#it's like a form of low stakes communication

[randompandabaewrites]

Born to Survive (2/2)

part 2 of Astarion's Romance scene in act 1

part 1 link

Astarion x f!Tav (tiefling), Canon Compliant, Explicit af

4.2k

//This one tried to kill me. Smut, angst, comfort, oh my. Game accurate dialogue up to a point. CW: Good in bed, bad at emotions. Unhealthy...everything when it comes to sex/emotions. Bad communication?? But happy ending. This is the night with Tav that changes everything for Astarion.// Song Rec: The Death of Peace of Mind by Bad Omens

Astarion’s keen ears caught the moment Tav entered the moonlit clearing.

The vampire spawn felt the familiar prickling anticipation of the game he was about to play—a dance of manipulation and survival, dressed up in the silvery light. Where he could slip into the role he was created play. The seductive predator, dangerous and irresistible.

Yet, not so much as to forfeit her faith in him.

An unfamiliar flutter stirred within the pale elf. She was just another pawn in his web. Nothing was different just because he knew her name. And he should not be secretly happy that she would survive to see the sun rise tomorrow.

Astarion ignored the rush of his long since dead heart. This was self preservation; nothing more.

This yearning for anything else was dangerous as putting a stake in her hands.

He could not afford to care how she felt about him, beyond whether or not she would protect him.

Astarion removed his jacket methodically, folding it with deliberate care. As he pulled at the laces of his white shirt, memories came unbidden—clothing pooled around ankles, ripped away from his body, discarded like they weren’t all he had to his name.

Cazador’s mocking voice sneered in his mind. Reminding him of his place. On his knees. On his back. All he was good for.

He draped his folded shirt over a low branch, silencing the heartless laugh echoing in his memory as he slid on the mask he’d donned for centuries.

Astarion’s undead heart might as well b e made of stone. There was nothing left of him but the charm he cast.

“There you are.” Astarion greeted with the hint of a purr in his voice as he stepped from behind a towering oak with a smile already curving his lips.

He let his gaze rake appreciatively over Tav’s form, gratified when her eyes darted from his face to drink in his bared chest and down his body.

The blush on her cheeks when she was caught was just…delicious.

“I’ve been waiting, waiting since the moment I set eyes on you,” Astarion soothed, gliding closer. The moonlight caressed his alabaster skin, lending him an ethereal, almost ghostly beauty. 

At least, he hoped that was how he appeared, striking and seductive in the silver glow.

His prowl came to a stop merely inches from Tav, catching the hitch in her breath as she still hadn’t spoken. Thrilling him with how utterly captivated she was.

“Waiting…to have you.” he finished in a silken murmur, reaching a delicate hand to trail his cool fingers over her flushed cheek.

Suddenly, the tiefling’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Her body reanimated as she shifted from foot to foot with a slash of her tail.

“You sure, Astarion?” Tav asked, Her voice was a maddeningly gentle whisper, her brow creased with a vexing worry.

Why did she have to make this so damn difficult? Couldn’t she just enjoy what they both clearly wanted?

Instead Tav had to ask those weighted words, like she was trying disarm his every charm.

No.

He couldn’t let her pry her way under his flirtatious mask. Whatever broken, battered creature cowered behind his facade could not see the light of day. Astarion had a role to play. The lover Tav would do anything to protect.

His smile never wavered as he steered her away from anything more meaningful than their little dance now, until bairly a hair’s breadth separated their bodies.

“Don’t I have you?” he said with honey in his voice and want in his crimson eyes. “You’re here…and I don’t think you want to talk.”

Knowing her gaze was intent on him, Astarion let his focus drift down the curves of her body—taking in the way her tiefling tail betrayed her. Despite the worry on her brow, Tav’s arrant appendage curled at the tip in obvious interest.

Astarion’s charms were eroding even the hero’s defenses, as they should.

Tav’s full lips parted, and before she could voice another irritatingly perceptive question, Astarion wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling their bodies flush at last.

“I think you want to be known…to be tasted.” His breath ghosted across her skin.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he raised a hand to cup her cheek, caressing the fading puncture marks with his thumb.

Finally, Tav shivered at his touch. Her slit pupils went wide, and her tail curled fully to the small of her back. Just when he was about to taste her lips for the first time…she had to open her mouth.

“What do you want, Astarion?”

In his wretchedly long mockery of a life, no one had ever asked him that. No lover. No target. And certainly no master.

Why did Tav threaten to crack his facade with every damn word she said.

What did he want? Blood. Protection. Freedom. Safety.

Astarion sliced that thread before either of them could follow it too closely.

The vampire turned Tav’s head, breaking that too honest gaze, letting his lips brush her pointed ear instead. “What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours, mine, our collective ecstasy.” He let each word drip with promise.

Her resistance finally melted away.

A smile graced that sweet mouth and her lithe form leaned into his. She reached for him at last, her hands coming to rest on his waist, and he could nearly sigh as the heat of her skin seeped into his perpetual chill.

Her touch was still too tentative for him.

Astarion captured her wrists in his long fingers, drawing her hands up along the sculpted planes of his chest to loop around his neck, ducking his head to tease his lips over hers. "

“That’s it. That’s what you want, isn’t it…to lose yourself in me?”

He wasn’t asking. It was what they always wanted. His touch. His attention. His body. All he was good for.

“Astarion…”

The vampire nearly gloated when she sighed his name—the noble tone was so weak under the want.

At last, Astarion had dragged the honorable Tav down to his level of depravity.

Her pulse thrummed wildly under his palms, betraying her at last. How badly she must want him. How he’d stripped away her suspicion and caution until only need remained.

“I thought so.” He purred with pure gratification.

Tav leaned up on her toes, pressing through the hands cupping her face, and closing the distance between their mouths.

Astarion had kissed countless lips in his time. Thousands of fleeting moments, rushed, careless, clashing, teeth and tongues.

Tav’s kiss was nothing like that.

It was warm, reverent in a way Astarion knew he did not deserve, even as he slid easily into the motions. Trying to bury her tenderness in wanton desire.

But then, Tav leaned into his palm, nuzzling her cheek into his hand, pointed fingers threading through his.

And it was such an artless, intimate gesture that suddenly threatened to choke him.

Desperate to quash this unnamed feeling before it could take root—Astarion claimed Tav’s mouth in a searing kiss. Biting her bottom lip to banish any sweetness she gave.

…

Tav could feel her pulse fluttering in her ears as Astarion caressed her every curve with effortless grace. His lips felt like they were everywhere, and his skilled tongue stoked a delicious heat within the tiefling.

She was lost to every delicate touch. His nimble fingers deftly undid the laces of her bodice, unhooking the fastenings of her trousers.

Tav hardly noticed until he was pulling her to step out of the puddle of her clothes to be pulled into the hard line of his body against hers.

His elegance was unmatched to any lover she’d had. They hardly needed to exchange—and Astarion seemed disinclined to speak at all as he lavished attention down her neck and her collarbones with his perfect mouth.

Tav was desperate. Not just for more skin-tingling touches, but to return some of the bliss he bestowed on her.

Her fingers grasped at Astarion’s silken hair, catching him for a moment so she could leave her own kisses along the chiseled line of his jaw, down the pale column of his neck.

The vampire’s throat went motionless under her mouth the lower she went. Of course, she didn’t expect to feel a fluttering pulse, but it was like he’d forgotten to breathe. Had passion erased his pretense of needing air?

Tav just wondered this as her lips reached the twin scars on his neck—and Astarion went rigid.

Her heart seized.

She overstepped, maybe reminded him of his painful past, and she had to apologize.

The words were already on her tongue, when he caught her by the chin and pulled her back.

“As much as I enjoy your affections, darling,” he purred, ruby eyes gleaming wickedly, “I have much better plans for that sweet mouth of yours.”

Then he was kissing her again, deeply, ardently. Tav whined as the points of his fangs grazed her bottom lip, sending licks of fire through her veins. He knew exactly what he was doing as he ravished her, and  her awkwardness forgotten as he tried to drown her in arousal.

Nothing existed but Astarion’s clever hands, his sinful lips, and the delicious ache building between her thighs.

The awkwardness of the moment was forgotten as she clung to him. Nothing compared to the intensity of being the focus of Astarions attention. She felt ravished before he even stooped to wrap her legs around his waist, but he barely broke their kiss.

Tav eagerly complied, locking her arms around his shoulders, careful of his neck, though curling her quivering tail around his torso too.

Astarion pressed her into the rough bark of a nearby tree, his hands digging possessively into her thighs.

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. She was giddy with arousal, slicker still as she felt the hard length of his cock just press against her.

Gods, she needed him inside her.

“Playful little tiefling.” Astarion murmured appreciatively, his voice like dark velvet against her ear.

Tav giggled again, giving a deliberate twitch of her tail. “Well, biting is basically foreplay for my kind,” she teased, fingers threading through his curls, careful of the points of her nails as she murmured against his lips. “I shoulda warned ya, before that first little nibble by the campfire.”

If their bodies weren't so closely interlaced, their noses gently grazing each other as Astarion teasingly ground his hips into hers, stirring her eagerness for the forthcoming fervor, she may have missed the swift flicker of emotion that danced across Astarion's handsome face.

Uncertainty. Discomfort even…at being bitten? That made sense he would be cautious of the reminder—but the expression was gone in a blink. Replaced with a roguish grin.

“Is that so? Then you’ve already surrendered yourself to me.”

Oh, how damn cocky could a man be?

Sure, he was turning her to a mess just rutting against her. But Tav arched a brow. “I can’t just…let you win.”

The tiefling simpered, even as she tilted her head to the side, baring the tantalizing line of her throat. Showing off the fading bite.

That bright ruby gaze darkened, rivited, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse. He leaned in, fangs bared, as she slid her tail away from him.

In flick of her tail, Tav leveraged herself off of the tree, sending them both tumbling into the soft grass.

She landed atop him, legs caging his hips, grinning at his startled expression.

“Gotcha.”

To Tav’s surprise and delight, a warm and genuine laugh burst from Astarion’s lips. His eyes sparkled with an inner light, bright and unreserved in a way she’d never seen from him before. Tav was transfixed by just the glimpse of raw, unguarded emotion on his face.

The spell couldn’t last forever.

Astarion’s hands seized her hips, using his vampiric strength and speed to flip Tav onto her back, pinning her into the grass.

Her air escaped in a huff as he captured her wrists and pressed them into the ground, rendering her wonderfully helpless.

“Alright, alright, I yield!” Tav laughed breathlessly, squirming only half-heartedly in his stone grip. “You win.”

Still smiling, she tipped her head back, baring her throat in surrender—eliciting a low, greedy sound from Astarion. This time, he did not hesitate.

Hot, stinging pleasure burst through her blood as the vampire’s fangs sank into her skin. She shivered, happily helpless, under the icy ecstasy of his bite. His body leaned heavily and perfectly into the cradle of hers.

His long fingers came around to cushion her head, just as the first night he fed from her. Tav hardly noticed when Astarion released her wrists, other than she could dreamily slide her fingers into his white curls. On instinct, she brushed the pads of her thumbs along the tender points of his ears.

Astarion startled in her hold.

A blissful sound echoed against her throat, and the twin points of pain disappeared as his focus wavered. He pulled back from her, crimson lingering on his lips.

“Elves and their ears.” Tav answered his unasked question, repeating the gentle stroke to prove her point, gratified when he was the one to give a shudder. “Shall I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion growled playfully, before diving back down to reclaim her lips. She teased his gorgeous ears as long as he would allow, before he seemed to remember himself—and pulled back with a darker gaze.

“Let me show you my favorite trick.” He purred, kissing a trail down her heated body. Lavishing attention on her breasts before settling between her thighs like he belonged there.

His strong, elegant hands curled under her hips, lifting her soaking folds to his wickedly talented tongue.

The first stroke across her clit had Tav arching with a cry, sparks igniting behind her eyelids. Astarion was relentless, laving and suckling with single-minded focus, devouring her pussy like he hungered for nothing else. His clever fingers slid into her, thrusting and curling with unerring accuracy.

He was overwhelming in the most delightful way.

“Astarion,” Tav gasped, half a sob in her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Pleasure was building inside her like a cresting wave until she thought she might shatter from it. 

Just as the peak crashed over her, Tav’s tail curled adoringly around Astarion’s arm, the spaded tip digging into his bicep. Astarion groaned against her, the sound reverberating through her pussy—until she was trembling in the grass.

“Darling…I am not finished with you yet.” his breath was panting against his thigh, his lips shining with her slick in the moonlight.

His eyes burned into hers as he lowered his mouth back to her, drawing a feral whimper from her mouth. He worked her through the aftershocks with his lips and mouth and the edge of his teeth—then built her back up again, drawing every ounce of pleasure from the tiefling’s body until she was left boneless and blissed out.

By the time Tav found her voice again, she’d lost count of how many times he’d made her come. 

“Astarion,” she rasped. “Please. I need you.”

In a flash, he was over her, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with that damnable roguish grin.

Then he was sliding into her, hard and thick and perfect, and Tav could only hang on as he took her apart all over again. She was so sensitive, the pleasure bordering on pain, that it only took a few deep strokes before she was clenching around him, keening her release.

Astarion swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing her deeply as he continued to move within her. Tav felt owned, treasured, utterly consumed by the brilliant creature in her arms. In that moment, she would have happily let him devour her whole.

…

Astarion thrust into her with smooth, measured strokes, the perfect rhythm to draw out her satisfaction. His face was buried in the crook of her neck as he murmured filthy praises against her skin, just as he was supposed to.

“You are so terribly intoxicating, my love. So perfectly wrapped around me. Like you were made just to undo me.”

Tav was a mess under him, her careful words lost to the sensation of him moving inside her. Her limbs tangled around him and she tried to pull him down for a kiss.

Astarion evaded her lips, lavishing attention on her throat instead. Letting his mind slip away again.

It wasn’t long before she was clenching around him again, shuddering through another intense climax. Astarion worked her through it, then gradually slowed his pace. When Tav finally resurfaced, sated and pliant in his arms.

Just where he needed her to be.

“Fuck,” she sighed, pressing the heel of her palm over her eyes as she still caught her breath. He slid from her still quivering body, though she still clung to him with her curled tail.

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He chuckled at her side, pressing his lips to the skin before her ear.

“Astarion, did you…?”

The vampire tensed almost imperceptibly before pulling back to look at her, a practiced smile curving his lips. 

“I was, concentrating…you had me captivated, darling.” He glossed over. It was easy to ignore his own ache, and most of his conquests were happy to let him. “Brilliant, beautiful thing you are.”

Astarion eased, pressing her back into the grass. He sat up, resting on his bent knee, as he let himself detachment from the moment.

Tav's frown caught his attention as she studied him from where she was still laid back in the moonlit grass. “Hey, is everything okay? I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her words took him by surprise. Make him feel good? That simply didn’t factor into any script he played in someone else’s bed.

His mouth opened and closed in silent confusion before he shook off the disorientation.

"I...no, everything’s fine. Wonderful, in fact. You’ve been perfect, darling," he responded smoothly. Astarion couldn’t pull his mask into place. Weak, vulnerable, aching—confused as to what he should do next.

But there was no dungeon to draw her towards. No master to turn her over to. Tav was not a target. What was he meant to do?

Astarion laid back, wondering if he should feign exhaustion. Until Tav fell asleep and he could slip away.

With a gentle smile, and a little unsteady as she rose, Tav slid her hands up Astarion’s chest to frame his face. “Let me concentrate on you now,” she murmured, shifting until she was straddling his hips again.

He clung to her waist on instinct, but didn’t grip hard enough to stop her from moving over him.

“Is that alright, Astarion?”

She kept saying his name, drawing his eyes back to hers, to the want in hers that was more than want.

The warmth was overwhelming.

“Yes,” He agreed, hearing his own breathless assent. Telling himself it was just to be relieved of that adoring look in her eyes.

Tav drew him along her palm, sinking down on his hardness inch by heavenly inch. 

Astarion gasped gently. For once, he seemed at a loss for words, ruby eyes wide and locked on hers as she began to move.

Undulating slowly, Tav leaned in to capture his lips, kissing him deeply, reverently. 

His own mouth was…hesitant. The way she kissed him, the way she kissed, the way she moved, dragged that unbidden yearning from somewhere deep inside him.

Like his first taste of her neck, something about this felt forbidden. Too rich for his blood.

But then Astarion was kissing Tav back feverishly, sitting up to tangle one hand in her hair to hold her close. Like he was starving all over again.

Tav kept the pace languid, letting Astarion savor every slide and press, her pussy quivering around him still. He’d thought he’d worn her out so thoroughly—but she persisted.

She peppered kisses across his angular cheekbones, the corner of his mouth, his temples. Astarion shuddered beneath her, a soft whimper escaping him as she rolled her hips just so.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tav crooned. “Just feel. Let go for me.”

Time seemed to slip from him yet again—but he felt every breath against his lips, her forehead pressed to his with agonizing sweetness. Her fingers curled into the hair at the base of his neck, and he clung to her in turn.

Astarion felt his body stiffen involuntarily, a flicker of apprehension. His armor trying to snap back into place, one last ditch attempt to wall him off.

“Tav…” his voice was a broken plea.

Her relentless warmth ceased every vulnerability in him. Her arms wrapped around him, shielding out the rest of the world, the rest of his thoughts.

Those damnable eyes with unwavering affection as they locked onto his.

"I've got you," Tav murmured with a fervor that echoed through him. "You're so good, Astarion."

Her words sent him spiraling into the abyss with a ragged gasp as his climax washed over him, spilling deep within her.

Astarion could feel her arms drawing him closer, her fingers threading through his curls and whispering praises and reassurances that seeped into his dead marrow.

He clung to her desperately, hiding himself in the crook of her neck as he was the one to tremble.

In this moment, stripped bare of all pretenses and disguises he wore. All Astarion could do was cling tighter to Tav, hoping that she could feel even a sliver of the affection and reverence that burned within him.

Astarion watched her as she lay back, unable to rip his eyes away or compose his face in to something prettier.

She laughed breathlessly, but the elf remained still, waiting. Bracing himself for the inevitable withdrawal, for her warmth to leave him bereft and alone once more.

That part of the script was surely still intact.

They took their pleasure, then cast him aside. Or worse.

But Tav did neither.

She nestled close, resting her head on his chest with a contented sigh. Astarion glanced down at her, watching the way her fingers idly traced invisible patterns on his cool skin. The casual intimacy of it made his throat tighten.

After a moment, Tav lifted her gaze to his, a playful smile curving her kiss-swollen lips. “Not much for cuddling after?” she teased gently, but she was already lifting herself off of him.

Astarion huffed a laugh, hoping it masked the confused tangle of emotions her tenderness evoked. “It’s not exactly my forte.” 

He should be using his glib charm to get them back to camp, saying they should get some sleep. But with Tav...he hesitated. Loath to break this fragile, unfamiliar spell between them. 

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Tav shifted to lay her head in the grass beside him, relinquishing her claim on his space.

But as her warmth and weight left him, Astarion felt strangely bereft. Unmoored. His hand darted out to catch hers, lacing their fingers together as he turned to face her.

Tav’s ever-radiant smile dawned across her face. She squeezed his hand gently, like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held. “This okay?” she asked softly.

Slowly, deliberately, she brought his knuckles to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of his hand. Like he was the prey she feared startling.

Tav slid their joined hands up to rest over Astarion’s still heart, her expression open and tender in a way that made his breath catch.

Astarion swallowed hard to gain even a tenuous control. “More than,” he managed, voice rough with everything he couldn’t quite say.

Tav smiled at him, and those bright eyes held nothing—no guile, no ulterior motive. Only affection and a hint of something that looked dangerously close to…adoration.

It terrified him even as some long-dormant part of his soul ached for more.

“Good,” he breathed at last, barely recognizing his own voice.

As he slid his arm around Tav’s shoulders, pulling her back to his chest beneath the star-strewn sky, a sudden realization hit him with the force of a charging bulette.

In all his long existence, he had never spent the night with a lover. Had never wanted to. But now, with Tav a warm, trusting weight in his arms, he found himself hoping desperately that this wouldn’t be the last time.

There would be time to figure this out later, he told himself. To untangle the confusing snarl of warmth and want and unspoken yearning twisting beneath his ribs. 

And yet, as Tav’s breathing gradually slowed and deepened with the onset of sleep, Astarion discovered that there was nowhere in all the realms he’d rather be.

Perhaps, just this once, he could let himself have this. Could dare to imagine a future beyond mere survival.

[neworleansvoudou]

Who's Who in Hoodoo History: High John the Conqueror

John the Conqueror is known in Hoodoo folklore as a trickster spirit, always making a way out of no way at all, “hitting a straight lick with a crooked stick. Winning the jackpot with no other stake than a laugh” (Hurston 1943, 452). Slaves saw him as emerging from a whisper, finding laughter in sorrow, irony in tragedy, and triumph in despair. He was the bringer of hope, “the source and soul of our laughter and song.” He provided much-needed comedic relief in everyday life. He was a resistance figure whose weapons were laughter, cunning, and trickery.

They say that John was a prince who came from Africa, walking on the winds that filled the sails of ships through the Middle Passage. There are no photographs or drawings of the actual John the Conqueror. However, some say he resembled big John Henry, the “steel-driving man” of African American folklore. Or maybe he was “a little, hammered down, low-built man like the Devil’s doll-baby” (Hurston 1943, 452). Some say you can’t draw a spirit, so quit trying. Others say no one ever talked about what he looked like because it wasn’t necessary. White people never knew of his existence, which was by design; they weren’t supposed to know about him. He was the slaves’ biggest advocate on the downlow, and they lived for the tales of his putting one over on ole Massa.

They say that the spirit of John the Conqueror was around in the form of Brer Rabbit before John came on the scene. That wily mammal had already made the rounds on the plantations for a year and a day by the time John came along. Because he was in the form of an entertaining bunny, his tales spread far and wide. In reality, Brer Rabbit and John the Conqueror are two different spirits, but their functions are similar. Both are tricksters; both gain the edge through cunning, audacity, and intelligence. Both are empowering resistance figures.

John the Conqueror’s renown comes from the abundance of folktales describing his exploits. The most significant tales involve his role in procuring freedom through comedic relief and trickery. Freedom was of primary concern to John, and it governed near about all of his decisions. But he wasn’t the same kind of resistance figure as San Malo, Bras Coupe, or Annie Christmas. He was good at playing dumb when he needed to, and he excelled at the art of gaslighting. He played ole Massa like a fiddle.

He could make you think yellow was green and green was yellow. He would make you believe that what he did was your doing, and he was a master at leaving ole Massa standing in his place, mouth agape. He was just that cunning.

John the Conqueror was most popular during slavery days because he served an express purpose. People needed the kind of resilience and inspiration he could bring. They needed the hope he dispensed. They needed a vision for the future, one that involved their complete liberation. And when he went back to Africa, they say he left his spirit right here in the United States in the root of a special flower, a variety of morning glory bearing purple flowers. In this way, John the Conqueror never actually left. Whenever anyone needs him, they can access him by communing with the root bearing his namesake.

*Excerpt from Witch Queens Voodoo Spirits and Hoodoo Saints: A Guide to Magickal New Orleans.

Learn more about the OGs of Hoodoo: https://www.crossroadsuniversity.com/courses/who-s-who-in-hoodoo-history

[elliespectacular]

Any tips on how to correctly credit clips used in YTP? I'm very lost when it comes to finding copyright info and stuff like that.

The stakes are pretty low for YouTube Poop and crediting clips in the video/description is not standard practice - but it's a good thing to do! That said I am not an authority on this and even my method has some blind spots. These are just some generally good ideas for being a slightly-more-courteous-than-average shitposter.

The acknowledgement is the most important part, stating outright what the names of the sources are. Pay attention to the official titles of what you use and try to trace them to their original form - for example in The Price is Rice COMPLETE I wanted to credit the gamer-themed Dust-Off commercial I used in The Price is Rice Jr. Usually ads are more difficult to track down than other kinds of televised media, so often "___ TV Spot" does the job, but a quick peek at the official YouTube channel reveals that the ad's actual name was How to properly clean your gaming computer.

Then there's an acknowledgement of the owner. I try to list composers for music, directors for film, and of course artists for art. You aren't required to give an exhaustive list of every single contributor to the art you've sampled, but make sure you credit the person/company it belongs to at the very least. Going back to the Dust-Off example, the YouTube video contained a link to dust-off . com which now redirects to falconsafety . com - I lucked out because the top of the page indicates clearly that Dust-Off is a product owned by Falcon Safety Products Inc. but this info is often in the About section of a website or at the bottom of the page.

I like to throw the year on each YTP credit as well. Academic citations usually require a more precise publication date if available. Among other benefits it helps distinguish between things with the same name/owner that were rebooted later - for example there are multiple games called Sonic the Hedgehog owned by SEGA from different years (In fact in this example there are two games from 1991 so it's also important to note what system the game is for!) Generally your source credits should communicate to a viewer where to start looking for a specific thing or who to ask.

You can use Wikipedia to orient yourself if you need a lead on where to start tracking down copyright information for popular media, but make sure you cross-reference what's there with other sources. For Movies/TV I usually just look at the very end of their credits which usually has the copyright info. For music I use Discogs. Sometimes for more obscure or less-documented things I have to do some search-engine sleuthing.

If you're stuck, ask a friend for help! It can be fun and rewarding to track down something that isn't answered by a quick google search, and like most things turning it into a collaborative effort makes it less of a slog.

Copyright acknowledgement is tricky to do correctly and not every Best Practice applies to each situation. There may come a day when MLA-style citations become normal or required even for shitposts and your due diligence will become greater. Do your best, give credit where it's due, and you'll be fine :)

[xenosagaepisodeone]

back in the 2000s when people would enact pseuicide (exactly what it sounds like), it was largely as a form of ego-defense. while it was sometimes elicited as a response to actual harassment, the lower stakes nature of interaction on the old net made it as common a play in disagreements as telling someone to kill themselves. a lot of the time, the user in question was unwilling to concede their position in some particular discourse or their status/power in a particular community, but was also left dissonant by the fact that they had no unilateral control over how others saw them, or how others felt. a pseuicide would in this case allow the user to retract an internet persona that had been turned into a pathway way for the ego to be damaged by others while also preserving as much of it's integrity as possible by allowing the purported death to frame them as forever the victim of their interaction with their opps (with of course the intentional added effect of inflicting psychological anguish on them by making them believe they contributed to a suicide). the user would then rebrand under a different account and then rebuild their posting empire, completing the cycle of the pseuicide.

there's a reason why the term 'psueicide' has fallen out of vogue beyond the fact that it is a cruel way to regard the potential suicide of someone online. the deanonymization and userbase-fostered hypersurveillance of the modern net has done away with the low-stakes interactions of aughts forums that made it easy to just say "I'm going to kill myself" to a bunch of formless usernames; on top of just making it very difficult to disappear in general. how many people have you seen abandon their social media handles due to drama, harassment or stress, only to be found under a new persona a week later? you can scrub the internet of as much of your posting presence as you want, but you're going to have a harder time preventing friends, family and even strangers who happen upon you conceal details of your present status just by virtue of how normal it is to involve so much of how you spend real life in what you post online. the modern spectacle of posting makes most user's actions a new development in the narrative arc of their social media presence, and a suicide attempt (real or otherwise) will be milked for entertainment in accordance with such before it is examined for sympathy or used as a means of self-relfection.

you may think this post is about james somerton now that the news has come out that he is thankfully fine, but it's actually not! admittedly though, his attempted rebranding got me thinking about a few things, ultimately leading up to the thought "ah, you really can't say that you will kill yourself online like you used to.". where do you go when nuking everything and starting over is barely an option? well, outside I guess. perhaps to the woods.

[echofromtheabyss]

Medium talk is worse than small talk and probably what we're all most afraid of

We all know Small Talk:

hi, how are you, nice weather, how about them (insert sports team here).

Small talk follows algorithms and a kind of ritual pattern. It's the kind of appropriate conversation level for interacting with retail workers in public, and total strangers.

We also all know Big Talk. (I'm only calling it that as the logical inverse implied by Small Talk.) Which is basically where a high degree of familiarity is assumed. A common ND fuckup is conversing in conversational modes that, to many of the general population, are reserved for high familiarity. Either in terms of talking at length about a topic (which I feel is something that was actually more socially acceptable in the past, but has become broadly unacceptable over time; this was NOT really part of a diagnostic category in the 70s) or in terms of overfamiliarity/not being at the right level of social distance from the person for the thing you're talking about.

Most people rely on lots of context cues that inform how they will hear what the other person is saying, and those context cues may not be there for a near-stranger. All they're left with is the most uncharitable possible assumption about your intentions.

So with this in mind, this leaves me with the WORST conversation category, that nobody acknowledges, because we're stuck on Small Talk and Big Talk:

Medium Talk.

You actually need something in common with the other person or something you relate to, to really successfully do Medium Talk. Small talk can be done with total strangers you're never going to see again, and Big Talk can cut past a lot of stuff; I don't need every social belongingness or ideological thing or hobby in common with my family members, or other people in a high-trust relationship with me, to have a meaningful conversation with them.

Medium Talk is actually where a lot of the tripwires and landmines are.

People are making decisions to escalate or de-escalate here, and listening for loyalty indicators. You run the risk of keeping things superficial while missing an actual connectedness bid, or of being overly familiar - or getting too comfortable and offending/scaring the other person before they have any context for processing what you're saying to them.

Medium Talk is when you're moving from the Social Niceties, along the continuum toward Big Talk. You're dipping your toe in the water, moving toward the deep end.

Average to high social skills people will often throw out feelers about escalating the conversation. In the 90s, LGBT people would sometimes drop hints about some or other thing that only other LGBT people would know about, based upon some kind of context cue. There is ultimately some of this same dynamic going on with some forms of nerdy gatekeeping ("name one star war") albeit in a clumsy way.

But people do it all the time.

I think there is a tendency for some people to assume talk is 100% verbal while habitually ignoring the visual and relational context cues that are processed as communication. It's especially hard for people who *can't* process that information, but I think that there are lots of reasons some people end up just not learning to do it.

People often escalate small talk based upon presence of some kind of marker such as a nerdy enamel pin, or a sports jersey. This is what wearing tons of geek swag is actually all about. 70s-80s social skills guides and advice for single people, often advised having/carrying/wearing some kind of "conversation starter."

Once I learned about 70s/80s/90s gay hanky code, I realized that there was a lot of this going on in all kinds of ways and that people scan other people visually for various kinds of context cues for the escalation of small talk.

A big problem is getting too "real" too fast, and people in the Medium Talk Zone will commonly use celebrities, low-stakes fandom stuff, and the like as socially acceptable proxies for discussing their viewpoints while saving face. If you are still in a low trust space, then the problem with just blurting stuff out to another person is that they don't know you well enough to have any context for what you are saying.

Most people are processing a ton of context cues while you are speaking, besides the words you are saying. When still in a low trust zone, you are likely to be taken in bad faith. You saying the same thing that their friend said, is not being heard by their brains as actually the same thing.

Nor is your presentation of the project being heard by the boss as being the same presentation that is being given by the shinier co-worker who steals it from you.

Most people don't just process the information, they process *who is saying it* as a *necessary part* of that information.

And this is where Medium Talk is so dicey.

Small Talk? No problem. Most of us can do it on a good day and most of us do it without realizing how much we do it.

[the12thnightproject]

selenacosmic asked: Dear advisors on love, My question is merely for advice without an specific target of my affection. Considering that both have completely different views on this, it will help a lot. How does one flirt without being awkward? What is the path to smoothness in your words? Sincerely, An awkward person.

Dear A.P.,

Angel, although you can not see me, imagine that I am patting the cushion next to me, inviting you to sit down. I watch, smiling, as you gracefully take your seat. You look lovely this afternoon, Angel, that shade of blue complements your eyes. Did you make that kimono yourself? It must have taken you days, but it was clearly worth the effort. I’ve picked up your hands now, marveling that your delicate fingers can also create this beauty.

[Lord Shingen, you are flirting with the letter writer, but if they are awkward, they’ll not be able to do what you do. - Yuki]

[Nobody can do what Lord Shingen does - Moderatelyawesomeninja]

[Hm, you two may have a point. - Tiger of Kai]

As you can see Angel, for me, flirting is as natural as breathing, but it has been pointed out that not everyone feels the same. Therefore, let’s move on to a ‘flirting for the novice’ discussion. Now, as much as it pains me to admit it, knowing how to flirt is not a necessary skill. 

[Then why do you keep insisting I learn how to flirt? - Yuki]

[For you, it’s necessary. - Tiger of Kai]

It’s true, you can go through life having wonderful friendships and relationships without knowing how to flirt. By telling yourself that you need to flirt, you put unnecessary pressure on yourself, which will make it all the more difficult to talk to people. 

My suspicion (without having met you, Angel… which saddens me greatly, as you seem a lovely person), is that your awkwardness at flirting is because of one of three reasons (or a combination of all three).

You have been told that flirting is the only way to begin a relationship

Flirting feels inauthentic to you

Shyness

Let’s take these one at a time, although they can be slightly intertwined. Flirting is a way to begin a relationship, but it is simply a signal. It can tell another person that you are open to them. It’s saying, “Yes, Lord Shingen, I want to know more about you,” or “Yes, Lord Shingen, I am willing to sit here smiling at you a little while longer.” In a sense, it’s a subtle form of espionage - a low stakes method to gather more information about another person. You may learn that you don’t want to spend more time with them after an initial exchange. That is the beauty of flirting, it’s not a commitment of anything more than a few moments of your time. You are not obligated to have a long conversation with the object of flirtation, or to ever see them again. Nor does flirting need to be complicated. A smile can be as powerful as the most well crafted “pick up” line.

But that said, good, honest conversation and communication with others can be an  effective way, or perhaps an even more effective way to become closer to a person. Whether you agree or disagree with the other person, enthusiastically discussing your ideas will help you know them better. Instead of putting pressure on the results of your conversation, simply enjoy the exchange of ideas and opinions itself. As you learn more about the other person, and they learn more about you, you might find yourselves relaxing enough to joke around with each other. You might even tease each other, once you understand their sense of humor and they understand yours. By this time, you could be flirting without realizing it.

By having conversations about things you are already interested in, or things you want to learn from the other person, you then are naturally being more authentic with each other. You won’t feel like you are forcing yourself to behave in a way that doesn’t feel real to you, because you’re just talking about things you already like and know, or trying to learn from someone else more about a topic that they love. There’s no pressure, and you won’t be tested on the subject.

[No test? Frak. - Moderatelyawesomeninja]

[Were you taking notes, Sasuke? - Mai]

[Maybe. - Moderatelyawesomeninja]

Putting less pressure on yourself and staying authentic to yourself and your comfort level will help somewhat with shyness. Unfortunately, there’s no quick cure all for shyness… but remember a shy smile has power too.

That said, one thing you can do to become more confident in interacting with other people is to practice. The key to practicing is to do so in a low pressure situation. The next time you order a drink in a tea shop, or buy fabric, smile and say thank you. That’s it. That’s all you need to do. When that feels like second nature to you, take it a step further. Ask the person at the tea shop if they have a favorite to recommend, or the person selling you the fabric what they would make out of it (only do this if they aren’t busy). Get comfortable talking to people about things that they are interested in. By doing this with everyone you meet, not just the people you may be interested in knowing, you will become used to talking to strangers. Thus, when you do encounter someone you may be attracted to, it will feel easier to talk to them… because you are used to talking to strangers.

Make a list of things that interest you, that you know a lot about, and ask a close friend or family member to interview you about one of these things, so that you start to feel more confident in talking about your passions. Also, according to one of my sources, in your world, there are “apps” where you can practice flirting with a simulated human.

[Not that I’ve ever actually used ‘Blush’ or “Replika,’ I simply am aware of their existence… - Moderatelyawesomesource]

Would you like to practice with me, Angel? I will put no pressure on you, and you could consider it simply a learning experience, while I do my best to put you at ease. I would consider it an honor, should you ever be in Kasugayama to be your flirtation professor.

Sincerely,

Tiger of Kai

This is not all that Art of Love has to offer. Check out @lorei-writes for the God GOOD of War’s answer to your question.

[miikpal]

Heya, Milk! You got any advice for somebody who wants to start taking commissions but doesnt know where to start? I been drawing for a while (about 10 years), but I never tried selling my art before. It's kinda scary. I don't need a lot of money right now, so it's not urgent, ive just heard people say it's good experience. Is it worth trying at all rn? Sorry if you answered something like this before

no worries!! i dont think anyones asked me about this stuff before tbh... im in a similiar boat where i dont really do these out of necessity lol its definitely worth it!! if u thought about it even briefly its worth it to try

its been a hot minute since ive first started taking comms but i guess these would do for starters:

- your following might affect comm interest - i would only get very sporadic ones for the longest time unless i undersold (DO NOT DO THIS GET UR MONEYS WORTH) so dont get discouraged at first is what im saying. get ur pals to promo the announcement posts and put urself out there and eventually someone will get interested

- you can start small and lowkey. if u wanna just dip your toes in the commissions water before doing full blown pieces its absolutely ok to start with doodle or sketch comms. they tend to be cheaper and attract client bases that way anyway - so its a win win! low stakes and you can slowly figure out what works for you

- for the love of god make a TOS. having a document of things that are and arent allowed that u can point at whenever somebody tries to pull a fast one on you is a lifesaver. mines really thorough but i like to cover all the bases

- pretty much at every step where youd think 'going back to fix something after this part would be a pain in the ass' stop and send the progress to ur client and ask if anythings off or needs fixing before you keep going. better safe than sorry. in general be communicative and upfront about any info with ur commissioner - its a nice thing to do and will make both of ur lives easier!

- make sure ur comm post includes clear examples of the kind of art u can offer - this is gonna be the forefront that attracts ppls attention! they should know what theyll be getting

- set up a comm only email or a google form for taking in comms its. much easier to keep track of things this way. actual communication can go somewhere else but its good to have a single place just for the actual initial inquiries etc.

I RAN MY MOUTH LOL. if u have other specific questions feel free to ask for a follow up i suppose!! these are just the ones i wish i thought of when i first started. i hope ur commissions journey goes well, im rooting for ya !!!!!!!

[cleyellow-wood]

a/n: hello! just a silly lil royalty!au, arranged-marriage!au with the one and only bang chan and princess!reader to get it out of my system. mentions of other k-pop idols but skz-centric. mostly exploration of world-building, and the very beginnings of the arranged marriage (and i mean whatever word can come before beginning)

enjoy! maybe another fic in this universe is in the works. who knows? not me!

[10:28 AM]

it’s past afternoon tea and your stomach aches, but not for the reason of being comfortably stuffed.

“do you want me to get on my knees and beg?” you ask hotly, setting the full, untouched cup of wine on the cabinet and turning around to look at the man sitting behind the desk. your father watches you with pity, and you want to rip your skin off your body for it. it feels disgusting on you—a coating of oil that feels similar to shame. “i won’t marry anyone. i refuse it.”

“why not? your prospects are many, and you’re an intelligent woman. any man of similar intelligence would be honoured to marry you.”

“that’s not what matters. i don’t care if they like me. i love—“ someone else.

the words are on the tip of your tongue but you stop yourself, biting your lip until it bleeds and correcting yourself. “i love my freedom too much to be chained by marriage.” 

your father rises, and you turn to face him fully, your heart struggling to keep itself together in your chest. it feels like it’s slowly peeling apart, rubber glue barely enough to keep the shards from disappearing in the abyss below.

“i know the wound lord yeonjun’s death left on your heart has barely had time to begin to heal, and i’ve done my absolute best to postpone this decision despite the council’s insistence, but you must understand. the council don’t know of your entanglement with him. they don’t understand why you’re—“

“they don’t understand me grieving the loss of my dear companion and champion? i don’t need to marry when felix is heir to your throne,” you spit, ignoring the tight bruising knot in your chest. “he’s the one who you should be arranging to marry. not i.”

“the unrest within the capital has been growing since the escalation of the war. brokering a proposal between two warring kingdoms is near impossible until we can peacefully communicate with our enemies. that is not my biggest concern right now.” walking around his desk, your father pours himself a cup of wine and takes a long pull, sighing. he walks through the archway, and there is the unspoken order for you to follow him into the open courtyard just outside of his office. 

the sun feels warm on your numb skin as you clasp your hands in front of you, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. your father sits beneath one of the smaller trees branching up, and you look up at the wooden beams that cross the blue sky. vines and flowers and decades-old plants that have made their home here have wrapped tight around the wood, drape to form a green canopy that still allows golden light to stream through.

it reminds you of when you were a child, and only the daughter of the crown prince. you had so few responsibilities then, playing with felix in these gardens while your father spoke to your grandfather on matters that didn’t concern you.

a part of you wonders where your brother is now. he hasn’t written in weeks, although you don’t doubt his time is stretched thin during a tour.

you miss him. you miss your friends that have gone off with him.

you sit down beside your father, and look into your lap as he cradles his goblet of wine in his palms. he’s never liked the stuff. only ever started drinking when he became king, and you know, then, that they’ve been backed into a corner. if a war is not a king’s biggest concern, then it must be his people. his life. his family’s life at stake.

you eye the liquid numbly, and can’t bring yourself to be angry anymore.

“our banks are running low. the economy is floundering under this war,” your father says softly. “the weather will freeze in a few months, too. the people are losing hope in the crown when the idea of starving through the winter is more than just a far possibility. before we return our focus on the war, i must remedy the unrest spreading through our people like wildfire. if i don’t… well, i don’t think i have to spell it out for my smart daughter.”

you smile half-heartedly, but it fades quick. your father falls silent, and you gently take the cup of wine from his hand and pour it out onto the grass beneath their feet. he doesn’t protest when you bend down to set the goblet in the dirt, straightening up again and staring at the ground. 

you can’t look at him. you don’t know when this conflict made your father a stranger to you, but now, it feels like you’re seven again, watching the birds, not understanding a thing in this world. the inhale you take is cool, warning of the season to come, and it calms your heart beginning to race.

“this war has forced us to funnel all our resources into the wrong things,” you intone quietly. “we have alchemists using precious minerals to create concoctions that could raze a peasant’s farmland in an instant when we should be helping them prepare.”

“i know.” your father’s long heavy sigh. you feel his gaze on your face, and meet it. almost at once, his hand reaches to touch your cheek gently, and you close your eyes as he tilts your head forward to kiss your forehead. a small pulse of warmth seeps into your skin, and it runs down your body, spreading through your chest cavity like honey. “the council’s adamant that we strengthen our bonds with the common folk by arranging a marriage between you and one of the newer lords that have risen from the peasantry. they have their own champion they wish to see on the council.”

“so they want him to breed me like a bitch in a kennel,” you finish for him desolately and he opens his mouth to argue but you beat him to it. it’s all your body will be fit for. no matter how powerful you are. “you’re their king.” lifting your head, you stare at him. “why can’t you stand to say no?”

“their ties reach into the every branch of our nobility. i can’t upset them when their support, the people’s support, is needed to maintain stability.”

“but you’re their king,” you repeat. “enforce the law. if they aren’t loyal to you no matter your decision, what is the point of the crown? the point of any of us being held at higher esteem than the rest of the people? the point of our blood being blessed with alchemic properties was so that our word would be held as law.”

“you want me to rule with an iron fist,” he questions, raising an eyebrow, “with the gentry in fear of who will die next? our ancestors have waged enough war using the power they had been blessed with. i refuse to continue that legacy.”

“and i admire that about you, father, but there comes a point where you must put your foot down. i’m your daughter.” you take hold of his hand on your cheek, clasping it tightly in your lap. “i don’t want to marry anyone. i know that my feelings for lord yeonjun weren’t appropriate, but i would rather die his unknown lover than marry another man.”

“that is not your choice to make. your life is not your own, nor will it ever be. that is the burden we were all born with, and i will not see your head on a pitchfork held in a starving farmer’s hand because i did nothing to pacify them,” your father says in a tone that concludes the matter entirely. he twists his hand to hold onto yours, and those eyes, eyes that you’ve been told that you have, stare back at you with a foreign sheen. 

your throat cinches, the noose tying itself. at that moment, you know that if your father asks you again to marry a stranger, you’ll say yes without a second more of protest. 

duty, and loyalty. 

you owe that to your king, too. 

your father squeezes your hand. “you and felix are the most precious things in my life. i would do anything for you to be born in some other family unbound of all these tiresome obligations.”

“i’m happy right where i am,” you insist, but even that gets caught in your throat, half a lie. lowering your voice to a whisper, you repeat it again. “i’m happy right where you are, father. ask me again, and i’ll do it. i’ll marry whoever you ask.” 

“you asked for me, your grace?”

the voice startles you out of your wits and you spin around on the bench. your hands spring away from your father’s as you spot a figure bowed beneath the archway. a figure that makes your blood run cold.

“rise, champion.”

it can’t be him. he is who the people want whispering in felix’s ear once he sits on the council?

you can’t. you can’t marry him.

his dark brown eyes meet yours as he straightens up, and there is not even a flare of recognition behind them. “oh. your highness. i didn’t realize you would be here, too.”

“lord christopher.” the name falls from your mouth without it meaning to, and your fingers flinch into a fist by your side, hidden in the folds of your dress. you hadn’t meant to have such an instant reaction to the man, but his mere appearance in your father’s garden has your mind reeling. 

his skin has tanned from the sun, and his freckles are more apparently as he peers at you. he’s dressed in a casual smock, sans his armour but with his sword sheathed at his side, his hair wild and untamed. he must’ve just come back from riding, or something arduous like it; there’s sweat dripping down his temples.

“come. sit with us,” your father invites, and your mouth goes dry.

you haven’t spoken to him in months, though you’ve seen him often since. yeonjun had been best friends with one of his best friends after all, so they’d been in the same circles, and just because yeonjun had passed didn’t mean you could suddenly slough off your old companions.

lord christopher was at his funeral, and he had offered condolences for your loss.

those words come back to bite you now.

“what do you know of my loss, wolf?”

now he stands before you, your future husband. you know it before your father even speaks it. suggests it. commands it.

you don’t know what aches more—your head or your heart.

you can’t marry him.

“wine?” your king offers.

but you will.

“no, thank you, your grace,” lord christopher says, and his eyes refuse to meet yours as he sits on the bench angled slanted to the one you’re perched on. his body won’t face you. his head is cordially tilted to his majesty, but somehow, you are the one locked out from a heart. “wine has never been to my taste.”

.

chan walks you back to your room on the orders of your father. 

chan. it feels strange to call him that in your head after all these months adamantly distancing yourself from both him and changbin, but the familiarity makes your heart wilt in yearning. you’ve missed his steady gait, his quiet presence. he never speaks unless he thinks he must; a trait you are most grateful for at this moment.

it gives you time to think. formulate what you need to say in the most efficient phrasing possible. 

it takes most of the walk to your rooms to decide on what to say, and as soon as you do, you open your mouth.

“if i had a choice,“ you begin suddenly, voice catching. you’ve been trying to hold back your tears for the past ten minutes since you’ve left your father’s office courtyard, and you clear your throat painfully, “i would have never chosen to marry. i think you deserve to know that before we go through with all the celebrations and we have to pretend we’re happy.”

“i know,” he says quietly. he rests his wrist on the pommel of his sword, and they both stop in the corridor. they’re alone, and they face each other. your eyes finally meet chan’s as determinedly as you can and your stomach turns. whatever speech you had constructed falters, crumbles into dust.

he looks the same since. not even older, or more tired.

just the same.

why does that devastate you?

is it because then it feels like yeonjun’s death never happened? his mark is invisible, unfelt. perhaps well-concealed. it brings you back only to last year when you’d been riding through the forests, chasing after a boy in front of you, racing with another at your side. nothing was wrong then. you just remember shouting to the man before you that no one could catch up to yeonjun once he was on horseback.

no one could ever reach the river before him.

it used to be a memory that made you smile.

then, you think maybe it’s envy. that he can look and act so normal when you’re little more than tatters at court is a feat that’s worthy of jealousy. why does he get to be even close to resembling a human when you’re nothing more than shredded remnants of your old body? you feel like you’ve been eviscerated by claws of grief, each strip of you remaining laying forgotten on some foreign street.

though you’d never been close to chan specifically, you can’t help but feel a yearning to be close to him again. close to anyone. the past half-year since the funeral has passed by in lonely hours. though none of the public know of your romantic affair with the now-dead heir to one of the great houses of your kingdom, everyone had known you two’d been companions.

then again, chan was an outsider to that band of boys, just like you were. it’d been yeonjun, changbin, and wooyoung since the beginning, and you tagged along because of yeonjun; chan being the same with changbin.

it would only make sense that the outsiders would not be as affected by the death of a best friend. at least, that’s what you want the public to think.

changbin hasn’t returned to court at all, still mourning in his ancestral family home. wooyoung is the only one you still speak to regularly as he’s never left the capital nor is he as easy to shake off with his smile hiding so much hurt.

but you’ve avoided chan for so long that standing here in silence with him isn’t awkward, only isolating. your hands tremble in their tight fists and you don’t know whether or not you should step forward or back. he’s the head of his own house at only twenty-two, an accomplished knight, but he still defers to you, so he will do what is asked of him with all the curtesy of a humble lord in the presence of his royal.

you know everything about their new betrothal makes sense. you know that you’ll do your duty, too, and create heirs to further your line.

but you know you can’t force chan into the same fate as yourself just because you’ve lost your chance at love, and you know he knows that you can’t love him.

nothing is fair to the kind-hearted, and everything is karmic to the devil.

“you should find a paramour,” you find yourself saying. his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you clasp your hands behind your back and lift your chin at him. “i will not satiate you, i’m sure, past the years we’ve created enough heirs, and perhaps even during, so you should find another person willing to fulfill you. i will do my best to keep your affair secret from the public, but know that i won’t stand in your way.”

“princess—“

“we will do what is needed of us,” you continue. “i only ask that you are present in our future children’s lives and efficient in your duties as a future council member, but anything relating to your personal life is none of my concern.” his lips twitch into a frown. you don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re struggling to keep yourself together as your voice wavers. “i’m sorry i cannot be the wife you want.”

“don’t apologize,” chan replies immediately. he steps closer, his expression softening, and he moves to reach out for you. both pairs of eyes dart to his hands that have frozen mid air. slowly, chan curls them into fists, and he bows his head, letting them hang at his sides. “if that is what my princess demands, then i’ll do it, but i will never act outside of our marriage. my loyalty is to you alone.”

“what if you fall in love with someone?” you challenge. “you won’t be able to be with them if you bind yourself to me.”

“i won’t.”

“how do you know?” “i won’t look at another woman if you stand before me. there is no other woman to look at,” he answers honestly and your throat goes dry, gut twisting at his earnest tone. “i just... i just wish for us to be friends again. i don’t want us to be strangers trapped together in a room when we used to know each other.”

“chan...”

he smiles. it makes his entire face soften like fresh-baked bread, and you want to reach out to poke his cheek. like you’re familiar with him, his smile a refraction of the sun that used to live in your heart. a sun that begins to rise when chan’s smile grows so wide it makes his eyes squint, and he lets out a tiny laugh to himself, hiding his face by turning it over his shoulder.

“chan,” he echoes, pink dusting his face. “it feels good hearing you call me that again.”

you don’t know what to say, so you don’t. chan notices your silence and he faces you again, the innocence of his smile disappearing when he gauges your expression.

“princess.”

that word alone makes you want to crawl out of your skin. 

“thank you for accepting my father’s betrothal,” you say at last, and it is weak, quiet. 

“it was what was asked of me, princess.”

“still, we can only be grateful that you are doing your duty to the crown.” your tongue is heavy in your mouth, but your curtesies are drilled into your head.

lord christopher is your champion, now. he, too, must carry your favour.

you step forward, and steel your heart. chan tilts his head, and lowers it, already knowing what you’ll do. he read it in your expression the moment you unlaced your hands from behind your back to let them hang limply by your sides. the way your eyes became downcast. 

your lips meet his offered cheek in a soft kiss before you’re stepping back.

“our engagement will be announced to the realm in two days time,” you murmur. “relish that time while you can.”

“don’t assume i think of this as me losing my freedom in some unanimous contract.” his eyes search yours, and you press your lips into a thin line, trying hard not to bite back. it is exactly what you think of it as. “you know i would never do anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. and i want you to be happy.”

“of course i know that.”

“good.” he smiles again, faint and sad. it is only a few minutes walk to your chambers, up a flight of spiralling stairs, and though you should never go anywhere without your personal guard, you’re not above defending yourself. after all, you’ve got royal blood running like magma in your veins. the most volatile substance known on this planet. chan knows this, and he takes a step further back. “do you wish to be alone, princess?”

“if you wouldn’t mind,” you assent cautiously. he dips his head obediently, but he doesn’t look happy to leave you alone.

“whatever you’d like.” 

you nod to him one last time and walk to the door that will lead to the stairs. you don’t hear his retreating footsteps and know he’s watching, making sure your last moments with him are safe. you can’t help but feel guilt sink into your stomach like a dagger fresh from the forge. it’s hotter than the sun, and sears through your flesh, cauterizing the blood and keeping it lodged there.

your hand pauses against the wood of the door, and you stare at the grain beneath your barren fingers. you’re not yet adorned by rings and other such jewelry, though you don’t doubt that the bride price chan’s house will pay for the engagement will not lack in such things. 

they’re stuck together now.

you peer over your shoulder. he’s still standing there, his hand draped over the pommel of his sword still, his other hand grabbing his limp wrist. he doesn’t hide that he’s staring at you, studious gaze lightening once your gaze meets his.

“chan.”

“yes, princess?”

“i want us to go back to the way we were,” you say. “to be friends.”

his smile is damning. you remember how it would make changbin stop his rants and break into a smile just because his best friend was grinning ear to ear, and you don’t think you ever blamed him for it. “really?”

“yes. really.” and it almost feels like the anvil in your gut shifts. relieves the pressure that had been mounting inside of you somehow. you clear your throat, and straighten up your back. “i’ll see you at supper, then?”

chan nods, still grinning. “if my princess demands it.”

“she’s not demanding it,” you retort. then, because it makes you smile, you add, “but she’d like it if you were there because she likes seeing her friends.”

“then, i’ll be there.”

“good.”

with that, you turn and push through the entrance to your room, and though your steps are as heavy as they were the day before, this time, you cannot help but look up to where you’re going.

if you enjoyed, leave a reblog or comment ! ❤️

[ante--meridiem]

I think advice like this is generally good and am aware that me complaining about it will probably be the "why doesn't your post account for my personal circumstances specifically, internet stranger?!" thing people love to make fun of, but nonetheless I can't help but feel bitter because "repeated positive low stakes interaction" for me has almost always fizzled out before it could deepen because the effort is just not worth the reward for either of us and pretty much all my significant friendships have been formed by (a) being approached by someone with enough confidence and extroversion to make "treating a stranger like a best friend" actually work or (b) instant familiarity because we're bonding over a shared interest and our enthusiasm over the topic is more important than how well we know each other or (c) quick recognition of each other as similar personality types and agreement to cut the bullshit and communicate in a way best suited to our type. And the tone of this type of advice always makes me feel like it's saying "the way you do friendship is wrong and you're wrong for thinking it could work, grow up". Which is uncharitable of me, I know op of that post is just trying to be helpful and has been helpful to many people reblogging the post! Still feel bitter about it though.

[jaybirdswriting]

Communication Prompts 💬

A: Two very close friends have a language barrier. It never stops them from causing mischief together. 

B: Two enemies have a language barrier. Just because they don’t speak the same language doesn’t mean they don’t understand the other person sucks. 

C: Characters are frequently confused by one of the group members' use of regional-specific phrases. EX: Like a person from the Southern United States saying, “Bless your heart.” 

D: Two characters come into a low stakes conflict when one prefers calling and one prefers texting. 

E: Two characters need a way to speak to each other without being obvious. So they decide to communicate through bird calls. 

F: A group of characters make up a language together so they can communicate in secret. 

More Undercut

G: A habitual liar is cursed to tell no lies. 

H: When a character goes missing, their friends leave a new voicemail daily telling them what they're up to. They hope that they'll get to listen to them someday.

I: A character anonymously sends love letters to their romantic interest. What they don’t know is that there love interest recognizes the handwriting. 

J: A character keeps a journal during a bad time in their life. When better days come to pass they end up burning it to symbolize that period in their life is over now. 

K: A mind reader discovers that two characters can speak telepathically. 

L: A blunt character is put in a situation where their life is on the line if they don’t successfully lie.  

M: A character calls their friend/lover a nickname that is such an inside joke it’s ineligible to anyone else.  

N: An immortal character has a very Victorian Era way of speaking. This contrasts the rest of the cast who speaks in a modern way. 

O: A character only communicates through professional sounding emails. Even if they’re planning a day at the water park. 

P: When a character dies, their closest loved one starts writing letters to leave on their grave. 

Q: Two characters can speak to each other through touch. They tap each other’s hand if something about a situation is off, or lightly step on each other’s foot if they believe someone is lying. 

R: A character who can’t or doesn’t like to speak communicates through their fashion choices. EX: Wearing a red bracelet means they’re upset and want to be left alone. While wearing a blue bracelet means they’re upset and want to talk to someone. Wearing a green bracelet means they’re in a great mood and want to spend time with their friends. 

S: A character doesn’t know how to express their feelings when they’re upset. So they begin writing letters to themselves that their friend/lover eventually stumbles across. 

T: A character agrees to teach another character their first language if the other character teaches them their first language in return. 

U: A character tries to communicate a hidden message to their team in the form of song. 

V: A character never picks up their phone. Unless that one specific person calls. Then they’ll pick up on the first ring. 

W: Their worst enemy finds a characters very personal journal. Surprisingly, the enemy decides to not read it and respect their privacy. 

X: A character buys a communication device for another so they can stay in touch. 

Y: A very old immortal character has letters written by people a thousand years ago. They like to look back on them and reminiscence. 

Z: A mentor character always leaves encouraging sticky notes on their mentees desk. 

[why-do-we-do-this]

On day eight, Cellbit wakes up with one thought in mind:

I’m not going to let my husband die.

He turns on his team earpiece and pulls his communicator out, instantly beginning to send messages and trying to organize the chaos. It’s what he does best.

By the time the responses come, mixtures of “We’re trying but we just aren’t strong enough”, “Everyone has given up already”, “we don’t have the materials”, “I think it’s already over”, Cellbit much too soon feels the telltale thickening of the archipelago’s air that will soon suffocate them all into unconsciousness once again. They are running out of time, but too much is at stake to lose. He doesn’t want to think about what happens if they lose. They can’t lose-

Movement in the distance.

Cellbit whips around to focus in on it, trying to spot the enemy before it spots him. He zeroes in on a figure on the horizon and strains to identity them against the setting sun, familiar stripes on an unfamiliar jacket, unfamiliar frown on a familiar face.

Roier.

Cellbit sprints towards his husband, shouting well before the other can even hear him. Begging him to tell him what green team needs to survive, ignoring the way his always beautiful features dip heavily into exhaustion, pretending his own aren’t just as heavy and leaden. If he gets this right they can talk later. If he gets this right, he can pull his husband close and try his best to kiss away all of the bad things.

If he gets this wrong-

He takes off running into the night’s cold desert sands again as soon as Roier gives him the word, yelling into his earpiece, no time for mincing words or pleasantries. There is roughly five minutes left. They can do it if they all just try. There’s no time to waste.

Cellbit doesn’t even check to see where the rabbit leather has settled in his inventory, there’s no time to. He can’t think of anything else as he beelines back to global with the ticking of the clock pressing into his senses and stabbing at his brain. There’s no time.

It’s not enough. Of course it’s not enough. Nothing is simple or slow or easy in this damned island. It’s horrifying to Cellbit that he almost misses Isla Quesadilla, but he supposes the bar is low.

At least on Isla Quesadilla he didn’t have to feel the last grains of his husband’s life sliding through his fingers like sand. He didn’t have to watch him tumble down the bottleneck of an hourglass and into the nothingness awaiting just below.

Cellbit rips his earpiece out, uncaring and desperate as he draws his sword and blurts in a hasty mash of languages, “Let’s kill one of them, fuck it! Come on, let’s go- out in front!” And he doesn’t check to see if Roier is behind him, there’s no time. Cellbit gets his sword through Pierre and is locking blades with Bad when he sees his husband collapse into the sand. There’s no time.

“No fucking way!” He feels the air pulling away from his brain as he desperately runs to his husband’s side. And he only just makes it, Bad’s blade at his heels, before his vision fades away. He barely feels the material of Roier’s hoodie against his scarred and bloodied arms and fingers when he reaches out blindly, and the only thought tearing through his mind as he weakly pulls the other man closer is that he’d failed him. There was no time.

His husband is dead- or whatever twisted approximation of death this place brings- and Cellbit could not save him.

His mind begins to drift, losing the rest of his senses to the void in the emptiness of unconsciousness and the ravenous hollows of newly forming grief and despair. He thinks that maybe he’s crying, but he can’t know now, as the feeling fades from his skin, and he honestly doesn’t fucking care. His husband has been ripped from his arms like everything else good in his life ever has been, and the realization that Cellbit has not only lost his husband, but his sister and two co-parents as well, twists his grief into a blistering, raging inferno of anger.

Roier is dead, and he could not save him. He couldn’t save anyone.

Cellbit has nothing left.

[brightnote]

How Secret Invasion is Going to End: 4 possibilities (spoilers)

My main theory & how I hope it ends:

At the end of episode five Fury called the real Maria in hiding on the phone/ear piece telling her that it’s go time. G’iah shape shifts as Fury and he gives her his eye patch and the anti-super power serum he had hidden in his grave stone that the is pretending is Avenger DNA. G’iah  goes to meet Gravik pretending to be Fury and then it’s all out full  Fury v.s Gravik but it’s G’iah vs Gravik super skrull vs super skull and that’s the fight we see in the trailer. 

G’iah then hits Gravik with the anti-super serum and he loses his powers and she kills him to avenge Talos and all the Skrulls he was going to sacrifice. Sonya goes to rescue the people in New Skrullos who are trapped in the skrull brain machines and the Skrulls who live there who Gravik and skrull Rhodey were going to bomb. We know Sonya goes there because we see her in the trailer in the ’body room’ for a lack of a better name.

Real Nick Fury and a full body widow veiled Maria In a form we don’t know yet but we have probably seen without realizing it get to Rava / skrull Rhodey in order to stop a bomb being dropped on new Skrullos. We know they succeed in this because we assume probably Rhodey is being held in New Skrullos in one of these skrull machines and we know Rhodey gets out and survives the attempted bombing on New Skrullos because Rhodey’s show Armor Wars is coming out soon! (LOL Marvel you make your own problems with low stakes so please stop sacrificing women for this) 

Maria and Real Fury have it out with Skrull Rhodey/Rava and we know that they win because Nick Fury is in the Marvels which the full trailer just dropped today! In this fight with Skrull Rhodey / Rava we learn that Maria and Nick have always known something was up and they have bene playing them. This would explain a lot of the stupid moves we saw in the first episode that I can’t stop yammering on about. Mainly having a public conversation about world famous spy Nick Fury who is supposed to be up in space who is now in Russia very noticeably is not himself, that he is  weak and needs to sit this fight out!!! They are saying this in front of Gravik who is at the bar before Nick gets there. 

In this conversation Maria says she’s contacted Fury many times and he’s ignored her so why would Rhodey suddenly care about this communication this time? (I know I am making the same point over and over again) But having some type of fake out Maria could also explain why she thinks she can just GRAB A DIRTY BOMB WITH HER BARE HANDS AND UNPROTECTED BODY….this gets me every time. Additionally, I think there is a reason they keep showing us Maria’s death all the time and it’s not just for Cobie’s screen time. 

If this is the case, this would reveal  that Fury is and was always been three steps ahead like always and is ‘always in even when he’s out.’ And he was doing this sad man act that he had to put on to see who he could trust and to confuse Gravik. This also makes sense because in Far From Home when we see Fury on the phone with Talos he has eye patch on, and he seems like his full Fury self on the phone at the fake beach hanging up on Talos and telling everyone to get back to work.  You’re telling me he just hung out in space like a sad dude all alone and grumpy and broken and wasn’t making some epic plan with Maria to oust these fucking evil skrulls? Nah. He didn’t go from eye patch full Fury from Far From Home credits scene to sad man Fury in just two years. There is a play going on here, and it’s big. This would also explain why Maria wasn’t with Talos Fury in Far From Home. 

Also, this theory would help explain why Cobie said “I had a lot scenes at the same time as Don” (linked) which we have not seen yet! We only have one episode left! I think this was an accidental slip up when Cobie was interviewing at the premiere (god I hope so tbh) but that’s what she says so did these scenes get cut, are we going to see a flashback or are these in a future project?

But my theory is that Fury and Maria will once again save the day and then the big news story that Nick Fury killed Agent Maria Hill (BY AGENT THEY MEAN FORMER DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF SHIELD BUT SURE)  will go away because  Maria Hill ends up being alive so that story will go away and not lead to any future Nick Fury problems which we know he doesn’t have because the Marvels trailer dropped and he is well alive in them being his witty Fury self just like he was in the end of Far From Home. 

Clues from outside the series: one last piece of evidence i have is that in her Vanity Fair interview after episode 1 of Secret Invasion Cobie said she had a meeting with the director after reading the script and said the focus was “how do we make this believable?” why wouldn’t we believe it, Cobie?? Is there some special reason it needs to be extra believable? Grasping at straws here and Cobie did say to her knowledge Maria Hill was a goner (but she was quick to note her availability for any future projects if Marvel would have her....) TBH I kind of wish they held off on this interview until after the whole series was over. In addition, new reports just came out that Cobie was allegedly paid 4 million for her work in Secret Invasion. I know she has A-list fees (and rightfully so because she’s good even in terrible projects) but 4 million for one episode? She has to be in episode 6!! (This really makes me LOL though because after the first episode people were like Cobie has the worst agent in the business how does anyone get killed off from Marvel!?!) and now I am like damn girl, get your money!!!! They couldn’t afford to pay her for all six episodes and that’s why she got the ax? lmao. 

In addition to this Cobie was slated to appear at ComicCon in Amsterdam in August (although this doesn’t look like this happening now!) but she regularly goes to Amsterdam where her Dutch father lives (she posts it on IG all the time!) 

CASE CLOSED, what do you think? I know this is a re-read for many of you but it is much neater and compact LOL and I had to get the Far From Home stuff in here. 

THEORY 2

Real Fury goes to fight skrull Rhodey (Rava), Rava is trying to murder the president (which she might succeed because there is a new casting of the US president in the Marvels I think!) Fury tries to stop this and  then Rava  shapeshifts into Maria during the fight to fuck with allegedly Nick’s broken psyche and he has to shoot her AS MARIA!  Except this time it is real Fury shooting a fake Maria!  I would hate this but it would be pretty savage which Rava seems like she is and my guess is she is the one who set up Maria and wanted it on tape, and she was clearly working with Skrull Ross. Maybe we will get some clarity on this whole thing. And at least we would get more time with Maria’s hair cut.  Or remember when Rava said “i used my last political capital to get Maria HIll’s body back from the Russians”? I always thought that was a guilt trip Fury line but maybe Skrull Rhodey actually did save Maria only to use her later against Fury?

I really want these Rhodey and Maria scenes to happen sooo c’mon something is gonna happen!! 

THIRD ALTERNATE THEORY that I give a 0% chance to but it would be cool:

Remember when everyone was convinced there were two Nick Fury’s? Maybe there really were/are two Nick Fury’s through out the series except one is not a skrull shape shifting into Nick Fury one is actually Maria in the new Widow’s Veil which shifts the whole body and does explain some of the gaps we are seeing and weird behaviors we are seeing with Fury.  But there is a reason why they have Fury do that line about the full body widow’s veil. So at one time there could be three Fury’s: G’iah, Maria, and actual Fury!! I would expect in a shapeshifting spy thriller there would be more shapeshifting of spies… so … this could be one and it could be very cool. 

FOURTH “THEORY” AND HOW IT’S ACTUALLY PROBABLY GOING TO END BECAUSE MARVEL IS AFRAID TO SLAY.

Nick Fury (real Nick) fights Gravik with G’iah’s help and they get Gravik with the anti-super serum. Sorry but that is NOT avenger DNA. Unless it is Avenger DNA and Fury gives it to G’iah to beat Gravik. Or it is real avenger DNA and then Fury just wrecks it somehow. They don’t don’t anything about the bombing of New Skrullos (but we know Sonya does go there from the trailer) the bomb just doesn’t happen cause the president remembers what Fury said to him and fires skrull Rhodey. 

Maria is really dead and nothing happens about that or her death being made public and there his no explanation about anything that happened in the first episode and we get absolutely no closure on this.

Fury and Varra make up and kiss cause everything is cool with them now apparently despite Varra’s earlier betrayal but he gets a happy ending cause he’s a man!  And then Fury wipes his hands and goes back up to space. He finally gives Carol Danvers a call and that’s the lead in to the Marvels. Then in the Marvels we get a flashback to Maria and Talos being murdered so all of the audience who isn’t watching this show is like oh what wait they dead? What?! Why are they dead? And not a thing happens with any of that. 

This would be the most disappointing outcome but this is my guess cause it’s the most boring and stupid and probably most likely because Marvel is so slay-phobic right now, but I pray it’s something close to my first theory with a joke being that Fury fighting alone is actually him fighting with people shape shifting as him such as Maria and G’iah. 

Please tell me what you think!

[blackthorn-legion-irl]

ongoing arc thing: Mall Santas Save The World aka Holiday Semi-Hiatus (plural server post link) (some day i will actually improve this post) (i have it in drafts even)

mod info:

age 27 / she/her pronouns / autism/adhd/anxiety And More™

RP blogs followed from this account

non-RP blogs followed from @demifiendcruithne

jack frost sideblog: @unidentified-flying-heeho

boundaries: apply to all legion members + sideblogs

if sending IC hate that could be taken as OOC, please put an OOC note saying it's IC

flirting/suggestiveness OK but pre-warning that relationships/other situations won't be happening with other OCs. i allow it because it's Funny (especially if i don't understand it either lol)

magic anons/pelipper mail Encouraged, but i have a firewall IC to block things i don't want to deal with / delay things i currently can't

while i'll generally be low-stakes, i'm happy to participate in higher-stakes things in a support role, just ask :) this will most likely be in hacking skills (or reverse demon summoning for worlds that are ok with that)

Super Temporary Links to the pokeirl plural server post (ooc post) (ic post)

low(-mid?)-stakes RP with an outsider's view of rotomblr. the Legion's world is vaguely based on SMT Devil Survivor 2 mechanically, and historically there was a japanese empire instead of a roman empire so england has more japanese influences, notably using yen (and macca when demons are involved)

the Legion is an ever-shifting group of people moving in and out of one apartment due to capitalism being a heck. Known Residents of the Legion: Human: Blackthorn Legion - she/her, ace/aro - the primary poster, accountholder, the one actually renting the apartment the Legion live in. has a bad habit of revealing that she knows people's history if they're in a game she played. snarky but has a soft spot. slightly a wanted hacker but don't worry about that. yes her surname is Legion she changed it to heck with genji overwatch. her sibling/good twin is Literally madeline celeste (no her last name is not celeste) Simon - he/him, masc-leaning bi - the butt monkey castlevania stan. came up with the legion name. Blackthorn's most tolerable apartmentmate. often the voice of reason except when it comes to wall chicken. has a boring horsesona and is salty about it. TWC - any pronouns - joined as The Wiggles Cultist (<(:0)OOoo>) but changes what the initials stand for pretty often. or basically every post at this point. They Speak In All Capitalised Words Legion Resident - any other human resident.

Non-Human: Aeros - pronouns unknown - air elemental who is generally either trapped in a vacuum cleaner or chasing people (aka simon) around. Aeros' location is unknown after being sent to pokemart manglement and released somewhere Bonk - they/he - a Beldum who true to their name can and will headbonk people as a main form of communication. trained service mon :) Nickit - he/him - a Nickit slightly longer than average, who is white with black accents and green markings on their face. (art source) naive and nods off a lot, can talk to humans, name currently unknown. has gmax meowth/furret/(hisuian?) zorua ancestry (source | longcat trace) Dr. Slushy - he/him - a Jack Frost. he's in the pokeworld now but he may still send messages through here for convenience Ghost - a ghost who's basically hanging out here possessing random people. name and pronouns vary based on host body

Associates: free to ask about, may not appear much Angy - weird stripey floating dude who gave Blackthorn the base for the MVSP. knows Something about world administration. Pixie of Amala - the Uberpixie who helped Demi-fiend (aka Sir Not Currently Appearing In This Universe He's Just Vibing)

any posts without a --blackthorn or whoever don't have who posted them defined; either it doesn't matter or i forgor. assume blackthorn but may get retconned any brackets like (simon: something) are a cut-in from someone else. ooc is marked with // or ooc: or both

The MVRS.py: stands for 'MultiVersal Reverse Summoning', pronounced 'movers'. Blackthorn's method of accessing rotumblr, which she's hacked to Try and send items through. it isn't the most reliable - anything she sends with it may get... altered at receiver's will. it's a py file because python my beloved

IC: Blackthorn and Simon

//drawn by @yewwantstobattle &lt;;3 /platonic

Blackthorn Legion - 27 - she/her (gender sucks. i just use what i'm used to) - autism/adhd/fibromyalgia - ace/aro - picrews

i live in an apartment with like 20-30 other people. any stupid comments it's probably them. or the demon internet cafe i've basically set up at this point my place is basically just. for people to come get back on their feet. why is capitalism making /me/ the best option.

if you're reading this i probably freaked you out by knowing something i 'shouldn't'. see, my universe turned a bunch of events from other worlds into games and other media, so i know more history of your world than i do mine. so that's fun

yes my surname is legally* legion. yes i changed it to heck with someone *in the sense that it's what the authorities/most wanted list etc. know me by. birth identity doesn't exist any more and civilian identity is under the radar

---

Simon. bi (masc-leaning) he/him. too old to have a boring horsesona are you kidding me--- picrews i guess.

okay it's basically out at this point - hecker - YES i used to have a crush on blackthorn that is Not why i am here we are still friends and honestly i prefer guys these days anyway.

i somehow get the feeling that angy is trolling me. doesn't he have anything better to do?

[bxwitched]

Come Fly With Me - Part Four

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight sexual tension, angst, hurt, comfort, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of suicide.

Character Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After you find yourself in a spot of trouble, a favour from a friend lands you in the classroom at Top Gun.

Word Count: 2K

A/N: This one's a sad one. As always, comments, shares and likes are appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

There's no feeling like when you're up in the air, it's when you're at your happiest, practically carefree and nothing could ruin that for you, not even Hangman's snarky commentary over the radio.

"You sure you can keep up, Spitfire? After all, you are named after a relic."

You scoff and shake your head, don't take the bait-

"I was flying an F-35 before this, Hangman. Put your ego away for a second and I might teach you a few things." You can't help but snap back and he laughs, it's low and warm and shouldn't make you clench your thighs together the way it does.

"That a promise?"

You can feel him grinning across at you from his cockpit but you refuse to meet his eyes. You need to focus for the sake of your wager, your pride is at stake after all.

"I don't see Maverick anywhere. Where is he?" Nothing is showing on radar and you're scanning your surroundings, all you can see is the desert, the mountains and the golden sunlight as it streams through the canopy.

It happens in a split second and you startle, scrambling to control your aircraft as it rolls with the force of the F-18 shooting between both of your planes.

"Shit!" Hangman is just as surprised as you both steady your jets and fasten your masks, watching as Maverick circles back around in the distance.

"Morning. You're the first ones up, show me what you got." `Your eyes dart between Hangman and the plane that's quickly gaining on you both, you're talking at him, trying to ascertain what he wants to do but he's not communicating back to you. You can tell that he's smiling from the crinkles around his eyes just visible above his face mask, his green irises practically sparkling from the challenge Maverick presents.

Your time to act is running out so you make the split second decision for both of you.

"Hangman! Break right!" You tear away but he doesn't follow you, instead choosing to climb higher and you swear, Maverick has his sights set solely on you.

"Hangman! What are you doing!?"

"I know what I'm doing darlin', just keep him busy for me." You growl as you grip your stick tighter, banking this way and darting that way to keep out of Mav's missile lock. Your instructor tuts at him through the comms.

"Leaving your wingman? That's a bad move." Seresin chuckles and you want nothing more than to shoot him out of the sky.

You're quick but Maverick is quicker and no matter how many times you dive or roll you can't shake the experienced pilot off of your tail, he's glued firmly to you.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" You shout, your frustration is evident in your voice. You can't hold him off for much longer.

"Evil be gone, Hangman is coming." He's closing in on Maverick but it's too late, you bank left but the turn is slightly too slow and you huff, kicking your foot out in anger as your hear the tone. You're out.

"Bastard!"

Maverick pulls past you and you watch as Hangman follows, too focused on the chase to acknowledge the fact that he just got you 'killed' with his stupid Lone Ranger act.

You can't deny that he's flying well, very well, keeping tight on Mav with every turn, you're certainly impressed but you would never tell him that. The man's ego was already unbearable.

He's closing in on the older man and you think that he might almost have him when Maverick suddenly accelerates upwards, straight into the bright glare of the early morning sun.

"Shit! I can't see him. How close am I? Spitfire!"

You can hear the stress in his voice and you chuckle, a wicked grin forming on your face at his mistake. Serves him right.

You're about to respond when Maverick's jet reappears from beneath, he pulls back behind Hangman's F-18 and you hear the tell-tale sound of missile lock.

"Game over, Hangman. You're both done for today, back to base."

You ignore the looks that Phoenix and Bob flash you as you climb down from the cockpit and start across the tarmac, they had listened to the whole escapade over the radio and the pair can sense the anger that's rolling off of you.

"Spitfire!"

You hear him call your name and you bristle but carry on walking away. You can hear the thud of his boots against the ground as he jogs to catch up to you, you're trying so hard to keep your composure but when he puts a large hand on your shoulder to still you you snap.

You turn and shove at his chest, putting distance between the two of you. He looks amused, lips quirked with his hands raised in mock surrender as you glare up at him and point a finger in warning.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-"

"First of all, don't touch me." He nods slowly, condescendingly.

"Secondly, what the hell was that!" He snickers then and you frown back at him, his face has settled back into that smug expression, his vanity taking over once more.

"Look, sweetheart- I won. Now It's time for you to start talking-"

"Not a chance! You sacrificed me up there!" Eyes are starting to fall on the two of you and you take a breath, exhaling shakily as you will yourself to lower your voice. "I know that we had a bet-" You shake your head slowly, trying to quell your frustration.

"But that was not the way to win it. When all is said and done, this is serious! I'm your wingman Seresin, not your pawn. So, either you learn to work with me, as a part of a team or I'm done."

His lips pull into a thin line as he stares back at you, his expression neutral. You shake your head in exasperation as you turn and walk away, leaving him amongst the whispers of the ground crew.

You hide out in your room for the rest of the day, deciding to avoid all of your responsibilities. The thought of having to explain your outburst to the rest of your fellow pilots makes you feel nauseas and the thought of being in the presence of the man who caused said outburst even more so.

You glance at the clock every now and then, watching as the hours dwindle down into minutes until eventually, you can't avoid it anymore.

17:50

You nod politely to the secretary as you announce yourself outside of the admirals office, the kind smile she throws you does little to ease your nerves as she knocks on the door and disappears inside.

She reappears shortly after followed by Warlock and Maverick and you salute respectfully as they move towards you. Your instructor looks somewhat sombre but he manages to flash you a sympathetic smile as he walks past and leaves the room.

"Come in, Lieutenant."

You take a deep breath and step into the office, you bounce slightly on your heels as the secretary closes the door behind you and then you're alone with him.

Cyclone leans on the front of his desk, his arms folded across his chest with a blank expression. You stare at each other for a few moments, he looks you over, taking you in as the silence grows uncomfortable around you.

"Admiral Simpson, sir."

You startle as he moves forward suddenly and his arms envelope you in a warm hug. At first you're timid but the tension quickly melts away when you reciprocate his firm hold, your hands winding around his back.

"I missed you kid. It's been a long time." His voice is earnest against your shoulder and you can't help yourself as the tears gather in your eyes. You clutch the fabric of his khaki shirt between your fingers as they flow freely down your cheeks and your voice cracks when you speak.

"I missed you too, Beau."

He steps back until he's holding you at arms length, a sad smile on his lips as you rush to wipe away the tears that are streaking down you cheeks and chin.

"I'm so sorry." He frowns then and rubs along both of your shoulders comfortingly.

"Hey, no. Why would you be sorry?" You look away, your breaths shallow as you try to calm yourself down.

"Because I made a mistake, I keep making mistakes. It's my fault, all of it." He guides you over to one of the chairs and you sit, he gathers a few tissues from his desk drawer and hands them to you before perching on the edge of the chair opposite.

"What are you talking about?" He's watching you intently, concern evident on his face as you dab at your eyes.

"I shouldn't have hit him, I know that, but I just lost it, I swear-"

He hushes you, his hands settling on the back of yours resting on your knees.

"That was not your fault, do you understand me? If I was there I would've killed the son of a bitch myself." You can't help but chuckle at that, he certainly hadn't changed over the years and the familiarity was a comfort to you.

"It's not just that though, is it?" You sniffle and shake your head, the older man's perceptiveness had always been both a blessing and a curse.

"it's my fault he's dead, Beau. I should've never left." His eyes glass over slightly and you can see the sadness within them mirrors your own.

"Listen to me, that is not on you. No one could've known that your dad was going to do what he did, not me and not you. You can't feel guilty for living your own life and I know that he wouldn't want you to." He sighs deeply as he runs a hand over his jaw.

"You're dad had his troubles but he would not want you to blame yourself for his choices. He would want you to live your life and be the happiest you can be, to be the best pilot that you can be. He was so proud of you."

You nod solemnly, a part of you knows that he's right but the other part still blames yourself for his death, for running off to join the Royal Navy and leaving him to face his demons alone.

"That's why I brought you here, because I know that you're one of the best pilots there is. I know how strong you are, that you can do this, but if you don't believe me, Maverick also thinks very highly of you." You blink at him, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"What? But I lost?" He smiles and shakes his head slightly, fixing you with a proud look.

"Before you came in? He was debriefing about todays training. He was impressed with you, told me that you put up one hell of a fight up there, even with that shit that Lieutenant Seresin pulled."

Your face sours at the mention of his name and Cyclone chuckles.

"The kids' got one hell of an ego, I know, but he's a great pilot. He's experienced, the only one with a confirmed air to air kill but he needs to learn how to play well with others and that's something that you can teach him. That's why I had Maverick pair the two of you up."

Your mouth drops open and you sputter at his revelation.

"Hang on- you're telling me that you're the one who's forced me to suffer that conceited ken doll?" He holds a hand up to silence you but his amusement is clear on his face.

"No arguments, you'll be good for each other. Trust me. Now, go on and get some sleep, you've got a long day tomorrow."

There's a finality in his tone and you nod, rising from your seat and heading towards the door.

"And kid?" You stop with your palm on the steel handle. "Don't be a stranger, ok? I'm here for you when you need me." You smile softly over your shoulder before pulling open the door and walking out.

Part Three

Part Five

@luckyladycreator2 @ollyoxenfrees @callsign-blue @dempy

[eriny3s]

for @singofus : kalecto , main modern times 🌀

it's not difficult to find him . she can sense the probability for violent spill over increasing in the bottom floor , and while she wants to linger and watch for any who give into the temptation , she instead makes her way to the antithesis of her existence . to the peaceful community , based in shared hallucinations and low stakes games .

she holds her glass of something red and wine based — ari had told her the name when she made it for her , but she hadn't internalized it — in a casual grip , going where she felt the least likely to be needed . she found the room she would have deemed empty otherwise and opens the door , revealing a decent number of people enjoying the gentle , color-changing lights from the city outside and the lights in the room . calmer music reveals itself as the door closes behind her , muffling the dark club atmosphere beneath them all on the first floor .

he's there , in the middle of it all , as she expected him to be . she takes a sip of her drink, locking eyes with him in clear invitation as she licks her lips , before striding across the room to one of the vacant smoking balconies. no one will follow her , nothing about her says ' friendly ' or ' approachable ' — except to HIM .

he comes to her , closing the door behind them , leaving just them out in the dark . but she can see him just fine , creature of darkness that she is , and she is sure he can see her in many ways without needing light at all .

she's shorter than him , in this form , even with her heels . she looks up at him as he steps into her space , her temporarily mundane eyes alighting red , her true hue , as he does so .

❛ look at you , cleaning up nice . and on a work night for you , too , ❜ she hums , black painted lips revealing fangs , but more humanly appropriate in their placement .