick drips and practically makes a puddle even on the sheets is not enough — but when you just push inside once and he immediately comes, writhing on you, gasping for air, digging his fingers into your skin while his body tries to recover, and begs you not to stop, even though you see how sensitive Xie Lian is still, you try to be gentle to him, massaging his body until you drive inside at a confident but gradual pace, letting his wet tight walls get used to you inside and stop squeezing and massaging you so convulsively, as if he worships you, shamelessly begging you to never leave him and stay forever in this position, is not enough.

At first you try not to be too passionate and persistent, but by the end you are more likely someone who needs careful care and rest than he is — it's hard to exhaust someone so enduring and enthusiastic about the fact that he is with you like Xie Lian, even if you try to keep up with him, giving all of yourself, but in the end you are almost always on the more vulnerable side than him if you let him be on you before you spent enough time to prepare and his exhaustion, kissing and licking, stretching his wet squelching walls until you make sure that at least at about the same level after a couple of orgasms, watching as he tries obsessively trying to snuggle up to you and take you in — but can only stay under you, feeling how your fingers fuck him while you try to satisfy him with your tongue, assuring that you are only 'preparing him', although you both know that this is only an attempt to superficially satisfy him even before the beginning.

And the way Xie Lian jumps on you, impulsively kissing mixed with bites and purring about how good it is for him and that you are both perfect for each other, you are exactly one, only further assures you that you can just lean back and enjoy seeing how his juices and sperm flow down your skin until his body can't stop moving, as if his life depends on it — and how sweetly painfully he whines when you abruptly turn him over and take control of the rhythm, driving into his supple soft body, looking for any intimacy and connection with you.

Damn it, you are sure that one day you will become just one with him if he continues to squeeze you just as adoringly and as if trying to suck you inside while you stretch him with squelching wet sounds, hearing only encouragement and delight no matter what.

𔓘 Xie Lian can spend hours biting, kissing, licking and playing with your body.

In general, the prospect of staying in bed with you all day does not bother him at all — perhaps even thousands of years will not be enough for him to show and tell you how perfect and amazing you are, and how enthusiastic and hot he is does not help too much when his soft hands explore your body, rubbing and 'warming' in every sense, he is much less shy and ruddy than before, — which makes you wonder how much sincerity or games were in all his words to excite you, — especially when he almost shamelessly bares his body, as if proud of your love marks, even if just a few hours ago Xie Lian was blushing crimson, hiding face behind by hand, shyly taking your hand while you were rubbing between his thighs, stimulating yourself rather than him, since it is always wet and slippery between his soft thighs, as if even your palm between them is enough to make him aroused and ready, without needing any other simulation at all.

There's nothing awkward (or at least not awkward enough for him to refuse) for him to show you his body; even if Xie Lian doesn't think he's the most attractive, his body is what always turns you on, and he knows it, even if he can't figure it out. If you adored your body, it would make more sense to him than your strange passion for his own, but Xie Lian does not complain at all, secretly enjoying the fact that you find his imperfect body so exciting, even if he still turns to things like beautiful erotic underwear and devices like a collar or role-playing games to to excite you.

Some of these games excite and stimulate even more than sex itself — especially when you senselessly breed him outside your house, giving yourself to confirm your right to his beautiful tender body, biting and pressing into the ground until his knees weaken, becoming nothing more than prey in your hands, even if he is in any moment can get out, it doesn't matter whether using force or a safe word, — the sensations are too pleasant and intense to even think about it, letting you drive in and use it, it doesn't matter if he is a 'prey' or a 'capricious prince'.

When his clothes show a lot more skin, or when you see a blush on his beautiful cheeks after hard work, or when he clings to you trustingly hotly after a hard day, looking with innocent, darkened eyes into yours, you really don't know whether you should admire or be embarrassed, knowing how subtly and frankly he pulls you by the strings — and knowing that you just need to show a little skin or interest so that he immediately responds, more than interested in everything that you are ready to give him.

You don't know of any couple where at least one member was as obsessively adoring and enthusiastic as Xie Lian, who is always on a 'low start' regarding everything that concerns you, but when he squeezes you tightly while you gently press on his stomach, lovingly teasing that he is still 'soft', Xie Lian, blushing shyly and biting his scarlet lip, only complains coquettishly in a weak voice, looking away, that you just don't 'care' enough about him — and you really have nothing left but to take care of him.

Take care of him very carefully.

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

You're killin' me!

Quick summary: Phantom and Maverick have had their fair share of head-butting – competition, ego and feelings don't mix well, apparently. Finally, however, they seem to reach a peace after a day on the beach.

Word count: 3K (getting into writing these shorter fits woo!)

Warnings: Kind of angsty but also you make out so like is it really that bad; allusions to smut; lots of swear words; yeah, not much for this, it's pretty PG.

A/N: YAYYY, I'm back, sort of but also not really but also ENJOY THIS FIC. Yes, technically it is an extract from an unfinished chapter of the mav x reader Wattpad story I'm halfway through writing (yes, I have a wattpad, it's called nonoitsnina), and maybe (BIIIIG emphasis on MAYBE) I will do a second part where y'all actually fuck and stuff but for now just take this. If anyone's still slinking around the Top Gun stuff, that is. Also, Bee is your RIO here. Just to preface. And Phantom (YOUR CALL-SIGN) shortens to Tommy or Tom from time to time but like if you read the Wattpad book (YES I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A SCARY 14 YEAR OLD) it makes more sense. OKAY ENJOY COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED HAVE A LOVELY JUBBLY DAY

***

Stupid smiles plastered bright across their faces, Bee and Goose are already dashing down the road, speed-walking like a couple of suburban mothers, one swathed in a beach towel and picnic blanket, the other lopsided with a half-empty cooler grasped in one hand. 

I watch them go, brow furrowed, over my shoulder, slightly disconcerted. 

“I guess they—” Mav pauses, then huffs, equally as confused, “—really wanted those ice-creams.”

Sure. That’s why they keep glancing back at us and giggling like idiots: ice-creams. 

Maverick and I are strolling along the boardwalk back home – despite washing my feet at the tap, there’s still sand between my toes that tickles my skin with every step, but I could care less. He’d asked if I wanted us to take the bus—but I’d said no. Call me a loon (Bee certainly would), but, even after a full day of work—or play—nothing beats sitting outside in the quiet. Except sleep, I guess. But, when I can keep my eyes open, looking out a good view—and, boy, is this watercolour sunset some view—is perfect. After growing up in a city full of dust and cracks, I’ve embraced it: I’m gonna be one of those old ladies in a rocking chair on her porch, day and night, night and day.

Having just finished my own crêpe, I eat Maverick’s. When I ask him if he’s bothered by it, he tells me he’d bought them both for me in the first place. 

Sweet. Y’know, I really thought I was a good judge of character. I had to be, to be fair, growing up, pursuing this career – you must always assume the worst until proven otherwise. That’s the safe way, and it’s served me well. Until it had me screaming and yelling at everyone. That’s not—right. It makes me absolutely nauseous. 

So, all of these estimated traits, good and bad, have either been tossed or been filtered out.

It boils down to Maverick and his easy grin. He walks along the edge of the sidewalk, just looking at me with that goddamn easy grin. I’ve half a mind to slap him, just to give me a break from his attention. It makes me horribly self-conscious, forces a little thrill on me, like when you’re at the apex of a rollercoaster, just about to tip over. It feels like that, but it also feels like light streaming through a half-blinded window, so the warmth just collects there on the sill so that, when you touch it, you wish you could roll under it like a blanket. Of course, that warmth accumulates. I’m sweating. Like—a—pig. 

Jesus, I want to scream into my hands with how good he looks. His dark hair is still slightly damp with seawater, stiff in some places and criminally soft in others. Every now and then, he’ll pull at the white button-up that sticks just a little to his chest, to the contours of his stomach, and fan the skin there. Jesus Christ. My hands are basically twitching to touch him there, to feel the heat of him beneath my palm, solid and beating gently with his heartbeat. I clasp my fingers very tightly around my fork, my crêpe slip, concentrating it all into one point. 

I can’t tell if feeling like this is the best or the worst. Jesus, imagine if the other guys knew. They’d never shut up about it. Christ, they’d never take me seriously again. I don’t want to be the “girlfriend” – I want to be a formidable pilot. So many people just don’t think those two things can ever coexist. 

Not that I want to be a girlfriend. I couldn’t say that word out loud without feeling wrong. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t know if I could be that. 

A bike passes with an urgent ring of its bell, and Maverick twists his body in towards mine, hand hovering over my back, to push me out of the way from it. 

I go blank, scrambling to remember where we were in the conversation, mouth dry.

“So, you’re telling me,” I begin, grinning, “going into Return of the Jedi, you hoped that Luke and Leia would end up together?”

Mav sighs and rolls his eyes, tearing off a little of what remains of the crêpe. ‘Well, at the time, I didn’t know they we’re fuckin’ siblings—”

“Maverick, that is incest.”

“Come on!” he laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. “Goose thought so, too! Luke’s the main guy, so, like, it’s not not logical to think he’d get the main girl, right—?”

“But it’s Han Solo!” I exclaim, throwing my head back with a snort. He smiles down at me, eyes warm, in a way that I’m probably misinterpreting and will replay over and over in my head when I’m trying to sleep in bed tonight. “I thought you’d be a Han Solo kind of guy.”

“What, I remind you of him?” He tosses his head back and smoulders. I fake a gag.

“Well, he’s just—he’s just—” I trail off into laughter. “He’s really—I can’t explain it! If you ask any girl, she’ll know what I mean. Han Solo is so—” I giggle again, remembering how stunned and attracted to him I was when I first watched A New Hope in the theatre. “He’s just a lot of things.”

“Oh, yeah?—like what?”

Gosh, I can feel myself burning up – does he have to lower his voice like that? Does he have to try and catch my eye? God, it’s almost easier to hate him, to be honest – at least then I wouldn’t be acting like such a puddle.

“Like, charming and daring and, um—and clever, and—I don’t know. It’s just the way he speaks or something.”

He hums, hands in his pockets, his dad’s jacket draped over his forearm – I don’t think I’ve seen him go anywhere without that leather jacket. “And you like those things?” he pushes.

I bark out a laugh. “C’mon, Maverick, everyone like those things.” True enough – I could be blind and still fall in love with Han Solo and his smooth-talking. “And why Luke? Even if they weren’t siblings, why him? He had zero chemistry with—”

“Because he’s the chosen one!”

“—yeah, well, he—”

“He’s cool! Luke is objectively cool. He’s a pilot, he’s a Jedi, he’s a leader, he’s—”

“What-ever!” I exclaim, scrunching up my nose at him, and we giggle into quiet. “I’m not saying I didn’t like him as a character – I think he’s an amazing character. I just wouldn’t fuck ‘im.” I cackle at the absurdity of it all.

We continue walking.

Maybe all of this will fade in a couple hours. Maybe it’s the magic of Top Gun, this beach, this dusk that settles in fast around us, the lights that illuminate the darkening boardwalk. It’ll all be over in a couple more weeks, anyway. Bee ‘n’ I’ll go back to the carrier and be on with things, and Maverick will do whatever it is that he does. I know Goose says we should make plans to meet after school’s out, but who really has the time to spare? So, thank God Mav didn’t ride in on his motorcycle, ‘cause, if he’d insisted I hop on and wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder and la-la-la, I’d be in great danger of sleeping with him.

“D’you wanna head straight back?”

I look up at him. “Hmm?”

Jesus, he needs to tone down his looks or something – it’s disarming, a hazard, really. Those green eyes are givin’ me some mean butterflies, alright. Nowadays, I’ll see him fresh out of the sky, hair spiky and dishevelled with sweat – he doesn’t wear helmet hair as well as others, that’s for certain – and I’ll have to bury my face in my locker. I’ll see him absentmindedly chewing on his dog-tags, and it’ll have me air-headed for the rest of a lecture. I can’t classify it as a distraction, but it’s—certainly not intended. My head isn’t screwed on so tight, and I can’t keep tipping up in the cockpit – I know my ambition to win and these thoughts about Maverick have no correlation, but, good God, maybe if I could just focus more in classes—

“There’s—” he starts, then swallows. “We could go to the pier. Not really a view anymore, but we could see some lights. Boats, maybe.”

“Yeah,” I reply, excitement jolting through my body.

“Yeah?” I nod. He smiles. “Okay.”

When he asks me if I’m cold, he readjusts his jacket on his arm, like he’s already made his mind up to lend it to me. Of course, I shake my head – I’d probably end up stinking up the damn thing with how much I seem to be sweatin’.

We take our time to the end of the pier. When we reach the railing, we step up onto the bar and lean out to look down at the softly lapping water.

“You—erm—”

I turn to look at him, and the stutter of his words stops abruptly, his eyes wide. He looks at me dumbly, like I’m one of the seven fuckin’ wonders. Now, I’ve seen Maverick drunk, stupid, and downright embarrassing himself—just think of the time she lost that fuckin’ lovin’ feeling—but, even when he doesn’t know something, he always keeps face. He always has something to say. Now?—now, here, he looks hopeless.

“You—”

“I what, Mitchell?” I grin, shoving my hair behind my ear in light of the strong breeze that suddenly billows in from across the sea. “Watching the ships, right?” There they are: little dots on the horizon.

He flushes, snapping his attention away. “Right.”

I know what’s coming – I pick up on all of it: the fidgeting of his hands, the downcast dart of his eyes, the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Though it kinda perks me up to begin with, I just end up wilting again at the reminder of a certain instructor who I am evidently not.

Still, it’s nice to hear him say: “It’s just—” I tilt my head towards him, “—I think you’ve got great eyes. Great everything really. I dunno. I think—you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

I snort. “That 4% really got to you, hey, Mav?”

He doesn’t laugh, just pauses, takes a second to think about what he’s going to say. “I—don’t know—how to say it.”

My heart drops—in the bad way. “What?"

“That I think about you—a lot.”

Oh, Christ. I let out a deep sigh, and, immediately, his face drops like a stone. “Oh, don’t do that, Maverick.”

“Do what?” he protests through a weak smile.

I recoil just a little bit: he’s a flirt, yes, but I didn’t take him for a dirtbag. “Do what?” my ass. He knows what. Blonde-hair-and-bright-eyes, who’s what. Think of how smart she is, how accomplished she is, how beautiful she is, how level and respected she is – all of these things and a man can still write Charlie of as not that big a deal? That’s fuckin’ low.

“You’re being mean,” I tell him firmly, trying to force down the disgust that pushes under my tongue and the embarrassment that burns over my cheeks.

Maybe Carole and Goose really weren’t exaggerating. Maybe he has got eight women all lined up for him, just waiting for him to call.

His hand makes to touch my shoulder but doesn’t end up making contact – it just hovers, unsure. Either way, I wasn’t going to let it happen. Either way, I find myself scurrying back, away.

Mav has the audacity to look confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

“So, what?” I snap, hopping down from the railing and scowling unabashedly at him once more. “I’m one of those girls you string along?”

He laughs – only, it’s not cute anymore; it’s fucking annoying. “No—!”

The wind blows strongly, warm, still, but with the promise of a storm. I have to raise my voice in order to get myself across, I tell myself: “What?—you wanna challenge yourself, or something? Me and Charlie—?”

This?—this seems to piss him off. Mav’s expression crumples into indigence as he protests strongly again, “No—!"

“But—”

“Phantom,” he presses desperately, eyes pleading for me to listen – I’ve seen that expression on him before; every time I’ve ignored it, I’ve ended up regretting it, yelling myself silly over a misunderstanding. So, I pause. I listen. The urgent haze fades away within the span of three deep breaths.

“I wanted Charlie’s advice on how to speak to you. I was nervous—am nervous—and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s very—to-the-point. And Goose and Bee fluff like their lives depend on it.”

Nice one. Nice going, Tommy: do what you do best and throw a fuckin’ rage, why don’t you?

“I thought you didn’t like me—” I say to him dumbly, “—after what I said to you.”

We don’t talk about that argument in the locker rom. We don’t talk about the one after volleyball either, or the one in the air. It’s no excuse – that Viper is breathing down my neck, that I know Skipper expects highly of me – to act like a dick to all the competitors that block my way to that damn trophy. I need to climb this hill.

And here Maverick is, thinking about me—a lot.

“Your opinion matters to me more than you’d think,” he admits with a snarky, little snort. “You’re—” he trails off; the gale dies down. “You’re just—I don’t know how to put it. I’m—not great at the serious-talking stuff.”

“Embarrassed?” I tease. God, I know I am.

He grins. “A little bit.”

We make our way back to the dorms, talking. He tells me he’s liked me ever since this one lecture at the beginning of Top Gun—after the induction, after the bar, after the first exercise—when he’d said something dumb in response to Charlie’s criticism. According to him: “You turned back and looked at me and—and you just smiled. God, I dunno – I just couldn’t look away from you. Even—even after you, y’know, y’turned back around, I—I was just staring at the back of your head, hoping you’d do it again. That you’d look at me again, smile at me again.”

I don’t even remember that day.

He walks me to the door of my dorm, where the windows are all dark and the blinds all flat shut.

No way to make it up to him. No time, either. Should’ve kissed him right then and there at the bar that first night when he came over to the jukebox. Bee saw it in my face – I know that now. I should’ve let him win that bet with himself.

I might be about to do him that favour now, I guess. All flushed, all pretty, all nervous—he gets nervous?—Maverick is so close to me that the heat of his body radiates onto mine, far too dangerous for my liking. This is not what I intended. This is so far off my plan of how this program was gonna go.

But his nose is brushing mine, and his hands are so warm and gentle as they press over my arms.

“Can—?”

I nod softly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

The kiss, when it comes, is this soft, tentative sink into a brittle release. The gentle press of his nose into my warm cheek elicits a quiet sigh from the both of us – the break from silence must render me into this here embarrassing mess, melting like the ice-cream we shared earlier in the hot sun, because Mav gets that shit-eating grin on his face like he’s watching me lose to him at volleyball all over again. Whatever – he’s the one that probably had to take a cold shower over how I looked.

I cup my hand over the back of his neck, drawing him closer still to me.

Maverick kisses like he’s paying attention to every single detail of it – his eyes are slanted just slightly open, watching my face, and one of his hands rests kindly over my neck, his fingers pressing just a little into the pulse point which I’m sure is racing like a damn horse by now.  

Of course, he’s beautiful at this. Just my fuckin’ luck. Technically, yes, it is prohibited to have sexual relations on work premises. Even a man and a woman behind a locked door is assumed to be inappropriate – I’ve heard that one too many a time by the air boss back on the carrier. I’m far from a goody-two-shoes, but rules are rules for a reason. So, of course, it’s just my luck that I meet an unfairly handsome pilot with pretty eyes and entirely too destabilising a kiss. He trails his nose down along my jaw before burying it there in my neck; I hold him tight to me, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his shoulders.

When we kiss again, it’s different: searing, crushing, slow, breathless. The chorus of crickets and cicadas and other night-things is drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears and the soft noise that slips past Mav’s lips as he pauses for breath, to pant hotly over my cheek.

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, stud,” I mumble helplessly against him, to which he nods fiercely, reaching out blind for the door-knob and guiding me stumbling into my room.

Bee isn’t here – upon the side table, there’s a little, folded note that reads in chicken-scratch handwriting: Staying with Goose for the night. Have fun!

[vladdyissues]

thinking about hurt/comfort, there's a musical that made me kinda. remember. an old AU idea i had that i keep revisiting and only keep putting off because there's some research i gotta do for allusion's sake

-Danny Phantom style Descent of Orpheus (before anyone says it, yes, the musical was Hadestown)

-Vlad dies during Phantom Planet and ends up in his ghost lair, against all expectation. rather than return to his life, which he thoroughly fucked up, he holes up there and begins making it the kind of world where he has no regrets

-meanwhile, in the living world, Danny inherited all his remaining possessions and cat. he is not impressed by this. he is even less impressed when, a few years later, he discovers the VAULT OF STOLEN ARTIFACTS that are FREAKING OUT because the will wasn't enough to actually transfer ownership to Danny and now they're triggering some Poltergeist shit in Vlad's old home. it would only work if Vlad was fully dead

-well... what the fuck? he's not fully dead?! where IS he then?!

-cue Danny tracking down Vlad's lair with Clockwork's help so he can pry the man out of there

that part is about as far as i usually got consistently (lots of ideas, nothing firm) before hearing Hadestown and realizing where i could go from there. once I did, Vlad became a combo of Eurydice and Hades, and Danny a combo of Orpheus and Persephone. at which point:

-Plasmius basically made himself an anachronistic mish mash of everything he associates with power and glory. including a lot of roman empire, because clearly he was having fun there before Danny showed up.

-lots of little indicators he's still full of regrets, familiar faces on background characters, familiar motifs, lots of sad

-Plasmius reveals he can still become human. there's just nothing left for him up there. he is a king here, there he will be the most hated man on Earth. his life is over, just like it will be for Danny one day, and he will not force himself outside of his refuge just to be discarded once again

-that actually does get to Danny. sure, it's because of Vlad's own actions but... there really isn't anything in this for Vlad. and he had been planning to just offer a simple out, in, back to being sad in his lair forever and holy shit that does not feel right

-so he... stays. until he can find something to offer Vlad on the outside

-he fails. he leaves. he returns. more than once. he has to get Vlad to finally transfer those artifacts, but his need to protect is telling him he needs to give Vlad something that's worth leaving

-still have a lot of the third act to plan, but Danny eventually becomes that thing worth leaving for after a lot of getting to know Vlad's many wounds and regrets. and Vlad decides rather than be king of his personal underworld, he'd rather be a kingmaker. it's why he stole the crown of fire and ring of rage without using them in the first place

-and he's sure he knows who he wants to have them some day

-(there would also be a lot of implications that would roll into a possible AGIT based sequel that the half-ghost status is a lot more mystically significant than just an ability to change back and forth)

-featuring a lot of hot king Vlad and a Danny who's so stubborn he doesn't even realize he's catching feelings until it sneaks up on him

I love this I love this. It's extremely cinematic and has so many great visuals (like Hot King Vlad). When do tickets go on sale? I want to book the entire theater, please. ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_

Also, feel free to ignore this if you're not taking suggestions, but that third act? The impetus that finally gets Vlad to return to the human world?

Danny gets captured. And the only person who can save him is Vlad.

Maybe Danny's newly-acquired wealth attracted attention from some unsavory people (GIW, whoever), and because he was so preoccupied visiting Vlad and trying to figure out how to get him to come back to the living world, he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. (Of course he wasn't; he's young and inexperienced and there are things he doesn't know to watch out for. Vlad obviously did, which was how he managed to be such a high-profile individual and yet keep his ghost identity a secret for 20+ years.)

And maybe Vlad began to bond with Danny through his regular visits. Nothing could get him to return to the human world, but he was beginning to enjoy Danny's company. And then suddenly Frostbite or another ghost bursts into Vlad's lair and utters three words: "They got Danny."

Oh shit.

Cue an epic rescue. King Vlad at his hottest and deadliest. Michael Bay explosions. John Williams score. Blood, fire, vengeance, the artifacts firing up at their master's presence, the boss of all boss battles, Duel of the Fates cranked to 11—

[galeorderbride]

Could I request headcanons for Dark Urge (good-aligned), Geraldus, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin with GN Tav who is a martial pacifist please?

Finally, I bring happy tidings in the form of your requested headcanons. I seriously hope you enjoy them, and thank you so much again for your patience <3

I gave Durge GN pronouns as well, just a note.

HCs below the cut, much love xx

Some allusions to romance, but T rating for all

Headcanons for Geraldus, Astarion (spawn), Gale, Wyll, Halsin, and Durge (in that order); Tav as a Martial Pacifist

Geraldus: 

Geraldus would admire someone like this deeply. Tav, representing the grace, confidence and strategy that he believes Harpers should emulate. Traits he tries to achieve but sometimes feels that he falls short on. Especially after the fight at Danthelon’s. Survivor’s guilt would plague his mind a lot after that, and a strong motivation to prove to Jaheira and everyone he cares about that he could do his new job with honour. He wishes he could embody such a tactical way of encountering others of various temperaments.

Perhaps that’s what draws him to Tav. A self assuredness that anyone would be charmed by. And he’d be just as good at Tav’s side in a fight. Given how skilled he is with a bow when they fought those doppelgängers. The two of them would make a good pair, Tav knowing when to choose the battles, and Geraldus swooping in with those archery skills. Eventually, he’d get used to being at Tav’s side, and his confidence in himself would improve, as would his abilities as a Harper. 

Astarion (Spawn):

In all honesty, Astarion wouldn’t care for this attitude much. Not right away, anyway. When he’s absorbed in the need for revenge for all that Cazador did to him, he’d find difficulty in understanding Tav’s general pacifism. This is boring to him, unsatisfying even if it’s a bit more pragmatic. A martial pacifist Tav and Astarion might not even get along that well at first. Suffice it to say, their attitudes toward life tend to—clash. 

This wouldn’t last forever, though. Tav’s peaceful side also implies patience, an understanding that a lot of Astarion’s irritation comes from pain. Once Cazador is defeated and Astarion can begin to heal, he will see the value a little more in how Tav chooses their battles and wishes to cooperate instead of fight. That very patience is what would drive them closer as friends. 

Not to say he wouldn’t get a kick out of the times Tav fights back though, he’d remember those moments fondly. 

Gale: 

Gale isn’t the type to be confrontational for no good reason. He has a value for words and believes deeds reflect the character who performs them. He says it himself when entering the Grove that helping Zevlor with Kagha is a good idea, or, ‘the diplomatic approach’ as he calls it. So, he’s pretty impressed with Tav’s abilities to keep peace early on. Before Elminster charms him, he’s happy to avoid fights or stressful situations anyway, given he doesn’t know when the orb could detonate. 

But Gale has a bit of a wicked side, taking unexpected pleasure in seeing Tav exercise the last resort: fighting. The Shadowlands would force Tav’s hand in heavy combat, pushing off phantoms and cursed harpers in the emerald darkness of Reithwin. At the end of it all, when everyone is taking their breath and Gale sees them covered in viscera and sweat, his growing crush grows into strong desire. Enamoured by Tav’s tactical approach, as capable of swinging a sword as they are in the skill of word. 

Wyll: 

The best thing about Wyll is that, in some ways, he is also a martial pacifist. With those warlock charisma levels, it’s no surprise that he can talk himself out of a situation as adequately as he could fight his way through. Tav and Wyll would be an absolute dream team throughout the journey! Getting along well through conflict but also times of relaxation, sitting around the campfire exchanging stories of past adventures. 

These two learn a lot from each other and it brings them closer. He appreciates a person who can rise above themselves for the greater good, whether they’re angry, vengeful or saddened. To understand that peaceful resolution can get someone even more than fighting them. But he’s also gifted with the sword, enjoys the adrenaline of battle when it comes down to it. Much like Tav, he knows the balance between love and war. 

Halsin: 

Despite his size, the man is not a fighter. Not that he isn’t capable, but that he simply prefers balance to chaos. As is the nature of most Druids. While Halsin struggled with the constant politicking of being Archdruid, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t value the other preservation of peace through words and negotiation. He wouldn’t believe himself to be charismatic enough to manage it himself, certainly not in the way Tav would throughout their adventure. But he would feel confident in Tav’s reliability that shows in their implicit pacifism. Because of this, he’d prefer the ‘pacifist’ side more than the ‘martial’. 

He’d appreciate Tav’s confidence in fighting in the Shadow Cursed Lands. A place that demands combat all the time, not many opportunities to talk one’s way out (at least until they reach Moonrise). But Tav pushes through, helping Halsin break the curse he’s been studying for a century. The rugged journey of finding Thaniel in the Shadow veil is not fit for the faint of heart. And after fighting off undead monsters, only to help Halsin bring Thaniel to camp, the friendly giant has nearly no choice but to fall for Tav. 

Durge (Redeemed): 

Good-aligned Durge wants to be good, but at the beginning of their journey, they have no idea where to start. Bloody urges still fester in their brain despite the tadpole’s influence, and pushing them away is definitely harder than giving in. Honestly, Durge might have initially learned to cool their head and de-escalate violence from Tav when they first met. Watching Tav go through stressful situations with confidence, never losing their temper even when the moment begs for rage. Durge would envy that ability, even to the point of madness as Tav seems to do it so effortlessly, slinking into the background as if they weren’t battling with themselves. 

Nights by the fire with Tav would be the real ticket to Durge admiring them rather than being jealous. Maybe even become entirely attached, as Tav would be understanding and helpful when Durge becomes downtrodden by fighting their ancestral desires, wondering if they’ll ever be able to change despite forcing themselves to be peaceful. Eventually, when Durge frees themselves from the clutches of Bhaal for good, they’d credit Tav as teaching them about the kind of person they want to be from then on.

[filamentlights]

Double Entendre

Clone x OC Week - Day 2, Quality Time || Echo x OC

Event Masterlist

SUMMARY: In a world of soulmates, shared pain, celebrity glamor and war, Echo finally plucks up the courage to write to his soulmate. 

Word count: 2.5k

Tags & Warnings: cursing, description of pain and injury, allusions to eating disorders, soulmate au, soulmates share pain & can communicate thru notebooks, actress OC, post skako minor but pre TBB, echo & hunter friendship

“So what’s your love language?”

Lavinia paused. Looking away from the interviewer’s expectant gaze, her eyes drifted down to the bag her manager was holding from where he stood beside the cameraman. Tucked inside, was a little blue banthaskin notebook, half empty. She smiled ruefully at the Twi’lek interviewer.

“It’s difficult to say, since I’ve yet to have a relationship. But I do enjoy spending time with my loved ones. Only when you spend time with another person, do you get to know them.”

“You don’t have a soulmate?”

Lavinia stiffened.

It was generally rude to ask around someone’s soulmate. The phenomenon where certain beings could feel the pain of another being in the galaxy had been a well-documented mystery for millennia. Pain would inexplicably correlate between two beings; if one was injured, another being, regardless of distance, would feel bits of that pain with varying degrees of severity. Phantom pain. Most people had one, but some didn’t. It was hard to say whether they simply hadn’t noticed pain that wasn’t their own, or if their soulmate was too young or already dead, or if they simply didn’t have anyone.

Recent years saw a company come out claiming the bond was of “fated pairs.” A frenzy over the idea of two beings perfectly compatible; be it romantically or otherwise, the company claimed it was some sort of soul bond.

“No, I don’t buy into the whole “fated pairs” business,” Lavinia laughed, trying to keep her voice from sharpening. The interviewer feigned an apologetic simper, covering her mouth with a purple hand.

She bought one the minute she was legally allowed to own a Soul Book, on her fifteenth lifeday. She still remembered the store, staring at the tacky pink and red posters advertising Love at First Word and One Book, Two Hearts Connected as she waited in line for three hours. She dumped five months worth of chores and allowance money, and the sales clerk placed a decorated box of gaudy tissue and ribbons in her hands. Inside, her very own Soul Book.

“No?” The interviewer pressed on. “You didn’t spend your hiatus looking? What if your perfect other half is out there?”

Lavinia had spent her entire sophomore summer writing in her journal as a fifteen year old, staring at each page intently for any hint of ink or graphite. She’d write a page and leave the next blank for the reply.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” She flashed a winning smile to keep from gritting her teeth. Her first interview back, and she was already fed to the wolves. “But no, I took a hiatus to recover from a debilitating illness. Besides, I don’t believe in perfect other halves. It’s all marketing, that’s all.”

Her other was always in pain. It had been alright when she was younger. Bearable. A few aches and bruises with the worst being a broken bone or two. Her muscles also woke up sore more often than not, even when Lavinia had done nothing the previous day. Her twelve year old self had pieced together a rough idea from these phantom pains: someone scrappy and adventurous, who loved sports.

“But no relationship at all?” The interviewer frowned in a that can’t be right manner. Her fingers dug into her palm. “But you’re so pretty!”

“Hah, thank you.”

“What diet are you on?”

Her smile tightened.

“None.”

The Twi’lek sighed, but she caught the dissatisfaction in the woman’s eyes. She couldn’t really blame them, she was hardly giving them any gossip fodder for their ratings. Their production was C-list at best, they had no right to treat her this way. Still, Lavinia reigned in her temper. Her management said she was on thin ice as is.

“Well if you have a soulmate out there,” the interviewer said, gesturing towards the camera with a beatific grin, “what would you say? Want to give the Holonet a message?”

As Lavinia had grown older, and the pain had gotten worse, she grew less sure of that idea of her other. Pain would wake her in the middle of the night, something scorching through her stomach bringing her to curl over pathetically in her fresher and heave her empty stomach. Throbbing phantom bruises painting her chest. A broken hand. Blisters on her perfect, unblemished feet. But she’d managed it, managed to push forward with her career and star in some of the biggest pictures among A-list stars.

And then came the excruciating pain.

She smiled demurely, looking into the camera lens. Thoughts of the annoying interviewer faded in lieu of her…person. She never did know what to call them.

She’d spent seven months bedridden from pain. As she laid there in her glittering, penthouse apartment laboring to breathe through it all, only one thought fluttered through her barely conscious mind.

“Maybe, don’t get too hurt out there?”

The pages stayed blank, but the pain never left.

“Shut that thing off.”

Wrecker curled around the holoprojector protectively, like Crosshair was about to lunge at the thing to destroy it. Although, Echo thought as he eyed the irritated sharpshooter casting sharp glances at the image of some woman speaking, maybe Wrecker had the right intuition.

“Shut up Crosshair! You just don’t wanna admit it!”

“Admit what.”

“Admit that she’s the most beautiful, gorgeous, kind hearted, talented, pretty, uhm- and… and amazing-”

“You’re pathetic. It’s just a woman. She looks like she’s about to keel over. What’s there to like? Skin and bone?”

Wrecker let out a roar and then something crashed.

“That’s Lavinia Lue. Just the most brilliant actress ever,” Wrecker yelled. “And she’s recovering from a sickness! And you don’t know anything about her. She is amazing and kind-”

“Ugh.”

Echo grabbed his kit from where he’d left it by the back panels and made for the bunks as quietly as he could. Vaguely, as much as he disliked agreeing with Crosshair when he was being tetchy and insulting, he noted that she did look sunken. Grieved. It wasn’t in her face—her makeup was flawless, as you’d expect from a celebrity—but rather a collarbone that jutted out too much and the slight tremble to her slim hands. She smiled tightly at something the interviewer asked, rubbing slightly at her upper arm. His prosthetic throbbed.

Echo shook himself.

He walked into the bunks, sliding the door shut on Wrecker and Crosshair’s bickering. But even the hiss of the door didn’t keep him from hearing her answer.

“-be, don’t get too hurt out there?”

“You alright?”

Echo turned to Hunter who leaned against the wall near his bunk on the Marauder. “Oh yeah, just not used to the noise.”

“You get used to it eventually, but there’s no stopping ‘em once they get started. Cross is picky about his environment and gets annoyed at loud sounds, and Wrecker is…” Hunter paused, waving his hand in the air sheepishly while he searched for the right words.

“A lot?” Echo offered. Hunter grimaced.

“Yeah. They end up winding each other up. I’m used to it, but I hope it’s not too much for you.” Hunter patted Echo’s shoulder as he passed by his bunk. Echo shrugged.

“It’s fine.” Echo thought back to the roughhousing they’d do on the Resolute. Boys in blue scrapping over dumb betting pools and arbitrary arm-wrestling games. His heart panged. “Things were rowdy back in the 501st so it’s nothing new. I just need some time to adjust.” After everything, went unsaid. The two shared a commiserating look.

“Well, you did a great job on your first mission with us. I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks, sarge.”

“Hunter.” He corrected, then smirked somewhat self-deprecatingly. “No one ‘round here has the respect to call me that, so might as well not start now.” Echo huffed knowingly.

“Hunter, then.”

“So, you gonna write in that?”

Echo glanced down at what Hunter was nodding at, faintly surprised to remember what he was clutching. A blue banthaskin notebook, its flimsi pages were warped and discolored with time and sun exposure. He’d bought it on a whim from a secondhand thrift shop. He didn’t know why. The Kaminoans didn’t bother with any of the “soul bond” stuff, claiming it was a load of unscientific skrag, despite the fact the books did usually connect people with the person sharing their pain. And even if it weren't, the clones weren’t sentient; they couldn’t have soulmates because they didn’t have souls. Lama Su himself had made a facility-wide announcement, the day the clones got wind of the Soul Books business, that clones were just organic material given energy. Nothing more, nothing less. Any phantom pains mentioned were dismissed. Echo’s stomach clenched, feeling a familiar pang within. It was clearly old, but the condition was still good. The sturdy leather was only slightly beaten, but could be brought back with some proper care.

“You think we really have soulmates? Our perfect other half? That it isn’t just a bunch of marketing nonsense a company did to sell books?”

Hunter’s eyes drifted off, seeming klicks away. The moment stretched on, verging on uncomfortable, but Echo could understand. He’d only just joined the Batch, but he’d noticed the sergeant’s tendency to just… pause. Long, pensive silences. Echo could only imagine how loud the galaxy was for him. Eventually, Hunter seemed to come back to the present, absentmindedly rubbing his chest where his heart sat.

“Feels real enough to be something.”

Echo nodded.

“Do you…” Echo trailed off. Hunter nodded, closing his eyes.

“I did, but I can’t really feel her anymore. Don’t know if she’s just gotten more careful or…” He rose from his seat, patting Echo’s shoulder again, but a touch gentler now in the wake of what they’ve both revealed. “Anyways, you should write them.”

The door hissed shut, and Echo was alone.

His stomach shifted uncomfortably in the wake of what Hunter revealed. He’d pegged them as hunger pangs right as they started, maybe a year back, and quickly realized they weren’t his own. They were sometimes bothersome, sometimes so intense it messed with his training. It had annoyed him the idea that there might be someone out there, a civilian who’d never labored or so much as grow callouses on their palms, with all the resources and opportunities at their fingertips choosing to starve themselves. But those thoughts went as quickly as they came. Who was he to judge.

Echo stared down at the small book in his hands.

He uncapped the latch, and a little needle extended out.

“Just prick the tip of your finger,” the shopkeeper had said when he walked up to the counter, book in hand. “One small drop should do it.” The aged Theelin then tossed in a dated ink pen into the bag, which Echo hadn’t even thought about.

“On the house,” he said with a wink.

Echo removed the glove from his hand and gently pushed his fore finger onto the needle until red bloomed. The latch glowed and then fell apart, allowing him to open the book.

For a minute, he simply sat there.

He flipped to the first page.

Hello. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I can feel everything and it hurts. A lot. I wish you’d stop hurting. Maybe then I could actually focus on my exams.

I’m sorry. I realize that was awfully callous of me—I’m told my mouth is a permanent shoe box apartment for how often I put my foot in it. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Lavinia, but my family calls me Elu. Do with that information what you will (read: hopefully use it when you reply to me). I hope you are well and you get your ankle treated; it’s been twinging, it is clearly sprained. Do be mindful.

Hello. You’ve yet to reply, and that’s fine—maybe you haven’t bought a book yet—but I thought I’d pop back in and say hi. I got in a fight today at summer school. One of the boys stole my notebook and he insisted on seeing it. I got in trouble though for fighting him. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t like the black eye I gave him. It was my doodling notebook, but it made me consider bringing you to school so I can talk to you all the time. But then again, maybe not. If Brackly keeps making it a habit to steal my items, it might not be good to bring you along. We’ll see.

Mother’s putting me in acting and modeling classes. Says she’ll make a star out of me, one way or another. The girls there are rude, but it’s fine. I’m meaner anyways. I’ll be busier.

And then, at the bottom of the page, one small, frustrated scribble.

Hello, when will you answer? Actually, no, I might just get disappointed. It’s fine, I’m probably too mean anyways. Mother says that’s why I have no friends.

He could see from the neat little dates above each entry where she’d given up. A few years before she returned with longer, more journalistic entries. They became less expectant of him, but always leaving a page blank for his reply.

And then he got to the end.

Where she was writing right now.

He watched neat script curve and loop over the page, filling it in with orderly lines. Her handwriting was neat, clearly practiced in some calligraphy or penmanship class, with old timey serifs.

Hello. Today was my first interview back from my hiatus. The interviewer was like a goddamn akk dog smelling blood from me, looking for wounds to exploit for her shitty C-list production ratings. Mutt. If I were to extend this ridiculous metaphor, then the blood you're smelling isn’t mine you pathetic bootlicker. But, I shut her down pretty quick. Sorry, I’ve been complaining an awful lot. How are you? Today was one of the better days, no? It’s weird talking about the phantom pain of phantom pain. My arm throbbed a bit in the interview where your prosthetic is atta-

How did you know I have prosthetics? Echo couldn’t help himself from asking. Her writing paused. His heart jumped to his throat.

I didn’t feel it when they removed the limbs—you were probably under anesthetics—but I felt it when you woke up.

You felt it?

A beat.

Yes.

Oh God, Echo couldn’t breathe.

I am so sorry.

It’s fine. A pause. Well it isn't, I had to take six months off my job, but that’s money I can always make back. Besides, I don’t imagine you asked to be amputated.

No, I didn’t. Still, I’m sorry. You must have felt so much pain.

Yes, but I’m strong.

Of course.

It took a bit to recover, but I’m bouncing back.

I can believe that. First interview, huh?

You figured it out already.

It wasn’t hard. My brother’s a fan. You’ve got quite the groupie in him.

Her writing paused for a moment, and he liked to imagine she was laughing.

Well. Now that you know who I am, you should tell me who you are.

He hesitated.

My name is Echo. And then. I am a clone trooper.

A beat passed.

Hello, Echo. I am Lavinia. It’s good to finally meet you.

A/N: Every time I write crosshair I’m instinctively compelled to put his dialogue in italics because how else am I supposed to capture his unadulterated disgust? Also I tried to think of the most annoying little boy name for someone who’d steal someone’s journal and I ended up mushing together Brock and Bradley. Ok but real talk this one shot is a mess but the only successful thing it does is let me nerd out about the functions and implications of soulmate bonds and stuff like that. I’ve kinda lost the plot with the themes bc it was supposed to be like “they spend quality time writing to each other” and I would try and clean this up a lot and make it fit a bit better, but this is fan fiction and im lazy and also I need to write my day 3 entry sooo

@orangez3st @clonexocweek

[otherbug]

death note characters as pierce the veil albums because im normal. looong reasoning and rambling under cut.

MELLO -> A FLAIR FOR THE DRAMATIC. going off the title and album cover alone. boy is he dramatic. also the faster pace and more screamo vibes fits his edginess. main songs that fit him are i'd rather die than be famous, currents convulsive, and wonderless. he did die and never got famous. his body was unidentifiably and no one knew him in the outside world. sad!

MISA -> SELFISH MACHINES. had trouble with this one but honestly it's misa the most. the most tragic and hopelessly devoted, giving up so much just to hang onto any sense of comfort and stability. she just wants to be loved. but also she'll kill anyone. main songs that fit her are bulletproof love, i don't care if you're contagious, disasterology, and million dollar houses (the painter). halving her lifespan twice just to be of use, not caring that she is being used and openly admitting it. being dragged down with light in the process. just wanting a happy life. yeah.

LIGHT -> COLLIDE WITH THE SKY. oh the edge. the ever so evil and angsty main character-ness that is only surface level as you go further into layers of anger and boredom and deception and convoluted god-complexes. much less through the lens of a 17 year old who thought he just wanted to make the world a better place and then just turned into the most naive and arrogant loser once he kills his favorite detective. main songs that fit him are stained glass eyes and colorful tears (my #1 light yagami song), bulls in the bronx, and the first punch. wanting to change the world... being a god on the surface... first punch mostly being the L vs Light rivalry. it's like if you opened up his brain and turned it into emo music.

MATT - MISADVENTURES. mostly for the more lighter and fun feeling of it compared to the other albums. also red cover art and the loose sketchiness of it, and the fact of it being a swiss army knife, as matt is essentially just a tool for mello and the storyline as a whole. main songs that fit him are sambuka and phantom power and ludicrous speed. smoke grass, drive fast, get shot and die. you know how it is.

L, BEYOND -> THE JAWS OF LIFE. honestly i couldn't assign them anything else. for both it works for pacing and general vibes. slower and more methodical. songs for L: flawless execution, so far so fake. "from the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you've actually told the truth?" songs for beyond: the jaws of life, damn the man save the empire. guysss i think they're gonna die playing 5d chess. or at least ruin themselves trying.

honorable mention: SORRY NEAR </3 you're more of an mcr song and it'd be dishonest to assign you otherwise. specifically cancer and ghost of you. everyone you know, love, and respect is dead and you're just waiting out the rest of your time as the next L. nothing will ever be as interesting as the kira case. your shinigami recognition system was doomed to fail and you will never meet the allusive a-kira. have fun lying on the floor and stacking die and 3d printed eyeballs while you are stuck yearning for a miserable time you can never return to. oops!

[baxtervalentine]

I dunno if you've seen Emesis Blue but i am SO SO SURE there's a phantom of the paradise allusion / reference in it and i haven't seen anyone talk about it

I HAVE seen emesis blue, but since I saw it before phantom of the paradise, if there was a reference I didn't pick up on it! tell me more!

[kitkatopinions]

@bad-food-sells-burgers and I are watching Disney's Beauty and the Beast and I think we've both said this before, but the whole Blake/Adam/Yang situation feels so much more like a Phantom of the Opera allusion or a Twilight allusion than it does Beauty and the Beast.

I still insist that if anyone was going to be the Beast, Weiss makes so much more sense.

[follower-bond-fight]

ROUND 4 PART 6!

Rivers In The Desert (Persona 5) VS Aria of the Soul (All Games)

Rivers In The Desert

Du dun. Du du dun. Du du dun dun-

I mean... It feels like SUCH an obvious choice, right? That rumbling, slow build up to the rush of that chorus. Gets me unbelievably hype every time. I love the picture the lyrics paint of the Phantom Thieves and their motivations. One of the best songs ever.

It has everything that drives me personally insane about a song. Biblical allusions. Metaphors for characters’ struggles. Great vocalist. CRUNCHY bass line. >120 BOM.

It fucking slaps

Mod's Statement:

To be honest with this matchup I wasn't even sure if I needed to put the links to the songs. We all know what Aria sounds like. We all know what Rivers in the Desert sounds like.

Aria of the Soul

literally iconic, you step into the velvet room for the first time and you hear it right off the bat, it is THE persona song, anyone whos ever played the persona games knows it and if theyre like me theyve probably memorized its tune too

Mod's Statement:

I really like the Velvet Room Theme, okay?

[texasdreamer01]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Tagged by @spurious!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

80

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

239,131

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Oh that's a long list, let me check. So far 19, with a bit of overlap in the megafandoms (Star Wars and Tolkien), plus an original fandom. 20, if you count all the Stargate Atlantis fics I have that I'm currently pecking away at. It's… probably just easier to look at my AO3 at this point.

… No wait, 21, I forgot I used to write for Danny Phantom eons ago.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Psychopomp (Original Fiction, Space Australians micro-fandom, gen)

Twixt Primroses and Hawthorns (The Hobbit, Bagginshield - there's still a sequel in my drafts, somewhere, I promise!)

All we are, and all we have… (Star Wars: The Clone Wars, gen)

Ādfȳr (The Hobbit, gen)

Nice Manners for a Thief (The Hobbit, Bagginshield)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Mmmmmmmaybe? I try? It's a completely different type of effort than just writing fic and throwing it on the internet, which I usually don't have the energy for.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

.. Probably the one where I killed Bilbo, but I've reportedly made people cry on various other fics.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Stamp of Approval (Star Wars, gen) is the… fluffiest? Least angsty? I've been writing happy-ending fics more often, but it's not my wheelhouse to write strictly "happy" fics.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I used to? Some of it was laughable, honestly, if a little puzzling - I used to get someone that would just repeatedly comment on my short-form fics as "not a drabble". Don't think this person ever read those fics, but it was an interesting week.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

…. Yes. According to various reviewers, "hot" and "sweet" (depends on the fic).

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not really? I'm currently writing an SGA/Kingsman crossover that I'm amusing myself with, but it's not got a deadline on it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. And I'm still mad about it!!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've translated my own works (sometimes badly), mostly as practice, but never by anyone else, no.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I've had a work co-posted with an artist's work that I prompted myself on? And on a separate occasion effectively whined into cowriting on a very large and popular work that has since been abandoned by backlash - I was a beta (originally, hah), but every once in a while I still get anons asking about it.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hmmmmmm. I feel like my tastes generally change as I hop fandoms, so it really depends on the flavour of ship?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Lol probably Kintsugi. It's effectively a time-travel not-quite rewrite of Sherlock (the Benedict Cumberbatch one) with supernatural horror elements that I've been on- and off-again poking at forrrr… almost ten years now! I have to now go look up contemporary technology and trends, it's been so long 😂

16. What are your writing strengths?

Reading rhythm, allusions, characterization (somehow), thematic elements.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Keeping track of the plot, the characters, and my point.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think it depends? I'm definitely in fandoms that have a heavy emphasis on other languages by dint of translation or conlang nerdiness (see: YGO, The Hobbit, Star Wars) or else have characters that know other languages as a default setting (Stargate, Star Trek, Sherlock, Kingsman), so it kind of comes with the territory to at least pick up some key phrases and if you're in deep enough, to learn how to make up new words (hello conlangs). I think it helps that I have a habit of not only using hover text as well as a glossary in the end notes for mobile users/whatnot, so as to not interrupt the reading flow, particularly for desktop readers.

For the curious about hover text HTML: < span title="translation here" >word here</ span > , but without spaces

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Danny Phantom, baaaack not quite when it was still airing. I think. It was probably still airing?

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

As pretty of compliments as I've accrued over the years, I still don't… quite… like my writing? Imo I'm only approaching "mediocre" or "average", so it's really only an appreciation for technical goals reached the more I write. If I enjoy things enough to re-read for the pleasure of it, that's good enough for me.

No pressure tags: @ygodmyy20, @pandora15, @harinezumiko, @thereisselfpreservation, @thejediandthemandalorian

[agirlinsearchof]

I watched Episode 9 of Dead End: Paranormal Park. Aside from being top-notch, I must ask:

Did anyone else think Courtney’s song about wanting to go back to hell sounded like “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid?

Also, Pugsley and Temeluchus’s song about the latter wanting to possess the former sounded like “Friend Like Me” from Aladdin.

Any other song similarities? I know the recurring phrase “phantom of the theme park” is probably an allusion to “Phantom of the Opera.” I’m shocked none of the songs seemed themed after the song of the same name. It could have worked well for Norma getting possessed by Pauline!

[lordofthestrix]

Tristora in a phantom of the opera au bc why not

What could I do with this? Let's see... Basic premise: Aurora de Martel is, as far as the world knows, the sole survivor of the deadly fire that took away her family, her home and her good fortune. Orphaned at seven years of age, Aurora would eventually reunite with a voice from her past at the Palais Garnier. Becoming the visible but unrecognized face of the strange duet that holds a phantasmagorical hold over the place. Who asks the other on dates: In the beginning Tristan is the one who always appears and invites her to secret meetings under the cover of the night. But I believe Aurora is probably more pro-active than your prototypical Christine Daaé. She is very intuitively aware of the moments when Tristan is watching over her. She is almost supernaturally good at realizing when she can say something subtle out loud and expect him to hear. Including allusions to the desire for a speedy meeting between the two. Added to this, they have at least one or two secret spots where Aurora can leave a ciphered or coded message, following their new tradition, and she is not afraid to use them to suggest time and place for their next clandestine encounter.

Who is the bigger cuddler: They spent some years apart in this au and one can instantly tell by the way both of their bodies very naturally react like perpetually attracted magnets ravenous to demand a feast for each missing day. Who initiates holding hands more often: Following the aesthetics of the film, Tristan began wearing leather gloves and the first thing Aurora does whenever they see each other, sometimes without even realizing it, is get rid of them. Who remembers anniversaries: I don't think they celebrate anniversaries here. In part because every day since their re-encounter carries a special, festive air for them. Aurora still receives something quite unique to celebrate her for her birthday. No matter the universe it appears she will never get rid of that. Who is more possessive: Tristan is ferociously envious of the seething injustice of anyone and everyone who gets to share the world with Aurora for a fleeting second in a way he no longer can. Who gets more jealous: Tristan. Although there are times when Tristan's written demands suggestions for the opera house mention the positive traits of some specific performer or another and Aurora gives him a run for his money. Who is more protective: Tristan will hang you from a rope if you so much as make his sister sad one lonely time. Who is more likely to cheat: Tristan has one fourth of his face burned under the owl-themed mask and his profession is as governing legend over an opera house. An acquired taste of a gentleman, let's say. Speaking in statistics alone, he is not precisely a coveted bachelor here. Who initiates sexy times the most: Whoever is not holding or playing a musical instrument at that given moment. Who dislikes PDA the most: Aurora has some bold and wild ideas on just how much they can get away with under the right disguise in public. Tristan is both extremely elated and sharply cautious about exploring some of the world at her side again under these condition. Neither of them is at all opposed to the displays of affection involved. Who kills the spider: Tristan explained that you can transform even catacombs into a glorious and grand hideaway if you learned how to make the territory yours. Aurora proceeded to kill the spider. That was her way of making the territory hers. Who asks the the other to marry them: No marriage proposal. Although there is a very much say you'll share with me one love one lifetime at the end of Point of No Return moment. Who buys the other flowers or gifts: Added to the obvious flowers, Tristan writes her plots to harmoniously accompany her music and makes sure they are transformed into plays for her enjoyment. Although no one except for them knows some of the compositions originally came from Aurora. Tristan does sign differently depending on if what he is presenting is of his own authorship, Aurora's or a collaboration. This caused some to theorize that they are haunted not by one but several spirits. Aurora has some financial limitations when it comes to gifts in this universe but whatever she gifts Tristan, he most definitely treasures. Who would bring up possibly having kids: The real question is when are we going to find an au where that is an attractive possibility for either of them. Because I don't think this universe is going to be the exception. Who is more nervous to meet the parents: Zombies are a dreadful pest. All of us should be if not nervous at least annoyed when thinking about the possibility of zombies. Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: What couch? Begone from my sight, not-applicable question Who tries to make up first after arguments: A strange system of hinting innuendos and extremely small insinuations and gestures any other person would call them insane for assuming the other understands. They both understand it. Who tells the other they love them more often: They probably fell sleep in the intimate reverie of hearing it repeatedly from the other after they reunited. They haven't been able to keep count since then.

[dlrctv]

allusion flicked across his eyes as if in on a little joke of his own though it was just out of his reach, fingers not being able to clasp onto the substance of his own preferences... they're there but buried under some fog that keeps the boy at bay. fact was he simply preferred his partners to be older than himself, never had anyone his age really been able to hold him down like someone with age on their side --- made them wiser in the bedroom. part of him liked to be told that he's a good boy, especially for his partners though it never had the same effect on him if someone his age said it to him, sounded wrong even. was that part of the reason he so willingly went wherever this man told him ? or how he eagerly waits for him to text him back ? this giddiness to be craved by this man... this unattainable man. has this only been since he awoken in the hospital or had it always been this way ? a waiting game.

... the scars littered across his abdomen, a gnarly four inch scar directly vertical runs down his left thigh ( it was a mere millimetre from severing his femoral artery... so close to death ) had all the bandages off them, no longer needing that protection --- partially healed. though the same could not be said for his beloved car, a 1967 chevrolet camaro which of course had a custom job that he knew in his heart that he had done ( and someone else was there ), a lilac blue with black accents. yeah, there was no saving his car and he was still mourning over it, he had put a lot of work into the car... that it had become like a beloved pet to him. something went wrong that night, he wasn't on his game but that wasn't it something sinister was afoot.

a rock in the ocean. slade had become his rock ever since he left the hospital ( as all his family is still in jeju, south korea ) so he had no one here for support and even though he couldn't truly remember somethings in his life, he knew he kept them very much in the dark and therefore, he refused to tell them that he had been hospitalised, seriously so. so he clung tightly, a fear he couldn't quite place that the other would vanish without a trace, leave him in the dust but his subconscious was squirrelly since his accident as it wasn't such an accident though he was unaware at this moment. hazing fog kept it from his mind. his ears in-tuned to his voice ( it demands to be listened too ), light tilt of his chin towards the man it belonged to though his gaze shyly stay away from those vortex hues, shaking his head at him before he speaks. ❝ no-no-no, i'm not ready just yet. ❞ shaking of his head as dislodged his fringe which sweeps over his forehead and astew out of place. ❝ not that i'm scared or anything of the sort. just need more time. i mean i just had my bandages taken off before coming here. ❞ he mumbles towards the end, a phantom pain ghosting over his thigh, left hand comes to bring relief to it. rubbing the scar through his pants, a new nervous habit ? maybe.

drifting back to look out the front of the windshield the display of excitement was palpable through the glass, burning flashes from the shine of car hoods reflecting the sun but he was caught off guard by the softness from the other, even in this state he knew that wasn't like slade. ❝ miss this ? " light bafflement dances across his features, tilt to the side almost innocently. hope. and hope shattered in the same breath at the sharpness of the words. ❝ i do. i miss the racing that's for sure but i've only just healed up from the physical scars. ❞ not even bothering to mention the mental scar which are open wounds still, have yet to be stitched back together again... will they ever be stitched back together to be able to heal. ❝ but i appreciate you bring me here. this place feels like home away from home. ❞ he smiles over at slade and instantly regrets meeting the man's stare, shyly his browns fall to the gear shift. the man is ridiculously beautiful and commanding, that demanded to be worshipped by all who look upon him. centuries ago, some sculptor would've crafted out of brozen a statue in slade's likeness for all the people to worship at its feet, pray upon his beauty to give them good fortune, and some to seek strength for their next battle.

shyness reverts his eyes from the god-like beauty.

❝ are we --- uh... gonna get out ? ❞

Slade's mouth twitched faintly at the subtle jab about his age, a glint of something playfully wicked in his blazing stare. Part of him wanted to call In-Su out and remind him that him being older had never been an issue before, that if anything, the boy had seemed to prefer it in the past. But with a furrow of his brows and a sharp tug of restraint, he reminded himself why he was here. Flirting, teasing, all had no place in what he was trying to do for In-Su. It'd be wrong as hell, selfishly indulging just to test the waters, to coax buried memories out of darkened depths. Slade would never forgive himself for taking advantage of In-Su like that, especially after everything. They hadn’t even been together when the accident happened. That was on him, Slade supposed. He thought he’d been doing the right thing, sparing In-Su from the chaos of his life... The boy had never belonged in Slade’s reckless orbit, and the last thing he’d wanted was to drag him into a doomed future marred by Slade’s reputation, his past, and his inability to ever settle down. Sure, the fast life was a rush------- exhilarating, free, and intense. The cars, near-deadly races, whirlwind journeys to far-off, glamorous places, meeting beautiful strangers waiting for his attention, catering to his every whim... Slade thrived in it. He lived for it. But it wasn’t a life for In-Su, who still had the chance for a clean record leading to a way more ordinary life. Bringing him in had been a mistake, one that left the boy exposed, not just to law enforcement, but to the enemies Slade had collected over a lifetime of complicated decisions. Maybe In-Su didn’t need to stop racing altogether, but he sure as hell needed to get far away from Slade, and from an older man who was addicted to the storm, who would never be able to give him the quiet, stable life he deserved. Slade used to dream of a life where he could settle down, have a family, but he'd destroyed it with his own two hands. He was in his forties now, and honestly, it surprised him that he was even still alive. ...So, when Slade got word of the accident (a year after their relationship had fallen apart,) he couldn’t fucking believe it. The guilt shattered his whole world, but it wasn’t why he was here. No, Slade was here because he owed something to the boy who’d once held his heart so completely. Maybe he still did. But this wasn’t about them, not anymore.

Slade would be his confidant, his rock, for as long as that was needed. He could keep it together and keep shit balanced for the both of them. "You think you're ready to get behind the wheel again?" he shoots a rather apprehensive glance at In-Su, though his stares never linger for too long. In-Su was as unbearably distracting as the day they'd first met, too beautiful for words, and so of course when the boy asked to be a part of his crew all that time ago, Slade's initial resistance to having someone so much younger and newer to the pack wavered in the face of his terrible greed and desire. Slade didn't consider himself the worst man in the world; he thought he was mostly good, especially towards his loved ones. ...But when that pit of dark lust, a ravenous beast, mounted within him, it did make him take on more nefarious tones, and so he'd guided In-Su under his wing with selfish delight, wanting to teach but always just wanting, demanding and commanding.

Race Wars had been another one of their late night, half-serious ideas born over greasy beers and the rhythmic clinking of tools in their shared workspace. The memory of it was still vivid as ever, pulling at his mind aggressively, tormentingly. Back then, they'd spent hours in the dimly lit garage, heads bent over the exposed engine bay of a ‘68 Camaro, shoulders brushing as they worked together. The faint hum of fluorescent lights above mingled with the scent of motor oil and the steady hiss of compressed air from the pneumatic wrench. Slade remembered the way In-Su’s hands had carefully tightened the valve cover bolts after they’d reseated the lifters, his brow furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Slade had been fine-tuning the carburetor, his calloused fingers deftly adjusting the air-fuel mixture screws to ensure the engine wouldn’t choke under full throttle. Something about the intimate quiet of the garage, seeing each other coated in grease and sweat, made it all just not about the car. Every laugh over a dropped socket, every casual brush of a hand passing tools------- they were little exciting teases building up to raw electricity between them. The memory shifted, darkened, as his thoughts snagged on a moment when Slade had the boy, his good little boy, pinned over the hood to take his big cock, that gleaming chrome surface reflecting the handsomely devious smirk on his face. ...Nevertheless, he forced himself to shove the image back into the recesses of his mind, though the violent thudding in his chest refused to calm and settle.

When it came to Race Wars and the streets, Slade still enjoyed a casual race now and then, and maybe he'd even take a random bet worth some quick cash if it intrigued him enough. But these days, his approach was more calculated. He liked watching the crew handle the mayhem------ his crew, every one of them a speed demon in their own right, molded by the streets and taught, at least in part, by him. Riding with Slade wasn’t just about skill; it was about precision, fearlessness, and natural instinct. That’s why novices and casuals rarely got a rise out of him. Slade craved challenges, the unexpected, competitions capable of matching his intensity, his control. Invitations to Race Wars weren’t given lightly; they were reserved for the bold and reckless prodigies with grease-stained hands and unshakable nerves. And if In-Su wanted to take his car to go ahead and race, Slade thought, then he could have it. After all, the boy earned his place at Slade’s side, both on and off the track, even if they'd never be lovers again.

"Do you miss it at all? This?" The words came out too soft, too heavy with something dangerously close to affection. Slade immediately backpedaled, his tone more cutting now, laced with a speck of frustration. "The racing. The fast life. It's fine if you don't------ after everything that's happened." He didn’t want to think about In-Su in that goddamn fucking hospital bed, the sterile white walls seemingly mocking their hellish lives. But Slade had never been good at talking around the hard stuff, and avoidance wasn’t his style. The Dodge rolled to a slow stop just off the main dirt path, the rumble of the engine fading as he killed the ignition. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, instead turning his massive frame toward the boy. His complexion, kissed by the sun and shaped by the relentless demands of his life, gleamed in the light with a rich, almost fluid depth------ an earthy, molten bronze that seemed to have been crafted by the desert itself. Every detail of his frame exuded dominance and precision: broad, commanding shoulders that flowed seamlessly into powerful arms. Veins coiled like rivers across his sculpted biceps, standing out even more when one hand rested firmly on the wheel, the tension in his grip making the strength beneath his skin an all the more glorious sight. ...He studied In-Su, as if the answer to everything he couldn’t ask might be written in the curve of his jaw or the lovely glimmer in his eyes. The ache in him had finally grown savage, clawing at his ribs and threatening to devour him from the inside out. How long could he carry it before it devastated him entirely? Slade’s jaw tightened before he forced himself to let go of the wheel. How big could this longing grow before he’d have to carve it out of himself, like a wound too deep to heal?

[pursuitseternal]

Smashing into your daily plans… “Let it be War Upon Us Both” is ready for reading.

Unpredictable events unfold during the Masque… chaos ensues, truths come to light, and choices are made that seem irreversible…

“Beautiful Creature of Darkness”

Gothic lit, Phantom of the Opera AU

Sauondriel | Explicit | 4.4k chapter

An extra sneak peak…

“Once I get a hold of you, you will see the error of your ways,” Celeborn yelled, growing confident as the guards now flooded the throne room, every soldier drawn off of the walls to defend their king it seemed. Their armor clattered almost louder than the screaming hordes that rushed away from the room.

“You let her free,” Sauron hissed, terrifying fire flung from his extended hand, keeping the wall of guards at bay.

“Not if she has been seduced by you,” Celeborn screamed, his face brightest red in rage.

Sauron’s pleased and knowing leer was enough of an answer.

Celborn could suppress his anger no longer. His mouth trembled, every muscle of his body quaking. “Seize her too!”

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