#what about the phantom parallel

[starry-bi-sky]

Ugh im writing this on mobile but i’ve been thinking about it nonstop for an hour and I’m just- mmmmm thinking about Clone Danny and his wardrobe choice as Phantom. Cuz like, he doesn’t have any powers, right? He has no built-in secret identity and suit that he can change into in a flash of blinding circular light. If a ghost shows up he’s just got what he’s got on, and whatever he has in his bag.

And I’m just. I have a lot of thoughts about him and his canon self, thoughts that i dont think i can all fit on my phone and im. Thinking about the dichotomy between him and his canon counterpart. From an in-universe perspective, the halfa Danny Phantom looks remarkably human-like. Especially compared to the ghosts he fights, all of whom are unnatural colors, shapes, and sizes. From flaming hair to glowing eyes and pointed claws, there’s nothing about them that doesn’t scream “ghost!” “Inhuman!” “Unnatural!”

And then you look at Danny Phantom, the ghost boy fighting them. And he just… looks like a glowing human boy. The only unnatural thing about him is his white hair and green eyes - and green eyes is a natural human color. Maybe not the shade it’s in, but it occurs in human genetics. He’s about as close to human as he can get.

Think about that from an in-universe perspective, and then think about it with the idea that ghosts take pride in their ‘ghostly’ look. They pride themselves on looking scary; unnatural; inhuman. It’s a showcase of being unique, of their own individuality, of their interests and wants. Looking ‘scary’ is part of ghost culture, and if not scary, then unique and ‘inhuman’. They don’t want to fit in, they want to stand out.

And you look at Danny Phantom, as his canon self without any of the fanon customizations, and he’s none of that. He’s about as human-looking as a ghost can get. He’s got human-like skin, hell he’s even tanner than he is as a human! His hair is normal, his eyes are green but normal, his hands? Soft and round, not a claw in sight, and his teeth are blunt and ears are round.

His suit is all black, it doesn’t even tell you anything about him other than he probably died in a lab accident, and he looks like he’s straight out of a b-rate comic book. There’s no story to tell about him, he’s a book with the pages all blacked out in ink.

His name, if you take it as him only calling himself “Phantom” isn’t even all that unique. It’s a generic ghost term that you can find by googling ‘ghost’ and looking at its synonyms.

And then look at his behavior: yeah he fights ghosts, and fighting is all about ghost behavior. Its one of their social activities- but its clear from Phantom that he’s not being social. He’s being aggressive, he’s doing it for the sake of the living (which while fair, doesn’t make him look good in the context of everything else). Then he comes into the ghost zone, he doesn’t do much to integrate himself into the culture, and yeah he makes allies but it still doesn’t feel enough. He’s not participating in anything, he’s alienating himself.

All in all, Phantom looks like a ghost trying to pretend he’s human, that he’s still alive. And for a ghost culture that prides itself on not being alive? It’s insulting.

And then let’s circle back around to that human thing, but from a different angle. Probably one that’s more mindset than outside looking in. But Danny’s alienated by the rest of the town for ages despite helping them. And while him looking human likely has to do with his own mindset of viewing himself as “living, but with ghost powers” and thus reflects back as a ghost, it also makes it look like he’s trying to fit in with the humans.

“I am not a ghost” he says, with his human skin and blunt teeth. “I am human like you, see? See? I look like you.”

He’s making himself look approachable, friendly. ‘You can trust me, I’m not a ghost. I’m not like them. I’m not scary. I look just like you. I’m different.’ He looks about as harmless as a human child could be. He’s trying to be relatable. And in turn he’s giving his fellow ghosts a cold shoulder - i’m not like you, i’m better. I’m different. I’m not ghost. I may be dead, but I’m no ghost.

Danny is trying to tie his ghost self in with the living as much as possible - he wants them to think he’s almost human. The same way he wants to think that himself. He’s distancing himself from his ghost half and the ghostly qualities the others have. Whether intentional or not, he’s doing it.

He shows his face and goes ‘see? See? I’m just like you.’

And then lets look at clone Danny, mister not-a-halfa. Who doesn’t have his canon offensive capabilities, who only has his ghost sense and the ability to hit ghosts without gear, his scary eyes and pointed ears, and the ability to see weaker ghosts not visible to the mortal eye.

He has no ghost form, no powers. And yet the first time he goes out as Phantom, he wears a mask that looks like a skull. Instead of distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. And at first it stems from the need to be unrecognizable, the last thing he wants is for his parents to find out that he’s ghost hunting. To do that, he needs to hide his face. That’s the first step.

The next step is to act in such a way that people couldn’t possibly tie him back to Danny Fenton. He’s not distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. To do that, he acts inhuman. He wears his mask and wears baggy, shapeless clothes - his hoodie and his pants - and he learns how to act unsettling. His eyes glow green, unnatural and shining through his sunken-in, skull-like mask. But it’s not enough on its own. He must do more.

He wants to be the thing someone sees at night and turns the other way. See me and run, he says, crouched on all fours and crawling across a beam like a monster you see in a movie. Twisting his body in unnatural, fluid ways, like he’s not quite sure how having only four limbs work.

Run. He says, dead green eyes glowing through his mask, piercing through black night from the rooftop. I am wild thing. Come no closer, look no closer. I am not like you. I am not your friend. I bite. Run.

You cannot see my face. This is my face, I am not alive. I am not like you. I am an animal about to pounce.

He doesn’t want people to think he’s human, he doesn’t want them to think he’s anywhere close to it. Anything to prevent his parents from figuring out its him.

And the thing is, he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to appear ghost-like or inhuman to keep his identity safe, wearing a mask and wearing unidentifiable clothes is enough. But he’s choosing to act ghost-like; unsettling; scary.

And in doing so, he unintentionally participates in ghost culture. And while his clothes are not anything unique, or outstanding, his mask is. His clothes don’t tell anything about him, but that’s okay.

Imagine meeting this boy from a ghost perspective. This annoying, fleshy human boy who jumps into fights to stop you and catch you. You’ve heard stories of human ghost hunters, you know there are hunters on the other side. You have heard the horror stories, you have seen the scars.

And then this boy catches you. This human, fleshy boy who yells quips at you, who puns and insults you, who wears an unsettling mask and acts ghosty. He catches you, and you think you will be the next one on the chopping board.

And then you end up in the ghost zone, untouched. Unharmed. And you tell someone about it. You were caught and released by a human child who feels touched by death. And then you hear that the ones who’d been caught were freed by a fleshy human boy who was touched by death, and a boy who they call “Phantom”.

And, isn’t that the name of the child you fought?

And he talks to you, but then he’s in the daytime. There are living around. He doesn’t speak to them - he ignores them outright. He keeps his distance, he stays away. If he talks, it’s with his hands. They will not hear his voice.

I may be alive but I am no human.

And its just — ????? So good to think about. I’ll reblog later with more thoughts when I have my laptop, but god i just needed to get that out there.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #like i wasnt thinking much about it when i made danny have no powers. like that was purely just for fun #and for a fun little parallel between him and bruce. and i thought the mask was cool #and now here we are doing a- what?? somewhat analysis of his outfit as phantom? #and his choice to appear as unhuman as possible?? as ghostly as possible??? #its just so good. i love creepy phantom. he’s the thing you see crouched in the corner of the room #from the corner of your eye. you see him. and you jump but hes not there when you look #he’s the creature you see lurking in the alleyway. crouched like an animal about to jump. #‘come no closer. look no closer. i am not like you. i may be alive but i am no human’ #i have teeth. and i will wrap them sround your throat and *pull*

[theshadowrealmitself]

I hate the fact that Valerie and Vlad team up in canon, but I do like the idea of them teaming up in a very specific au where after Phantom beats Vlad out for being mayor (but can’t actually become mayor because he’s not an adult) the popular kids (mostly Dash and Paulina) make him a candidate for school president (since they discovered he’s around their age)

Valerie obviously hates this and does not want Phantom to have any part of her school so she runs against him

Vlad, still mad that he technically lost against Phantom, makes a deal with Valerie to help her win (obvious she’s wary of this creepy old dude but she can’t stand the idea of Phantom becoming such an active member of the school, the whole thing makes her skin crawl, so she begrudgingly accepts his help)

Despite everything tho, Phanton still obviously wins, just to once again not actually win (not enrolled in Casper High that they know of so he can’t be school president), Mr. Lancer is the one to deliver that news and the students angrily chase off campus

Valerie and Vlad blame each other and get into a heated argument, Vlad’s image takes another hit, and so does Valerie’s as she ran against Phantom instead of just letting him win, and now she has to actually be school president?? whoops she did not think this through

#Phantom runs for mayor part 2 electric bugaloo #I’d trust her as school president #my school never had that and then I was homeschooled so I don’t know what they actually do #but I’d trust her to do whatever it is correctly #OH GOD WAIT #oh my god and would she still have her job?? #poor girls is going THROUGH it #being a student and school president and having a job while trying to be a ghost hunter??? #I’d like to think that could eventually lead to her trusting Phantom #she’s just so tired that she *has* to let Phantom help out when she can’t #so she sees him actually helping civilians #they weren’t my endgame but they did make a cute couple and I love their parallels of being tired ghost hunters #I also like to think that she’d enjoy being studeht president #she’s just overextended unfortunately #oh my god who would be Vice President???? #there’s so many great options!!!! #fuck they could’ve done so many more episodes #and so much more with Valerie!! #I love her #I’m sad that this post about her running includes so much about Vlad but it was so funny I had to talk about this idea #there are so many great options for who could be the student council #and she gains a friend group with strong ties #so she can do all the things she wants to without overextending herself because she has support now instead of relying on herself #aaaaaahhhhhhhh #Bring Back The Show And Let Valerie Have What She Deserves #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #valerie gray #vlad masters

[shellheadsblog]

not to go absolutely insane on main but I am thinking about obi wan Kenobi rn

#i watched the latest episode of the kenobi show and i am THINKING about him #MY GUYS OBI WAN KENOBI IS 😭😭😭 JUST A SCRUNGLY OLD MAN #oh to be thinkijg about the parallels between Obi-Wan at various points in his lifetime.... #legit nonstop ive been thinking about how Obi-Wan in his tatooine era is a completely different character than his clone wars era #its starting to get to me man #he has grown from the padawan we first saw on screen in the phantom menace #and he has matured and gained experience and charm #only for all of it to be completely and utterly decimated by anakins falling #and he spent ten years alone and completely cut off from the force #with nothing but his grief for company #and what finally brings just a mere hint of himself back to him is a ten year old girl from alderan #kenobi spoilers

[bavaib]

Man of all the characters to be parallels to each other, I really think Florent L’Belle and the phantom are the absolute funniest. Like imagine two characters. Both of them use impersonation quite freely in their plans (what with L’Belle pretending to be the Amazing Nine-Tails and the whole Fulbright thing) betraying lines of institutional (and for L’Belle, familial) trust for selfish aims (though the phantom’s selfishness is tangential to his actual goal, what with him being an agent acting out the will of others) which are ultimately foiled before they were even conceived (with Tenma Taro being stolen by Azuki Kozo and the moon rock earring allowing for the phantom’s identity to be proven even after the courtroom bombing) in ways antithetical to their motives and actions (with Azuki Kozo being framed as a Robin Hood as opposed to the greedy and elitist L’Belle, and Metis Cykes’ show of parental love and its status as an identity symbol for Athena as something the phantom can no longer do as a faceless spy) resulting in the consequences of their institutional abuse being acted out in their fates (with L’Belle being confronted by his debts - a consequence of his superiority complex, given his refusal to sell his products despite advertising them - and the phantom being shot by a sniper intended to silence him - meaning that even with his self-revelation about his identity, the brutality of espionage prevents the recovery of individuals from it without systemic change). But when you ask what character has so many parallels with the main villain of the game you find out it’s the one-dimensional queer-coded villain of perhaps the least plot-relevant case in Dual Destinies. Oopsie!

#Like the phantom also has parallels with Simon - what with deceiving key truths about their crimes #and coming to reckon with the contradictions of their actions: #i.e. Blackquill’s protection of Athena simultaneously traumatising her #and the phantom’s protection of his identity implying the existence of emotions and selfhood he claims not to have #But like #L’Belle and the phantom have SO many parallels that aren’t even shared with the other villains of the game #(Though those villains have their own parallels) #like Ted Tonate’s murder of Candice Arme being incidental to his black market plans #matching how the moon rock/Fulbright debacle stems from an unplanned encounter with Athena and Blackquill taking the blame #and Aristotle Means posing a philosophical challenge to the WAA through his ‘ends justify the means’ strategy #like how the phantom’s disdain of trust and emotions acts as an attempt to shut down discussion of his identity #but still #L’Belle and the phantom have a lot more points in common (at least that I remember) and L’Belle is just #not that relevant to the plot of the game #I mean props for thematic consistency but it’s questionable execution #aa5 spoilers #dual destinies spoilers #ace attorney spoilers #ace attorney #Why not this can go in the main tag #Another addition to my ‘dual destinies is good at least conceptually’ post collection #but like #I think these parallels are good #and Florent L’Belle and the phantom aren’t identical characters even with all the similarities #(Especially considering their presentation in game) #CRAP I FORGOT ABOUT MARLON RIMES #Ah well he’s a different kind of villain

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally getting help (prt 4)

Masterpost

The bats worked through the night, coordinating and researching everything that needed to be done. Distortion showed up on the camera which they assumed was Vlad trying to get in but he didn’t manage it. After he finished trying from multiple angels including somehow from directly above (well Zatana did say invisibility, intangibility, and flight were the minimal powers they should expect from creatures of the infinite realms.) He turned human again and spent a long time banging on their front door.

He tried to call the cops but commissioner Gordon called Bruce directly to get the full story then told Vlad it could be dealt with in the morning. Zatana was also coordinating people heading to Amity, a full on raid of the GIW, and the Fentons.

Batman and Superman were collecting all the information that the raid team was sending out and workshopping public statements they could sent out to the public and the government about the unacceptable things they had found and the steps the JL was taking to fix it. The government was not going to be happy they knew, with the JL ‘over-stepping’ into their business and actually getting the word out about the atrocities a branch of their government and their pet scientists had been planning. The JL needed to get out ahead of it before the narrative could be twisted against them.

It was first thing in the morning when they did a live broadcast from the watchtower with Batman, Superman, and Zatana telling the world about the parallel world existing harmlessly along side their own, and the way the government tried to exploit it. The atrocities committed under the name of the Anti-Ecto acts with the ignorance of the public as a cover.

It was at the same time that Constantine, Dick, and Cas were raiding the Fenton’s home. Of course they were armed, but so were the bats, and they were used to fighting people who were armed. It wasn’t a particularly hard fight.

A redhead was sitting wide eyed at the kitchen table. “Can’t we just have one normal day!” She suddenly snapped but she was glaring at her parents, standing up and slamming her hands on the table.  “First you send Danny away with Vlad even though you KNOW they hate each other and it’s a school day and now this! What did you do to bring the heroes down on us!?”

“I don’t know Jazzybear!” Jack half whined as he was forced into power supressing cuffs to neutralize his minor super strength and sat down in the living room.

“I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, don’t worry sweetie,” Maddie added, both of them were dressed in jump suits which did not help their supervillain vibes.

“it’s not a mistake mate, you’ve been messing with shit you really shouldn’t. And that portal in your basement is a fucking beacon welcoming a war. You’ve gone unchecked for too god damn long, we’re taking over things now.” Constantine told them before stalking down into the basement with Tim on his heels, Batman would be joining them as soon as they were done their press conference.

Cas stayed to watch the parents and Dick approached Jazz gently. “Hey can I talk to you in private please? It’s about your brother,” He said gently and she stiffened immediately. Looking at him in a way that made him feel like she could see straight into his soul and froze him to the spot. After a moment though she just sighed and nodded, beckoning to him to follow her upstairs, to a room that was probably Danny’s not her own. She sat on his bed and grabbed a bear that had been sitting on the edge, waving for him to sit at the desk.

“So, what do you know?” She asked with a sigh.

“Well, last night Vlad took Danny to a Wayne Gala, one of Bruce’s daughter Cas is really good with body language and clocked that something was wrong so she and one of the other kids got him away from Vlad and out of the party. I guess he really needed some adult support because he broke down and told them a lot, about the Phantom thing, the ghosts and… something you’re not going to like. But first I want you to know he’s safe, Bruce Wayne is a licensed foster parent and he’s taking good care of Danny, you can come live with them too if you want.

“We’re going to deal with the ghosts and the GIW and everything else now, I can’t promise by the end of this you won’t need somewhere else to go. I have a feeling if Batman and the Martian family have anything to say about this your parents will end up in prison for their unethical experiments.”

“As long as Danny is okay,” Jazz said firmly. “I was only staying to take care of him anyway, just get me emancipated and a scholarship for Gotham U so I can study while still being close to him I’ll be fine. I’m almost 18 as it is.”

Dick nodded, she was a smart and driven girl, she knew what she wanted, he could respect that. “Now, the thing you won’t like…” he trailed off and took a deep breath. “Danny is pregnant.”

“What!?“ Jazz blanched, gaping at him for a long minute. “That can’t be right! I mean I knew he was trans but he’s usually only interested in girls, how would he even-“ She cut off her eyes widening. “It was Vlad wasn’t it?” She gritted out with an expression the promised excruciating violence.

“Yes,” Dick said shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“Right.” Jazz said and got up, coldly calm. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She grabbed a baseball bat from next to Danny’s bed that seemed to be glowing slightly then marched to the other side of the room, opened a cabinet and pulled out two odd looking guns. Before Dick could say much of anything she had vaulted out of the window and taking off down the street.

“Oh dear,” Dick muttered faintly before heading back downstairs. “Hey Cas can we turn on the news, some sort of local station?” He asked. Cas nodded and searched around for the remote, turning it on to find the channel was already on local news.

Vlad was already on there, talking about how it was awful Bruce Wayne had Kidnapped a local child Danial Fenton, and he could not be allowed to get away with this just because he was rich! But that didn’t last long, they watched for a few minutes before a blur of red hair and blue rushed past the camera.

“YOU TOUCHED MY BROTHER YOU CREEP!” Jazz said as she came out swinging and she must have quite the arm because her first swing sent him nearly flying off the stage. He scrambled to get up as she lunged at him again.

“Now Jasmine you’ve clearly been misinformed, I didn’t do anything-“ His muffled voice was cut off as she swung the bat again and he yelped as she hit him in the stomach.

“YOU GOT HIM PREGNANT! YOU DID THIS! YOU SHOULD BEHIND BARS NOT BEHIND A PODIUM YOU FROOTLOOP!” She shrieked as she swung again and this time he managed to dodge. The cameras following them as Jazz chased him down the street, the sound of his supplications and her shrieking fading out as they became more and more distant.

It took a frantic moment for the camera angle to switch to something else, maybe a drone, which was able to follow them down the street.

“You Don’t UNDERSTAND! I didn’t want to hurt him! I just wanted a perfect son! If he had just agreed to be my son none of this would have happened! When I knew it failed I told him to let them die!” Vlad yelled at her, though that did NOT seem to comfort Jazz at all. She had devolved into shrieking book titles like curses as she chased him with the bat and shot at him with the guns though her aim didn’t seem very good.

Well they had him admitting to it on camera now. As he watched a new actor joined the fray, a girl in a red jumpsuit holding a blaster.

“You did what to Danny!?” She demanded as she pointed the blaster at Vlad.

“Oh cheespuffs!” Vlad breathed, his eyes widening as Jazz trailed off letting who must be Red Huntress take over the chase as Vlad shouted about how he had made her! He had given her her weapons she couldn’t use them against him! Which did not seem to be stopping her.

The camera fuzzed out for just a second and then Valery was chasing a ghost with red eyes and a white outfit. Cas was laughing silently at the show and both of the Fenton parents seemed to be in shock. A few minutes later Jazz walked back in through the front door looking tired.

“Turn that off please,” she sighed as she put the bat down.

“Of course,” Cas agreed and picked up the remote again, turning off the tv. 

“Vlad didn’t actually do that, did he Jazzy?” Jack asked softly, he sounded so hurt, as if he had any fucking right!

Jazz looked at him blankly. “How many times have we tried to warn you about him? How many times has Danny told you he didn’t feel safe with Vlad? But as usual you couldn’t see past your own desires. I’m going to go see if the trenchcoat guy needs any help getting into your files,” She sighed before vanishing downstairs. 

Dick glanced at Cas, and then followed them, she would have no trouble watching the Fentons and staying quiet whereas Dick felt like he was about to explode. Batman joined them before long and between the three of them they shut the bulkheads on the portal and locked them, secured dangerous chemicals and devices, and downloaded everything they could. There were plenty of prototypes and blueprints, and stuff that could generously be called research.

It was obvious these people were geniuses but it was even more obvious that at some point they had become careless and obsessive. Half of the writing on the blueprints wasn’t legible, dangerous chemicals were not in proper containment, and the weapons were not locked up. Looking at all of this it wasn’t surprising that two of the people they had been involving in their research suffered exposure, it was a surprise more hadn’t. It was easy to tell when Bruce came down he was horrified, it was in the way he froze when he saw the lab, as if his brain was struggling to process just how irresponsible the Fenton parents had been.

“You must be Jazz, it’s nice to meet you. Danny speaks highly of you,” He finally rebooted to say when she waved at him. 

“I love my little brother, I always did the best I could to keep him safe from… all this,” Jazz said gesturing at the lab with a sigh. “I wish it had done any good.”

“You did plenty of good,” Dick put in. “Trust me, to a kid having someone care about them can make all the difference. 

“All those nights I patched him up after he came back from fighting ghosts. He healed fast but still. I can’t believe… he’s already been through so much and we knew Vlad was up to something! Ellie said she was our cousin but she looked just like him, I should have kept a closer eye on-” She cut off and shook her head. “He’s a good kid, of course if he couldn’t give the babies up, even if it would be better for them if he did. I hope he knows I’d support him either way, I hope he didn’t not tell me because he thought I’d be upset at Him.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Dick assured her gently. “Being a big sibling is hard, I know. But trust me you’re doing a great job, better than I did with my brothers,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You can ask him yourself later though. We have a lot to get done today to make sure he’s safe.”

She nodded stubbornly and doubled down on her work, directing them occasionally to where she knew they’d find more weapons or logs. She knew her way around the lab to a disturbing extent. 

Bruce and Dick both got a notification from Agent A saying that after a substantial sleep in Danny had woken up and was having breakfast. He seemed worried about the family but he was taking it alright, especially since he knew they were busy people. It did motivate Dick to clear things up as soon as they could so that they could get back to Danny though. The last thing he needed was More stress!

They had plenty of evidence of the Fenton parents breaking the law to call the police and have them taken away which gave them all the time they needed to strip the house. They got everything they could and decided to leave Constantine at the house to watch the portal until they could figure out how to shut it down completely without causing any damage. It seemed unstable so they didn’t want to risk it just now, especially without Danny’s input because according to Jazz Danny had made genuine connections in the Infinite Realms. 

They wrapped up this stage of the investigation before dinner after being up for about 36 hours. Of course they weren’t Done, there was still plenty to do investigating the government, how they’d gotten away with this and if they had any other nasty tricks up their sleeve. They’d have to manage any backlash from this unilateral move, and they’d have to figure out what to tell the public about Danny since Bruce would be fostering him. But all that could be done after having a family dinner with their new brother and a nap. 

part 5

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[thankskenpenders]

There’s been some discussions on Twitter recently about if Blaze’s dimension is worth keeping around and expanding on or if it should be ignored/merged with Sonic’s world thanks to a Bumblekast clip. What are your thoughts on Blaze’s dimension as a story-telling hurdle/ alternate setting? I personally feel like it wouldn’t make a difference if Blaze was a princess from another dimension or a princess from the other side of the world, it would just be easier for her to show up if she wasn’t from another dimension, but I also think it’s be neat to expand on Blaze’s world as a parallel to Sonic’s.

I think there's a whole cottage industry of Sonic fans who just like to take things Ian says out of context so they can rile people up on Twitter, and the fandom falls for it every time, and it's extremely tiring

But also I think Ian is right

This isn't something I've really shared, but I actually have a document where I've kept ideas for what I would do with a hypothetical modern reboot of Archie Sonic where I'm allowed to start from scratch and change anything I want. (I might share some of this someday, perhaps with some character designs, but for now it's just a thing for me. It's not like I'm gonna do a comic or anything.) For Blaze, I immediately decided that all of the elements from the Sol Dimension should be merged with the regular Mobius. I would just say that Sonic and friends have all their adventures on one hemisphere of the planet, and Blaze is from the other. I mean, the Sol Dimension already has a heavy Australia/Oceania vibe. It'd be really easy. This way, there would still be some level of separation, and Blaze would still have her own territory where she gets to be the main hero, but it'd be WAY easier to actually use those elements. Characters can just show up on whatever part of the planet they need to be on for any given story

For some reason people seem to think that Blaze being from a separate dimension isn't a storytelling hurdle at all, and I really don't know what franchise they're following, because it sure as hell isn't the version of Sonic I know. Yes, in theory it could be as simple as just using a warp ring to hop over to the Sol Dimension whenever. There are ways to write around it. I'd love to see that happen so that we could flesh out Blaze's world some more. Give Blaze some more allies and villains of her own! Give her more to do over there, and more reasons for Sonic and co. to visit! But clearly Sega isn't down with that, considering the Sol Dimension has only ever been in one game and, what, two issues of the IDW comics for maybe ten pages total? Sega's just sitting on it, and it's impossible not to see the fact that it's a whole separate dimension as the reason.

Even if we were getting more stories about traveling to and from the Sol Dimension, it'd still be a hassle. You want to use the Chaotix in a story in the Sol Dimension? Wanna use Marine or Johnny or whoever in a story set on the main world? Well, you'd better think up an airtight excuse for why those characters are traveling between the dimensions and pray that Sega approves of it. And right now that seems to be one hell of an obstacle, given how little we see of the Sol Dimension even though I know damn well Ian and Evan would love to explore it more. It's gotten to the point that Blaze is now on an endless "vacation" on Sonic's Earth so that they can actually use her in stories. People have been acting like merging the worlds would completely take away everything that makes Blaze special as a character, when it would just make all of her personal story stuff infinitely easier to work with than it is right now.

"Oh but what about the Sol Emeralds?" There's no reason the Sol Emeralds couldn't exist on the same planet as the Chaos Emeralds. We've already got other magic rocks like the Time Stones, the Phantom Ruby, and the Warp Topaz. "But what about Eggman Nega?" I could not give less of a shit about what happens to Eggman Nega and Sega doesn't even use him anymore, but also he's already supposed to be from Silver's future, not the Sol Dimension. "But what about the plot of Sonic Rush where the whole point was that they had to stop the worlds from being merged because they thought it was a bad thing?" Yes, because Sonic has always been a series that treated canon as sacred an immutable, and Sega would never do something that contradicted a game from almost 20 years ago

Anyway, all of this is a moot point. It's not like this is going to happen. Ian just brought up the possibility on the BumbleKast as an "if I could change literally anything" type deal. Sega is not going to do this. He is allowed to have his own opinions on Sonic things without fans having to take it personally and scream and cry about it. You don't have to agree with him on everything. I've certainly had points I disagree with him on! It's fine! That's normal! He's only human. Yes, Ian is on the Lore Team, but he's just one voice in the room. He's not even the boss of that team. If Ian could get whatever he wanted, we'd have seen the Freedom Fighters and Sticks by now

#nintendweeb #ask #tkp asks #this got long but i did in fact catch wind of this debacle while scrolling twitter on my phone when i woke up today and it made me mad lol

[myymi]

i want to talk about the paradox prism for a minute because it's really interesting to me

[everything below is purely speculation / headcanon - please don't mistake it for canon. beware of spoilers for sonic prime part 3]

similar to the master/chaos emeralds, the paradox prism has a level a sentience. not anywhere close to the same level as the emeralds, but there's still something there

the chaos emeralds tend to set up a line of dominos to cause a future event (ex; sonic taking tails under his wing and learning to become more responsible from it)

the paradox prism doesn't do anything close to that, but it does share something with the master emerald; it holds memories

the prism was able to create more versions of the people it saw based on the emotions it saw them project (tails, knuckles, amy, rouge, and eggman)

the different shards / shatterspaces are made up from other major events. whether from this timeline or another is different for each shatterspace

new yoke was created from the group's frustration with sonic + an ending where eggman's almost won (i believe this could be pulled from the events of forces, considering the enforcers)

i think the reason new yoke is the only shatterspace to have a version of eggman is because it's the only one that makes sense to have one

it's pretty well known by now that eggman will need a helping hand if he wants any chance at taking over the world

the only thing better than an evil genius is five evil geniuses, right?

the new yoke group are, as i said, everyone's frustration

nine is frustrated with his past. reminiscing about his tormentors brings him more anger than pain, and living in solitude definitely does not help

rebel and knux are frustrated by the loss of their home (and the egg council in general). having watched their home be destroyed was more heartbreaking than anything at first, it eventually grew to an anger that spurred them on to fix it

rusty is frustrated with those who disobey/fight against the council, but her anger eventually ends up directed towards the council for the way they used her.

i could go more in depth about the new yoke group, but this post is gonna be long enough as is wefoefwof

the shard being red could simply be because that's the color that represents anger, but i'd like to think that-going back to forces-it was a bit influenced by the phantom ruby/infinite as well

no place is formed by the underlying sadness + a devastating event that permanently changed the world (chaos' rampage)

im not connecting no place to chaos because of the fact it's flooded, im connecting it because of the way the stories parallelled

chaos' rampage begun when pachacamac attempted to steal and harness the power of the chaos emeralds for his own gain

dread seeks out the 'devil's ligthouse' solely to prove he is a legend, nearly killing his original crew trying to do so

both protagonists of these stories are selfish and caused destruction for their own gain

dread's, well, dread comes from his failure of proving himself to be the most feared pirate to ever live.

him failing to collect the shard caused him to believe that he truly wasn't a good pirate, leaving him to spiral into a life of cowardice.

the rest of the pirates' dread comes from their longing to be actual pirates.

because of his failure and cowardice, dread now leads a peaceful crew. they don't do any 'pirating', which leaves much to be desired

they enjoy the parties and all, but their true fun comes from being pirates, which dread deprives them of

boscage maze comes from the protectiveness surging between everyone + a world where harmony between enemies is possible to achieve (possibly comes from a timeline where eggman simply doesnt exist, leaving mobius to grow peacefully)

boscage is the shatterspace with the most life. it's full of all kinds of plants because nobody there is destroying it (intentionally, anyways)

thorn rose is protective over birdie and the green. she does what she can to protect both, even if it means hurting people she once called friends

keeping the jungle and birdie safe is her #1 priority, and nothing will ever change that (that's not to say something else can't join them in being her priority)

the scavengers are protective over their belongings and, no matter how strangely they show it, each other

gnarly was nervous when sonic touched his house, immediately turning aggressive to make sure he wouldn't damage it

instead of hiding the berry, prim showed it to the others for a chance they could all share it

instead of running off on his own, mangey let the scavengers follow him as he sniffed out the berry (+ him fetching the one that fell off the treetops, showing it off to the group)

hangry allows mangey to crawl around him, which we can assume means it happens a lot off screen as well

they stick together and cover each other's backs, no matter how hard the fight gets

while we don't know what this shatterspace was before it turned into the grim, it's pretty safe to assume that it was apocalyptic

who or whatever used to live here is long gone. the only thing standing are the purple crystal things.

my guess is it's a timeline where eggman won. he won, and the world died out because he ruined the ecosystem from building so many machines.

while purple is usually associated with royalty or mystery, it's also associated with power, ambition, peace, and independence

whatever happened to the world before the grim, it's very probable that it was out of high ambition with a need for more power. eventually, the world found its peace and is now independent

ghost hill is the blueprint. the time before sonic & co. make their mark on the world. a blank canvas.

maybe a timeline where they don't get a chance to make their mark on the world

yellow is a very light, energetic color. the feeling of happiness at the chance to create something new and fun.

ghost hill and the grim don't have much in terms of characters and design, but i think the colors of their respective shards give us plenty of information about them

the paradox prism is nothing like the chaos emeralds, but is also just like them at the same time. it's powered by pure chaos with no sort of indication on how it was created or why it has the powers it does

i wonder if eggman knew what the prism was exactly or if he only knew that it was powerful

did he know breaking it would cause the world to shatter? did he know how may memories it holds? how many lifetimes it's lived?

i also wonder if the prism knew sonic would shatter it, and that it was already preparing the shatterspaces; hence why it glows brighter

maybe it understood that sonic is a hands-on learner. maybe it knew he needed to experience the lessons first hand, needed them to-quite literally-slap him in the face

maybe it knew they all had their own flaws that they needed to be aware of. maybe it lived through the timeline where sonic never shattered the prism.

maybe the prism planned to be shattered by someone so it could share its memories. maybe there was some sort of pull that told sonic it needed to be shattered.

#long post #this might actually be a mix of me analyzing the prism and the shatterspaces #but thats fine #this world is very interesting to me #sonic the hedgehog #sth #miles tails prower #sonic #knuckles the echidna #amy rose #rouge the bat #dr eggman #sonic prime spoilers #sonic prime #paradox prism #myyhcs #world building my beloved #miles nine prower #rusty rose #renegade knucks #rebel rouge #knuckles the dread #batton rouge #sails the fox #black rose #thorn rose #prim rouge #mangey tails #gnarly knuckles #hangry the cat

[effortandmore]

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you. 

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep. 

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too. 

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you. 

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this: 

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him. 

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here. 

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day. 

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it. 

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you. 

Except the one thing you ask him to. 

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit. 

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him. 

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one. 

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness. 

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.” 

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?” 

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to. 

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.” 

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.” 

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people. 

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.” 

“I know.” 

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.” 

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take. 

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself. 

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again. 

“Whatever you want, jagiya.” 

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want. 

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.” 

He does. 

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can. 

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand. 

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you. 

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace. 

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice. 

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory. 

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are. 

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves. 

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it. 

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet. 

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm. 

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t. 

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart. 

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another. 

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body. 

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.” 

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his. 

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his. 

He thinks they’re love songs. 

He hopes you know. 

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you. 

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says. 

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late. 

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him. 

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks. 

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to. 

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness. 

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum. 

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you. 

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to. 

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.” 

“Are you the peacock or am I?” 

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours. 

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind. 

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream. 

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh. 

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.” 

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting. 

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning. 

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep. 

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.” 

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says. 

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.” 

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin. 

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was. 

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious. 

“Spain.” 

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.” 

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are. 

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says. 

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too. 

“About a girl, mostly.” 

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.” 

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?” 

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks. 

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin. 

“But you have these dreams often?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think. 

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.” 

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now. 

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…” 

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless. 

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours. 

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you. 

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better. 

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first. 

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador. 

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color. 

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most. 

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what. 

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him. 

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him. 

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas. 

She does. A lot of them. 

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you. 

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple. 

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition. 

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay. 

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you. 

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going. 

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else. 

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you? 

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar. 

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you. 

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds. 

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life. 

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought… 

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again. 

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for. 

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night. 

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him. 

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight. 

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road. 

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling. 

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever. 

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he? 

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.” 

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you. 

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day. 

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.” 

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers. 

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive. 

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker. 

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.” 

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings. 

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades. 

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly. 

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.” 

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist. 

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again. 

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it. 

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here. 

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world. 

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine. 

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you. 

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it. 

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing. 

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you. 

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see. 

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment. 

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time. 

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon. 

Like father, like son, as they say. 

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong. 

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you. 

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around. 

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart? 

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate. 

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave. 

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you. 

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright. 

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life. 

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe. 

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you. 

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you. 

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head. 

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye. 

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace. 

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him. 

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person. 

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone. 

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear. 

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions. 

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“Hi.” 

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying. 

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.” 

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter. 

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.” 

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.” 

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks. 

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.” 

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?” 

To his relief, you do. 

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there. 

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you. 

“So… why the Met?” 

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.” 

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation. 

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers. 

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?” 

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too. 

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking. 

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise. 

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him. 

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan. 

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better. 

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination. 

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually. 

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms. 

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says. 

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest. 

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now. 

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.” 

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.” 

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks. 

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine. 

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had. 

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been. 

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him. 

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected. 

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now. 

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything. 

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt. 

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too. 

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.  

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family… 

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

[ind1c0lite]

(Basic context is that AU of Duel Desinties where the phantom impersonates Phoenix to get him found guilty of Clay's murder, I talk more under the cut abt it jkhlj)

-Basically meant to be a parallel to turnabout trump, cause if you can have ONE boss get found guilty of murder, why not a second one?

-OK basically: everything in DD happens normally until like- a day before clays murder, Phoenix gets yoinked by the phantom somehow (he is still alive, just being held captive), Phantom is still Fulbright, but they've decided to be silly goofy (target Phoenix and get him found guilty of murder, escape police custody and then murder phoenix and make it seem like Phoenix accidentally died while on the run, thats why they didn't kill phoenix right away unlike the real Fulbright) there is an imposter amo-

-I dont have the logistics as to how this affects solving Metis's murder, and how it effects what evidence is used n whatnot and turnabout for tomorrow as a whole, so im just going nuts HGJKHLJ

-Originally I was actually imagining this taking place during turnabout for tomorrow and I wanted that case to be apollo v klavier instead of phoenix and edgeworth and thats why klav is in here instead of Simon (I decided that Simon got badly injured and couldn't stand in court for the retrial, so klavier was asked to step in)

-The courtroom bombing still happens the same way it does normally, but Apollo decides to take up the case again instead of taking a leave, instead of like, you know, healing from the traumatic event that just happened, turnabout countdown still happens as well

-Apollo and Athena do not find out about the phantom's existence until well after this trial, so they have no idea that Phoenix could've possibly been replaced, though simon, after hearing about the trial, might be suspicious about whether or not that was the real Phoenix

-The Phantom had been not only keeping an eye on Simon for a while, but was also stalking Phoenix and Edgeworth after they both started looking into UR-1, so they were able to impersonate phoenix so well that not even his own daughter thought that anything was up (though while Trucy did find him a *little* bit off, but she figured that it might've been the bombing that caused him to act ever so slightly weird, so she didn't pay much mind to it until she heard about his confession in court and realized it might've been because he possibly, ya know, killed someone)

-it's pretty much just switching Athena being framed for murder with Phoenix, and instead of the trial ending on a cliffhanger, it continues on (probably with Klavier insisting on it) ending with soloman being found innocent and Phoenix being declared guilty

-There's a couple days inbetween the end of the cosmic turnabout and the start of turnabout for tomorrow, so Athena, Apollo and Trucy all get a little bit to process the fact that "oh god my boss/my dad killed someone" (simons execution date is pushed back a bit in this au) and they probably get to talk with Klavier and eventually a lil bit with Simon after he gets out

-Im not sure how it all winds down in turnabout for tomorrow (Phoenix escaping and being at large is basically the perfect cover for the phantom to resume being fulbright for that trial) but they do eventually realize that the phoenix who confessed wasn't the real one and now there's a search on going to find out where the real one is being held captive, hes fineeee just ready to take a week long nap and a good vacation (along with every other waa member)

-I dont have anything else to add on rn but if you want to add something or just throw in a scenario feel free to!! this idea has been bouncing around my head for like a month now and Im very happy to finally show yall it

#ace attorney #ace attorney dual destinies #apollo justice #athena cykes #klavier gavin #phoenix wright #copycat au #indys art #apollo faints like- 0.5 seconds after the verdict is called which is very understandable #Apollo and Athenas horrible no good very bad court trial #and klavier isn't fairing any better tbh HJGKHL #no one is doing well at all and it gets worse before it gets better hjgkhl #Im both very excited but also TERRIFED posting this #I rarely try to actually write actual serious dialogue for characters cause im not a writer-so im hoping it's like- halfway decent HGJKH #I may be anxious as hell but Im going to be very brave and post this instead of- not doing that HJGKHL #I also tried to push myself a bit with this one so I included more panels to work on and coloured it #I like how it came out though!! #I hope u enjoy <3 #also if something doesn't make sense blame it on the fact that I wrote the caption and these tags at like 2:30 am

[captainofthetidesbreath]

Karna and Colin are fascinating mirrors of one another, just complete reversals and inverses.

They are people of no national allegiances in the end, and they play to whoever side has an open seat that serves their goals and needs. Karna from Fructera to Vegetania to Ceresia to the Meat Lands. Colin from the Dairy Islands to Vegetania (which recognizes his knighthood) to Fructera (where Raphaniel was sent).

Both grew up with nothing as impoverished on the streets, are of the commonfolk. Karna considers herself fully an orphan of Fructera, and she rejects Amangeaux trying to position Karna as a daughter. She is the daughter of no one but the streets of Comida. Colin has struggled under the weight of his ancestry because the powers that be value lineage so deeply and will see him as a threat merely for his grandfather's identity—even as this lineage is nothing to him. He was orphaned by those powers that be for simple fact of birth; he is trying to orphan himself and make himself a descendant of no one of consequence.

They both have great disdain for those who as dismissive of shedding the blood of the commonfolk as a price for their games, disdainful of the exceptionalism of the powerful. But where Karna leans into ensuring an equality of bloodshed, the nobles will bleed as much as the commonfolk, Colin leans into his solidifying morals and is compelled toward a more traditional defense of the common people.

They both avoid the spotlight and direct attention, but they run in opposite directions with power. Karna works toward it, eager to play the game and hungry in her ambitions. Colin runs from it, anxious of its pull and fearful of what it asks people to do. They've both held the position of Deli's skáld, and their (for lack of a better term) preferred playstyle in this game takes the form of advisement.

The men they succeed are ghosts, dead but not gone. Karna kept a specter of Ja'Cru Dite, puppeteering his face and voice for her own ends. (Interesting that she is, now, a Phantom rogue.) Lucas Fontina, Colin's grandfather, haunts Lacramor with such presence that his apparently illegitimate son was tortuously murdered in response, and their deaths haunt Colin.

Death, an early one, hangs over them both. Wasting away in the service of the Hungry One, now believing it can be kept at bay and finding hope in that. Fearing of suffering the tortuous death of his grandfather and father, now no longer caring about this consequence and clearly finding a freedom in it.

Both have spent so much of their lives motivated by survival and made so many choices for their own self-preservation. Karna now finds that Deli is the first thing she has desired beyond that. Colin is focused beyond that on "[making] a difference with the people who did this to him" and working against the Sanctus Putris, now that he no longer cares about his secret being discovered.

They've even swapped partners in this grand game—Karna from Raphaniel to Deli and Colin from Deli to Raphaniel.

Karna has become a believer in some of the ideas of the Sanctus Putris. Colin remains a nonbeliever even as he is consecrated a holy knight of the Bulbian Church in his search to work against the Sanctus Putris and support Raphaniel, who advocates for this smoothie oblivion. The two of them work in tandem with opposing sects, each who preach conflicting eschatologies and apocalypses.

I feel like I'm missing so many other parallels and reverses between them, but this is already is such a strong basis of the inverse between them.

#Colin Provolone #Karna Solara #The Ravening War #TRW spoilers #Dimension 20 #d20 things #trw meta #long post for ts #trw things

[starry-bi-sky]

I am procrastinating homework and finals studying so I'm making another DPxDC au -- or more accurately, I am making an au of an au. or combining two aus to make a third one, because I am Procastinating And thinking about it.

(the part two for my Danny is Jason Todd au is like,,, half-made and I will get around to finishing it, promiiissse)

So the two aus I had in mind were combining, of course, the two clone aus - the Danny Clone and the Damian Clone au. For folks who haven't seen either posts (or saw one but not the other) here are summaries of both:

Damian Clone Au: The LoA make a clone of Damian Wayne specifically to either kill Damian Wayne and have the clone take his place as the heir to the LoA, or to bring him back. At 6 years old though and through magical teleportation mishaps, Baby Damian ends up in the warehouse district of Amity Park and picked up (and later adopted) by Danny Fenton. They develop a brotherly dynamic with one another.

Danny Clone Au: Danny is straight up a clone of Bruce Wayne, doesn't find out until a year after he has his accident. And, for the fun of it, is also mostly-powerless (he retains his ghost sense and a semblance of a ghost core and signature, but no ghost form). His reasoning for becoming Phantom is because he has walked into the lab watching his parents dissecting ghosts post-portal working more times than he can count. And due to this, changes his beliefs from "ghosts are evil" to "ghosts are sentient and sapient beings who don't deserve this treatment". (masterpost pinned on my blog, its currently incomplete) He is also a little GNC, as a treat. Long-haired Danny ftw. Ellie is a halfa because of the ectoplasm that Vlad used, and also the same age as Danny. They call each other twins and she is viciously protective of him. He uses a baseball bat and brass knuckles that I call 'jawbreakers' to fight ghosts.

Now admittedly, not much probably changes with the combination of these aus other than the potential parallels between Damian and Danny, and Bruce and Damian - and of course, I am always a sucker for parallels. Plus Damian's running off would take Danny finding him much longer, since he can no longer fly, but all the more meaningful because he still took so much time to find him.

(It probably also makes their first meeting different as well - Danny wears a ROTTMNT Casey Jones Jr. esq. mask when he goes out, but Damian would recognize lazarus green anywhere. He'd probably try harder to kill him though once he sees his face, since he knows that its not his father but an imposter.)

It also includes what I consider a hilarious conversation: "Since I'm a clone of Bruce Wayne, does this make me your dad or your brother?" "Don't be an idiot, laeazir." "You didn't answer my question."

The biggest change that comes from this is, of course, the fact that Danny now no longer has a leg to stand on with the "you're a human, I am a ghost" excuse in order to prevent Damian to help him with ghost-fighting, because now Danny is also a squishy, fleshy and fragile human just like Damian. And a human who, arguably, has less combat training than Damian and no powers to make up for it.

Now, Danny in both aus are about 16-17-ish in age, so they've had time to adapt to their new vigilante-hero lifestyle, but its still not the same as Damian's training as an assassin. Damian, unlike in the original clone au, remains insistent on his want to help Danny.

And,,, eventually wears him down after weeks or months of sneaking out after him, helping in fights, interfering, arguing, etc. Danny eventually agrees, exhausted, but he makes Damian promise, promise, that he will be careful and to focus on dodging and distraction. At least until Danny can figure out a safer alternative. He wants him as far removed from the fight as he can, he's a child for ancient's sake, after all.

Which is another issue too - if we follow Damian Clone timeline, then Damian is six years old when this happens. I'll be point blank, I do not see Danny ever actually agreeing to let a literal 6 year old go with him. SO, solution, I bump Damian's age to 7 when he arrives in the Fenton Family, and make him freshly eight years old when he finally gets Danny to agree.

It still SUCKS. He is still very much an itty bitty child, but as someone who has seen the difference between a six year old and an eight year old due to working at a daycare, an eight year old is still... slightly feasible. And an 8 year old assassin even more so (even if he hasn't trained properly in nearly a year or so)

So Danny, reluctantly, agrees to let Damian come with him on patrols.

He ghost-proofs Damian's sword (as he has since learned to do with his bat and jawbreakers), makes him a grappling hook and a Fenton thermos, and reluctantly lets Damian come with in his old LoA uniform that he appeared in (with some tailoring and ghost-proofing, because he has since begun to grow out of the uniform).

(and Danny himself also finally starts looking into alternatives to improve his own "suit" - which is all but a hoodie and reinforced jeans and a hockey mask. He needs to set an example to his little brother, goddammit.)

Then, as they're planning for Damian's eventual (dreaded on Danny's part) debut, they sit in their shared room and brainstorm for what to call Damian. "Ellie already uses the name Spirit." Danny says, sitting criss-cross at his desk with the eraser nub of a pencil chewed between his teeth.

(Behind him he has an investigative corkboard set up -- his accident left him with the ability to see ghosts not capable of being seen on the visible plane. 'Stereotypical' ghosts. Between school work, his social life, and ghost fighting, some of his downtime is spent figuring out ways to help them move on. His most recent is a cold case.)

(Bc with Danny, I loove to have him have some sort of trait that ties him in with his original counterpart. Nature vs Nurture and all that. Investigative work can be part of that.)

"What about Wraith?" Damian suggests from the floor, leaning against the bed frame while he goes over one of his english books. They've been practicing his reading and writing.

Danny furrows his brows. "A ghost seen typically shortly after or before someone's death?"

Damian nods. "Yes, it's of a similar cadence to 'Batman and Robin'."

"What's with you and your thing with Batman and Robin?" Danny asks with a playful half-smile, Damian shrugs and looks at his books. Danny sticks the eraser back between his incisors. "Phantom and Wraith... that works, though."

The first night out together, Danny fusses over Damian, making sure every bit of uniform was secured and in place -- something Damian took mild offense over. His outfit was far more reinforced than the juvenile get-up that his older brother wore.

But he let him fuss anyways. It made him loved.

"Now remember, Wraith--"

Damian interrupts him: "Yes, I know, Dany. Avoid and distract. Stay situationally aware. I fear that is something I should be telling you, however. Mother would have your head if she ever saw what your training was like."

(It was, not for the first time, that Damian wondered how his,,, "mother",,, would react if she ever met Danyal. Not good, he knows.)

Danny's shoulders sag, and he sighs. "I believe that, what with that super-secret spy--"

"Assassin."

Danny sends him a half-hearted chagrined look, "Assassin," he corrects, "organization that made you. I'm sure I'd give your mother an aneurysm." When he's finally okay with whatever make-believe issues he found with his suit, Danny reaches for the nearby side table and carefully slips on a black domino mask over Damian's eyes. It was thin, flexible, and made with some kind of material that Danny reassured was environmentally safe.

("Some kind of matieral that Wayne Industries invented awhile ago, Sam bought it for me." Danny told him when he first showed it to him.)

It was also cold. But the chill was made up for, slightly, with Danny's warmer hands smoothing it out over his skin, and ridding of any ridges that could form. Damian isn't sure entirely what Danyal did to keep it stuck onto his face, but when he touches it with his fingers he feels a very faint seam at the edge, and it doesn't budge against his hands. It felt like a second skin.

"There we go." Danny smiles, pulling his hands back. He still looks nervous. "It's not the same as my hockey mask," which sat atop his head, ready to be pulled down, "but I think a domino mask will work better for you considering your background."

He was right, a hockey mask would only hurt Damian's peripheral vision. This mask was thin enough that it didn't.

"Ready to go, Wraith?"

"After you, Phantom."

+++

Damian has much issue with Danny's suit. He can think of a million ways to make it better. It is one of the things he and Samantha Manson can get along with, and the few times they have spent time together they have brainstormed suit ideas. He knows that since Danny took him on as Wraith, he has started to look into better suit alternatives.

However. They are both aware of the same thing:

Danny is not Batman, nor Superman, nor Wonder Woman, nor Aquaman, or the Flash, or Green Arrow, or Nightwing, or any single hero on the public roster. He is also not rich like Lex Luthor or Vlad Masters or Bruce Wayne himself.

He has no money and no contacts, and thus, no way of properly improving his suit to be something even half as safe as the other supers.

And he refuses to let Samantha Manson help him find a way to fix that - even with all that money, Samantha Manson is on an allowance from her parents, and also, despite her other range of abilities, not capable of getting those materials without putting herself on a list of some sort. They are at a standstill.

Damian knows this, because he has asked.

Until one day when Danny is talking about a case he is working on and telling Damian about old adventures he had in the Ghost Zone, does he see his brother get hit with a lightbulb.

He slaps a hand against his forehead and straightens up from his swivel seat. He huffs a laugh, "Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" And he turns on his heel and hurries to his bookshelf, pulling down a notebook and flipping open to an empty page.

Damian frowns, "Laeazir?"

"I know you don't like my suit, Damian," Danny says, striding over to his desk and snatching a pencil out of a cup. He begins jotting something down on the notebook. "And there's nothing I can really do about it because, well, I'm poor in comparison to my facesake, and I don't have the resources to get my hands on someone who would make me a new suit."

"Yes, we have talked about this..." Damian nods slowly, still frowning, and trying to follow his brother's line of reasoning.

Danny shoots him a megawatt, half-tilt smile, his hair tied up into a half-bun. "But! I was thinking about it from the wrong angle. I don't have the living resources to help me get a suit, but..." he trails off, staring at Damian intently.

It dinged in Damian's brain to where he was going, "But you have the undead resources instead." He says, his eyes widening slowly. Of course, of course! Danyal was ridiculously charismatic by accident, and Damian has seen plenty of times where his heart-of-gold had one or two non-hostile ghosts be incredibly grateful to him.

His brother makes a loud, 'ding-ding-ding!' sound, pointing his pencil at Damian as his smile stretches further across his face. In a few quick strides, he was sat down next to Damian and showing him his notebook. "Correct! When I first started out as Phantom a few years ago, I managed to help a ghost who called herself Taylor, and apparently she was a seamstress both in and out of life."

Damian watches as Danny writes the name at the top of the paper, and creates bullet-points down the page. "She said that in return for saving her, I should come find her in the Ghost Zone if I ever need clothes made for me. It's a one-time thing, but I was thinking that she could perhaps help make me a new suit."

Danny turns a bit pink at the ears, and rubs his neck, "I never thought much of it because I didn't think I'd ever go into the Ghost Zone, or ever need ghost clothes, so I forgot about it up until now."

A scoff forces itself out of Damian's mouth, but he is smiling. "Danyal, you are the smartest idiot I have ever met."

For the next hour, both he and Danny make a bullet point list of what both of their suits would need. Reinforcement in certain areas, gauntlets with reinforced knuckles to replace Danyal's jawbreakers. A different weapon than a bat.... a utility belt, reinforced boots. Anything they could think of.

It was Damian's idea to add a cloak to both of their suits, asymmetrical and torn at the edges for a more 'ghostly' look. They have a theme, after all. It's quite fun.

Then Danyal calls up Sam for help in drafting up design ideas. And while Danyal steps mostly to the side when it comes to the design itself, Damian and Sam fill pages with designs until coming up with one they both agreed on and like.

"What about a lightning bolt on the chest?" "Why are we using my traumatic accident as a symbol of my identity?" "Ghosts do it all the time, Danny. Ember sings about her death." "I'm not dead?" "No that won't work, Manson. Shazam already has a giant lighting bolt emblem." "Okay, but I still want to use it somewhere." "How about this?" "...That could work. Okay, now onto your emblem--"

Last was the hard part: getting into the Ghost Zone without the Fenton parents noticing the disappearance of their precious Fenton Specter Speeder. They employed Jazz's help with that. She would get the Fentons out of the house long enough for him and Danny to get into the ghost zone, hopefully find the seamstress, and cash in that favor.

They went through with their plan that following weekend. Danny tossed Damian a small jumpsuit as they both climbed into the specter speeder, but did not grab his own. He had a small duffle bag on him that he threw under the seat.

"What is this?" Damian asks, nose scrunching up at the gaudy picture of Jack Fenton's face square at the center of the chest. He held it far away from it, as if it had a disease.

"Your hazmat suit." Danny replies, settling himself into the driver's seat as the door hissed shut and he began turning it on. He had some sort of gas mask on in his lap, too small to fit Danny's head, but certainly the right size to fit Damian's. "Normally you wouldn't need it since you'd stay in the speeder, but we're both getting out once we find Taylor. It's to protect you from the ectoplasm."

A scowl forces itself across Damian's face, "You don't have one." He points out, finding seat in the passenger chair next to Danny. His arms cross over his chest, and he was not pouting.

Danny looks at him amusedly, "I have enough ectoplasm in my body that I don't need one, you however, do not." He retorts, poking a finger into Damian's ribcage pointedly. "If you don't put it on now, you'll put it on when we find Taylor."

Damian's scowl deepens, feeling petulant as he sunk into his chair. Danny turns back to the console and flips a few more switches. "I will not, it looks ridiculous." He turns it around to show Danny the Jack Fenton Face.

The Specter Speeder hums to life, and there's a moment of turbulence as it lifts off the ground. While it does, Danny turns back to him blankly, stares at the emblem, and then reaches forward and yanks it off with a scriiiiich of the emblem. He crumples it up with one hand, and throws it into a small bin at his feet.

"There, fixed." He smiles. Then turns back to the controls, taking the yoke with both hands. "And I'm calling Dad Rights; you will put it on when we find Taylor or you'll stay in the speeder."

Damian sputters, sitting up incredulously. "You are not my father." He argues.

"Teeechnically, I am." Danny says, "I'm a clone of your father, and since I am fully his clone, that makes you my son by a technicality." He says cheerfully, pushing the specter speeder forward and into the swirling green portal.

Before Damian can retort, they're passing through the portal. This was his first time going into the Ghost Zone, and for a few seconds there was nothing but bright, swirling green filling his vision. His body felt like it was being twisted and pulled, his up and down reversing and returning. It was painless, but dizzying.

It only lasts for a few seconds, but it feels like a minute, and when they exit out the other side, Damian is holding his head while his vision spots and swims. Internally, he felt like those cartoon characters when their eyeballs rolled around in their head.

The dizziness fades away slowly, and as Damian regains his sight, he notices Danny's hand splayed over his sternum, gently keeping him pressed against his seat. It fell away when Danny saw that he was alright.

"Put your seatbelt on," Danny orders, nodding to his chair. Damian listens absently, before remembering their conversation before they went through the portal.

"That is not how it works." He scowls, and, annoyingly, only gets a challenged eyebrow raise from Danny. He could see the words written on his face without Danyal ever having to say it.

Because, dangit, he was technically right. Damian refuses to say this aloud. He screws his jaw shut, and crosses his arms back across his chest.

Danny chuckles under his breath, and turns his eyes back to the ghost zone. "My point still stands, either you wear the suit, or you don't leave the speeder."

"Fine."

+++

They eventually find where the seamstress is. Through quite a lot of Danny stopping to ask questions with any friendly ghost he came across, they eventually locate an island with a strange, urban city bustling with life on it. Massive, rocky stalagmites grew from the ground, and buildings were built on top of it or around it, with strange, warping architecture.

It was oddly beautiful.

Danny parked the speeder on the side of the street with a two hour parking sign on a nearby post. As he turned off the engine, he flipped a switch on the console that darkened the windows. He unbuckles his seat, and stood up, stretching out his back with a deep groan.

"Alright, put your suit on. The windows are tinted, so nobody should be able to see into the speeder." He orders, pulling out the duffle he brought in earlier and unzipping it. He pulls out his hockey mask and the hoodie he wore out for patrol, and the notebook they'd been using to jot down ideas for their suit.

Danny even had the hindsight to write in their respective heights, and with Tucker's help, some of their measurements. While he did that, Damian sourly pulled on his hazmat suit, irritated by the need to wear it.

Unfortunately, he also had to wear the boots and gloves for 'extra precaution'. Damian nearly bites out a grumpy 'you're as paranoid as father', but holds his tongue. He wasn't going to tell Danyal that secret.

Once he was done and Danny has his hockey mask and hoodie on, Danny grabs the gas mask and helps fit it over Damian's face. It was a sleek, simple design, shaped similarly to a regular face mask, with little filters on both sides of the mouth and a clear, protective covering around the eyes and forehead. Danyal improved it from the original his parents made.

He was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Danny checks, then double checks that it the mask is tight, then smiles. Patting Damian's shoulders before standing up fully. "Taylor's shop should be somewhere nearby." He says, grabbing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.

Damian nods, and follows him out the door and onto the busy streets.

Finding Taylor becomes remarkably quick now that they were inside her city - something that Damian silently wondered was based loosely off NYC. Danny kept a firm arm around Damian's shoulders the entire time they walked down the street, keeping the both of them on the inside sidewalk.

Barely anyone passed them a second glance, spare the few odd looks shot at Damian. Danny whispers to him the first time it happens that it's because he has no ghost core, those more attune to their signatures might've been picking up on it.

They didn't notice Danny, because he had one, albeit a weak one.

Taylor's shop has a big sign on it in logographic writing that Damian has no idea how to read. The text shifts slowly, a jambled squiggle of lines, dots, and connected curves that look like a mix of messy cursive, gibberish, and logographic alphabets. He only knows its Taylor's shop because Danny pulls them towards it, stating that it was the place.

"You can read that?" He asks, incredulous as they draw closer to the door. Danny moves his arm off his shoulder, and wraps his fingers around Damian's instead.

"Yep," He replies, then scrunches his nose up, "sort of. It's - uh--" he stumbles over a word that Damian's ears cannot comprehend, but fills his head with slight static regardless. Danny winces. "It's the written form of ghostspeak, but since I'm not a ghost, I can only read some of it. Like uh, dyslexia."

"...I see." Damian says after a moment of silence, trying to replay the word in his head. His mind can't grasp the sound.

When they enter, the door doesn't ding with the sound of a bell, but rather it makes a low scream. Nobody bats an eye to the sound, keeping to their slow search through the racks of clothes.

At the counter was a woman talking quietly to another woman, one of whom Danny recognizes, as he walks over to her.

He doesn't need to say anything, because the woman behind the counter sees him coming, and her face positively lights up with delight. "Phantom!" She cries, and gestures to come over. "I was wondering when in the high ancients you were going to come see me!"

Danny's face is obscured by his mask, but Damian knows he's smiling sheepishly with the way he tilts his head and the way he tenses his shoulders. "My bad, Miss Taylor," he says, reaching the counter and standing beside the woman she was talking to, "It kinda... slipped my mind."

Taylor waves her hand dismissively, "Well you are here now!" She replies, grinning wide. Then her eyes pop open - literally - and she puts a hand over her chest. "Oh, how rude of me!" She turns and gestures between Phantom and the lady next to him, "Miss Mabam, this is Phantom. I told you about him a couple of years ago. He saved me from humans. Phantom, this is Gigi Mabam, she funds my shop. In return I make clothes for her and her staff."

The 'Gigi' woman turns just as Danny does, and smiles wide at him. Damian narrows his eyes at her, shuffling behind Danny legs as he looked her up and down. She had silvery-white hair and purple skin, and wore a darker purple business suit, a red gem cravat at her collar, and teal cat-eye glasses.

There was a lot of purple.

"So this is the ghost-touched you were telling me about, dear!" The woman, Mabam, said. Her voice was rich and low but she spoke in a whimsical cadence. It made Damian's skin crawl, and his narrowed eyes turned into a glare. "I must thank you for saving my seamstress, it would've been quite a fizzy-wink if she had been lost to those ghosty hunters."

What were those nonsense words? Damian hated it.

"Miss Mabam here runs a five-star hotel nearby," Taylor explains, her body turned to Danny, "she also is in charge of the city's Battle Nexus."

Danny is silent for a moment, and his free hand lifts and places itself on the back of Damian's head, keeping him close. "Battle Nexus...?"

Mabam claps cheerfully, laughing low, "Oh yes! Ghosts from all around the zone come to attend and watch as their fellow haunties are ripped from limbity-limb in a blood-curdling battle!"

Danny is still as stone. "I see." He says, careful. Damian wraps his fingers around his pant leg. "Well, I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I was hoping to cash in that favor, Miss Taylor?"

"Of course! What do you need?"

Danny looks down at Damian, and he looks up at him, locking eyes with the ominous green glowing from the eyeslits of his mask. He nods, and Danny looks back up. "Do you know how to make suits? Of the protective kind?"

+++

The seamstress it turns out, is capable of such a thing. And she ushers the both of them into one of the backrooms, sending off Mabam with a farewell and a promise to continue their conversation soon.

She flips through their design book, and immediately gets to work making their suits. In the end, with the help of her powers, she gets both done over the span of four hours. It's longer than both Danny and Damian want, but neither rush her.

Damian just hopes that Jasmine can keep the Fenton parents distracted for that long. She will have to.

The suits are better in real life than on paper, and Damian preens from the side in his own custom suit as Danny examines his own in front of the three mirrors. They were both dressed in all black, but whatever fabric Taylor used was of a blackest-black, turning Danyal - and Damian's - bodies into a black hole to look at. Both of them were fitted for agility, with reinforced padding around their shoulders and chests, as well as around the joints of their legs. Their boots were reinforced as well.

("It was hard to make your boots shock absorbent," Taylor explains, "since we all fly, but I applied similar stuff to what I did with your shoulders and chestplate.")

On the side of Danyal's legs were raised, black, lichtenberg-like figures that were contained to the seams and disappeared under his boots. There were similar designs going up his sleeves, with spiked gauntlets wrapped around his lower arm and hands. The knuckles were reinforced, just like he wanted.

Damian's favorite parts were their capes, however. Black like the rest of the outfit, but "wrapped" around their shoulders like an apocalyptic shawl with a back that went down to their knees, and at the hems the capes were torn and ripped like a wraith. Danyal's mask had gone through very little change. It was made of a stronger material, and Taylor had gone and made it more skull-like in its shape, with three large grills at the front, and the sides curving inward below the 'cheekbones' of the skull to better fit his face. It was still shock white, the only white part of Danyal's entire costume.

Damian's suit was almost identical. However, rather than having the seams of his suit resemble lichtenberg figures, the seams of his sleeves and upper torso were that of a black skeleton, with bone-y designs over his gauntlets and the fingers an ombre of dark red-to-black. And around his torso were raised lines that looked similar to a ribcage. The edge of his cloak was splatter a dark red as well. And he had a new domino mask that looked similar to the upper half of Danyal's mask, with the outer edges curved downward over his cheekbones. He was briefly allowed to take off the upper part of his gas mask to try on the mask.

The best part however, was that since the suits were made of material native to the ghost zone, they could also be taken off quickly and hidden in a small artifact. It was magic, is what it was. Danyal chose earrings, and Damian chose a ring.

When they got back to the Fenton house, Jazz demands a box of chocolate for her hard work. Damian thinks that's only fair as Danny takes them both out to get candy for Jazz.

+++

But other than vigilante stuff, not else much changes. Danny gets to pull a "Dad By Technicality Rule" card over Damian when he's being a brat. Danny doesn't have his run in with Rift (a ghost who portals him into Gotham) until after he meets Damian/lets Damian join him on patrol and when they get new suits.

My reason? Because I want it to happen after that point in time lol. It also makes the eventual "heyyyyy you have a clone" @ bruce much funnier to me because not only does he have a clone of HIMSELF but also THAT clone has a clone of Damian living with him.

Also when Danny destabilizes for the first time Damian is terrified for his safety. The fentons are surprisingly good at cloning, Danny hasn't had any issues up until this point in time, and that's only because he got hit with a new gun from Skulker that messed up the ectoplasm he had in his dna, which in term fucked with his own DNA.

Danny's destabilization, imo, is not "I cast you with Melt" he's not Ellie, he's not made of 50% ectoplasm. His parents surprisingly knew what they were doing, and he was human. So his destabilization should be unique to himself and different. Thus his destabilization is "I cast you with Compromised Immune System" his body slowly weakens over time as his cells destabilize. He becomes unnaturally frail and sick. Damian calls Ellie for help when Danny doesn't get up after being hit in a fight that he normally, and Ellie helps figure out that he's destabilizing. This is whats gonna happen in OG clone au too, but Ellie is going to be there rather than Damian.

It makes going to Wayne Manor after that slightly more interesting,,,

#dpxdc crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #damian clone au #i couldnt NOT describe their new suits. i just couldn't. they're leaning into the ghost culture of being scary as fuck looking #i feel a little cheesy for giving them magic jewelry that lets them hide their suits instantly #but i have to make up for danny's lack of ghost form SOMEHOW #damian just gets it too by association #if anyone is curious #Ellie's ghost form is identical to Danny's suit just the colors are inverted. so her suit is all white and her mask is all black #its not a starry au unless its got a read more #did anyone notice the Big Mama cameo from ROTTMNT #its because Danny's mask looks like Casey Jones Jr's mask from ROTTMNT without the red marks on the eyes #Danny and Damian's dynamic itches my brain #Danny: im calling Dad Rights - youre grounded #Damian: nnOOOO #also also. danny uses sign language if he's in view of the living since they could recognize his voice. damian does not yet know ASL #so thats on his 'languages to learn' list #although he is not seen by the public since he has school and ghost attacks happen around danny and not him #Red Huntress gives the Phantom so much shit when she sees his sidekick. Phantom tiredly explains that he had no choice - Wraith would have #come with anyways. truly a robin at heart. #“idc if you say no imma do vigilantism ANYWAY. i dont NEED ur permission” is robincore and bruce/danny going #“fine but i'm gonna make sure you dont DIE then” #clone^2

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

could I ask for hcs for how day to day life would change for erwin, hange, and levi's s/o after dealing with their notable injuries they get during the story? IE erwin's arm, hanji's eye, levi's scars, eye, and fingers ect? I hope this was clear enough I hope you have a nice day/night!

Sure thing and don't worry I understood you're request just fine, thank you. I hope you're having a nice current timezone anon :)

(Gender neutral reader)

Erwin Smith

Things are... mostly the same as the were before for the most part. Not right away though because of course all the stuff with Rod Reiss, Historia, the man hunt for Survey Corps heads, and the fact Erwin was quite literally sentenced to death not that long after losing it so things were of course very hectic to where there wasn't really a good adjustment period until the two month preparation period to reclaim Shingashima.

It's a shame really, it was his dominant hand too, now all his paperwork is signed with a slight messiness to it he isn't exactly a fan of. But he makes do, relearning and rewiring how his brain works to make up for the lost limb. But even if he doesn't say it out loud, you know more than anyone exactly how hard it is for him - even if to so many people he has so many different airs and appearances to keep.

"Oh it's just an arm, a small sacrifice for the greater good of Humanity. Many good, amazing, talented people have lost more. This is a minor scratch compared to that."

That's what he told Nile that night over dinner together with you and Marie too after Erwin's charges had been offically cleared off the records. Truth be told, none of you at that table bought it, even if he really did intentionally mean it - you three knew him, and it was subtle but with how he struggled to pick up and properly use the fork in his sole surviving hand spoke all it need to. It was a very human struggle - one he did everything to hide.

He can't shave his face by himself anymore, he has trouble putting his uniform on every morning, he needs to relearn how to use ODM gear in a modified way, he has to do an awkward version of the salute now, he struggles with how to maneuver and get himself clean in the shower for the longest until he comes up with a routine on how to do it one handed, he still has enemies so he has to rewire how he thinks of defending himself, he has to learn how to deal with this odd... phantom feeling of his missing arm still being there like in the stories he'd hear from injured soldiers. It's all hard, but he manages, braves through but he's very thankful to have you and so many close others at his side that are willing to help him through it.

Also misses holding your hand. During a meeting with Queen Historia, her Majesty speaking excitedly about her plans to help out orphans - specifically those from Underground, as Levi had made sure to suggest - that as the core members of the Survey Corps stood in audience, he couldn't help but to glance over at where you stood at one side of him, nodding supportively along to Historia's desires about letting the children have fun on her new acquired farm lands, that does he stare at you - at your hand more specifically, as you are standing at his side with the dangling green military coat sleeve. It's rude, he knows, not paying attention as the Queen speaks about her noble causes but he finds himself not being able to help it. For just a second - and maybe, probably, he's deluding this - but for a second he feels the empty sleeve move on it's own to graze at your hand as to grab it - immediately gaining your attention as you stare over at him with your gorgeous eyes that every time he looks at him he falls in love all over again, over and over and the way your head questioningly tilts as if to ask him if something was wrong does his throat turn dry but his lips slightly part until-

A rough kick comes subtly to his paralleled ankle at his other side, Levi. The Captain doesn't look at him, he just keeps his arms crossed over his chest and intently listens to Historia's plans, however, he quietly scolds under his breath: "Pay attention."

Right... he was being very rude. He shouldn't get lost up in silly stuff like this in such important professional times such as these. But... when you suddenly reach over and hold onto the sleeve just as it were his flesh hand only weeks prior, so sincerely and lovingly... he can't help but the dumb smile on his face.

Everything will be fine. He's still the same man. There'll be struggle, some more getting use to - afterall, it's only been a couple weeks if not a month. There's plenty of recovery time in the future, he knows it. After Shingashima, he decides, maybe then he'll take some time off - spend with you and truly attune himself with the lacking arm. And maybe... maybe if he practices a bit first with his still lack of balance... he can still properly get down on his knees and take out that heavy ring in his breast pocket and ask you that question that's been on his mind.

Hanji Zoë

Going to be perfectly honest, the missing eye is the least of Hanji's issues at the moment. It's still a struggle, yes, the now partial blindness that they have to now wear a patch over and it takes a couple weeks to properly get accumulated and not bumping into walls, doors, tables, and other stuff on accident. But it becomes something that's like second nature to the new Commander very quickly on.

Now... the sight isn't the issue. The mountain of other things that came with Shingashima is, both mental and physical.

The obvious is the new Commander position, taking over Erwin's role puts so much on their shoulders and not just that - having to put on this brave face for the only - ten, including themselves, Survey Corps members that survived that bloodbath. They're in charge, everyone's looking up to them them for advice, for orders, for their command. Meanwhile... Hanji hasn't even had proper time to grief for not just one but two of their best friends... Erwin. Moblit... that first night was the roughest, coming back home, to their now old office and practically broke down crying where you had to comfort them all night - they didn't sleep for the next four days straight. They stayed cooped in that office while everyone else was on leave to go properly recover and only let you attend to them. Hanji isn't... the same after that - and everyone notices but doesn't dare to speak on it. They aren't the quirky titan-obsessed quack anymore. They were the calculating 14th Commander of the Survey Corps, Hanji Zoë.

Hanji is also particularly deaf in their right ear now, even if they were - mostly - uninjured from the Colossal Titan nuke, the sound of the impact definitely damaged it a bit before they were tossed in deep the well by Moblit. They've never said the fact out loud to anybody, only you and Levi are aware of the fact, but they read lips more often than not now. So you make sure you always make it able to where they can properly read your lips when you speak to them, and if you can learn a bit of sign language that would also be very helpful.

Doesn't sleep as much as they used to. They say it's because they're too busy - Commander work and still helping out ironing out political matters and issues that still came with Historia's crowing as the new Queen of the Walls and the hectic readjustment period of getting Maria's old settlements rebuilt and ready for resettlement - but that's not just it. There's the nightmares now. Keeping them awake just to not wake them up screaming in the middle of the night and you have to loose sleep comforting them. They should be fine with it, they tell themselves, after all what they said back on that roof to Mikasa was true; they've seen hundreds of their comrades die - no actually, not a hundred... too many more than that to count. And each time they've been strong about it... distracting themselves in their research not to let themselves dwell on it too long. But now... no matter how hard they tried, nothing worked. Maybe it's because it was Erwin and Moblit, the closest two other people they had besides you and Levi. Or maybe it's because only ten fucking people out of the entire fucking Regiment survived that damn day.

And now that the truth is out there, what titans actually are, titan research isn't fun anymore. They could very easily drag one in a captured area and poke amd prod and maybe learn a little bit more on how the transformation process actually works - Connie Springer's mother would be a good example but just looking at that boy they can't bring themselves to even suggest it - but they don't. They just... sign off on papers all day. Try not to think about overseas that much. Not yet anyway.

Things are slightly better by the time you've made contact with the volunteers and the core Scouts had made their way to embark on Marley. Seeing new sights, new people, new inventions none of you could possibly even dream of was quite thrilling. Hanji has a great time, holding onto your hand and sporadically yapping on and on about this "car," or this "tele - phone," or this "controllable electricity." in the exact same manner and way they use to about titans - that wide shit eating smile that goes from ear to ear plastered to their face for the first time in years you love to see as you nod along and just listen and let them ask Onyankopon every possible question that comes to their head - the man having trouble even keeping up with them. It's nice while it last... but it's not too long until the 14th Commander comes back when reminded about why you're all here in the first place...

It's late at night one night, the night before you were all supposed to go back to Paradis does Hanji stare up at the ceiling of your shared room in the Azumabito astate. They have their eye patch off - feeling comfortable around you for you to see the mangled socket that normally rests underneath - as they lie back in bed and listen to you shuffle around to get into your night-wear to get ready to join them.

"I'm thinking..." They finally speak, you look back over your shoulder at them - sprawled out on messy sheets with only wrapped circuit of bandages around their chest to hide the shape. "...I'm thinking that Armin should be my successor. What you think?"

You tell them he's a smart kid, very talented at what he does but... given, past history... you express your feelings that it might be a lot to put on him, given the position of it's weight. Erwin's weight. Erwin's impact. Hanji's impact.

Yeah, probably true, they tell you. And they reminisce on how they felt when Erwin had dropped the sudden bombshell on them... God. They were turning more into him everyday... but you crawl over to the bed and start to kiss their face before the Commander can sulk in it. You love them, you tell them that every chance you get and it never fails to leave a gentle look in Hanji's remaining eye, their expression softening. They joke, saying how much you probably miss the old up-beat crazy Squad Leader Hanji... but you shake your head, hands so loving on their face as you tell them straight up you love them now just as much as you did back then - damaged and all.

Without hesitation they ask you to marry them.

Levi Ackerman

Hard. Very hard at first. He can only particularly see, for the first year or so his stitches itch to a very grading degree, he has only eight digits on his hands where using the left is... very difficult, especially with his unique ways of holding things, and he can't walk. Humanity's strongest - that ridiculous title... now look at him. He "entered" the Survey Corps ten years ago and now every single person around him then is dead - except you. During those first few days of the Rumbling he didn't really think about it - with all the shit going on he had other things to think about than have time to really... process. But here he is now, couple days after the "Battle of Heaven and Earth," as he's hearing people call it. Now in his time to heal does it really set in. And at first he doesn't take it... well.

Once he's well enough to be off bedrest and he's in that "damn chairwheels," you and Onyankopon manage to buy him (hard to come by given how... very much damaged the world still is post Rumbling) you're going to have to have to keep your eye on him because for the first couple weeks he will try to get up and walk around - only damaging his hurt leg more. He feels restricted in it, he wants to go where he damn well pleases - you tried crutches for a while but... he's actually too short for the ones you manged to find post Rumbling, so he's left to that chair. It just takes him time to get use to, that's all. Eventually though, months after the Crisis has been over, it's when you start taking him out places - steering him through the rebuilding cities of Marley, talking about God knows what, that he starts to come around... maybe it's not that bad, annoying, sure, but he feels a lot calmer now. Those kids - Gabi and Falco, they help too. Sometimes they drive him around but he isn't exactly the biggest fan when they clumsily knock him into shit though but they're cute kids, they remind him a lot of much younger versions of Isabel and Farlan, how they'd bicker all the time...

The two of you have a cabin together in Marley, a nice cozy cabin that with the help of Onyankopon - who smuggily calls himself a bit of 'builder' - is modified a bit so that it's more accessible for Levi to move around, plenty enough ofvplace to roam so he doesn't feel couped up like he expressed he didn't want when getting the place. It's nice though, Levi's never had a real house before - only somewhat exception being that dingy little apartment he and Kenny used to live in Underground and then he lived with Farlan and Isabel in it too before joining the Corps. Besides that it's always just been either a whorehouse, military base, or temporary spots he wouldn't even shit in. All shared spaces. Not something that was... his. Though of course he lives with you, you are his s/o but you're different. No, he lived... with you. You own this house together. It's his. It's yours. It's yours (plural).

He can't clean as properly as he use to, getting down on the ground and scrubbing top to bottom and every single crack in the room, of course he can't do that anymore so - and to make him feel better, feel good and comfortable in your own home together you do it, you keep the place always spotless. And he still wants to actively clean of course, the process has always been therapeutic for him, he just can't do it as thorough as he once did but he still will do what he can from the confines of sitting down while you do all the very high and very low lifting.

His senses are still sharp, even with his half blindness. But even still, you always make sure to stand on his good side and if your on the blind you make sure to audibly announce your presence even if he could probably still sense you - Ackerman biology boosting it by tenfold, after all - you do it because it's polite and he does appreciate that.

Mostly handles things with his good hand anyway but is in the habit of dropping things whenever it comes to his less-good one, there's only so much you can do with only three fingers (including thumb) on one hand without being issues. It takes awhile before he even let's you hold that hand again and when he does the first several times he always hesitates, but it all flutters away when you carefully and gently intertwine your fingers with his good ones and your pointer and middle finger lovingly folds over his numbs. Or when you kiss delicately at each of his knuckles on that hand... it's weirdly sweet, weirdly romantic, he thinks.

It's been three years now. Domestic bliss is something Levi never thought existed - or he he did, never, never ever in his thirty-seven year life would he ever think he'd get to live such a thing. The two of you sit in front of the lake off to the side of your cabin, sitting on a lunch-bench watching on as Gabi and Falco are completely red in the face, awkwardly and loudly confessing their feelings to one another in only that embarrassingly sweet way teenagers could. It's sweet... to watch on. You look over and see the small, subtle yet warm, soft smile on Levi's lips. Proud of them, those two dumb kids that's been helping the two of you out for years now. You laugh, causing him to look over at you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing,"

The giggling in your chest dies down as you watch as the two kids untactfully bump their faces together in an attempted kiss but Falco jolts back holding his forehead in pain, and Gabi's face to turn an even darker red as she yells something at him.

"Do you think we're too old now to act like that?"

Grey eye rolls. "When have I ever acted like that?"

"Oh I can name quite the few times when we first first started dating-"

He suddenly grabs at your face with a: "Hush." before kissing you, the worn stitches on his lips against yours always feel nice. Then he leans back, staring at you with lingering thoughts before his eye flicks back over to the kids now sweetly in each other's arms.

"You know, I was going to ask you something today but those brats decided to go ahead and make it about themselves..." He says, no real malice in his voice, just teasing. But you tilt your head out of curiosity.

"Ask me what?"

He sits back on the bench and stares out onto the lake. His wheelchair is parked off to the side, it's in a bag. He could reach over and pluck it out now. It was something he actually picked out years ago... something he never thought he needed because he never expected to reach this point together with you but Hanji talked his ear off into buying it and Erwin gave him this... teasing encouraged look with that weird smile of his that he'll never forget for the rest of his life. And he's kept it with him, all the time, it's always been on him in some shape or form. Honestly he wasn't sure how you didn't manage to find it already.

He looks back over to you and you're still intently staring back over at him. Maybe. Maybe he still could now.

"Ask me what?"

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #erwin smith #erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #hange zoe #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe #hanji zoe x reader #hanji x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #erwin #hange #levi #mine #gender neutral reader #attack on titan fluff

[corollaservant]

The Host // Chrollo x f!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Chrollo likes you, you remind him of someone he knows. Better yet, you might just be her. He's hosting a show tonight and you're starring in it.

Warnings: dubcon, yandere, kidnapping, drugging, manipulation/coercion, knives, oral and penetrative sex, psychosis/schizophrenia, stalking, 1 insensitive rape remark, Sarasa mentions (Chrollo's childhood friend), spoilers for the manga, would add more but it kinda ruins it.

A/N: inspired by Phantom Troupe's flashback in the Succession Contest arc + brainrot + my eternal love for Chrollo, played intentionally with the verb tenses // wanted to try something different.

The party. That’s right, you were at a party, a drink in your hand and your friend with you. Where was the party? A sharp pain pierces through your cranium and you wince. What ever happened to your friend? You decide you can't show empathy at the present time.

It was commonly assumed that memory followed a chronological sequence (it was partially true, if you practiced mental exercises), that the human brain could recall memories exactly like they unfolded but let's be honest, memory recalling happened in film stills for most. The party. Your friend. The colors of the light. A man. 

A man. Who was the man and what were you talking about, you try to think but it’s kind of hard when you can’t see, you’re blindfolded and tied to a chair. Earthy odor, smells like soil, you note. Not that this takes you far. You had definitely been drugged, you felt weak and nauseous- it was a wonder the stills popped up your head- eyes so tightly folded, the little shapes and colors from the pressure increasing your fatigue, your heart palpitating. Was this date rape? You couldn’t touch yourself to find out but you felt intact. This was also not a date. Then why the abduction and ropes? To offer something, you think. But you didn’t have much to offer for the record. You try calming yourself down but the thought only stresses you further. Fuck, how long was this going to take?

Chrollo never did things without reason. Never talked without it, stole without it (debatable, but they were in need), never acted without it or killed without it. You being there was no mistake, he was wondering how you felt at the moment, not very familiar with human emotions, they all seemed wary, he thought, so he often brushed them off, not caring enough to dig deeper. Chrollo listened, he never talked. He could sit through a Troupe meeting actively hearing the members, knowing fully well when stupid proposals and ideas were spouted as they all patiently waited for his final word. He didn’t mind, he thought it was funny how people unraveled without him trying. His decision on you, he had to admit was made on impulse. He didn’t mean to drug you. He didn’t mean to abduct you. Unlike you, he remembers details. Him and the Troupe were in a club (silly to assume for entertainment, a stolen prize now decorating the heist gallery in one of the Troupe's hideouts) when he saw you. You weren’t far, a couple inches away, drinking clumsily and conversing with a person he presumed was a friend by the proximity of it. You had her eyes, he thought. Of course he could see perfectly in the dark, well, he could pretty much use any of his senses to a higher extent, he wouldn’t be a Specialist after all. Your wide eyes gleamed, they squinted when you couldn’t listen. To make matters worse, you had your hair in pigtails, loosely falling down your shoulders, long hair divided by two black hair ties. Just like hers, he thinks. Now, Chrollo is not sentimental, he really isn’t, but the optic parallels cloud his judgement and he wants nothing more but to be by your side, to reminisce the part of him that died a long time ago. He can’t cry, not unless he has a reason- he does nothing without it, but feels touched merely by your presence. Once the decision is finalized, he makes a move.

-

‘’Excuse me, miss’’ a voice rings behind you. A tall man with dark brown hair and a gloomy set of eyes holds out your house keys, you always shoved them in your pockets, as you considered it safer than your purse, not directly attached to your body. 

‘’T- thank you’’ you stammer, you’ve had a couple of drinks as the club lights hit on your face making you stumble against him, the guy behind you dancing so carelessly you’re being pushed left and right either way. 

‘’Be careful’’ he smiles as he extends his arm to hold you upright, a mournful look on his face as he walks away. The keys. The man. The drink. Dark. There is no memory of what happened after. 

It’s the same voice you hear entering the room (was it even a room?) The sounds echo as if you are in a cave.

‘’Finally, here you are darling.’’ he smoothly says as you scream the first thing that comes to your mind ‘’What the fuck do you want?’’. Your voice rips through the ‘cave’ but you are certain it makes no difference. Whoever this is, doesn’t worry about the helpless sounds you’re about to make.

‘’Darling, please don’t yell, I’m right here.’’ the voice of the man inches closer, as the blindfold is being removed from your hurting eyes. Your heart races when you see him in all his glory, ominous stare and a tattoo decorating his forehead (did he have this at the club?), blue orb-shaped earrings, a peculiar attire that reminds you of a Victorian vampire- a long coat with feathers all the way down his ankles and some funny boots. His calm expression while supposed to be relaxing, just increases the nausea in the pit of your stomach, he seems familiar with such processes. As for the place, it isn’t coming to your aid either, you can’t recognize what this used to be (a warehouse? a prison? an actual cave for outcasts in the city suburbs?). You feel the known sensory feeling well up in your eyes, it’s starting to become serious. 

‘’W-what to do you want?’’ you utter, unable to scream (you could but see no point)

‘’Are your hands in pain my darling?’’ his eyes look over your tied wrists with concern as he flinches looking at the knot. ‘’I told Feitan to go easy on you.’’ ‘’Well.. he just never listens.’’

‘’What do you want from me?’’ you cry out, why is he not responding to your questions? You want to scream and beg him to let you go, he didn’t assault you so what does he even want? You had no use to a person, as far as you knew, an unessential addition to people’s lives.

‘’My sweet darling..’’ he murmurs as he prolongs the sentence, his words making the bile rise in your esophagus and travel to your mouth, your nausea from the drugging never really went away. What sick game is this?

‘’Please excuse the sudden change of heart after our brief encounter at [ ]. I was hoping you can understand that I wanted you here today for a very special reason.’’ he starts and your heart’s thrumming, as you silently beg him to get to the point. You want out of there and do not want to participate in any sick games. 

‘’Please!’’ you yelp frustrated ‘’ just tell me.’’

‘’How about I show you? Hmm?’’ he responds, his velvety voice making you gag. ‘’Shalnark!’’ he calls and a blonde guy (boy?) makes an appearance holding a.. tripod and a digital camera, which he sets right next to him, adjusting the tripod’s legs and connecting the mounting head with the camera.

‘’Everything's set up, anything else boss?’’ this guy literally beams as your eyes widen, what kind of a perverted farce is this? Who the fuck is the man and what did the guy mean with fucking boss?

‘’W-what is this?’’ you yelp but ‘boss’ has his a attention directed at the blonde guy. 

‘’Think you’re forgetting something, Shalnark..’’ he playfully scolds the boy and the boy’s eyes light up as if having a sudden godlike revelation. 

‘’You’re so right, boss!’’ he widely smiles as he exits.

‘’W-what are you gonna do?’’ you are shamelessly crying at this point, the psychotic simulation you’re in only prolonging your misery, you are feeling so indescribably anxious of your life you and start wishing it would’ve been a date rape.

The boy comes back and this time he is holding a wireless microphone, which he passes to the ‘boss’, his name unknown and not your concern at the moment as he wordlessly leaves you once again to his mercy.

‘’Now, sweetheart’’ you flinch at the choice of words, ‘’I would like for you to hold this right here.’’ he tells you indicating the microphone ‘’I’m gonna untie you, please think carefully of your next move’’ he coos as he comes close to you, removing the ropes and freeing your bruised wrists. Your eyes flicker, should you try this? He knows. He sees you. He is a Specialist after all, he has a reason. The split second your left foot is turned towards his right side, a wide knife with a sharp blade is pressed to your neck, while you’re being headlocked to his sides. This happens so fast you hardly have time to comprehend it.

‘’Sweetheart’’ he sighs. ‘’ The knife’s not just sharp, it’s also poisonous, I'll have you know, so please behave.’’ He goes about it as if he deals with things like that daily, you feel your legs trembe and almost snap but he lifts you up and places you back to your initial spot. What kind of a psychotic freak has a poisonous knife on them? And why are his reflexes so fast?

‘’Will you please hold this microphone, darling?’’ he patiently asks again, as he hands you the microphone, your hands shaking as you take it and look at him with your eyes wide. 

‘’Now’’ he smiles. ‘’We’ll go over the script, oh..it’s been such a long time since I’ve done this!’’ he exclaims looking.. happy?

He hands you over a paper with a language you can’t understand and small dialogues, you take it it’s a German variation, as there’s these funny dots over the vowels but also has some incomprehensible words and you can’t make the distinction. On the bottom there’s this image of some superheroes with cleaning devices, a broom, a mop and shit like that. Is he mental? Nothing makes sense and you feel exhausted as you try to negotiate a way out. Maybe he is just a freak who wants his stupid script played out, maybe it’s that. Maybe you will be able to be free, to see your cat again. Maybe.

‘’W-will you.. p-please ..let me go.. after?’’ you whimper, ready to hear the worst when he simply replies

‘’My precious, of course! Please grant me this favor and I will set you free immediately, I ask for you to forgive such gestures on my behalf, it just happens that they mean so much to me’’ as you suspiciously eye him up, this is not a time for bargains though so you’ll comply to the freak’s needs. 

You start reciting as he cuts you off. ‘’More passion, my angel, you need to say it aloud, shout out the line!’’ and you sniff, what a fucking weirdo. 

He makes you retake the incoherent dialogues multiple times, cutting you off, correcting you, shouting at you for not waiting for his part (he assigned himself the leader role, god complex of course.) 

It is around the middle of the play, when you mispronounce a word that he seems agitated as he approaches you. He slaps your face with malice, an ominous stare, his eyes burning as you let the microphone fall from his hand’s impact. 

‘’You mispronounced this, she’d never do that.’’ he spits and you start feeling a new round of tears forming in your eyes, who she was and what you had to do with her not making any sense in your mind. You start sobbing as you mewl out brokenly

‘’I-im sorry, we..w-we can redo this, please..’’ and he stares at you, the same pitiful expression on his face. He doesn't look upset anymore, all that pent up anger left him, the more he looked at your pretty eyes, how could he stay mad at you? You were after all the person he used to care the most for. A veiny hand approaches your now disheveled pigtails (pigtail in actuality, as one hairtie had fallen off during your abduction) and his fingers twirl around it. His lower half close to your face as you look up at him. He is absentmindedly staring at your hair when he kneels down to your height. 

‘’I’m sorry’’ he smiles. ‘’Would you forgive me, my darling?’’ his breath fanning on your red cheek and parted mouth. Tears are staining your cheeks as he swipes his thumb over them to clean you. The proximity gives you chills, his composure remarkable and you hesitantly avert your eyes as you gulp.

‘’Y-yes, sir’’ you whisper, ‘l-let’s continue this’’ you were eager to be let free, eager for this twisted game to end. 

‘’No, we shall not occupy ourselves with my play anymore, Sarasa.’’ he tells you. Who the fuck is Sarasa? And what did you have to do with her? 

You didn’t like this proximity, it made you anxious, his hands were cupping your jaw as he stood up and tightly grasped around the loosened up pigtail.

A prominent bulge was decorating his pants and while you tried averting your eyes, you couldn't help but notice it. His finger grazed over your lips as he slid one in your mouth, observing you from above the whole time, a sigh escaping his lips when he heard you gag.

‘’Suck on it’’ he orders, ‘’please, darling’’

There was no plea in this tone, just authoritative command. You did as asked and he readjusted his legs. You knew what was coming and you wanted this to be over, there was no escape but if sucking him off meant you got to be free you’d be more than willing to do that.

He unzips his pants, sliding them down together with his boxers as his cock springs free, he is probably the biggest you've ever seen and you feel anxious thinking of him in your mouth. He must’ve noticed because he chuckles and approaches you. You were about to start the lewd act when he stepped aside and tied your wrists behind your back again. You were left with your mouth hanging open, a victim to his merciless desires as he put his fingers in your mouth again. Your saliva coated the digits, which he removed and placed cautiously on his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you, stricken with fear and quivering, his good Sarasa, how he had failed to protect her,  as he continues to jerk himself off in front of you. The scene is lewd, his naked torso protruding over his ridiculously oversized feather coat, his cock oozing his precum and making wet sounds coming in contact with your saliva from his hands and his face looks tormented, as his head's arched back and slow ‘’im sorry’’s repeatedly exit his mouth. You feel a sting in your core looking at him and the vague bile you had in your throat makes you audibly gag. How can you be thinking like this right now? But your body isn't run by your superego, your moral compass doesn't dictate your body’s instincts as your legs are unconsciously brought together to rub and alleviate the aching pain.

He is getting himself off, glancing at you, knowing you drink him in and his strokes are faster as he touches your lips with his thumb and parts your mouth only for an angry cock to slam against your throat without a warning, thrusting in and out of you as he hisses and grabs your head to push your mouth (and nose) all the way down his pubes, he wants his release and wants it now. You can't breathe or shout or protest in any way, only wiggling your tied hands and crying out in pain, which comes off as groans that reverberate on his dick and he crumbles, falling apart, moaning and shooting all his cum down your throat while snots and tears fall on his cock and he slowly removes himself.

‘’What a mess you made, darling’’ he sighs, composure quickly regained.

You were responsible for this? 

‘’I hope the camera is still on, because I am intending to punish you, Sarasa’’ he said. ‘’You only had one line, my angel, one line in the entire play and you couldn't make it. You know how much this upsets me?’’ his voice almost broke, the ordeal of the situation messing you up even more.

You seriously couldn’t understand him at all, you wanted to get out, your throat already hurting from his penetration and fearing for the next part. You knew it would involve sex and shuddered at the realization he would have to touch you.. down there. The thought that you had been wet up until he came in your mouth, the fact that he would soon enough know this, the fact that you had been involuntarily aiding his mission by complying to his cruel needs made you feel vile but you had no time to process that as you felt two arms cutting the ropes quickly, letting you free from the chair you were tied to. 

You jump up before realizing it, you’ll run you think (you really don't have time to think, you act solely on instinct) but his agility prevails once again, quick reflexes have your neck choked as he grabs you from behind, the knife with the black handle against your carotid as you halt. 

‘’This was my last warning, sweetheart, please comply before it’s too late.’’ 

He is dragging you back, forcing you to turn around, his cock still free and semi hard, was he seriously turned on again by your futile attempts for freedom? What a sick person he was.

He languidly sits on the chair with his coat draping and touching the floor as he positions you on his bare lap. You draw a sharp breath, as you feel him under you, a disgusting cock rubbing your clothed entrance as he sighs and pulls you in an embrace. He smells like cedar, you think, cedar and sweat as he brings his lips to yours, connecting them softly. You keep them shut, your eyes open and he knows it because he quickly pulls away. ‘’Darling, why don’t you kiss me?’’ he nags. You feel a sharp blade run down your sides, his knife trailing your torso, from your sides to your spine as he brings his lips close again. Your skirt reminds him of hers and it makes him desperate for closure, he'd protect her better this time, as his aching cock touches your panties connecting your heat to his and making you softly whine, sounds you can't control. ‘’Please..’’ he whispers as you connect your lips to his. You let yourself get lost in the moment, your freedom is close but the more you think about it, the more anxious you become and his sadistic tendencies leave no space for slip ups. His mouth devours yours, as it clashes against you, his tongue overlapping yours-of course he'd be in control-while the knife rests on your lower back. You start grinding down his length, hands digging at the roots of his hair as you feel yourself lubricated against your will, you wanted this to be over, that’s what you tell yourself. 

With a hand behind your back holding the knife and the other one free, he decides to feel your silky softness, test it for himself, his good girl, how obedient she is under his touch, how eager to be punished for her wrongdoings. He teases your entrance, as he smears the wetness gathered around the lips, you choke on a moan, your still functioning conscious and pride making you want to stay silent but that's impossible with a hand around your clit, a finger sliding with ease inside your walls, curling up and poking inside you. The knife also doesn't leave you with another choice.

‘’I want you to call out my name’’ he hums as he continues his rhythm, you are coming undone on his fingers.

‘’W-what’s your name, sir?’’ you manage to breathe out in between thrusts, you’ve been trying to simultaneously fuck youself on his fingers, the pressure building up steadily within you.

‘’Chrollo’’ 

What a funny name. 

‘’P-please..Chrollo’’ you whimper, it's when he decides to remove his fingers from you. 

‘’Oh, Sarasa’’ he sighs, ‘’you’ve misbehaved enough today, I really wanted to punish you, you know?’’ 

‘’N-no, p-please, Chrollo’’ you purr his name. At this point calling you Sarasa doesn't even bother you, you got accustomed to it some time ago. 

Something in the way you hum his name makes a flicker in his eyes and he wordlessly drops the knife, as he squeezes his cock to line up with your soaked entrance.

‘’Don’t think I don’t have other means to restrain you, darling’’ he mutters and pulls you down on his cock, giving you no time to adjust to his girth, the head slamming against your insides as you let out a lewd moan. 

‘’S-sir’’ you moan, as you're sucking him in, taking every inch as best as you can given the circumstance, you are dripping down his length, as his large palms viciously grope your ass, smashing your hips down his pubic bone. Your pretty face bouncing atop him, wide eyes (oh these eyes) looking at his now fully darkened ones and he watches his pretty girl come apart, soft moans leaving your smudged lips, pigtails now fully disheveled as your hair bounces on your delicate shoulders. He observes your mouth, how beautiful it looks each time it curves and smiles at him, each time you’d tell him ‘’Look at what I found!’’ excitedly, a tape among the junk, a broken toy, you were his favorite companion. Chrollo feels himself jerk within your walls, you're trapping him inside you and he won't last long. 

‘’Come for me, darling’’ he hisses, pushing your hips in a way that has your clit touching his groin, you are gripping his hair fervently as you let out small ‘f-fuck 's (involuntarily, you convince yourself) and rock yourself on his length. 

He is inching you closer to your relief despite your disdain and you can tell he is there with you, parted mouth leaving shaky, pleading blabbers, as he grabs your hair and twists it in his palm, tugging at it harshly. You are forced to throw your head back so it gives him the opportunity to assault your neck, sucking and biting on it, the sensation tingling and arousing as you come apart, an orgasm taking over you.

‘’C-chrollo’’ you sing, pleasing him and making him groan and shoot his cum once again inside you, your core spasms and tightens around him, clit pulsating and muscles taut as he thrusts upwards to fill you up as much as anatomically possible, his cum seeping through your cunt onto his thighs. He's marked you his twice and doesn't think he'll ever forget.

‘’My good girl’’ he exhales shakily, ‘’my precious, little girl’’ he continues, rubbing softly on your back, as your weight falls on him, the knife tossed behind him looks at you and you shut your eyes.

-

Chrollo lets you go. He doesn’t order you a ride or have the blonde guy escort you. You have to walk 45 exhausting minutes to find a bus stop and even then, you hardly recognise the area. 

Chrollo leaves for the next 6 months, he doesn’t communicate anything to the rest of the Troupe, people overestimate their closeness. He replays your video every night while he’s away fighting and earning (stealing) abilities, your beautiful, expressive eyes haunt his dreams, Sarasa would like you if she met you. Sarasa would make friends with you. Sarasa, you. What's the difference? 

He comes back only to find you sleeping, so peacefully he rejoices at the sight. Absolutely perfect and innocent, he tainted you and you didn’t even care? He smiles. He tells himself you're a bad girl for sleeping with your doors unlocked, just like Sarasa liked to wander on her own and look where that got her. Maybe the door wasn’t unlocked, it’s something he finds irrelevant now. He had kept his promise, he thinks. You should be grateful he’s honest.

#hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo hxh #sarasa hxh #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo x you #tw yandere #tw psychosis #corollaservant

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #2

[masterlist] [part two] [part three] [part four]

Prompt found here

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

The thing about being the half-ghost protector of a small Midwestern city whose rogues gallery consists of both the inhabitants of a parallel dimension intrinsically linked to the "living" one as well as goons from the government, is that you tend to get a bit lonely. There's never any representation for him or others like him among the well known heroes of the world, he's really got no one to model how he should fight his city's crime. Sure, Superman has a lot of powers that are similar to his own, but he's a beloved alien not a hated eldritch entity. And sure, Danny loves knowing there's other sentient life out there, but when the government is one of his rogues, it's kinda hard to look up to government approved heroes.

Though Captain Marvel was pretty cool, not gonna lie.

But his point was, as far as Danny knew, he was the only eldritch being/cryptid to have taken up heroics, ever, and that… that hurts sometimes, that he was the only one out of a rather large cast of possible "other" beings in the world to decide that protecting others was worth more than his own potential safety. He was both the frontrunner and the sacrificial lamb. If he succeeded in changing the narrative, in convincing humanity that supernatural beings and entities couldn't be defined by a few really well known bad nuts, then others would publicly fly his banner, but if he didn't, if he failed, then, well, no ectoplasmic skin off their metaphorical noses, y'know? It was isolating.

Danny honestly expected the rest of his existence would be defined by that loneliness, by being the only hero to be of a supernatural flavor others were actively terrified of. Until, that is, Sam and Tucker nearly broke his bedroom door down one Sunday morning, breathless and beaming, which was so out of character for Sam that Danny was kinda expecting his ghost sense to go off signaling she was being overshadowed. But no, she wasn't. She was genuinely excited about something, enough to act like the daughter her parents wished she was, not the down-to-earth goth beauty they actually had.

"Woah, guys, what's up?" Danny asked, sitting up from his sprawled out position on his bed. Tuck shut and locked his door while Sam pulled her phone out and showed it to him. He stared at the screen in shock for a few minutes as his friends got their breathing under control. "Is… is that… is that what I think it is?"

Sam nodded, grinning like a loon. "Tuck double checked everything. There's multiple cases with enough correlation between them, buried deep enough in the web, that for it all to be one big hoax or just a huge coincidence would be functionally impossible. This is real, Danny. You're not alone anymore." On her phone was a website, which looked like a newspaper of some sort, with a headline reading, "The Cryptid Known as Batman Strikes Again! Twoface Back in Arkham!" It was posted just last week. Danny took Sam's phone and looked through the open tabs. There were articles and blog posts and Reddit pages and YouTube channels dedicated to what seemed to be a whole clan of cryptids who made Gotham City their home. All of them praised the elusive clan. Thanked them for protecting them. For saving them.

Danny started tearing up. He couldn't help it. Here was proof that what he was doing wasn't all for nothing. It was possible to be a hero loved by those he protected while being a member of the supernatural, part-time though his membership may be.

It was at that point that fourteen year old Danny "Phantom" Fenton decided the entity called "Batman" was his hero, his idol, the being he looked up to most of all. His method of fighting crime was a tad too violent for Danny, but his style was perfect. He couldn't change who or what he was, not without some serious side effects, but if "Batman" and their clan could turn the public's favor to their side despite being so obviously not human, something even literal aliens didn't attempt to do, then screw it, Danny was going to do the same thing. He would embrace his ghostliness as Phantom, instead of trying to pretend he was still human in that form. Maybe that was his problem, anyway? Could others tell he was pretending to still be human as Phantom? It didn't really matter at the moment, but it would be interesting to test that going forward…

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

In the end, a year and a half is all it took for everything to completely fall apart. Danny would say he was surprised, but honestly, he'd seen this coming as far back as that incident with Pariah Dark, which ended with him ascending the ghostly throne. The way Amity Park reacted to that whole ordeal was rather telling. Although a number of the younger crowd had started shifting their views of Phantom, too many of the adults still saw him as a threat and vilified him, even after he saved all of reality.

Living in Amity Park had quickly become too dangerous for him and his team—Sam, Tucker, and Jazz—, but while Jazz was fairly easily able to get custody of Danny and get the two of them away from the boiling cauldron of tension, Sam and Tucker didn't have that option. His core protested leaving members of his fright behind in such a hazardous situation, but with no idea how things would go down where Jazz and Danny were running to, they had to leave them for the time being. If everything went to plan, then Jazz would call the rest of their fright to them.

Thankfully, with him being the ghost king now, his ghostly rogues had cut back on their attacks on his haunt during the past year, instead scheduling time with Jazz to teach him more about ghost culture, as well as other supernatural beings and their cultures. Due to these lessons, Danny, Sam, and Tucker would often debate what kind of beings Batman's clan had and how many beings the clan contained instead of finishing their homework.

Batman was obviously an entity loosely tied to shadows that had ascended to minor divinity over the past few years, while Robin had to be some sort of fey being, considering their eternally youthful appearance. This theory was backed by Robin's ability to mimic the voices of seemingly anyone. Raven, the next oldest member of Batman's clan, had to be eldritch in origin, though it was interesting that they claimed a name so closely related to death and prophecy. Danny and his friends couldn't quite agree on what kind of eldritch being Raven was, just that they were one.

Condor was an interesting being to debate, as the name also had strong ties with death, as well as rebirth. Sam thought that meant Condor was a Phoenix that wanted to stay on theme with the rest of the clan, while Tuck thought Condor was some kind of zombie. Jazz was actually the one to propose Condor may have been a lich, which honestly kind of made sense. Condor was known to have looser morals than the others in the clan, which fit with the general idea of how liches come into being, especially if those they killed came back as undead servants like some rumors claimed.

Around the same time Condor showed up, whisperings of a being named Oracle started showing up within the forums Tuck had hacked. While there was no confirmed record of appearance for her, there were multiple accounts of the other members of the bat clan sending words of thanks to her, so she might have been the actual spirit of the Oracle of Delphi, which would be so cool.

Ibis was definitely some sort of trickster spirit, possibly even a kitsune. With their tendency to dance around an opponent until victory was assured and their tenuous grasp on the humanoid form, they couldn't really be anything else. Black Bat had to be another entity loosely tied to shadows, though they seemed more eldritch than Batman was. Starling could literally only be a banshee, what with her death shrieks every time she attacked. Weirdly enough, Signal seemed to already have a supernatural theory attached to them, said theory being that they were the bat signal given sentience and humanoid form, though Danny thought they might be more of a vengeful spirit.

There were likely others, those not as well known or even ever seen. There always were. For Danny's fright, that was Ellie, who was constantly on the move, especially now that she'd mastered teleportation and portal making. While most of his former ghostly rogues knew of Ellie, the only humans that knew of her were members of his fright and Valerie.

At the time, spitballing ideas about the members of the bat clan in Gotham was just all fun and games, a way to practice the knowledge they were learning in a more practical and entertaining way than just bookwork. Now, though, Danny couldn't be more grateful they had spent so much time on those debates, countless nights they stayed up late trawling through the deep web to stay up to date on the latest on Gotham's guardian deity and his clan. Because they had such solid guesses on what beings made up the bat clan, they'd be able to appeal for sanctuary in a more appropriate manner than if they had no clue at all.

As his and Jazz's bus drew closer to Gotham on the horizon, Danny anxiously checked that the duffle with their offerings was still secured. He hoped the bats liked their gifts; they had barely any concrete info on any of the more public members, let alone the lesser known ones. He wasn't sure what they'd do if Batman refused their appeal; with the schematics to rebuild the Fenton portal within easy access of the GIW, they couldn't risk hiding out in the Infinite Realms for fear of drawing Danny's subjects into a fruitless war.

Please, he prayed to Gotham's guardian deity, please don't turn us away. You're our last hope.

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

As Bruce was getting ready for patrol that night, he felt the creeping rise of anticipation. Something was going to happen tonight, something extraordinary. He just wasn't sure if it was going to be a good thing or not. Like usual.

For the past year and a half, Bruce had noticed an odd trend. Whenever something big was going to happen, something that would affect the entirety of his city, he'd feel antsy all day, right up until whatever was going to happen happened. It certainly helped cut down on the number of times they'd been caught with their metaphorical pants around their knees, but not being able to tell if the nebulous something was going to be good or not was annoying. Though, to be fair, there weren't a lot of good things that had happened since he started noticing his new sense.

"Listen up," he sighed as he stalked over to the conference table in the cave. "Something's going to happen tonight, something big. As usual, that's all the information I have, so you know the drill; if you see anything unusual, call it in." Bruce looked over his brood of children, most of them adults in their own right by now. Goodness, the years have flown by fast. "Try to stick relatively close to each other tonight, please. I want to be able to watch each other's backs in case whatever it is manages to get the drop on us."

Dick nodded with a grin. "You got it, B," he said, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder. "C'mon, baby bird, let's run through our stretches one last time before heading out, yeah?"

"Tt, it is Todd who needs those stretches most, was he not the one to strain his knee last week?"

"You listen here, you little—"

"He's not wrong, Jay. You sure you don't want my stretch routine? It'd do you wonders, y'know."

"You mean your torture routine, Replacement? How you can get your body into some of those shapes and still call it stretching, I'll never know—"

Bruce shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. He wasn't quite sure when that change had happened, but he'd be forever grateful it had. It pained him when his sons fought each other.

A small hand came to rest on his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. He glanced down at his daughter and smiled at her look of concern. "I'm alright," he reassured her, "just thinking."

Cass looked at him thoughtfully before nodding. "It will be alright. Tonight will be good. We will stay safe. You stay safe, too?"

Bruce was nodding before she finished speaking. "Of course. We should head out, any longer and Stephanie will try banshee striking the first shady person she sees," he said, an amused glint in his eye as Steph cried out in indignation from over by the batmobile.

An hour into patrol, and Bruce's anticipation skyrocketed. Whatever was happening tonight was happening soon. "Everyone, check-in."

"Raven here, checking in, all clear here." Dick.

"This is Condor, everything's normal on my end." Jason.

"Robin, checking in, nothing is out of place." Damian.

"Starling here! Just some run-of-the-mill muggers, currently crying for daddy!" Steph.

"Black Bat. Clear." Cass.

Where's—? "Ibis here. B, I think I found the source of your feeling. Sending Oracle my coordinates now." Tim.

"Understood. En route now. Do not engage without backup, understood?" Bruce demanded, taking off toward the beacon indicating Tim's location.

"I'll try, B, but I get the impression they know I'm here."

The anticipation rose again. Whoever Tim was watching definitely knew he was there. "We'll hurry."

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

Tim clung to the gargoyle overlooking one of the many rooftop shrines to the Bats and the Birds. There, sitting cross-legged about a foot in the air next to the shrine, was a glowing teenaged boy with snow bright hair and Lazarus Pit green eyes. He was wearing a black and silver armored suit, similar to the suits he and his siblings wore, with a flowing cape that blended into the night hung from his shoulders and a greenish black crown floating just above his head. In his lap was a black, gray, and green duffle bag that looked to be rather full, and in his hand was a beat up looking photograph. He couldn't make out what it was a photo of from this angle, but he'd recognize a well-loved photograph anywhere.

"In position, IIbis, you may initiate contact." Bruce said over comms. Tim didn't bother acknowledging he heard and instead carefully unwound himself from his hiding place in the shadows. Carefully, he danced down the side of the building he was on, contorting himself into inhuman looking positions as he went, until he could silently drop onto the roof with the shrine. He slowly slunk forward, keeping low and accentuating his curiosity. That was the key, here, he really was curious about this kid. That was what sold IIbis as something other, something not human.

Tim was about five feet from the shrine when wide, glowing green eyes suddenly found his own, covered though they might be. Tim froze, holding the slightly exaggerated pose he'd found himself in, crouched and arched in a way that screamed wary curiosity. Cautiously, he rolled his head to the side and chirped slightly.

"You really do exist," the kid breathed in awe before he shook himself and straightened, grabbing the duffle from his lap before letting his feet meet the rooftop. "Hi, um, I was wondering if I could possibly meet with your clan leader, Batman?"

Tim stared at the kid for a long moment as Bruce silently made his way to the shadows of the shrine. At Bruce's signal, a soft tap on the comm, Tim shifted and rolled and contorted until he was standing in a much more human-like fashion, then purposefully turned only his head to look directly where Bruce's beacon said he was. The kid whipped his head around right as Bruce seemingly melted out of the shadows, his size and sheer presence seemingly dwarfing the kid, who sucked in a surprised breath but barely moved an inch. Impressive.

"Yes?" Bruce growled softly, not the unpleasant, gravelly growl reserved for criminals, but the warm, gentle rumble reserved for kids and victims.

The kid's awe only grew more pronounced, but somehow he still managed to pull himself together enough to speak. "H-hi, my name's Phantom, I'm not sure if you've heard of me or not. I'd like to ask for sanctuary for myself and my fright-mates. Our previous haunt has become rather hostile towards us, and I'm not strong enough to keep them safe. Um, I've got some gifts for you and your clan, I wasn't sure how large your clan was, so I'm sorry if I offend you or anything with the lack of gifts for everyone. M-may I pull them out?" He asked, lifting the duffle slightly to indicate what he meant.

Bruce was silent as he waited for the rest of the bats and birds to form a loose circle around Phantom, stances mostly non-threatening, and stepped forward into the glow coming from the kid. At this point, the kid's awe was nearly palpable, glancing at as many of them as he could but always facing Bruce and not moving more than his eyes.

After a further moment, Bruce tilted his head slightly and nodded, causing the kid to outright beam.

"Right! Well, first, for yourself, I have a set of ghost steel batarangs, enchanted to return to their case once they leave a hundred yard radius. They're tied specifically to the case, so you can lend them to someone else, but it's recommended you be the only one to use them for the first ten uses in live combat. Next, for Black Bat, a cloak made by the best undead tailors this side of eternity. Made from the shadows themselves, whoever wears it becomes functionally invisible in low light conditions and beyond. I was also told it grants slight shadow manipulation, as well. For Robin, a shape shifting sword from the fey realms themselves, fitting for a changeling child. All curses and tricks were totally removed, as we weren't certain you wouldn't share it with some of your clan mates, and we didn't want to accidently cause any problems that could have been averted—" Phantom kept going, pulling something from the bag, naming who it was for, and explaining a little about it, before putting it back in the bag and moving on. But what drew Tim's attention, time and time again, was the fact that Phantom seemed to be under the impression they were actually members of the supernatural—he all but called Tim a kitsune, and definitely implied Damian was a changeling! It was both amusing the kid honestly thought they were members of the supernatural, and rather concerning at the same time. They were all human, weren't they? They were method acting every time they suited up, heck, Tim was nothing more than a self trained contortionist that could mimic a few bird calls and knew a bit of self defense. Why did this kid, who was possibly an actual ghost, think they were supernaturally inclined? Were they really that good at method acting? Or was there something more to it than that?

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

Hey, guys! I literally stayed up working on this until midnight, so already in pushing my self proclaimed boundaries (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）I had so much help from my friends on the @batpham-discord-highlights discord server, I'll look into tagging everyone that helped in the morning when I'm not struggling to stay awake (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) I hope you enjoyed this long fic, guys, cuz I was NOT expecting to write 3,266 words today! Good night, good morning, good day!

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp au #dp crossover #fanfiction #danny fenton #crossover #fanfic #cryptid batfamily #they're method acting. but it's working #a little too much #Danny is ghost king #it doesn't really come into play much #but he is #Batman didn't help found the justice league #Batfam sticks to Gotham #Dick Grayson is called Raven #Jason Todd is called Condor #Tim Drake is called IIbis #Damian Wayne is Robin #Stephanie Brown is called Starling #Cassandra Cain is Black Bat #Duke Thomas is Signal #of course Bruce Wayne is Batman #nanowrimo 2022 #NaNoWriMo Day 2

[carrotsnake]

Zelda and the Tale of Melusine

I'll be looking at the parallels between Zelda's arc and some Medieval tropes of female metamorphosis, using Melusine: Or the Noble History of Lusignan as an example. Specificially a translated copy of Jean d'Arras's version, since that's the most well known one.

To start, a run down of Melusine:

She's a half human, half fairy woman cursed by her mother for imprisoning her mortal father in a mountain. The curse dictates every Saturday she turns into a serpent from the naval down. She must marry a human man for a long time to slowly undo the curse and become fully human, but he must never see her monstrous form beforehand.

If he does, she'll lose her humanity forever and transform into a dragon.

She meets a knight in the woods, he suspects her otherworldly knowledge comes from "some phantasm or diabolical power", to which she goes don't worry about it kitten. But he likes her so he's like ok! ^_^ yay!

She keeps giving him cool fairy advice, and with it his life magically becomes a whole lot better - he gains wealth, power, and not just him but other people listen to her advice: crops flourish, castles are built. The kingdom is thriving! They love her just as much as he does, so it's no surprise they get married. But there's just one condition, she hides in the bathhouse every Saturday, and he's never to visit or peep at her.

He breaks his promise and discovers her secret. She says he's cursed both of them, and now he's lost her forever: "Be sure that as long as you live I shall always find pleasure in seeing you; but [...] never again shall you see me in female form."

The next passage is as follows:

'Melusine, uttering a very doleful cry and then a heavy sigh, leapt from the window into the void, and as she swept across the orchards she metamorphosed into a massive dragon some fifteen feet in length. [...] In her dragon form she circled the fortress three times, and each time she flew past the window she uttered such an excruciating, desolate cry that everyone wept for pity, knowing that she was leaving under constraint and against her will. Then she disappeared in the direction of Lusignan, letting out such rueful shrieking and strident cries that wherever she passed it seemed as if lightning and thunder were about to split the sky.'

He never sees her again after that. But phantoms of her start appearing in the castle, secretly visiting her children at night and generally just spooking people by standing there menacingly. And that's how the myth is born.

I've already drawn connections through the images above, but what's the point of this?

Like lots of other fans I was irked by the whole 'zelda jesus' thing in totk, yeah it is a little odd that everyone follows her advice without question, and it's never wrong.

I'm curious, if the team was drawing from Western myths, that this was supposed to echo the fae. Especially since most of the quests keep you on your toes on whether this was the real Zelda giving advice, or a fake - a phantom(!) - deliberately sabotaging them. It mirrors how opinions on Melusine were split between a benevolent fae or a demon. Splitting them into two entities though, I can see how that would defang it.

The og text wasn't exactly that nuanced either. I remember my prof joking the message amounted to "always listen to your weird snake wife!" Maybe we SHOULD listen to our weird snake wives.

It's interesting Melusine only interacts with children after the curse - botw+totk imply only young children who are pure of heart can see dragons.

I recommend reading the whole thing if you can find it! Then you can look for more parallels, and read riveting pieces of dialogue such as this:

#totk #totk zelda #legend of zelda #tloz #tears of the kingdom #loz #totk thoughts #tloz totk #zelda tears of the kingdom #totk spoilers #light dragon #totk light dragon #botw dragon #totk dragon #totk theory #zelda theory #melusine #that's why i named my golden horse melusine #also i find it ironic this medieval text gives its woman more agency than totk zelda ever got :') where did we go wrong

[nitefroster]

Leopika Symbolism

Not enough people mention this, but the symbolism/parallels in Leorio in Kurapika's relationship is incredible. So you know how both of their backstories are really depressing, with how they both lost their best friends and people that they care about and felt helpless? How their main goal was inspired by their survivor's guilt?

We learn in Phantom Rouge that Kurapika left his village to find a doctor for Pairo's eyesight. Early on in HxH, we learn that Leorio tried to find a doctor for his best friend who was fatally ill.

It's just so poetic that Kurapika ended up finding a doctor in the end; it wasn't the way he intended, nor at the right time, but it was what he needed. Someone who could stop his self-destructive tendencies by healing him physically and emotionally. Kurapika found the doctor he needed, and Leorio found a new best friend (and possibly more) that this time, he had the chance to save. Leorio and Kurapika may have lost their best friends, but their journey led them to each other. And I think that's really beautiful.

#hunter x reader #leopika #kurapika #leorio #hurt/comfort