#[ SLIDES THIS TOWARDS YOU !!

[lehazard]

adrian isn’t the type to look into things ahead of time, if the BSAA gave him a thing to do, he’ll do it—though mostly out of spite. he’s only been with the organization for less than a year and things are…. settling in, he guesses. people still look at him with a mixture of curiousity and distrust but it’s not as open and more subtle, but occasionally he’ll pick up on someone’s thoughts and hear the whispers behind his back—but he’s getting used to it. though this, this had to be on purpose somehow, despite the fact that the brunette knows that it’s not—the chances of someone from the BSAA knowing about this and putting him on the team to rescue some director from a group of anti-bioterrorists? absolute zero. some of these people can barely dig their way out of a wet paper bag, let alone find that one person that almost took him down. still when he came upon the same man from all those years ago, the archer couldn't help but let out a snort. "what the absolute fuck."

When it rained, it poured as they said. As if a tightly scheduled week wasn't already grinding his gears; pressured for reports, sitting through candidate screenings, meetings, keeping up appearances with his agency's funders... someone had to attempt to go and take him out. Blocking him in at an underpass in the dead of night whilst on his drive back home. LeClerc did everything but go quietly when his masked assailants finally dragged him out of his vehicle. It took something blunt and heavy to the back of his head to put him down. Cowardly bunch of assholes.

It's uncertain where Dionte was taken or how much time has passed, but when the agent came too again he wasted little time fighting off that lingering daze. Closed off room with plain walls, plaster covered windows. They didn't want him seeing where he was. Immediately binds were fought loose with painful twists and turns of his wrists to wring himself free. Waiting around for someone to notice his sudden disappearance and for a rescue wasn't an option. Besides he learned a long time ago: if you want something done, do it yourself. With a couple of decades worth of service under his belt, it was child's play when making his escape. A matter of stealth as he creeped along and swiftness as he stumbled upon his captors. Promptly seeing they were personally delt with.

A shine of bright lights flood the door way just behind him. Casting a disfigured shadow on the walls ahead of him and across the floor. Dionte turned on a heel, confiscated weapon at the ready when sights land upon an all too familiar face, suited up in an all too familiar uniform. That couldn't be right.

"You." @inagent working with the BSAA? They surely had to know his prior affiliations. Right? Lip curled ever so faintly as he spoke, "Unbelieve. This day just keeps getting better."

[mapofthewrld]

@oceania627

Did I daydream this, or was there a website for writers with like. A ridiculous quantity of descriptive aid. Like I remember clicking on " inside a cinema " or something like that. Then, BAM. Here's a list of smell and sounds. I can't remember it for the life of me, but if someone else can, help a bitch out <3

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] A tender moment.

[Animation timelapse here!]

[AUDIO USED:] Chet Baker - Almost Blue Sound Effects edited by me!

[egophiliac]

oh, uh, this...this isn't Silver's backstory after all.

[g1ngerbeer]

in the version of fma in my head where hughes survives, i dont think mustang would let him out the door unless he was wearing at LEAST 5 layers of bubble wrap and a bulletproof vest

[saltpepperbeard]

why would david be suddenly ramping up his activity on social media...

why would so much of it be related to the show...

why would he not be stopping the clown train from leaving the station...

why would it be happening so close to october...

why would the cast and crew also seemingly be in on it...

why would it be intensifying and getting more and more suspicious with every passing post...

...if there was NOTHING behind it.

[brewstersbru]

I want to get more used to writing low stakes lil blurbs so please enjoy this, also posted on ao3 under my pseud brewstersbru :) hopefully being able to post it here will bring the perfectionism anxiety down lol

***

Astarion is perhaps the one of the most interesting, irritating, but somehow undoubtedly kind people Halsin has ever observed. Though he’d flay anyone who had the audacity to tell him it.

The duties of an Arch-Druid are many, and often arduous in nature, but nonetheless rewarding. And it all boils down to watching, observing, noticing little idiosyncrasies in the people he leads. The people who trust him with their lives and wellbeing. Halsin has become well-accustomed to watching, as any good leader must and it is no surprise that the skill has followed him to where he is now, camping with a menagerie of illithid-infected souls, searching for a cure.

Though, with this aforementioned observational skill, Halsin has gotten the distinct impression that many of them seek quite a bit more than a simple cure. Absolution, freedom, a clearer path forward. It is so often in the words they don’t say, rather than those they choose to reveal. For example, Gale never talks of an ‘after’, a concept all of the others seem so enamored with, save Astarion, of course. He simply hums and offers a small melancholy smile when conversation turns to the topic of everyone’s plans after they find a cure. It wasn’t difficult to figure him out, not when Halsin had been paying attention. Gale is convinced that dying is the only way to atone for his sins. To be forgiven.

Halsin’s heart aches at the thought; poor child, it is not a sin to wish to be loved. But he digresses.

Astarion, curiosity that he is, had immediately captured Halsin’s attention when he’d joined camp. On the surface he seemed shallow, and ill-tempered, but Halsin has not gotten this far in life by making quick judgements on a person’s first actions after he’s met them. Sure enough, he’d caught a glimpse of the real Astarion not even two days later.

It had been a long day, brimming with long, arduous battles after which they had all come out exhausted and bloodied. Wyll, with his lion’s heart, had fought especially ferociously. Perhaps too much so. His robe was torn horribly across the front and he’d had to be propped up as they trudged back to camp, unfortunately neither Halsin nor Shadowheart had maintained enough energy to heal anyone.

Astarion had almost immediately wedged himself under Wyll’s arm, curling an arm around his waist while also berating him as they walked. “What in the hells were you thinking jumping out like that! You’re weak, leave the feats of strength to Karlach you dolt!” And on and on. The words were cutting, and not entirely fair, but still, his hands remained gentle against his friends skin and he walked slowly so as not to jostle his injuries.

Shadowheart- exhausted herself, likely with a beast of a headache after all of the concentration spells she’d been slinging- had told Astarion to shut it, only hearing the words and not the worry behind them. He had obliged- another kindness-as his eyes darted around the scrunched pain painted over her expression and his own expression set in resolve. Still, he performed a pout, and everyone took it for what it was- or rather, what he’d wanted them to take it for: Astarion being his usual surly self.

Halsin took it for what it truly was, a man doing his best to aid his friends and keep their spirits high after such a grueling encounter. He’d thought they needed someone to direct their exhausted irritation at, lest they start picking themselves apart instead (something Halsin had noticed, but was unaware Astarion knew of) and offered himself like it was as natural as breathing.

The kindnesses didn’t stop there, either. When they made it to camp he’d taken Wyll to his bedroll as the others collapsed onto their own. Rummaged through the camp supplies until he found a potion of greater healing, then did not feed it to Wyll until he was half asleep and delirious.

“Mmh… Dad?” Wyll had murmured, eyes squinted closed as he moved his head around. Astarion had simply hummed and continued feeding him the potion.

For the rest of the night he prepped ingredients with practiced efficiency and left them next to the communal cooking pot for when the rest of the party woke for breakfast. Halsin had needed to trance for a few hours, loathe as he was to turn away from the scene, and when he returned Wyll’s robe had been mended, folded and placed aside his head. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Halsin hoped he’d found his way to his own tent for a short trance.

Elves do not need to sleep, this much is true, but even a short trance would have done wonders to refresh and replenish his energy. Astarion had to know that.

Halsin is still unsure what the other elf had done for the rest of that night, but he’d emerged from his tent with just as much practiced, haughty vigor as he’d always had halfway through breakfast the next morning.

“Astarion! Good morning! Thank you for aiding me in our trek back yesterday.” Wyll had smiled at him, something warm and molten in his eyes. Astarion simply huffed and waved it off, “Well, dear, someone needed to lecture you about the dangers of heroism. None of these dimwits were going to do it.” Wyll smiled and the others gave halfhearted protests from where they’d been digging into the breakfast Gale had prepared from the ingredients Astarion had left out for him. There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught sight of them eating it, something almost like pride, if Halsin had to name it.

The others had been dumbfounded, asking around the campfire about who had done it. When no one came forward they’d simply shrugged and taken it to mean that the culprit was too humble to take credit. Besides, who were they to question a miracle such as this. No one asked the vampire if he’d done the deed, why would he have? He doesn’t eat food anymore and he doesn’t even really like them.

It’s exactly what he wants them to think. Halsin has to give him points for his dedication to maintaining pretense. Wyll doesn’t mention his robe, but his eyes dart from hand to hand trying to scrutinize any bandages or pricks that might indicate a late-night sewing session. It’s a smart move on his part but Astarion, it seems, is a masterful tailor. His fingers are unbandaged and unbloodied.

Everything carefully thought out and executed. Every kindness meticulously planned and hidden. He truly is an enigma. He would rather his friends believe him selfish and cruel, than see him for the gentle, caring man he truly is.

The kindnesses continue, always carefully implemented so as to erase any and all suspicion that Astarion may have had any part in it. He continues to be outwardly difficult and mean so as to cover his tracks. Halsin can do little but watch, as he always has, that is, until Astarion’s little kindnesses eventually and inevitably extend to him, too.

He is not so easily fooled, has seen past the performance that the other man puts on for some reason that he is still trying to parse.

It’s a quiet evening, the battles of the day had been hard, but nothing they were ill-equipped to handle. The shadow curse has been getting to Halsin, though. Seeing his greatest failure in all of it’s unbearable misery has been weighing on him. And he knows his struggle is not invisible to his fellow party members. They seem unsure what to do about it, though, seeing as he is a centuries old former Arch-Druid with life experience they could hardly fathom. He enjoys his time at camp but cannot say with certainty that he is truly close to anyone there. Though he wishes to be, he is afraid they’ve placed him on somewhat of a pedestal after his actions in the grove, forgetting that he is fallible and full of emotion, same as them.

He very nearly misses it, when it happens, too caught up in his thoughts to hear the slight shuffling near the entrance to his tent. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and emerges with a small smile.

Astarion freezes at the sound of his emergence, crouched over something small and wooden at his feet. Then, almost as if possessed, his shoulders relax and he looks up with a devilish grin. “Halsin! My dear, I was just looking for you. Some wretched little thing of a child has gifted me with perhaps the ugliest wooden duck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. And these things are in no way ‘beautiful’ on a good day. I cannot have something so… distasteful loitering around my tent. You mentioned you liked ducks so I thought it would be of better use here. Otherwise I’m throwing it in the river.” It’s a lot of words, more than the vampire generally tends to use in casual conversation, as much as he pretends he’s an insufferable chatterbox. That’s the second clue Halsin gets that perhaps there’s more to this than Astarion is telling him. The first being the way he froze, as if he hadn’t been expecting Halsin to be there. “Looking for you”, right…

Astarion stands and nods at the duck on the ground. It’s small, a little misshapen, but it’s got hearts carved where it’s eyes should be and for some reason Halsin finds that hopelessly endearing. He kneels and cradles the thing gently in his cupped palms.

When he looks up Astarion is grinning at him, still in that sneering performative way he likes to, but in his eyes that shine of pride makes itself known. Halsin likes the duck, it’s obvious. And Astarion is proud of himself, but he’ll never tell. He’ll never let anyone else be.

The third clue is dripping sluggishly down Astarion’s finger, stark and red against his deathly pale skin. Halsin remembers the first time he’d whittled. His hands had looked much of the same. He smiles.

“Thank you, Astarion. This is very good. Would you like some salve for your hand?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but noticeable if you’d been looking in his eyes. And Halsin had been. Still, his expression shutters and he pastes another smirk on before turning his nose up at the duck.

“Thank the Gods, that ugly thing is your problem now. And I’ve no idea what you mean dear, my hand is perfectly serviceable.” He rushes away with a perfunctory wave, likely to rob Halsin of the opportunity to call him out on his bullshit. Halsin only smiles and cradles the duck. He’d bloodied his hands for this, for him. The surge of affection that washes through him is entirely involuntary but wholly welcome.

Astarion wakes from his trance the next morning to a gift settled gently at the entrance of his tent. It’s a wooden cat, masterfully carved from a dark oak and undeniably beautiful. Perfectly fitting the vampire’s tastes and sensibilities.

A note lies beside it in what he recognizes to be Halsin’s messy scrawl.

Thank you, Astarion, again for the duck. It thrills and delights me to know that you care. It did make me feel better, you know, and I still have that salve if you need. All you have to do is ask. I thought I’d return the favor, seeing as you do so much for the camp but refuse to let anyone see it, or thank you.

I see you. I thank you.

Yours,

Halsin

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

excessive hate towards any female character will immediately have me looking at u weird btw ….

[aylinaliens]

#instantly smitten

当我飞奔向你 WHEN I FLY TOWARDS YOU [China, 2023] || 1.01

[bunabi]

I retried the sorter and I think this list is a lot more accurate 🫰🏿💕

[ghosty-bees]

did you know a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope?

something about metamorphosis

[lehazard]

Dionte had been flown in a hour prior to his partner on this op. Were it his choice, he would have moved forward the moment he was properly informed on the situation. It was contained, for now, but who was to say how long that would last. What those on scene first were able to gather about this incident was that it was an potential accident. Something the seasoned agent did not believe. Though, it wasn't impossible. Accidents did happen--- even ones of this magnitude. But nine times out of ten, these tended to be politically motivated on some scale these days.

The silver lining was confirmed survivors, seeking aid just before service dropped their call. There were more than LeClerc had anticipated. And they just might hold some answers for what the hell happened.

Time was bided. Watching the minutes tick away as he studied the map and blueprints provided, keeping active updates of what was happening within the quarantined zone. If it could be provided. As far and few between as they were.

It was eerily quiet outside the commotion of their base of operations. Evacuated buildings and residents leaving the streets unnaturally empty. Only the panic of urgency left behind amongst the common litter of the city. Air filled with a familiar toxic scent of fumes as fires burned away untamed. Mismatched gaze lingered along the barricade that was erected. Intended to keep people out and whatever lurked on the other side in. Already he can see what chaos awaited on the opposite side. He's seen it all before--- same set, same script. Different location.

Attention is drawn back at the approach of footsteps. A familiar face he's been waiting on. "Ah, Agent Kennedy," greeted eagerly, he reached out a hand to rest briefly on the other's shoulder, turning to lead the younger towards the tents. "They got you here fast, good. Area's already been closed off, residents evacuated--- others being monitored to be safe. All of that."

@buriedabove plotted starter

[veveisveryuncool]

🌺🌸🌼 flower buddies!! 🌼🌸🌺

dandelion with @starrygoober's gardener dee oc! they are so super cute omgomg

[gojoed]

cough mhm cough ahem

starrreeesssssssssssss

GET THAT BLUE EYED FREAK AWAY FROM ME

[dumbblossom]

WIP // Konan // 2024

[daily-hanamura]