#the red thread chapter preview

[pastafossa]

Jane: ...how old are you? Peter: fourt...y. Forty. Jane: uh huh. And what do you do? Peter: ...taxes.

[starmocha]

So the preview of the new theme song uses imagery of the guys' myths, including Sylus'. Rafayel, Xavier, and Zayne, I think we are all fairly familiar with, but since Sylus is not released yet, there are a lot of speculations about what kind of tragic past he and MC shared. Let's try to break it down. Or make it more confusing. 🫠

Interestingly, before the "tragedy" we see their wrists are bounded together by a red thread.....perhaps....the Red Thread of Fate? As the saying goes, rough paraphrasing on my part: Two lovers, regardless of time, place, and circumstances, are destined to be together, connected by a single red thread. The red thread may twist and tangle, but it may never break.

However, as we can see in the video, Sylus and MC's thread does break, and unlike in the traditional belief, their thread is wrapped around their wrists and not fingers. As the thread breaks, we also see Sylus behind bars. Imprisonment? A crime?

Speaking of wrists, another thing I've noticed with Sylus' trailers is that it involves handcuffs a lot, which seems more significant now in light of this preview.

Especially since we see him also breaking them so easily.

I kind of made a passing joke in the tags of a previous post that Sylus' upcoming chapters carry shades of the Greek myth with Hades and Persephone, but perhaps I may not be too far off?

Just take a look at this wide view of the scene of Sylus and MC separated:

The N109 Zone is shown during the night with a bright red moon, giving a feeling reminiscent of the Underworld ruled by Hades. Note how it looks like Sylus is behind bars, a prison, if you will. In Greek mythology, Hades was tasked with ruling the Underworld, not by his choice, but the wills of others (so in a sense: trapped). Could this mean that perhaps Sylus has no desire to be the leader of Onychinus? Could he be bounded there against his will?

Meanwhile, MC is shown on the side of light. If we compare her to Persephone, she is on the surface world with other people. But from the preview, it looks like she is abducted and taken to the N109 Zone, much like Persephone was abducted and taken to the Underworld to be Hades' bride.

(Brief unserious interlude, because I want to spread my Hades/Persephone agenda:

Sylus is the Hades to MC's Persephone

The dark to her light

He is feared by everyone except her.

He'll let her get away with everything (covering him in silly band-aids, poking him in the side) because he adores her.

If anything happens to her, the world will feel his wrath.

He embodies the feeling of "if anything happens to her, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself."

In short, scary leader is big softie for his wifey and I am willing to die on this hill

OK. End interlude.)

Also, um... 😭

Bringing up the theory that Sylus is trapped? The Beast is trapped in the castle because of the curse by an enchantress. I seriously couldn't get this comparison out of my mind when I saw the dancing scene in the trailer, so it feels appropriate to bring it up here.

Perhaps like the Beast initially, Sylus does display a very dominating and aggressive temperament, but then in his 5* memory, Captivating Flavor, he seems more approachable, so perhaps we will soften him over time?

Now...since Infold had the audacity to drop that trailer while I was writing this, here is another example of them going with the trapped/caged/bounded theory (there is also an image of a bear trap earlier, but I'm at my 10-pic limit, so the cage seems more obvious (and aesthetically pleasing lol)

So could Sylus be trapped in the same way as the Foreseer is trapped within the Tower? But unlike the Foreseer, Sylus is always trying to break free from his chains. Circling back to his myth, could it be that his tie with MC was broken...by him? Perhaps out of a sense of protection? For her sake?

In Beauty and the Beast, the Beast was willing to let Belle go, to be killed by Gaston, to succumb to the curse, all for the sake of Belle's happiness and freedom.

In the myth of Hades and Persephone, Persephone was allowed to leave the Underworld to return to her mother for half a year, but since she ate a few pomegranate seeds, food from the Underworld, she was also bounded to return to the Underworld for the other half to be with her husband. Each year, the cycle returns. Come spring, Hades must let his beloved wife leave him for half a year, and there's nothing he can do to change it.

Bonus Greek myth tidbit: the crow plays a significant part in a myth involving the sun god Apollo, where it acts as a messenger for him. The crow, once white, was burned and turned black, as retribution for telling the truth (revealing an affair) that led to Apollo killing his lover.

So, let's recap real quick the symbolism we have seen. 🤔

Handcuffs: bounded

Bars: imprisonment

Bear trap (couldn't include the pic, but it's there, trust me): caught, trapped

Birdcage: trapped, caged

The crow: a messenger; punished for revealing the truth (so, punishment)

So, gathering my random little thoughts...

Theory 1: Sylus and MC must have been destined lovers in a past life, but due to whatever conflict, Sylus decided to break his bond with her for her protection and accept any punishment that comes with it, which could mean to be ruler of a place he has no desire for, an imprisonment of sort.

Theory 2: Destined lovers, but perhaps a third party interfered out of jealousy or spite. Could Sylus have been caught and framed of a crime and been literally imprisoned, thus forcing him and MC to separate?

Something to this effect, I think, from working with the crumbs I've gathered. It's also almost midnight as of the time of writing this, so my brain is feeling loopy now (also no thanks to that Sylus trailer that popped up while I was writing this 💀)

Anyhoo, make of all of this as you will. My Hades/Persephone agenda will persist.

[glossysoap]

ready to comply masterlist ; ghoap x winter soldier! reader. beginning april 2023

я готов отвечать or ready to comply, is the phrase you speak after being programmed into HYDRAs weapon.

warnings/tags for series: field surgeon/medic! reader turned winter soldier! reader, not actually unrequited love, misunderstandings, poly, crushes, angst, gore, dismemberment/amputation, torture, mentions of sterilization (but sex/gender not confirmed), red room typical misogyny, violence, sex, hallucinations, murder. more to be added.

pairing: ghoap, and poly ghost x reader x soap.

note: reader is referred to as “y/n” only when necessary as they don’t have a call sign yet. when they do have a call sign, i’ll be using that. but it doesn’t take away from the fic, don’t worry.

any chapters as well as thoughts/drabbles/headcanons in relation to this fic will be found in the “#glossywrites; ready to comply⛓️” tag on my blog.

* this fic is NOT abandoned. *

preview : posted april 12, 2023

the piece that started it all, a ghoap x reader version of the iconic “who the hell is bucky?” scene.

prologue : posted april 28, 2023

you are taken by hydra.

chapter 1; captivity : posted may 8, 2023

retelling of your capture, and the aftermath.

chapter 2; missing in action : posted may 15, 2023

you are reported as missing in action.

chapter 3; dismantled : posted may 22, 2023

you are tortured.

chapter 4; irreparable : posted june 2, 2023

aftermath of you being reported as missing in action. and the continuation of being held captive.

chapter 5; isolation : posted june 12, 2023

the hallucinations start.

chapter 6; ready to comply : posted june 16, 2023

you’re made to forget.

chapter 7; longing : posted july 1, 2023

the task force mourns you.

chapter 8; rusted : posted july 17, 2023

you come face to face with the winter soldier.

chapter 9; fruits of my labor : posted july 26, 2023

reveal of the redhead who captured you.

chapter 10; conditioning : posted august 23, 2023

you fight the winter soldier.

chapter 11; paramnesia : posted october 29, 2023

an angsty glimpse at the parallels between you vs ghost and soap.

chapter 12

moodboards:

headcanons:

poly ghoap/winter soldier!reader

post hydra hc // stray hc

meeting stray + on the run with stray

reader getting captured by hydra again

ghoap x winter soldier!reader intimacy thoughts

clingy/obsessive ghoap // post hydra separation anxiety

drabbles:

if these are canon to the og fic, it will be mentioned in the authors notes of the drabble

serial number

déjà vu

all an illusion

missed chances

till they put their brain back in a blender

fifteen minutes

reactivation

revelations

dead body au thread + cremation addition

time skip au side route:

what if?

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[paperibbon]

ink stained hand (will you hold it?)

✩ ... feysand x reader series.

CHAPTER 1

sum. A bookseller’s simple life turns upside down when she becomes fast companions of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. When she develops feelings for the most powerful couple in Prythian, how will she get over the golden thread of fate that pulls them ever so far apart?

series preview.

I pull my hand back from Feyre’s, feeling the red hot spike of lust shoot through my chest. Her stormy eyes flick to my parted mouth, and I can feel the heat creep over my cheeks, flushing my nose. My feet carry me back, away from the feelings I’m not ready to let myself answer to, away from the slit in her dress and the tilt of her lips and the ache I’m drowning in.

An arm darts out when I turn to make my exit, catching the skirt of my dress in long fingers. The stars make Rhysand look otherworldly. They seem to follow his movements with abandon, streaking across the sky to light the way for him. His brow is quirked, lifted in amusement. 

“Going somewhere?”

[shewhowas39]

another smutty chapter 21 preview

yep, chapter 21 of Juniper & Starlight is gonna for sure be up either laaaaaate tonight or early tomorrow. and i'm having too much fun with it. so here's another sneak peek of June and Astarion's first night together.

warning: Astarion being a damn menace ahead.

***

She’s close. She’s so, so close. She’s–

Astarion abruptly pulls away, leaving June teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“W-why?” she sobs as he removes her hands from his hair and stands up. 

His mouth glistens with the proof of her arousal as he grins. And the man has the nerve to giggle - actually giggle - at her anguish. “Oh, my little Juniper tree, you didn’t think you were getting off that easy, did you?”

“I hoped.” 

“That’s adorable.” He tucks a loose ringlet behind June’s ear. “But we have all night, and no one to interrupt us, for once. I promised you a night you’ll never forget, and I intend to deliver.” 

‘Damn you,” June mumbles as she closes her eyes, tilting her head back against the tree as she tries to catch her breath.

“My, my! June, was that a swear? Did you just curse?” 

“‘Damn’ ain’t that bad,” she says. “Especially when it’s deserved.”

She hears Astarion giggle again, but this time he sounds farther away.  June cracks her eyes open, searching, and finds him spreading one of his new quilts out on the grass. He turns to face her, and his expression changes from mischievous and amused to pure, wicked hunger. His red eyes are dark and gleaming as he reaches out a hand, beckoning for June to come closer.

She pushes herself off the tree and moves toward him on unsteady legs. The tight coil in her lower belly is slowly easing, but the need within her is still on the verge of painful. She stops at the edge of the quilt when Astarion raises a hand. The glint of fangs when he smirks at her makes June shiver despite the summer heat. 

“On your knees, darling,” he commands. 

June obeys, kneeling on the quilt in front of him. Her mouth waters as she watches his nimble hands reach for the buckle on his belt. She’s seen the things those hands can do. She knows their swiftness and precision. He could have his belt off and his laces undone in the blink of an eye if he wanted. But no. Astarion takes his time, his eyes never leaving June’s face as he slides the blet through its loops and drops it onto the grass. Then he begins on the laces at the front of his trousers, where she can clearly see the outline of his hardened length. 

Astarion may be grinning at her, but June can see the spark of want in his eyes. The thin thread of restraint. He’s torturing himself, too, just for the sake of stoking her need higher and higher. 

What a cruel, beautiful, infuriating man.

[eldritchelfwriter]

One Hundred Years of Anger

First chapter of the crossover work just released!

Starring my other bestie, Dame Aylin!

I decided to post the first chapter today, to celebrate the 3 month anniversary of starting to write Shadowheart Begins.

Here's a preview:

She must have died.

Returning to her body has the same sensation as always, as though she is speeding down a beam of light back into that celestial body. Rushing headfirst into what, she does not yet remember.

It is only when she re-enters that body, feels the slow knitting of itself back together that it starts to come back to her.

Ketheric Thorm. The father of her one, true love.

“Isobel,” Aylin whispers, the grief returning as strong as ever. She tries to rise to her feet, but she is still, ironically, mortally wounded, for all that her immortal regeneration is beginning the slow work of returning her to full health.

“Don’t you dare speak my daughter’s name,” a voice snarls.

Slap.

Her head snaps to the side, jarring her neck from the strength of the blow.

“Where – ?”

She sees the jagged rocks going on for eternity, feels the thick emptiness and darkness but for flashes of purple lightning, hears the constant, ominous rolls of thunder, and remembers.

She is in the Shadowfell. Someone is in trouble and needs her help! Only … that wasn’t true, was it? It was a trick, and the very person who led her into the Shadowfell to help, killed her.

Her vision, temporarily fuzzy from the blow, comes back into focus and she sees Ketheric Thorm smirking at her, triumphant. And then he ignores her as he lifts his eyes up in worship.

“I have done as you asked, Dark Lady,” he says reverently. “Accept this gift from your most loyal servant.”

Something hums in the dark of the Shadowfell, Shar herself speaking to her disciple, though Aylin cannot hear what she says. How did she not see that he had turned from her mother Selune to wicked Shar in his grief?

“What have you done, Ketheric!” Aylin demands, ignoring her injuries and rising to stride across and seize him by the neck to demand answers. She makes it no further than two steps before she is stopped, her arms stretching uselessly forward, blocked from advancing further by an invisible barrier. She searches for the source; sickly sigils glow beneath her, through a pool of blood on the ground that she knows is her own.

And she suddenly realises: she has no armour, no weapons. Her wounds leak freely into the tunic she wears beneath her armour. She, Dame Aylin, has been imprisoned in a cage built from dark magic.

But she is a celestial daughter of Selune, not a helpless mortal. She calls upon her power – the power of Selune, her blessed and most holy gift to wield. And …

… Nothing …

“It cannot be …” she murmurs, perturbed, but by no means disheartened. She reaches out for her mother and discovers, with a realisation that cuts into her very heart, her very soul, that their connection has been weakened to the thinnest of threads.

“Oh, I assure you, it can be,” an oily voice says. “And thank you, Aylin, for your fine donation to my collection. I’m sure it will be used well, in time.”

Balthazar.

She whips her head around and sees a hooded figure dragging away a pair of white angel’s wings, dripping with blood and leaving streaks of red across the ground.

“No! NO!”

“Shall we?” Balthazar says to Ketheric, ignoring Aylin completely.

And now the terror is real. She is trapped in the Shadowfell without power, without sword, without her wings. Her beautiful wings – gone. Cut away.

She, a daughter of Selune, has been tricked like a common mortal. Ketheric has no idea of the enemy he has made and the vengeance she will shower upon him and his disgusting pet wizard.

“Release me!” she demands. “I swear upon my oath –”

“Yes, yes,” Ketheric interrupts. “I’ve heard it all before. All that quaint paladin nonsense. But don’t forget, Aylin, you stole from me first, and now you will pay the price. Forever.”

“This is not over Ketheric! I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb! I will smash your head in until your skull is nothing more than shards like glitter –”

She rages at them, even as they walk through a portal Balthazar has created, and then they are gone.

Alone in the Shadowfell, she screams, and screams.

Only Shar hears her.

Shar loves the sound of her of screams.

And so she stops. And paces her new cage, panicked and frightened.

READ MORE:

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 2: open palm, beckoning

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

preview:

“You’ve got an interesting hand of cards, darling,” Astarion purrs, looking up at her demurely. Damn him, it’s so hard to think when he’s looking at her like that and petting her hand. “I only want to help you play them well.”

Irileth’s mortification only grows as he slides one hand beneath her wrist, fingers splayed across the underside of her forearm, and lifts it to his mouth.

Yes, here is Astarion, kissing her palm, gazing up at her through his long white lashes with those piercing red eyes. It is not an image she will soon forget.

Check it out on AO3

The Archdruid Halsin is gone. Nettie doesn’t have a cure.

The mood between Irileth’s companions has thinned considerably in between the time they encountered the goblins at the gate of the Druid’s Grove and learned from Nettie that their best hope of a tadpole cure is missing, likely captured by the goblin warband. Or worse, if Sazza is any indication of the hospitality they can expect. (‘The Absolute’ll have yer head!’ )

But at least they’ve picked up the Blade of Frontiers. Whatever that means.

Irileth’s moth-tattered brain draws a blank at the moniker when Wyll introduces himself, brandishing his rapier with a suave flourish that the tiefling children seemed to love, so she only offers him a sheepish smile. Astarion laughs.

“Oh, good!” he sneers, putting his hands on his hips. “Another hero.”

“Well, I try to be. That’s the best any of us can do.” Wyll smiles modestly and oh, Irileth likes him instantly. She is relieved when he agrees to join their quest to remove the tadpole, so long as they help with his devil hunt in return. Advocatus diaboli.

Wyll seems so good. Heroic. If there is anyone Irileth can now turn to when her moral compass needs a nudge, it will be him. And should she lose the run of herself, well, maybe the Blade can keep her in check.

So when one of the tiefling children tells Wyll that Mirkon is missing, last seen heading through the Emerald Grove and toward the beach, well. It seems like the right thing to do, to follow the guiding light that is Wyll, charging for the shore.

They are ambushed by harpies.

There are four of them, perched on pillars of rock that punctuate the aquamarine waters of the cove and the surrounding cliffside. All winged, clawed, and clad in clattering bone armor, they sing and screech with beauty and horror in equal measure at the party’s arrival. 

Mirkon is charmed when they find him, slowly wading into the surf, with a dreamlike expression. Shadowheart must haul him bodily over her shoulder to carry him, protesting, up the path to safety, while Wyll targets a harpy singing on the cliffside, his rapier pulsing with a dark green miasma. Astarion takes point on a nearby pillar of rock, his longbow drawn to cover Shadowheart’s retreat. Irileth sets herself on the two nearest harpies, dancing around them with all of a rogue’s grace, her body near vibrating with delectation at the very thought of the things she wants to do to the abominable creatures.

It is the first time they have all fought together, and the harpies are far more vicious and cunning than goblins or bandits. Yet, the fight goes unexpectedly well, up until the point that Astarion, too, is lured by the harpy’s song.

Irileth reaches him, up to her waist in the crystalline water, only a moment too late as Astarion cries out, his voice pain-riddled. She catches him as he stumbles back and the air is charged with the scent of metal. Dark red blood seeps from gashes that start at Astarion’s shoulder and disappear beneath the water, half obscured by his torn clothing.

(Blue satin, red crushed velvet, his doublet is the finest thing Irileth has ever touched, and oh! There: hand-stitched embroidery, made of red thread so dark, it nearly disappears into the blue panels. You wouldn’t notice it unless you knew where to look, and the shade of it doesn’t quite match the velvet. He did it himself. )

Astarion is still swearing and hissing in pain when Irileth drags him away from the harpy, just as its claws rake through empty air for another strike. Allowing the water to carry most of his weight, she pushes him a few feet behind her, back toward the shore. 

Then, she turns, and—gods, it is almost too easy. Astarion called Irileth a punisher last night, and though she rejected the idea, she knows he is right.

She has the harpy on its knees in the water within seconds, its hamstrings slashed, freshwater churning red. It thrashes against her, wailing—how can a creature that sang so wondrously only moments before sound like that? She should end it, quickly, before the damned thing can open its mouth again, but she hesitates. 

For a moment, Irileth is nearly overcome with the desire to drag this little display out, to slowly pull on its wings until tendons snap like harp strings. But then Irileth looks up and there is Astarion, free of the charm, and face distorted with vengeful fury.

“I’ll skin you alive, you foul wretch!”

He is a sight to behold, dripping water and blood. He belongs in a portrait like one of paintings they recovered in the bandit’s den, The Red Prince or Marcus Miles. Red eyes piercing, sodden silver hair curling over his brow and sparkling like so many stars, Irileth revels in the vision. So much so that it is with a near giddy haste that she pulls her blades free of the harpy’s massacred wings, plants her boot in its back, and shoves it toward Astarion.

Let him have his way.

Afterward, they sit on the beach, recovering. Now that they have a moment to breathe, Irileth realizes that the whole scene truly is rather idyllic: great red pillars of rock, sparkling waves, and lush blooms of greenery. And scattered across the dazzling vista are the broken bodies of the four harpies, a few smoking from Wyll’s magic.

Shadowheart is crouched beside Astarion, murmuring under her breath as his wounds close beneath her hands. They had been brutal: deep and jagged grooves that crossed from shoulder to ribs. His beautiful doublet hangs in tatters, torn pieces of golden thread glittering in the sunlight. Beyond repair.

“We’ve known Wyll for ten bloody minutes,” he grouses, glaring towards where the Blade sits perched on a nearby boulder, wiping at Mirkon’s skinned knee. “And we are already risking our lives.”

“Calm yourself, Astarion,” Wyll replies good-naturedly and—ah, Wrong move, Wyll—that only seems to incense Astarion more. “We did a good thing.”

“‘Calm myself?’” Astarion snaps, sniffing haughtily. “Surely you’re joking. You weren’t the one who was lured out into the ocean to be feasted upon by a bunch of overgrown birds.”

Irileth has mostly composed herself by now, her vile appetite sufficiently waned. Her brief wash in the cove cleared away most of the viscera and has cooled her down some, but adrenaline still races through her; she can feel the pleasant after-effects of the battle, shimmering through her marrow. (How sweetly her daggers sang! Flesh rending, bones cracking! Those wings, she wanted to pluck them off, one by one.)

“Perhaps we ought to let them rest up for a while,” Wyll says, rising to his feet with a pointed look toward Irileth. After giving only a brief nod to Astarion and Shadowheart, he begins the return trek up the dirt path, toward the heart of the Grove. “Come along, Mirkon.”

Mirkon scoots off his rock with a little shuffle, then holds his hand out toward Irileth. It is so small, Irileth observes, barely the size of her palm. She can imagine the adorable force it will have, struggling against her grip, if she were to hold him down beneath the waves.

Gods above and hells below, what is wrong with her?

She feels heavy with the weight of her sinful thoughts and, for an irrational moment, fears the others heard her vile musings through an unwitting tadpole connection. A second more and she half expects one of Shadowheart’s radiant bolts of energy to strike her in the back.

But when nothing happens, Irileth does her best to offer Mirkon her friendliest smile and gently presses her hand against his back, urging him forward until he runs ahead to cling to Wyll’s fingertips instead. Together, they guide Mirkon back to the other children, where he bids them to seek out Mol in the Dragon’s Lair should they ever need any help.

“The ‘Dragon’s Lair,’” Wyll echoes, amused, as they watch Mirkon run off. “I remember being young like that. Finding magic in the small things, dreaming of adventure. Did you have such fantasies?”

Irileth likes the cadence of Wyll’s voice, like everything he says is part of a fairytale, where there are only lessons and happy endings. Where nothing hurts.

“I don’t remember my childhood,” Irileth admits, and it feels easy to confess this to him. Maybe, she thinks naively, if she tells Wyll, nothing bad can happen. “I don’t remember anything, actually. From before the nautiloid ship.”

“Truly?” Wyll’s brows raise. His surprise is sincere. “What about the abduction?”

Irileth shakes her head. “Not even that. My first memory is of waking up in my pod, once the ship was already under siege.”

“Ah. I can see how that troubles you,” Wyll replies sympathetically. Then he reaches out and clasps her arm with a gentle squeeze. Irileth flinches. “But worry not, my friend. I have a feeling that our journey is only just beginning to unfold. We face much in the days ahead, and perhaps along the way, we can find you some answers.”

Wyll retreats with a comforting pat, though Irileth tries not to deflate at his response. Without knowing, she had sort of… hoped (how odd!) that Wyll might have a cure for her perverted affliction. Fool.

“Which reminds me,” Wyll says, and Irileth has to resist the impulse to sigh. How many times has she heard something like that in the last few days? “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes?” Irileth tries to keep the weariness out of her voice.

Wyll laughs, resting his palm over the hilt of his rapier. “I know that look. You’re spread thin and far too preoccupied. But I promise this will be worth your time.” Wyll pauses, glancing at the tieflings that surround them, still training with wooden swords under Asharak’s instruction. “But not here. Let’s find somewhere more private.”

Wyll has insisted that they find his devil quarry—this Karlach —no later than the day after tomorrow. He learned from Zevlor’s scouts that there have been sightings of scorch marks and fire-razed campsites along the Risen Road.

“It is a noble cause and well worth your while,” Wyll beseeched Irileth, fist held over his heart. “Karlach is dangerous. She brings death and chaos everywhere she goes. It would be unconscionable to let her roam free along the Coast! I promise you, once she is dealt with, I am all yours.” Then, after she already agreed,  he added earnestly, “You’ve got a good soul, I can tell.”

If only he knew.

That was nearly an hour ago. Now, Irileth stands alone on the outskirts of the Grove, not far from the beach where they fought the harpies. Wyll has gone off to gather his things from within the Hollow, and Astarion and Shadowheart are supposedly in search of some new armor to replace the shredded doublet. Gale and Lae’zel are still further inside somewhere, bartering with—or intimidating, in Lae’zel’s case—the tieflings for supplies. In a short while, they will reconvene near the entrance of the Grove, then make camp by the river. 

Irileth is secretly glad to have a break from all of the others. All of this, it’s exhausting. And overwhelming. And terrifying.  

The parasite in her head frightens Irileth far more than she has thus far been able to admit. It has been benign the last few days, but how long will this truce last? Ceremorphosis—Gale has painted a rather vivid picture of the gruesome transformation, and even she finds it too dreadful for her taste. And then, there are the tieflings in the Grove. Halsin. Wyll. So many people, suddenly, who need help, her help, and how can she help anyone when—

And there. The thing she is most afraid of. How is she supposed to help anyone when she is little more than a beast? A hot-blooded killer, a mangled monster. Sometimes, when the battle-lust swells and the violent urge grows, the sound of her heart is less a beat than the pound of a war drum of blood.

She needs to get a hold of herself, immediately. If she doesn’t, they will cast her out, her companions. And with good reason! For who can sleep well knowing they might receive a knife in the back with no justification beyond her barbaric satisfaction? 

But there is more to it than that. Beyond any sense of self preservation, she doesn’t want to hurt the people who have helped her. Call it loyalty, morality, or whatever bits of goodness she has picked up over the last few days. She refuses to bite the hand that feeds her.

Loathsome creature. She doesn’t want to be like this.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you.”

Irileth jolts, snapping out of her spiraling thoughts, to find Astarion leaning against one of the moss-covered pillars that surround the Emerald Grove. He watches her expectantly, already clad in his new leather armor, ruined doublet nowhere to be seen. He looks much better than he did down at the beach (even if she did like the sight of him, vicious, snarling, and coated in blood). Just beyond, the druids stand watch around their sacred idol.

“Have you now?” Irileth replies in what she hopes is an even tone. The last thing she needs is Astarion picking and prodding at her for all of her dirty little secrets.

“Of course I have.” The smile he gives her is slight and daring. “You’re the only person in this entire place that is even worth the time.”

And, damn her. Irileth knows Astarion is flattering her because that is just what he does, the flirt, but she feels her cheeks warm.

“Really?” Irileth arches a brow, doubtful. “I thought you would still be angry with me, for following Wyll to the harpies.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he replies, eyes narrowing, and Irileth can tell that he truly means that, even as he’s being so saccharine with her. His expression twists. “Charmed by a bloody harpy. No control over my mind, my body!” He pauses for a long moment to take a deep breath. “It is not an experience I would relish happening again.”

Irileth says nothing, for at this moment, Astarion looks so discomforted, and his expression is so at odds with his usual cool veneer and unflappable savoir faire. From this, she knows that his grievances with her today are very much real. 

“It was an utterly brainless thing to do, putting ourselves at risk like that with a man we’d just met. But,” Astarion adds, collecting himself, and his smile gleams once more, “I suppose, just this once, I can forgive you.” 

Could he? Doesn’t really seem the type.

“And what would your forgiveness cost me, exactly?”

“Ah, so shrewd, my sweet, dagger happy friend,” Astarion sighs, clasping his hands together. “It won’t cost you a thing. All I ask is that next time you want to race headfirst to the rescue?” He walks his middle and forefinger finger through the air. “You at least consult the rest of us first. Namely me.”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me, Astarion,” Irileth frowns, folding her arms. “Or Shadowheart, for that matter. You both followed Wyll and I down to the beach.”

“Yes, darling, that is rather the point, ” he bites out, momentarily exasperated. “Like it or not, you’ve apparently become our de facto leader. Making poisonous deals with that healer, playing liaison for the tieflings, recruiting bleeding hearts every which way we turn. Something happens to you and our growing, tadpoled little warband falls apart without direction. Remember our discussion about power?” In the midst of his tirade, his gaze suddenly snaps with rapt attention to her hand, to the offended finger.

Irileth curls her fingers inward, hiding them in the crook of her arms. “One of the others can lead, then, if you are unhappy with my choices.”

Astarion makes a quick tutting noise, shaking his head. 

“Let’s not be rash now. No one’s unhappy, at least not yet ,” he coos at her, despite all evidence to the contrary. He takes a few measured steps forward across the mossy earth until the tips of their boots nearly touch. “Gale will lecture us all to death before we get anything done. The only thing Lae’zel and Shadowheart like less than each other is working with other people, and Wyll? Ha! Don’t get me started on Wyll. He’d have us running all over the bloody Coast hunting his devil and any other fiends until we all sprout tentacles and kill each other.”

Irileth raises her brows. He’s certainly formed a lot of opinions, reducing everyone down to a few choice qualities. She doesn’t miss that his own analysis of himself is conveniently absent. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Astarion laughs like she’s the one being ridiculous, not him, with his fluttering lashes and seductive smiles in the middle of a gods damned illithid invasion. “I much prefer to work in the shadows. So you see, you’re our best option. So long as you can be made to reason, of course.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Working from the shadows to get me to do what you want?”

“I wouldn’t presume,” Astarion replies in a voice that tells Irileth he absolutely would. “This is just some friendly advice.” 

Then, with an elegant gesture, he plucks Irileth’s hand from within the folds of her arms and holds it between both of his. Startled, she tries to pull away but Astarion holds fast, pressing his thumbs into the meat of her palm in a gentle massage. It feels—gods, it feels nice, and Irileth tries not to preen under his practiced touch. 

Oh, she truly is so ridiculous! Drawn as she is to the feel of his skin against hers, cool and soft beneath the callouses.

“You’ve got an interesting hand of cards, darling,” Astarion purrs, looking up at her demurely. Damn him, it’s so hard to think when he’s looking at her like that and petting her hand. “I only want to help you play them well.”

Irileth’s mortification only grows as he slides one hand beneath her wrist, fingers splayed across the underside of her forearm, and lifts it to his mouth.

Yes, here is Astarion, kissing her palm, gazing up at her through his long white lashes with those piercing red eyes. It is not an image she will soon forget.

He releases her slowly, dragging the fingertips of one hand from her forearm all the way to her knuckles and caressing her thumb with the other. Irileth’s breath is tremulous as she releases it, and Astarion smirks, knowing all too well the effect he has.

With no small amount of effort, she clears her throat and stares Astarion down with a look that she hopes is stern, or at least not embarrassingly flustered. 

“Fine,” Irileth says, and oh good, at least she isn’t swooning. She yanks her hand back. “No more harpies.”

Astarion sighs, overly dramatic and practically exuding sarcasm. “Thank you. ”

“And. I promise not to race into any more rescues without consulting the others, if there’s time.” She adds this last bit pointedly when Astarion’s expression grows too smug for her liking. “But if there is something I can do to help, I will do it. You can choose to follow or not.”

This seems a good rule, and honestly, like a little bit of a commitment now that she’s said it out loud. Irileth hadn’t planned to get involved in the affairs of the tieflings and the Grove, but gods, there are just too many issues that will fester if left unattended for long. If they’re going to be running around the wilderness, searching for goblins, supplies, and signs of a githyanki crèche for Lae’zel’s zaith’isk, then they might as well solve a few problems along the way. 

Maybe, Irileth thinks, if she keeps herself busy helping, she won’t feel so inclined to hurt. 

“Eugh. You aren’t even a godsdamned paladin,” Astarion mumbles, lip curling up. “But alright . I suppose that will do for now. Bloody do-gooders.”

“Next time, Astarion,” Irileth flaps her hand at him in dismissal, stepping away, “I would prefer it if you just tell me what you want. You don’t have to touch me to get something.”

“Oh, but I do so like touching you.” His smile is salacious, insouciant. “Trust me, darling, I am quite willing.”

She cannot believe him. Such a honeyed tongue he has. 

He’s dangling bait in front of her, begging her to bite. He is such a flirt, Astarion, but Irileth doesn’t know how to play gently yet. So instead, she gestures toward him. “I see you’ve got some new armor.”

Astarion’s face slackens, confused. Then disappointment steals over his features for but a moment and he looks down at the new leather armor he adorns.

“This? Oh, yes,” he hums, picking at the edge of his collar. “A paltry gift from that tiefling at the forge. Apparently, rescuing that little urchin at the beach garnered us some good will. Now, if they could just give me a pile of gold…”

Astarion trails off with a sigh of longing and closes his eyes, tilting his head back toward the sky. The sun is descending toward the horizon but its radiance plays softly in Astarion’s hair, gilting the fine lines of his brow bone. Irileth’s stomach clenches.

“I’m sorry about your other clothes. Your doublet, I mean,” Irileth says, thinking of the dangling golden threads, the careful stitches he’d made along the back. “I know that you…” 

That he what? Irileth doesn’t know anything about him. (Oh, what’s to tell? I’m a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. It’s all rather tedious.)

“You took good care of them,” she says instead, clearing her throat. 

Astarion looks at her blankly for a moment, then laughs, loud and harsh. “Oh, you sweet, silly thing. What do I care about a pair of old clothes?” He says this with a sniff, as if he finds the very idea of sentiment to be distasteful.  “I tell you, once we reach a spot of actual civilization, I’m going to buy my own things, not some out-of-season—ahem. Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.”

Indeed.

Delightful as this has been (not at all) Irileth has the feeling that they should regroup with the others before Astarion can start swindling her into any bad ideas by whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She is just about to suggest as much when she hears something… odd on the wind. A discordant sound that just rises over the rustling grass and distant waves.

“Do you… Do you hear that?” Irileth asks, turning about. “It sounds like—”

“Like a dying cat,” Astarion answers coolly and Irileth ignores him.

Someone nearby is playing the lute. Or rather, plucking pitifully at it, and crying.

“Oh gods, you know you don’t have to investigate every little cry for help, yes?” Astarion’s sigh is long suffering as he follows Irileth around the peninsula to a crumbling stone veranda. “We just talked about this. Literally seconds ago.

A blue-skinned tiefling woman is perched on a slab of stone, dressed in the brightest assortment of colors Irileth has ever seen. There is a lute in the bard’s lap, which she strums haltingly as she sings in a wavering voice.

“Dance upon the stars tonight. Smile and pain will fade away. Words of mine will change—no. Become—ugh.”

Another dissonant strum. Even the surrounding wildlife, birds and squirrels, squabble their discontent at the sound. The tiefling berates herself, shaking her head vigorously.

Despite herself (and Astarion’s clear disapproval), Irileth is intrigued by this display. It is another opportunity, she figures, to, if not help, then at least soothe.

“Gods above, end me now. I can’t listen to more singing, not today,” Astarion mutters underneath his breath and Irileth steps forward before he can upset the woman further. 

The tiefling is sweet, and miraculously, Irileth seems to aid in easing her sorrow, coaxing her and her verses along, bit by bit, until the entire song spills forth. Listening to the music, she feels, for the first time in days, at peace (for the first time ever, in this life). Perhaps, Astarion was right, maybe she was a bard, before the nautiloid. But the moment Irileth thinks that, she knows it is incorrect. She feels with some inexplicable certainty that in her past life, she despised music. 

Irileth is fairly sure that Astarion is glaring at her the entire time, but she can hardly bring herself to mind. She is flying high today. Despite their misfortune with their tadpole solution, she has kept her iniquitous thoughts (mostly) on a leash and has been less than a nuisance to the tieflings: Arabella, Arka, Mirkon, and now this.

“Thank you,” the bard tells Irileth through a few stray tears when the song is complete, a beautiful eulogy to her fallen mentor. “I… I needed this.”

And then she pulls Irileth to her, the bells of her blazer tinkling softly. Irileth stiffens (Skin too tight, her bones cry their unease. It… frightens her some, the encompassing touch of another). But after a moment, she relaxes into the embrace, carefully placing one hand on the back of the woman’s shoulder. 

Astarion looks on with a bored expression, cleaning beneath his nails with the tip of his knife.

“I’m sorry,” the bard says when she leans away, her orange eyes gleaming. She is so lovely, so innocent. Her voice reminds Irileth of the autumncrocus flowers that are scattered about the Grove, pale purple leaves tinged with yellow (the excerpt from a book on herbs: Legend says the first crocus was created by Lathander, the Morninglord, which is why this delicate flower is always found stretching its petals toward the sun.) “I didn’t even get your name.”

“Oh, Irileth. My name is Irileth.”

“Irileth. It is so good to meet you. Ordained, I think! It must be. Like the beginning of a beautiful story.” The woman smiles brightly and clasps Irileth’s hands tightly and with great warmth.

“I’m Alfira.”

That night, Irileth dreams the sky is raining blood. She dances, naked, beneath the crimson drops.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

Can You Hear My Heartbeat Chapter 37 - Preview

The next chapter of my YOI novelisation is about the making of Yuuri's gala programme - or “No pair skate that makes me want to rip off your clothes!”

Here's a teaser. Enjoy! 💜💙

“Ah, there it is.” Viktor pulled out a hanger with a pink blazer with cords of golden thread. A pair of black trousers hung underneath. He frowned. “Strange how they always look smaller when I haven’t worn them in a while.” “It’s beautiful!” Yuuri ran a reverent finger over a cord. Last year in Sochi, he had been too awkward to approach Viktor and have a closer look. “Put it on, Yuuri.” The trousers were so long that Yuuri stepped on the legs and they sagged to the widest part of his hip bone. When he donned the blazer with the white shirt that turned out as the lower layer of the delicate fabric, a strange sensation of trying to fill the shoes of a god settled upon him. “Well, this is nice.” Viktor stepped in front of Yuuri and buttoned the blazer and tugged the lapel in place. “It’s too wide at the shoulders.” “Yuuri. Stand straight and pull your shoulders back.” Yuuri pulled back his shoulders. “Puff yourself up a little more.” Yuuri stuck out his chest as much as he could. “That’s ridiculous. I’d never skate like this.” Viktor chuckled. “It looks a bit tighter now, though.” He tugged the wine-red sleeves over Yuuri’s elbows. “There you go. Now, look at you.” He propelled Yuuri to the mirror. Yuuri stared at his mirror image. It was as if a stranger was looking back at him. It was not presumptuous in the least. The blazer made him look more mature—or maybe he only felt that way because of the emotions he associated with the routine that belonged to the costume. The pink would need a bit of time to get used to, though. “I look like you,” he said. “Except for the hair.” “Do you like it, Yuuri?” Yuuri nodded.

As always, the chapter will be up on Wednesday night CEST.

Read the story so far here.

[pro-bee-sisters]

Updating The Queen Bee and the Vesperia: Chapter 2

(Previous preview)

Chapter 2: Chloe the Queen Bee and Zoe the Vesperia

Down in the basement of Audrey’s fashion house, there lived and slept a young girl that looked almost similar to Audrey’s own daughter, Chloe

Both in age and appearance. She even had a similar body type, light blonde hair, and both also shared the same colored-blue eyes as the young girl woke up to the sound of the basement’s air conditioner awakening her; though this didn’t bother her at all due to the room’s hot and stuffy environment. The young girl yawned and stretched herself out of the rusty bed she slept in and looked down as she saw her one and only companion she had: A stuffed honeybee that she called Mr. Buzzy.

“Time to start another day in Hell, Mr. Buzzy.” The young girl let out a sigh.

“VESPERIA!” A similar voice shouted, which made the young girl gulp. The door to the basement then slammed open hard and the reveal of Audrey Bourgeois came out.

“You’re still in bed?! Lazy as ever!” The fashion designer screamed, and all the poor girl could do was take it.

“Well, come on!” Audrey ordered. “You got a job to do. You need to get the thread I’d ordered, restock the fabric, polish the mannequins, and I need you to go into town to mail off a new dress line by two o'clock!” Audrey completed her orders. “You understand me, Wasp?” Zoe glared at her with despair in her face.

“My name is not Wasp, or Vespa, or even Vesperia. It’s Zoe!” The young blonde fought back, but her “employer” didn’t seem to care about the correction at all.

“Just get it done.” Audrey growled through her teeth as she walked out of Zoe’s “room.” The young blonde glared at her “foster mother” and then took a deep breath while she held her dearest bee plushie to her chest. She then began to talk to it as if it were real.

“Don’t worry Mr. Buzzy, we’ll get out of here and reunite with daddy again.” The young girl flashed a smile now and finally decided to get ready for her day.

Making her way up to the Haunt Coutre fashion house upstairs in her day clothes and all cleaned up now, Zoe began to start on her morning duties for the fashion designer, and those that worked for her.

“Good morning, Anasis.” Zoe sweetly told one of Audrey’s employees.

“Hmph, about time you’re here, Wasp.” The Anasis woman snapped with venom. “Didn’t you hear your mother? You have supplies to get for us!”

“She’s not my mother,” Zoe argued back. “She’s only here so I can help pay back my father!” Another snobby woman joined the conversation.

“Oh, you mean the actor from New York?” She teased critically as she pinned on a sash to a dress she was currently working on. Anasis laughed viciously. “Oh yeah, how poor is he again?” Both women laughed with malicious intention, that all Zoe could do was angrily glare at the two rude women.

“Vesperia, come now!” Audrey shouted from across the room. Zoe sighed and walked up towards the horrible baroness who was at the front door, aggressively glaring at her.

“Honestly, you are just as worthless as my own family!” The blonde girl walked out the door as the older woman handed her a list of tasks as well as a golden tote bag to help the girl carry whatever she needed to get for her boss.

“And don’t be late!” The bossy woman demanded as she closed her door. After that was finished, Zoe once again let out a sigh of sadness before heading off until town to start her orders.

Meanwhile, at a school called College Francoise Dupont, a bespectacled girl with red hair wearing a purple sweater vest and teal-blue skirt was waiting anxiously outside the school, holding two cups of coffee.

“Oh, I hope she’s not running late!” The girl started to panic, to the point where she almost dropped the coffees. Meanwhile, two other girls, a girl with blue-black pigtails and another redhead with glasses, were viewing the anxious girl from a distance. The redhead shook her head and smirked.

--

And that's it for now. The second part to the chapter will be posted on my writing blog tomorrow

Enjoy and Buzz On!

[cxcassii]

ʚїɞ Eternally Yours ʚїɞ

reincarnation au

chapter link ෆ

Preview: “

“Hey, Mika,” I say, waiting until I have her full attention to continue. “You’re kind of really beautiful.” Her mouth falls open slightly, then snaps shut, her cheeks going scarlet. I smile. “Beat you to the car.”

As I run, I know I’m living on borrowed time. Each second that passes leads me closer to her. No matter how hard I try to resist, I am always falling towards her. It was like that two thousand years ago, and it is like that now. An invisible red thread connects us—a thread that has held up through death. We are destined to be together, regardless of the hurdles we’re sure to encounter. The thread that holds us together may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

Our love is as endless as time.

“

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[elmundodeflor]

CRACKS ON PORCELAIN - CHAPTER TWO PREVIEW

The tender rays prompt their eyes wide open, at last. They’re huddled in bedsheets, basked in a pallet of golds, and reds, and warm tones.

Next to them, Levi breathes slowly; his hair an ink smash that spills against the pillow. They had slept together the night before, more so in the strict sense of the word. He was about to go after they’d had dinner, but then they’d stopped him halfway through.

“Please.”, they’d held his hand. They didn’t even have to ask it straight out. Levi knew, just from looking at how their fingers entwined; — his cheeks glittering under the oil lamp.

“Alright.”, he’d said, as he kicked off his shoes, and sat back on the bed. He stared at Hanji’s meal, that was still left unfinished on their chair, then at them again. “But let me go do the dishes first.”

Now, they’re the one staring at him, for a change, — watching him sound in his slumber. His face looks more delicate when he’s peaceful like this, — not scowling at the world. The sun makes his long, long lashes glitter, and there’s an angelic aura to him. Like he’s a fallen star that they’ve dared hold precious, cupped inside their once bare palms.

“Oh, Levi…”

Only a couple hours earlier, he’d tried to take their eyepatch off; his fingers soft on calloused skin. They’d been adamant on it at first, not really sure of showing such a wound out in the open. But then it happened; slow, and cautious, and tender, — like sugar melting on the stove. He’d inched close to them, stroked their hair as he slid off the fabric.

“Are you gonna teach the cadets the first-aid course this year?”, he’d asked. His hands lingered on their face for a moment, tracing the marks that the eyepatch had left. “Wouldn’t trust you to do it if you can’t even let the skin breathe properly.”

Hanji leaned into the touch.

“Scatterbrain.”, they’d huffed, though they were smiling, even if the tiniest of smiles. Levi was so gentle, so caring and warm with them, how could they not? He made them feel pretty— for once— safe, at home. As if none of the red flesh, and the white iris, and the sinking nightmares were really visible, and it was just them. The passionate nerd. The reckless scientist. No injuries. No reasons to hide from people.

“We’ll have to set the recruitment campaign first.”

They scoot over to him now, flip a thread of black behind his ear. He’s so beautiful, their fingers burn at the spots where they meet him. Levi Ackerman; a fragile soul that life had been too bleak to. The timid gold peaking from a cracked-up surface. All they wish for, is to protect him from disaster. To cradle him in their arms, and never let anything hurt him ever again.

“Hi.”, he greets them, as if he knew they’d been staring all along. His voice is rough and low; a single dimple drawn at the corners of his lips.

Hanji kisses him in the space between his eyes.

“Sleepyhead.”, they giggle, and their thumb and index pit-pat at his temples, making him laugh a bit, as well. “Hi, good morning.”

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (47)

part 47 of ?? | 1051 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself.  But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So.

This chapter cranks the rating up from Teen to Mature, so... minors, maybe skip your eyes over the second half and just know that Steve really wanted to show his appreciation for the present Eddie got him.

47.

Here’s the thing. 

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself. 

But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So. 

“Here,” he says, tossing the dice bag at Steve’s unsuspecting face as he slides into the Beemer. “Gotcha something.”

Steve catches it, of course, even though he looks bewildered. “Why?”

Eddie shrugs and picks at a loose thread trailing from his ripped jeans. He pretends to stare at the radio dials, but watches out of the corner of one eye as Steve tugs the drawstring top open and peers inside. “It’s, uh. Just a little something for the next time you play.”

He hadn’t gone to that many different game shops looking for them. Three wasn’t that many. It had proved one too many for his van though, which had overheated on the way home and is currently in the shop, thus Steve needing to pick him up—that’s neither here nor there. Steve upends the bag over one palm and Eddie all but holds his breath.

The dice that spill out are all a sunny, translucent yellow with a golden shimmer. Nothing like his black and red-veined set that he’s had since middle school, but. They match Steve’s room. 

He waits for a reaction, but Steve has gone still and it’s making his stomach twist with nerves. Shit. It’s too much, he knew it was going to be too much.

“Hey, if you don’t like them I can take them back—”

Steve cuts him off by kissing him. It’s a minute into melting into it and kissing back before Eddie registers anything else—the hand fisted in his t-shirt to haul him closer, for example. The kiss is quick by their usual standards, long for a moment between two guys in public. . . . But no one’s around to see.

The fact that Steve would risk it is doing something for Eddie, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers after he lets go. 

And Eddie knows, can tell just from the way he says it, that Steve is used to being the giver in these situations. That’s not really a surprise, girls in the movies and shit hardly ever give their boyfriends gifts. But Eddie had done it anyway because. . . . Well. 

Even if D&D isn't really Steve’s thing—because yeah, he had fun, but he was bad at the math parts and Will’s services will still be required if he plays again—Eddie wants him to know that he’s welcome. That there’s a place for him at the table, if he wants, and he doesn’t even have to bum off someone else’s stuff to take it. 

The next thing Steve does is turn the car off, which makes Eddie blink in surprise. “Uh, weren’t we going to see Ferris Bueller's Day Off? We’re gonna miss the previews, Stevie.”

“Screw the previews.” Steve is looking at him, eyes hooded and biting his lip. “Wanna go back inside?”

Stupid question. Eddie scrambles to get back out of the car. 

-

“Wow,” Eddie says to the ceiling, breathless and warm. He feels like he’s floating, can barely feel his face enough to know what it’s doing while his higher functions are temporarily out, and it’s not even because he’s high. 

Steve props his chin on Eddie’s hip and there’s a satisfied grin in his tone when he asks, “So, how’d I do?”

“Woooow,” Eddie repeats dreamily. “I mean . . . damn, I should give you presents more often. You sure that was your first time?”

“I’m a fast learner,” Steve says, and it’s so smug that Eddie has to haul him up for a kiss. Can’t be helped, it’s gotta be done. (He can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.)

When Eddie lets him up for air again, Steve has a stupid grin on his face. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. 

“My turn,” Eddie announces, and flings himself up into flipping their positions, settling over Steve even as he goes back to kissing him. (God, he could do this all goddamn day.) It’s almost terrifying how complete Steve makes him feel, but it’s . . . it’s getting easier to tell himself that Steve seems willing to stick around, even if it still feels a little bit like he shouldn’t. 

After all, who would go for Eddie Munson? He’s not made for good things. 

And yet, they fit. He trails kisses down Steve’s neck, down his chest and the scars that match his, down the trail of hair that leads further. Kisses him, swallows him down, and that’s it. Experienced ladies man Steve Harrington comes in his mouth, absolute hair-trigger, before Eddie even gets to try any of the things he had in mind. He barely manages to swallow, just shy of choking on it in a way that makes his extremities tingle, and definitely doesn’t get it all. Has to wipe his chin on the nearest unlucky corner of blanket after.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasps. “Holy fuck, Eds, that—I, god, sorry, ‘mso sorry baby. Was that—Are you okay?”

Baby. Jesus, Steve hasn’t called him that before and he hadn’t expected him to now. 

“Gimme a glass of water and ten minutes, and I’ll show you exactly how okay I am,” Eddie promises, grinning fit to bust his face even as he’s still trying to catch his breath. 

Steve’s expression goes happy and soft, as though he’d needed Eddie’s permission to bask in the afterglow, and it has Eddie clambering up to kiss him stupid. They melt together in a tangle of lax and sated limbs.

“Good boy,” Eddie adds, murmuring against Steve’s kiss-bitten lips, and grins into the delicious shudder that runs through his. . . .

“Boyfriend?” Steve suggests. His voice is so small and tentative, an offer nudged carefully across the bargaining table. It bleeds hopefulness the whole way, as though there’s some chance that Eddie might hear Steve Harrington ask him to be his boyfriend and shoot the guy down. 

Not a chance in hell. 

“Holy shit yeah,” Eddie says in a rush, and then he’s kissing Steve eagerly, hands winding through his hair and tugging at the roots exactly how he knows Steve likes. 

They miss the entire movie.

[behind-the-screen-of-bangtan]

Layover

Release date: 8 September 2023

Official page

Official Weverse page

Announcement

Pre-order

Preview

Promotion Schedule: part 1, part 2

MV Making Film

V-hind 1, V-hind 2

Official merch

V's Instagram posts: album, MVs, stories (archive), in Carabanchel

Exclusive pictures on Melon

Kim Eunyoug's Instagram post

V is the seventh member to have a solo release. The creation of the whole album featured Min Heejin (src). She explained she wanted to keep things simple to better show V's splendor (src).

There are also several appearances from Yeontan, V's pomeranian. Note however that he was replaced by another dog in "Rainy Days" MV because V couldn't take him to Spain (src). The dog in question is named Rocky and has an Instagram.

On the pre-order notice, we have a glimpse of a handwritten letter from V. Lyssy translated it here.

An exclusive photocard was featured if you bought the album at Barnes and Noble (src). The back shows the songs, not in the album order but in the release order (cr.). Another photocard shows a fake tickets with easter eggs like V's birthday (December, 30) or the release date of Layover (September 8, 2023) (src).

Tracklist

Rainy Days

Blue

Love Me Again

Slow Dancing

For Us

Slow Dancing (piano ver.) (lyrics)

Photos

Release date: 11, 16, 29 August, 6 September 2023

Photo 1

Photo 2

Photo 3

Photo 4

Outfits and accessories

Min Heejin's Instagram Reel

The pictures feature several texts:

Be humble enough

Mistake =)

Find sun (not sure about this one)

Jazz is freedom

Bangtan Greenhouse made threads identifying the plants appearing in the pictures: plants in Photo 1, plants in Photo 2.

Concerning the two car posters, they show the custom Porsche 911SC made by Denny Kahler in 1987 (src) and a Ferrari Testarossa from 1984.

In this picture, V also wears an outfit reminding of Angus Young, the guitarist of AC/DC. The fact he has a guitar in one of the pictures accentuates the nod.

Most pictures were taken between Yeonnam-dong and Yeonhui-dong, in the northwest of Seoul. They notably went to the shop 사운즈굿 (SOUNDS GOOD STORE, they posted on Instagram) (src #1), to 매덕스피자 (Maddux Pizza) (src #1), to 미도파 (Midopa coffee house) (src #1, src #2, src #3, src #4), a cafe that was holding an exposition titled Videorama during the shooting (see their Instagram post) and to 피프에스프레소바 (Pfiff Espresso Bar).

The picture taken in the middle of a street in the second series was snapped here (src). As for the next one, it was taken nearby and there's another one taken two steps away, right in front of the gas station. And the two pictures with a vegetal background were taken on the street behind (here (src) and here). Please refer to this Google map (Chapter 2 > Layover's concept photo), for the location of these different places.

Thanks to the testimony of the owners and based on V's outfit, @jellda0 managed to reconstitute the path the team may have followed during the shooting.

Love Me Again

Release date: 10 August 2023

Lyrics

Special picture for Melon and Spotify (archive)

Outfits and accessories: tweets from BangtanStyling

The video was filmed in the Caves of Drach in Mallorca, Spain (src).

Rainy Days

Release date: 11 August 2023

Lyrics

Min Heejin's Instagram post: #1, #2, #3

Outfits and accessories: tweets from BangtanStyling

The MV was filmed in the penthouse of the Torres Blancas in Madrid (src).

The video starts with the following text:

When you listen really carefully Loops go wheeling Cozy and stuck,

The birds fly in a V formation but backward to what they would do naturally (the point of the V is supposed to be at the front, not the opposite, though it can happen as a transitory thing). Several people interpreted it in relation to the lyrics about being stuck in the past.

The cartoon we see at 1:33 is an episode from Mighty Mouse titled "Wolf! Wolf!", released in the 1940s. A lamb is tricked into a wolf's den by following jazz music, reminding of the Pied Piper of Hamelin story.

The next extract shows a red fox cub from a European documentary released in the 1970s (and now available as a stock video on Shutterstock).

Lastly, the blooming rose comes from this stock video.

All the videos show symbols reminding The Little Prince (cr.). The Little Prince asks the narrator to draw a lamb, he becomes friends with a fox and he loves a rose. You can check @JKs_Waist's thread on Twitter for more details.

Several hints show V is an animator and his flat is his studio. @ halogen_803 made a great thread about it.

V uses a baguette to paint. On the left, you can notice a rotating picture that seems to come from the concept photo.

Slow Dancing

Release date: 8 September 2023

Teaser

Lyrics

Fanchant

Min Heejin's Instagram post

Rachel JM. A's Instagram post: #1, #2, #3

Shin Dongle's Instagram post

Outfit and accessories: white shirt

They were again in Mallorca and Madrid for the filming. They filmed the beach scenes at Portals Vells and the street scenes in Carabanchel (see this map for details).

We know the identity of most of the extras who played in the MV:

Sergio Pérez: Instagram post, Reel

Bryan Montero: Instagram post

FEBO

Amelia Pinillos: Instagram post

yuantao: Instagram post

Emilio and José León: Instagram post

Karel López: Instagram post

Benedict Justin (the person filming in the background during the dance scene)

Quique Muro López: Instagram post, highlights

Alberto Tosco: Instagram post

(see part 2 → for the rest)

[earisu1]

The Goat Sisters Storybook (part 1 & 2)

Original date of the posts: 22 & 27 of December, 2007.

Disclaimer applied.

Part 1: The cover.

“To get a good look at “The Goat Sisters” storybook of Rule of Rose, see the instructions in my post “Download or Print Out Rule of Rose Storybooks” about how to download this storybook.

*Since the official site is long gone, fellow Rule of Rose enthusiast @sofy-tofy​ uploaded them storybooks to a google drive folder with lots of other stuff, check it out!

The subtitle that we are given for this storybook when making use of the function “look”, rather than the function “use”, in the inventory is:

Storybook: The Goat Sisters

A sad, sad story about the goat sisters

~~~

The cover of “The Goat Sisters” storybook has a drawing showing two goats that are both tethered to the same pole by rope. Above the drawing is the title: “The Goat Sisters“.

There are features of the goats of this storybook that mark the goats as representing Meg and Diana. Meg wears eye glasses, and so does one of the two goats. Diana wears a sailor suit bandana necktie, and so does the other goat, the one that isn’t wearing eye glasses. See Meg’s eye glasses and Diana’s necktie in the picture accompanying this post.

I believe that the connection of the goats via rope is a way to symbolize personal relationship. This variety of use of rope symbolism occurs many times in Rule of Rose, and I intend to do a post, soon, which will deal with this in more depth. For now, I’ll venture the opinion that this use of rope symbolism relates, at least in part, to the way that rope/thread/cord symbolism for personal relationships is used in Japan and other Asian cultures. One can see a use of this rope symbolism in this YouTube video of the preview-trailer for Takeshi Kitano’s film “Dolls” (notice the red rope connecting the young man and young woman, and notice the subtitle, later, that says “Three tales of love bound to one another with a piece of red cord): “Dolls” preview.

I think that the symbolism of the depiction of the two goats on the cover as being tethered to a pole by ropes may relate, at least in part, to the following two pieces of information from the game:

A. This line from a dialogue between Diana and Eleanor in “The Goat Sisters” chapter (Diana is speaking about Meg):

Diana: “…That’s why I don’t like her. She follows me everywhere… It’s pathetic. What do you think, Eleanor?”

B. The last line of this commentary by Jennifer, in the “Once Upon a Time” chapter:

Library:

–By the white goat doll:

“It’s a stuffed goat… The white goat Mary. The black goat Sally. When Meg found her letter to Diana torn apart, she was deeply wounded and cried in Diana’s arms, even though she was the one that ripped it up… And, when Meg’s notebook was found all scattered about, Diana made fun of her, saying, ‘Mary and Sally must’ve ate it.’ Poor Meg… She was bound by the shackles of foolish devotion.”

Meg is “bound by the shackles of foolish devotion”, and Diana may feel restricted by Meg following Diana around more than Diana likes (and the emotional neediness that this behavior represents). These aspects of Meg and Diana’s relationship might be represented by the symbolism of showing the Meg goat and the Diana goat being tethered together to a pole (which image might have connotations of restriction).”

Part 2: Love and conflict.

“To get a good look at “The Goat Sisters” storybook of Rule of Rose, see the instructions in my post “Download or Print Out Rule of Rose Storybooks” about how to download this storybook.

Opening the cover of “The Goat Sisters”, there is a drawing inside of the two goats touching their heads together. Above the point where their heads touch together floats a tiny heart.

In the visual presentation of the storybook one can see that there is a written line of text on this page, but the game doesn’t give a subtitle for the line of text. It is very hard to read this line from the game, and the gamescript faq from GameSpot/GameFAQs omits the line, but from the downloaded “Goat Sisters” storybook I can clearly read it as being:

The Goat Sisters got along fabulously.

~~~

Turning the page…

The text reads:

Little sister wrote a letter, bah bah.

The goat with the eyeglasses, the Meg goat, holds a letter in her mouth, as if offering the letter to the goat with the necktie, the Diana goat. Meg is the “little sister” in her relationship with Diana.

~~~

Turning the page…

The text reads:

Big sister munched it up, bah bah.

The drawing shows the Diana goat eating the letter as the Meg goat looks on from a distance. Diana is the “big sister” in her relationship with Meg.

~~~

Turning the page…

The text reads:

Little sister studied her notes, bah bah.

The drawing shows the Meg goat with a writing tool in her mouth, apparently writing in a book. The Diana goat looks on from a distance.

~~~

Turning the page…

The text reads:

Big sister tore them to shreds, bah bah

The drawing shows the Diana goat tearing up the Meg goat’s notebook while the Meg goat watches from a distance, sitting. The Meg goat appears to have a black eye, and it appears that she might be damaged in other ways.

~~~

In “The Goat Sisters” chapter of Rule of Rose, Jennifer finds Meg’s notebook, and there are some pages that are torn and mostly missing. Jennifer also finds pieces of Meg’s torn love letter. See the post “Documents of “The Goat Sisters” Chapter“.

In the “Once Upon a Time” chapter of Rule of Rose, Jennifer tells us:

Library:

–By the white goat doll:

“It’s a stuffed goat… The white goat Mary. The black goat Sally. When Meg found her letter to Diana torn apart, she was deeply wounded and cried in Diana’s arms, even though she was the one that ripped it up… And, when Meg’s notebook was found all scattered about, Diana made fun of her, saying, ‘Mary and Sally must’ve ate it.’ Poor Meg… She was bound by the shackles of foolish devotion.”

But compare the above account with this dialogue between Diana and Eleanor that Jennifer overhears in “The Goat Sisters” chapter:

Diana: “…That’s why I don’t like her. She follows me everywhere… It’s pathetic. What do you think, Eleanor?”

Eleanor: “She was writing you a love letter.”

Diana: “I already got it and ripped it in half.”

Eleanor: “Oh…”

Diana: “I tried to make the goat eat it, but it wouldn’t even look at it.

Eleanor: “I see…”

As the dialogue takes place, in the airship world, the black goat Sally is nearby… alive. In the airship world, Sally is a real goat; but in the world of Jennifer’s forgotten past, Sally is only a stuffed doll, and Diana wouldn’t have actually tried to make the goat doll eat the letter (except, perhaps, just as an act designed to torment Meg).

We can see, in comparing Jennifer’s account given in the “Once Upon a Time” chapter, with what we see in “The Goat Sisters” chapter, a bit of how Jennifer’s forgotten past gets distorted when it is relived by her in the course of the game.

~~~

About the drawing of the Diana goat looking on from a distance while the Meg goat studies… the thought occurred to me while looking at it that perhaps, despite Diana’s protestation of annoyance over Meg following her around so much, Diana actually was jealous of the time that Meg spent away from Diana when Meg was absorbed in her intellectual pursuits (taking notes, inventing, etc.).

~~~

I think that the black eye of the Meg goat, in the drawing that shows the Diana goat destroying the notebook, is just a symbolic representation of psychological hurt. I doubt that we are meant to think that Diana physically struck Meg.”

[goldoriole]

Snippet Saturday

Forgot to do WIP Wednesday this week (whoops!) Have a preview of the upcoming chapter for The Water Between Us!

Upon her arrival, the men gathered at the table stood from their mismatched chairs. “Welcome, princess,” said Lord Fossoway. “Please, take my seat.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Rhaenys slid off her cloak and draped it over the back of the chair. To help her stay hidden, she had pulled her hair up into a bun, a style that reminded her only of funerals and loss, and the back of her neck felt exposed and cold.

When she sat down, the rest followed suit. Unwin Peake drummed his broad, thick fingers on the table, his dark eyes full of poorly veiled disdain. “Will Lord Corlys be joining us tonight?”

“He will not. My husband is keeping an eye our on grandchildren tonight,” smiled Rhaenys sweetly.

“I see,” he answered flatly. Peake was cut from the same cloth as Jasper Wylde and all the men that had denied Rhaenys the Iron Throne all those decades ago. She was a woman and the second most powerful person in the realm next to the king, which already bothered the man, and he liked her even less when her husband wasn’t with her.

Sometimes, Rhaenys wondered if throwing her lot in with such men was worth securing Baela’s inheritance, but if she had made Jasper Wylde come to heel, Unwin Peake would learn his place.

Lord Ambrose hummed brightly. “If Lord Corlys does not plan on joining us, then we are only waiting for three.”

Nine of the thirteen conspirators were already present. There was Arthur Leygood, Lord of Leygood Castle, with a lightning bolt clasp holding his cloak closed; kind-tempered George Graceford, the Lord of Holyhall, fingering his Seven-Pointed Star pendant; and Lord Marq Ambrose, wearing a tunic lavishly and painstakingly embroidered with over fifty tiny ants in crimson thread. With hair as red as the apple on his sigil, Owen Fossoway, the Lord of Cider Hall, stood leaning against a barrel; Tyler Norcross from Crossguard Keep was sullen and ghostly in his white tabard, green eyes flickering to the cellar door; Ser Victor Risely of Risely Glade and Ser Richard Rodden had their heads ducked together in conversation, so similar in appearance that they could be mistaken for brothers.

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

Can Life Be Beautiful (Instead of Big Fun)?

I’m super excited about this fic that I’ve been working on with my artist, @uptoolateart​, and my beta, @jesuis-melodrama​ for @mlbigbang​! So here’s some basic info and a preview:

Ship: Lukadrinette (Luka/Marinette/Adrien)

Side ships (all very minor): Alya/Nino, Mylene/Ivan, Alix/Kim, one sided Lila/Marinette

Rating: Explicit

Fun tags: Heathers AU, Based on Heathers the Musical, Vengeful Plagg, Vengeful Tikki, Underage Drinking, Drug Use, Kwami Swap, Love at First Sight, Lots of Curse Words

Major Content Warnings: Major Character Death, Bullying, Non-Con, Violence, Suicidal Ideation

The beeping of a cell phone rings through the room and then another and another. Excitedly, teens pull out their phones to check the latest news on the anonymous school blog. No one knows who created it, but no one really cares because it is the best place for gossip and updates on their fellow classmates... one in particular.

Screens light up with the following message:

The message is accompanied by a picture of Marinette Dupain-Cheng digging into the trash bin outside the school, face red and jaw set.

It seemed the school was filled with laughs as phones pinged as more and more comments were added to the thread. Laughs that only got louder as many caught sight of the same pig-tailed girl clutching her bag to her chest and bolting out the front of the school.

This is why they all liked the blog. It was never wrong and it always showed them exactly what they wanted to see:

A bully getting what she deserved.

Chapters 1 and 2 will be out January 8, 2023!