#All I request is that we get to see what their identifying item is

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

Okay I actually so want to do this

🥚Attention my wonderful followers and passer-bys🥚

I want to start a thing!

I seriously think we should make more egg OC's/Eggsona!!!! So if you make one, PLEASE send it to me and/or use the tag 'Poll's Egg Playdate'

I'll try to do something fun with it :]

[kokomyass]

Genshin headcannons ☆ Traveller finding out that you are in a relationship with genshin characters pt.3

Genshin x Fem!Reader

Genre: ☁️

Trigger warnings ⚠️: none!!

featuring: Itto, Tighnari, Lyney

synopsis: in which, traveller and paimon find out you are an ✨️ITEM✨️!!!

Notes: for itto you are part of the L/N (last name) clan, for tighnari you are a forest ranger and for lyney you are his wonderful assistant!!

a/n: thank you anon for the request I enjoy writing these and it makes me giggle with I write them because I feel like I can imagine them happening....anyways enjoy lovlies!!

Itto

The Traveller and Paimon had found themselves in Inazuma again, this time just for some fun.

To their suprise one of the first people they encountered was the infamous Arataki Gang having what seemed to be a meeting in the middle of nowhere making an absolute ruckus with Shinobu stood with her arms crossed wishing she was somewhere else.

"Alright, gang! Today's meeting is super important! We gotta decide what to buy for our new, amazing, drop dead gorgeous, special member....AKA my girlfriend!" Arataki Itto's voice echoed.

"Well, if it isn't Bull Chucker! Fancy seeing you hear...making a LOT of noise as usual...." Itto turned his head and noticed the Traveller and Paimon making their way to where he was stood, a beam making its way on his face.

"Well, if it's isn't my amigos, the Traveller and little Lavender Melon Paimon!!" he boomed out.

"Hello, Traveller and Paimon it is nice to see you once again." Kuki said calmly in contrast to Itto's voice.

"Hey guys! Nice to see you too! What are you all up too? You seem awfully excited Itto....well more excited than usual..." Paimon asked with confusion.

"Well I am glad you asked, we have a newest member who also happens to be-"

Before Itto could finish his sentence, you approached, holding a pot that steamed with a delicious aroma.

You had a confident yet gentle smile on your face as Itto looked at you mesmerised. The Traveller definitely didn't miss this romantic gaze.

"Sorry I'm late, everyone," you said, setting the pot down. "I brought food for everyone too eat!"

"Y/N! You're just in time! Everyone, meet Y/N from the L/N clan AND my girlfriend. She has joined the Arataki gang to be in charge of making meals, since she loves to cook for people!"

"Hello all, nice to meet you. I have heard so much about you! All good things don't worry!" You chuckle as Paimon and The traveller looked back and forth between you and Itto looking stunned.

"The L/N clan?!?! How on earth did you pull a member of the rich, powerful and famous L/N clan? I suppose your good at some things...."

"HUH?! Shut it Lavender Melon!! The way we met isn't important-"

"Oh, it's rather romantic, don't you think Itto!" you wrapped your arm around Itto's after interrupting him and resting your head on his arm, as he sweatdropped.

"He broke into my residence to get some flowers, but I caught him and then we got chatting and obviously I fell in love with him!"

"WHAT?!?!?" Paimon and The traveller shouted as you and Kuki laughed and Itto couldn't look up.

"What can I say....I am a charisma king, I must say!"

Tighnari

Despite being in a relationship with the smartest person you know, his knowledge clearly didn't rub off on you because you felt like you were getting dumber by the day.

It all started when Tighnari had asked you and Collei to go identify some mushrooms to distinguish if the were edible or not to update the Avidya Forest Survival Guide.

After seeing a mushrooms that 'had to be edible' in your terms you decided to take a bite. Whilst the flavour was lovely to start off the with dizziness that came after was a clear indicator that it was probably poisonous

"Collei! Who is this and what's going on?!" you see through your lidded eyes a high pitched flying fairy and someone who looks like they are from out of Teyvat.

"Traveller, Paimon! Perfect timing! There is no time to explain but please help me take her to Master Tighnari!!"

Next thing you know you pass out completely and wake up with Tighnari sat on your bed checking your temperature and checking for any rashes.

"Tigh...nari??" you mumble reaching for him as he holds your hand.

"Ah Y/N, you are awake. Now what did I tell you and what have I always told you about the mushrooms you eat? What made you think eating this mushroom would benefit you! You have to listen to me or worse things could happen and you-" He stopped rambling and let out a big sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, Nari...I promise I won't do it again..." you were now sat up looking guilty as he engulfed you in a hug that you reciprocated.

"Don't worry, just....be careful. I don't want to lose you."

"AHEM!!! Sorry to interrupt but the are still 2 very confused people stood here!!" Paimon burst out.

"My apologies, this Y/N a forest ranger and my girlfriend, she also takes care of Collei from time to time. Y/N, this is the Traveller and Paimon that I have told you about." Tighnari casually said patting your head as he got up to go to his table.

"Hey guys! It is a pleasure to meet you! I apologise for the circumstances...I can be rather clumsy at times..." you chuckle slightly as you sweatdropped.

"Nice to meet you too! I hope we become close friends! We didn't know you had a girlfriend Tighnari....it must be refreshing since you are opposites"

"Quite! It Master Tighnari says no about something I can go to Master Y/N and she will say yes!!" Collei happily exposes you and herself as you sweatdrop and Tighnari's head snaps back.

"COLLEI!!" both you and Tighnari shout as the Traveller and Paimon sit there chuckling.

Lyney

It was very dark at night and the Traveller and Paimon had just finished doing a commission for Katheryne and decided that the weather was nice enough to go on a scenic walk.

What they didn't expect to see on a cliff was a figure who looked like Lyney and another figure opposite him sat on a picnic blanket.

After some consideration they both mutually decided to approach you both.

What they didn't know is that you and Lyney were on a date, something you barely went on due to being busy. Lyney was the most romantic person you know and he always knew how to show you magic that you had never seen before that sent your heart aflame.

"My dearest rainbow rose, it pains me we cannot spend time together as romantically as we used to...when we are at work we are forced to keep is hidden..."

He holds your hands tightly and when he removes them a rainbow rose was in one hand and a box of expensive chocolates was in your other's you embrace each other.

"Uhhh, I hope we aren't interrupting anything...." Paimon suddenly speaks up scaring you both as you jolt away from each other pretending nothing happened.

"O-oh Traveller and Paimon!! What are you doing here?? I mean nice to see you again...." Lyney chuckles nervously as he hadn't intended for anyone to see him and you. You relationship was secret after all.

"Nice to see you too....but we should be asking what you are doing here embracing a woman!! And why do you look suspicious?!" Paimon laid all the questions on him, he let out a sigh giving up.

"Well, this woman here is Y/N, my personal assistant and also....my girlfriend. We have been keeping our relationship secret because it's a personal thing we don't want others to see."

"Hello Traveller and Paimon! It's lovely to meet you! Lyney has nothing but praises for you both!" you speak up smiling warmly.

"Hi there Y/N, nice to meet you too!! We are shocked you have a girlfriend Lyney considering how secretive you are...."

Lyney let out a heartly laugh intertwining his hand with yours.

"Well, I too would've said that 1 year ago but Y/N managed to steal a magicians heart, the hardest trick of all." Lyney looks at you lovingly as you look back at him lovingly too.

"Well, you guys are so wholesome and sweet, we are in support of your secret-"

"CLICK!!"

Everyones head snapped around to see Charlotte the Journalist taking pictures.

"CHARLOTTE NO!!" everyone shouted as The Traveller and Paimon sais their farewells and quickly caught her making sure she deleted those photos for good.

~•○☆○•~~•○☆○•~~•○☆○•~~•○☆○•~~•○☆○•~

a/n: thank you once again for the amazing request and if anyone wants anymore of these or anything help lemme know and I'll try my best!! love you all 💜🌙💜🌙💜🌙

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 13 - Comfort

The rogue performs an unfamiliar task.

On AO3.

The packs do contain useful items: a few healing potions, a bag of herbs she seems to be able to identify about half of, a knife, some large crystal—she makes a sound when she pulls it out; he assumes it must be shinier than usual—and a handful of gold. The pack also contains less useful items: clothing. She puts one leg into a pair of trousers and declares they won’t work.

So he has no choice but to take them from her. He has neither the spare cloth nor the eyesight to truly let out the hems. It’s going to be a rough job. But he can split the side seams, cut through the waist, and lace it back up with strips of leather he cut off a jerkin she found.

“Them’s is some sideless chaps,” she says, as if half of that wasn’t gibberish. It seems to amuse her, though.

She thanks him several times. It still throws him when she does it.

He makes no comment, however. Drawing attention to something that isn’t shit makes it go away. So he begins working on the alteration as best he can.

And then she says, “Y’all got poison mushrooms here?”

“Do not touch it,” he snaps. He doesn’t mean to leap up or fling down his work to surge in her direction. He catches himself halfway through doing just that, though. “Let me see it.”

She doesn’t even remark on the hilarity of that request.

“It was in one of the packs?” he says.

She holds out a pouch for him to take. “Yeah. Looks like some bottles, what I think might be some kinda jerky, and what looks a lot like them camp crackers Shadowheart carries around. But these one’s got some, uh, some bugs all in them.”

He heard adventurers complain about that. Hells, he’s pretty sure gnomes put them in their bread intentionally as some kind of seasoning. And that’s just another reason to dislike gnomes.

It doesn’t sound like a poisoner’s pouch? It’s usually bad form to mix what might kill you with what won’t. Still. He can’t have her dropping dead now.

He sniffs. Old meat. Old bread and bugs. And that dry, earthy scent of mushrooms. Not familiar.

“It’s nothing I recognize,” he says.

“You know mushrooms?”

“I know poisons, darling.”

“Huh,” she says. It’s a thoughtful sound.

“Well, I can’t know every poison in Toril,” he says and holds the pouch back out. “But I doubt it’ll harm you. Elves and humans eat similar things, for the most part. And this rather seems to be a sack of provisions.”

She takes it. Gives it a few shakes. “What kinda meat d’you think that is?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea.”

Another pause. She rummages. “Do healing potions work on poison?”

“My experience with poisons didn’t involve trying to stop them, darling.”

She sighs. And reaches for the tadpole connection. And opens them both to anger and spite and something remarkably close to lust.

“Oh,” he says. “The cleric and the gith found each other.”

***

One excruciating (for her) tadpole conversation later, and she decides to take a nibble from one of the mushrooms and keep that potion handy. She chews it thoughtfully—it squeaks between her teeth—and two hundred years in, and he doesn’t think the living get to be disgusted by his (fresh) diet. He doesn’t have to shred and tear and grind the flesh of something between his teeth. Just a bite, some blood, and he can—in their leader’s case—let his meal go about her business.

She settles back to wait, bottle of healing potion at her side.

He works for a long time. The seams of the reclaimed trousers are easy enough to open. Though it’s much slower than usual, since he has to do it all by touch.

It’s some kind of leather, he thinks, though he can’t quite identify it. It’s smooth and supple, yet the scent is strange. Perhaps they were a band of sun elves from some distant colony? Who knows what sun elves get up to these days.

Soon enough, he’s got something to work with. He begins carefully placing lacing holes along the sides and reinforcing them with thread so they don’t tear (the material might be sturdy enough, since leathers are far less prone to it than woven fabric).

He’ll leave the actual lacing up to her. He’s vaguely aware of her size? By sight of her puttering around camp, certainly. Even more so from that brief moment in the forest when her warm body pressed against him.

He doesn’t usually pursue larger prey. That bastard had a distaste for them. But she felt…nice. Remarkably soft. Smooth skin he could grab and caress. Pull her to him and feel her body mold to his. It had been pleasant. The sex would have been somewhat novel, but he thinks he would have liked it. If for no other reason than it being on his terms for once. He selected her for his reasons and his own ends.

And she’s fun, when she’s not sitting there silently.

Speaking of.

“Darling, are you still alive?” he says, though he can hear her strong, steady heartbeat and her blood singing for him. Waiting for him.

She doesn’t respond. He stops his sewing. Turns his head towards that delicious pulse.

“Darling?”

And that slow, steady heartbeat increases. Her lungs inflate in a great whoosh. In, then out. Too rapid.

“My favorite ally, are you dying?”

And when she fails to respond a third time, he has to stand. Walks over, crouches beside her.

“Eleanor?” he says.

And she replies, in a low, haunted tone, “There’s something out there.”

His body slams into action. Ears strain. He stops breathing. Every sense reaches out as his right hand finds the dagger on his belt.

The stream nearby gurgles. Air moves far above them. Her heart races.

And nothing else.

The soft rustle he’s pretty sure is her shaking her head. Then, “You can’t hear it?”

In the same tone she used when she’d revealed his own blindness to him. The terror twists his throat and he almost bites the inside of his cheek just to keep his focus tethered to the here and the now.

No, no. His ears still work. The stream still gurgles. Her fingers drum on her own thigh in a ta-ta-tap, ta-ta-tap pattern.

It occurs to him that her statement, in most literature, usually prefaces a character descending into madness. “Did you hear that” followed by “I saw it, I swear” followed shortly thereafter with “the walls are bleeding.”

Wonderful. Him blind and her losing her mind.

“Dear,” he says and crouches again to touch her. Thinks better of it. Settles in nearby instead (and has to place one hand on the ground to steady him because even with his own natural—and unnatural—grace, balancing like that in the dark is a touch difficult). “Perhaps you should rest?”

It never works in books. He’s not sure why he thinks it would work now.

She says, “I can’t.”

Presumably because she’s watching mushrooms grow arms and soft, gasping maws.

Still. He tries again. Because this is reality and every now and then he can badger someone into doing what he wants. “You found a perfectly good bedroll in all that gear. I’m sure that’ll be much more comfortable than the cold ground? You can lie down just for a bit, hmm?”

More silence. It’s both tedious and alarming. He adds that to his tally of contradictions.

“I don’t hear anything except you, darling,” he says. And when she predictably gives no response, he chances it and taps at what he thinks is her shoulder. And hits the side of her head.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” she says.

Which makes no sense whatsoever. Is this delirium? The last vestiges of thought before what was clearly a poisonous mushroom stills her heart forever?

Shit.

His fingers find her face and he tilts her head towards him. She allows it for two seconds before slapping his hands away.

“Eleanor,” he says. “You’re behaving erratically. Perhaps you ought to take that potion now.”

“Mm fine.”

“You’re certainly not. We can’t have you keeling over down here.”

“Mm fine. Stop fussing.”

She says, as a rhythmic sound starts up. Her leg, he realizes. She’s sitting with her legs crossed, and now one of them bounces fast.

“Whatever’s got you on edge—”

“They’re watching us,” she says.

Another statement that sends a bolt of alarm crackling down his spine. At least, until logic—but mostly his own senses—prevail.

“We’re literally the only ones in this cavern,” he says. He almost says “living things” but, well, there’s only one of those.

He’s close enough he can feel her head shake. She makes a strange sound, “nuh-uh.” And he doesn’t even get a moment to try to decipher what it should translate to, because she carries on. “The fungus. Y’know it talks? It’s all probably one, big creature. A mi-cro-or-gan-ism.” Said very carefully and it still doesn’t translate. “Ain’t even alive, but it ain’t dead and this whole cavern is probably just one or two of ‘em. They’s all the same one.”

Ah. She has…lost it entirely, then. He wishes she could have cracked long ago, when they could have left her behind. Or had the decency to hold out long enough for them to find another one of their party. Instead, she’s chosen the worst, possible moment to all but abandon him.

“Well, darling,” he says and gives her actual shoulder (this time) a little pat. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Perhaps you can make friends with it.”

And she grabs him. A proper grab. For the first time. Two fistfuls of his shirt and she jerks him down, her earthy-scented breath washing over him when she says, “You can’t kill fungi in any way that matters. The internet knows that. It’s all one organism. It’s a mycelium, and it talks to all parts of it. Like a big, fucking brain.”

He finds her wrists and…she’s got a strong grip when she wants to.

“Dearest, I only have one good shirt. If you wouldn’t mind?”

A pause. Then she lets go. She does seem to observe basic etiquette when she’s not flying off into madness or chewing out a man’s throat.

“It’s listening to us, Astarion. I think…I think I ate some. I think them was magic mushrooms, but I can hear them now. And I think they can hear me. And they’re screaming.”

Magic mushrooms? There was no arcane power in that little bag. Surely she can’t…oh. Ah yes. That would make sense.

She’s taken hallucinogens. Those elves were carrying around hallucinogenic mushrooms—either they were immune, or he’s going to have to change his opinion of sun elves slightly. And now she’s as high as a bird.

The relief pulls the tension out of his shoulders. He can admit that to himself. She’ll be odd for a time, and then probably sleep, and he won’t be left on his own. Yes. Good. That’s much better.

Right until she says, “But if they can talk to each other, what if they can find me? What if they know I’m here?”

“What?”

She flaps her hand. He knows this, because she accidentally (he hopes) swats him in the face.

“Fuck, sorry! But y’all got strawberries.”

He takes a few steps back. Best to leave her to her little adventure, as it were. But then her leg bounces faster, and he’s heard these can turn nasty, and if she runs off in a panic and falls into some pit and snaps her pretty neck, then he’s right back where he started.

“What about strawberries?” he says. That seems the safest part of this whole conversation.

“Why the fuck do y’all got strawberries!” she says, entirely too excited about fruit. “Strawberries evolved for a specific ecosystem thousands and thousands of years ago. On Earth. So why the fuck do y’all got them? Why are there humans here? At first, I thought it maybe was some kinda parallel evolution, the way lots of other things just end up as fucking crabs. But y’all got fucking strawberries and coffee and tea. And they taste the fucking same. That’s gotta be some kinda like, interdimensional fucking…fucking pollination or whatever. Like transplants.”

He stares in her general direction.

“Astarion, I think our worlds fucking talk to each other. And mushrooms might be sentient space penises—is it peni? What’s the plural on that?”

“…cocks?” he says.

She snaps her fingers. “Ye-awh. Sentient space cocks. I heard whole forests are like, one mycelium. So what if it’s the same here and on Earth and they can all talk to each other? What if they’re in both worlds and so are…are gods? Cause we got a Tyr in our world but it’s different and like a thousand years extinct but what if it’s real.”

“Darling…” He’s not even sure where he’s going with this. She’s worked herself up into a proper froth (he can see why the wizard is fascinated with her).

“What if it’s real?” she says again, going quiet. Something about that tone needles at him. It doesn’t sound like her, confident and clever. She sounds too small. Sounds…young.

“What if it was all real?”

It takes him a moment to trace the lines back into what he knows about her: her memories the night with the gur. Her family. Some sort of religious aspect to it, though he didn’t delve deeply enough to understand.

“What does it matter?” he says.

“Because. Because I said it wasn’t. All the therapy, all my friends, it wasn’t none of it real. It was just people. People can be fuckers. You can deal with that. But if it was…was right. Then…”

She swallows so hard he can hear it.

“Then they was right,” she says. “They was right and they said if we left we’d burn in hell. So if it was real, if god was real, what happens when he finds me?”

She’s mentioned leaving something several times. A religious sect, then? One her family was devoted to?

“Who was your god, then?” he says. “Which one?”

And she laughs. Quiet. Mean. “Wasn’t no other god but him. ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’”

Thou shalt know thou art mine.

His stomach gives a queasy shiver.

“He don’t got a name but god. Him and the Pastor. And I ran away. I thought they’d come after me, but they never did. Least not that I could tell. But what if our worlds talk? And he’s real? And he knows everything, he can see everything and he’ll know where I am. What if they come this time?”

To capture. Retrieve a runaway. He knows that sick, churning dread all too well.

But he’s never heard of a god named “god.” How utterly preposterous. Most gods are arrogant, but that takes it even further.

Her leg bounces fast. He’d told her elves and humans ate similar foods. But there are differences, and something that might be harmless to an elf…what if she gets so worked up her feeble human heart just…stops?

He should comfort her. Somehow. He’s not sure how people go about that with their clothes on. He’s not sure how people go about that when they mean it.

“Well, I’ve never heard of a god named god, darling,” he says.

On a whim, he decides to check the tadpole connection and make sure she’s not, well, leaking or anything. It’s a bit like slipping into a river (how terribly banal for him, these days). The current is the whole of them, and each individual a stone along the channel.

Everyone keeps mainly to themselves—save for the tiefling, who burns hot with joy and violence. She’s currently got her ax buried in the skull of…is that a minotaur?

He gives himself a shake. Where is their yokel? She’s here somewhere…

He finds her. Or finds the space around her, rather. The way one can spot a new moon by the lack of stars within the dark circle in the sky. Their illustrious leader is a void. So sealed off she makes herself more obvious than the others, with their occasional thoughts leaking out like wisps in the current (the wizard is crouched over a set of rusted armor, his mind some complicated puzzle of intricate, spinning gears).

But her? She’s impenetrable.

“Darling?” he says and pulls himself back into his own body.

“What if god finds me?” she says. “What if he can bring them and they all find me. You don’t know what it’s like. We ain’t supposed to leave. That’s how the devil gets you. We can’t leave. But I did. And I can’t go back there.”

“You’re not going anywhere, dear—”

“I ain’t gonna. I cannot go back. Not ever.”

Well, he can understand that sentiment. He carefully lowers himself to sitting near her. “No one is going to take you.”

When was the last time a person spent so much time alone with him? Who is he to say something like that?

“And even if they did, you’re far tougher than you give yourself credit for, you know.”

And she…she sniffles. He’s seen her cry the once (well, twice, but the second time she was covered in blood and was in what even he recognized as a state of shock). It was in the forest after he deliberately hurt her. The bottle and a half of wine cracked her facade, and out spilled her losing her entire world, her people, her culture. He’s seen her afraid (scarpered halfway up a tree after screaming so hard it hurt his ears as a gnoll charged her). Hells, he came across her as she lay dying. But he’s never heard her so, so helpless. It irks him. She’s supposed to be the one with three different plans, one of them involving setting something on fire. She’s not…she can’t be so sad and scared. It makes him uneasy.

“They ain’t the problem,” she says, her voice thick. He frowns and starts to ask her what the problem is, then (he knows what happens to runaways, locked in the dark and the rotting silence). But she beats him to it. “I am.”

He has no answer for that. Oh, plenty of questions. None of which he can quite parse out.

“I know what they do,” she continues. Her memory of a dark cellar in the ground and a chain and hunger—he doesn’t want to think on that, not even if it was only in her head. “But being there. It, it changes how you think. If they got me back…what if…what if they got in my head? What if they made me want to stay again? They was real good at that. That’s what other people don’t get. The bad parts, yeah. But they could make good parts, too. And I…it worked. It worked for a long time”

She’s afraid. Not of others (well, a little of others), but of herself. Of her own weakness. Of giving in.

That strikes far too close to Astarion. Nearly slips through his defenses and nicks something vital. He slaps a metaphysical hand over the wound and backs away.

“They’d have to take you first, darling,” he says. “I’d murder them if they tried.”

She snuffles again. Coughs her throat clear. “You can’t see.”

“No. But I’m still a vampire spawn. I can rip out a throat if I feel like it, sight or no. You’re hardly defenseless down here. And there’s no god in any realm that could help them if they tried to take you with our resident tiefling hellspawn around.”

Or the Blade. Or the wizard. Hells, the cleric and the gith, when not trying to murder each other, would be a force of their own. He’s certain even the over-sized druid would step in.

“Serious?” she says.

He scoots himself closer, just enough that their knees brush. When hers isn’t bouncing, anyway.

“I’d never turn down a meal, you know,” he says. “I’d drink them dry even if I didn’t get to gorge myself.”

And because he never actually got over the indignity of it, he pauses a moment to get a read on her position, and then reaches out to poke her nose to see how she likes it—he hits her cheek.

“We’re allies, yes?” he says. “We watch each other’s backs.”

Her leg slows. “I…yeah. Guess we do.”

She sniffles and sniffs a few more times. It seems to be clearing up. The two of them sit in silence for a time. Which isn’t something he knows what to do with. He never just…sits. Especially not with someone. Usually, he’s seducing them or taking off his clothes. And the other spawn don’t converse. Not really. It’s too dangerous—they all act as eyes and ears of that bastard. One is just as likely to turn another in for a slip, any mistake at all. They are nothing but extensions of him.

This is…strange. Awkward. And, in a way, almost…calming?

“You still got that arsonist’s oil?” his sniffling leader says and ruins it.

“I’m not giving you a weapon in your state.”

“It ain’t a weapon. It’s a potion.”

“It’s a grenade, darling, and very much counts as a weapon.”

“I just…” she says. “I’m just…”

He can fill the rest in: weak. Defenseless. And then he wonders why in the hells he’s so invested. No, no. He’s doing his job as her ally, cheering her up. Making sure she still breathes come morning—or whatever passes for morning, blinded in the Underdark. Because she’s no use to him dead or panicked. That’s the reason he’s doing whatever it is he’s doing.

“Besides,” she says. “I gotta watch your back, too. And I lost my cool poison robes so all I got is a stick.”

Well, that’s…certainly practical. Yes. It’s simple practicality.

He sighs. Leans over to drag his pack to him and dig around inside.

“Fine,” he says. Tries not to think of how reassuring the handles of his daggers feel in his own hands when he sits, staring out at nothing, waiting for the first whispers of mine to sear into his mind. “But if you throw that at me, darling, I’m going to be very cross.”

“I ain’t gonna throw it at you,” she says. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

She sounds so disgustingly genuine. He ought to vomit. Tell her where she can shove her pity and her, her…whatever this is. But his body is doing something. There’s something happening to him, something she just did. Something he doesn’t like.

He shoves all that down as hard as he can. Shoves the bottle at her. She takes it. Eventually, her knee stops bouncing.

They sit in more silence, their knees brushing.

Then, “Thank you.”

She means for the bottle. Though, for some reason he cannot decipher, it feels like she’s referring to more than that.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

[girlactionfigure]

🔘 Wed morning  - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

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🟨 Many people immediately asked for evidence the Rafah attack reports were false, which the IDF provided definitively around 12 hours later.  And people asked: how did we know basically immediately?

- - if Hamas is publicizing it, it’s a lie.  They literally have created an industry with cameramen, lighting, professional horror makeup people, etc.  Yesterday’s CNN headline picture was obviously posed, with makeup on the mourning people.

- - when the figures change every hour or every report, it’s a lie.  You can tell their PR people are throwing out numbers until they see what gets accepted.

- - when the details don’t make sense, it’s likely a lie.

BUT, the reporters and then the public absorbs THE FIRST INFO - no matter how ridiculous.  We applaud those fighting the good fight with information, it’s always too late.  As from the next item below, we have world policy being made on the basis of the lie.  

One response I have heard is to immediately emphasize and reflect, which might force people to think a bit, like this: “I heard the Israelis bombed 50 innocent people!”… “Really?  I heard they bombed 5 million innocent children holding build-a-bears! And I saw a picture!  Nice bears though. And beautiful outfits on the children, wonder where you can buy them?”  

.. And they try again: Arab channels are reporting about 21 dead in an attack by an Israeli warplane on the tent area in Mawasi of Rafah in the southern Gaza Strip.  No documentation, no pictures, but watch for the Al Jazeera and CNN headlines.  IDF: no such attack.

Regarding the original, here’s it all in a nice video: https://x.com/AbuAliEnglishB1/status/1795504079491272925?t=BI4qgX821mbOTPwS2JaNOw&s=19

▪️ALGERIA AND SOUTH AFRICA TO REQUEST UN SEC COUNCIL RESOLUTION RE: RAFAH.  

▪️CROSS GREEN LINE SHOOTING - TULKARM to BAT HEFER.. masked terrorists identified with Hamas were seen shooting at Bat Hefer from the Tulkarm border wall, and yesterday there was an infiltration team that cross the wall and was captured. Also noting that Route 6 follows directly along part of the wall, putting both the towns and the major Israel traffic route at risk. (N12)

"Vengeance and Liberation Youth" Battalion take responsibility for shooting at Bat Hefer.

▪️PM ORDERS HALT ON “SETTLEMENT” HOUSE DESTRUCTION, DEFENSE DEPT DOES IT ANYWAY.. Despite Prime Minister Netanyahu's order not to destroy houses belonging to reservists during wartime - security forces destroyed this morning near the settlement of Adam a house of a soldier who is in the reserves. The Prime Minister's Office stated that his directive is still in effect. 

▪️CHINA REQUESTS HOUTHIS STOP SHIP ATTACKS, HOUTHIS SAY NO.. there was a meeting of the Chinese Foreign Minister in Yemen with senior officials in Yemen to stop the Houthi attacks in the Red and Arabian seas.  The answer: no.

🔘 Wed morning  - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( 2 of 2 )

▪️3 HERO SOLDIERS HAVE FALLEN.. (not from our regular source, so I’m less sure of this)  Paratroopers Brigade 50, Amir Glilov, Uri Bar Or, Udi Ofer.  (No ages or locations in the notice).  May their families be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and may G-d avenge their blood.

▪️ECONOMY - INTEREST RATES.. Bank of Israel leaves the interest rate unchanged at 4.5%; The prime interest rate - 6%.  The dollar-shekel rate stays steady on the news at $1 = NIS 3.69

▪️SCAM / HACK WARNING.. People are receiving an incoming call from a confidential number, the speaker identifies as a representative of the police cyber team OR the national HQ for the protection of children OR the police info center, and requests that they provide a code received in an SMS message.

The code they ask for is the WhatsApp activation code, and will allow the hacker to take control of your WhatsApp.

NOBODY official will call you and ask for any SMS codes, EVER.  It’s a scam!

Hack attempts can be reported to the cyber center -> dial 119.

The cyber center recommends turning on 2 step verification for WhatsApp: Settings>Account>Two-step verification.

♦️Gaza: Air force attacks east of Khan Yunis and Sheikh Radwan.

♦️Gaza: Airstrikes in Nusirat, central and western Rafah.

♦️Gaza: Artillery in various areas in Rafah, north of Nusirat, east of Al-Maazi and Al-Boreij, east of Sajaiya, Jabaliya and Beit Lahiya.

♦️COUNTER-TERROR operations overnight in Shevika (near Tulkarm) and Tubas and Shoafat.  Plenty of gunfire, explosives thrown at security vehicles.

⭕ HOUTHIS shot 5 missiles at a Greek ship yesterday. HIT with 3 !

⭕ HEZBOLLAH ROCKETS at Shtula, 2 rounds.

[sobbing-emoji]

Late Night at Bunker 9

Leo Valdez x Reader 

** I will be making all my characters gender neutral **

(I am non-binary and it’s so hard finding gender neutral fanfics) 

I laid comfortably in a hammock with my ear buds in. My favorite song was playing loudly in my ears as I read my favorite book. The music was to keep out the very noisy machinery happening around me. Leo had decided to wake up in the middle of the night to make phones that don't attract monsters for us demigods, but honestly I'd rather sleep than watch him make phones.

I almost denied his request to join him, but the way he smiled from his excitement made it too hard to resist. So here I was, trying not to fall asleep as Leo worked away.

I turn to my left and see Leo working intently at his worktable. His lips were pressed tightly as he concentrated, adding tiny screws and other things I couldn't identify to a small rectangular box.

"Are you almost done?" I half asked, half whined.

"It's only been like two hours," Leo responded, still not taking his eyes of his work. "Something like this won't be done that fast."

"How long do you think it will take?" I asked, removing my earbuds and closing my book.

Leo looked up, thinking. "Probably like... another 22 hours?That’s not including bathroom breaks and a ten minute nap."

"What?" I shouted, surprised. I sit up, nearly falling out of the hammock. "Dude, can't you do this after a good night sleep? Please? I'm so tiredddd!"

"Fine, you can go to sleep," Leo said, turning back to his phone.

"But Leo," I said, walking to him and leaning on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. He still didn't look back. "I was hoping we could, like, cuddle?"

"Y/N, I'm really busy," Leo answered. "Maybe when I'm done?"

I groaned. "C'monnn! Please?"

"I can'ttttt!" Leo whined back, mocking me. I grab his hands and remove the items he was holding. I intertwine my fingers with his and spin him around his chair. Pulling him up, I bring him to the hammock. He's smiling and closing his eyes, leaning his head back and bringing no effort to follow me. "Y/NNNN, let me get back to workkk!"

"Nope!" I said, popping the 'p'. I pull him into the hammock with me and he lays on me, his head in the crook of my neck. It seems like he gave in cause he wraps his arms around me and removes his shoes, allowing them to fall with a small 'thump' on the ground. I rub his back and play with his hair. "See. This isn't better than working, is it?"

"Oh the power you hold over me," Leo whispered, laughing slightly.

"I work magic, don't I?" I smirked. Leo giggled.

"Are you sure you didn't give me a love potion or something?" Leo asked skeptically.

"Well, how else was a person like me gonna get with a guy like you?" I whispered.

Leo was silent for a little bit, thinking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm way out of your league, Leo," I replied, surprised. Obviously he knew that. Right? "You pretty much saved the world, you're part of the Big Seven, you are incredibly smart, and you're so talented. Not only that, but you are incredibly attractive."

Leo remained silent after my statement. He seemed to need lots of time to process my words because for nearly twenty minutes we laid there, warm despite the cold winter breeze that knocked on the door, and comfortable in each others embrace.

"That's really weird," he commented finally. "When I met you, I instantly fell in love. You looked incredibly beautiful. Everything about you made me trip over nothing. After getting to know you more, my situation only got worse. The way you care, the way you love. The way you hide in your hands when your nervous. The silly way you pour syrup on your waffles and pancakes. That dangerous look on your face when you're sparring. The way you move at the speed of light when you hear someone play your favorite show." Leo stopped. He got up and switched positions with me. I was now laying on top of him as he brushed his hands threw my hair. "The way you don't take anything from anyone, no matter their position. I'm the one out of your league. I may be smart, I may be part of the Big Seven, but that's about it. Other than that, under all that, I'm just a repair boy who can't sit still."

I feel tears brim my eyes. I've never been very confident. I've never thought of myself as anything special. Just a kid that can't get my head out of the clouds. But here he was, Leo Valdez, telling me everything I never thought I'd hear.

"I love you, Valdez," I whispered, holding him tighter. I could hear his heart beat speeding up. It was nearly as if I could feel it beating through his chest.

He took a quick breath. "I... I love you too."

He pulled me off of him and sat up. He then brought both of his hands on my cheek and looked at me in the eyes, his smile big and bright. "I love you too."

I smiled and then, we kissed. It was a long, passionate kiss. Full of love. It wasn't inappropriate, or the nasty kisses you see on T.V. It was a genuine, loving kiss.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.

Maybe this late night at Bunker 9 wasn't such a bad idea after all.

(Not me making this chapter during class and nearly crying because I'm a total genius for making this.)

[zzzykiek]

Play It Sweet

2P!Alastor x Fem!OC reader

CW: toxic workplace, creepy boss, talk of past violence, serial killers

This chapter is SFW but I'll still ask Minors DNI

Chpt 6_________________ “Ugh…Susan”

That lunch break was just what you needed and you return refreshed and ready to show Al how things work on the back end. Even Al lets his act drop, willing to relax enough to show his adorable stutter.

Returning to your office you do a quick check of your messages letting Al relax for a moment. “What do I g-get to observe first?” His question is barely a whisper in your ear. “S-s-sorry.” He whimpers when the unexpected proximity causes you to startle.

He leans into your touch as you caress his cheek. “I suppose I will give you the typical new patron rundown I do. That will give you the basics for everything and then we can dive into what peaks your interest.” Al reluctantly backs away from your touch and ushers you to lead the way.

You take him to the library's catalog computer. “This is the brain of the library.”

“No d-dear, that would be you.”

You giggle at Al's comment feeling your cheeks heat up. “Sadly, I am not always available, but this is.”

“Hmm, I will always prefer getting my information straight from the source, but enlighten me.” He leans his chin on your shoulder, watching as you access the catalog.

“You can search for anything you're interested in using: subject, title, or author. What do you want to find?”

“Hmm…” You see Al’s eyes flick to something on the other side of the kiosk and then back to the screen. “What if I was interested in….say…. serial killers?”

You give him an intrigued look. “True events or stories featuring them?”

“Real events, my dear.”

“Oh perfect! This will let me show you how to navigate our nonfiction collection. It is a bit more complicated than looking for a novel.” Pointing to the information on the screen, you continue, “This selection of numbers is the Dewey Decimal number, which is how the nonfiction books are arranged, and this number indicates the aisle where the item can be found. I added that detail when I started here to make things easier. Saves so much frustration. Is there a particular killer you're interested in?”

“I do enjoy the stories of those that were never identified. Makes it a bit more dangerous.”

“I will add unsolved to our search, and it looks like we have three items available; two books and one archive item.” You click on the archive item and are about to explain what it is when you hear the worst sound in the library.

“Ehhhh hhehehem.” A scratchy voice clears their throat.

“Ugh….Susan.” You whisper under your breath before switching to a cheery customer service attitude, feeling Al stifling a chuckle as you step out from under his chin. “Susan! How can I be of service today?”

“I am not so sure I approve of the topic you are leading this impressionable young man to.” Her eyes scan Al with a scowl.

You hear Al snort and say in your ear, “I’m not as young as everyone thinks.”

“I am simply providing a reader's advisory, leading him to what he has requested.”

“Why does the collection even have items on such a morbid topic?” The pointed look she gives indicates she puts all the blame on you.

“For readers like me that enjoy the mystery and danger of humanity.” Al is obviously turning up the charm. (I need to remember to ask if his voice is part of his powers.)

“Humph, shouldn’t be accessible to the public. Keep it at the police station.” She folds her arms and straightens up, obviously trying to command power in the conversation even though Al towers over her by a good two feet.

Bending at the waist, Al lets her have a sense of power. “An interesting perspective. I will let you know, I am looking for just that. I will be here doing interviews for community members on Thursday. I will be happy to schedule you a slot for you to speak your voice.”

Her demeanor immediately changes as she lays a hand on Al’s arm causing his body to stiffen. “Ohhhh, well I would be happy to!”

Quickly sidestepping from the touch, he returns to the computer. “Wonderful! I am sure it will be most enlightening! Now, Sunnifa was just about to explain the archived items to me, and these are details I must hear. It was wonderful to meet you Susan and I will see you on Thursday.” Al turns back to the screen, slotting back onto your shoulder as you give a dismissive nod toward Susan who begrudgingly returns to her place in the reading lounge.

You tap the mouse and bring the screen back to life. “Archived items are things that are not published books; they could include field notebooks, artifacts like bones or antiques, and newspapers which is what this particular item is. A collection from the late 1920s. Oh! They are from New Orleans!”

“Oh really, I would love to check those out.” He winks at you, and your eyes go from the screen to him and back as you piece together some comments from your hours of random conversation before realization smacks you in the face. You mouth to him, ‘Is that about you?’ He nods with a mischievous glint in his eye. You know you have a funny look on your face as you do some math in your head. “A decade old….” You say in a breath.

Al leans down and whispers. “T-t-told you I am not as young as p-people think.” You just laugh.

“Well these items are kept in the archive offices on the third and fourth floors. Usually patrons will put in a request for the item using the catalog and a staff member brings it to the desk for viewing, but we didn’t include the archives on our tour, so I will show you while we retrieve this. These are labeled 3.0167, so third floor, aisle one, sixth column, and seventh shelf.” You write down the location code and the call numbers for the other two books. “I also know our database has an article on the same killer featured in the newspapers. I will pull that up for you from the reference computer in a bit. It was written by someone I think you know.” Your turn to flash him a mischievous grin.

“Oh! Well, paint me intrigued. I will follow you.” You begin moving toward the elevator.

“Actually, would you mind if we took the stairs?” You catch a small tremor in Al’s form.

“No problem at all.” Al holds the stairwell door open for you. As you enter, he looks around for a moment before popping back to his demon looks.

“N-n-needed a b-bit of a break.” He summons his microphone staff and uses it to assist him in climbing the stairs, holding your hand tightly the whole way. He is shaking some, and you gently pull him to pause at the second floor landing. You meet his eyes and plant a comforting kiss on his lips which he melts into.

“Keeping up your disguise takes a lot of power doesn't it?” You gently run your finger through his hair as he relaxes the shaking stops.

“Not an insane amount, but even holding something light begins to feel heavy after a while.”

“I will make sure you get a few more breaks tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” He pulls you in against his chest and nuzzles into your hair. “Th-th-thank you, me amour.” Even he startles himself with that slip of the tongue as he clears his throat. “We better make our way up.” He snaps back into a human appearance and heads up the steps two at a time, holding the door for you on the third floor.

You beeline for the shelf, knowing exactly where it is, ascending the small ladder. You feel Al take hold of it at the bottom. You remove the box from its spot, placing it on a small platform attached to the ladder. “Crank the little handle to your left and the box will come down.” He looks at the crank, but waits for your feet to be on the ground before following your directions. Al picks up the box smirking at the highlight of the top issue. ‘New Orleans Butcher Strikes Again!’ It’s paired with a photo of the victim and a blurred out render of the crime scene. “His body count was higher than mine ever was.” Al’s grip on the box tightens and you can feel the rage emanating from him.

With a knowing smile you interrupt his spiraling thoughts. “Can't wait to hear your side of these stories.” The shocked look on Al’s face is truly adorable.

“Really?”

“Most definitely!”

Al laughs heartily. “I shouldn't be surprised at this point.”

The remainder of the afternoon is rather routine. Al wanders around observing the daily happenings of the library while you complete your normal daily tasks. Making sure to print that article for Al to see later.

Before you know it, three-thirty rolls around and Heather comes into your office with Al. It seems they have been chatting for a bit. “Sunnifa, It's about time you're let out from this prison to enjoy your evening!”

“I would never consider this place a prison Heather.” You laugh until you hear heavy steps in the hall.

“Cliff, you're late!” Heather turns with a hand on her hip.

“I was dealing with a patron’s concern, my apologies. Seems our new friend made an odd impression on Mrs. Susan.” Cliff tries to stifle his distaste at seeing Al’s hand on your shoulder.

“Ahh, yes, I plan to interview her on Thursday.” Al lets a bit of concern slip into his voice.

“I recommend you smile, nod, and take notes. She isn't impressed with you...at all.”

Heather picks up on Al’s concern, waving a hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t fuss over her. If she wants to complain, I will take it and then toss it in our fireplace.”

“She always complains. We are used to it at this point.” You add, placing your hand over his on your shoulder.

“I would have never known!” Al laughs, put at ease by your touch.

Heather squeezes his arm affectionately. “Well Al, did you observe all you needed to?”

“Oh I could spend days gathering information! It is a library after all.” The comment has Cliff rolling his eyes and putting Heather and yourself into a giggle fit. “But in all seriousness, I am sure there is so much I could learn here, though I have gathered plenty to get my gears turning. I plan to get my questions and some scripts prepared this evening.”

“Wonderful, we will have some things to go over with the board tomorrow.” Cliff huffs.

“For now you two head out and enjoy some time together.” Heather leans over to Al. “Still going to take her to the place I recommended dear?”

“How can I not; your hype makes it a necessity!” He twirls Heather around and flashes you a big smile. “Besides, you did say Sunnifa deserves to be treated well; I pride myself on being nothing but a gentleman.” Al plants a kiss on your hand just like he did the day before. “Are you off the clock now dear?” You glance at the clock to see it is five minutes after four.

“That I am, Al.”

“Good, I have been dying for this all day.” He plants a chaste kiss on your lips, and you can practically feel the anger radiating from Cliff.

“Ohhhh!!! Al, you cheeky thing; you said you weren't an item!” Heather coos.

“Technically we are not, but I planned to change that this evening. What do you say my sunshine, can this be our first date?”

Your mind is racing, but as you look into Al's eyes, there's only one answer to his question. You nod as a smile spreads across your face. Heather has both your and Al’s bags in her hand and is standing between you and Cliff.

“You two get going and I want to hear all about it in the morning.” She rushes you out the back door as she whispers. “I'll handle the man, baby.” Al absolutely explodes with laughter as he picks you up and carries you to the car.

“So what is this place that Heather wants you to take me to?” Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Al’s blue ears bob as he hums along to the music from your radio. (No one can really see him in the car) He fishes out a piece of paper from his pocket and places it in your line of sight. Your eyes go wide. “Now I know why Heather told you to take me there!”

“Because it's your favorite!” His smile is so wide and so proud you can't help but mirror it.

“Aren't you from Hell?”

“D-d-did that not register after this m-m-morning?” He taps his finger on your wrist.

“And yet you keep making me feel like I'm in Heaven.” There's that purple glow again. You giggle at his flustered state. “Well you are adorable as Hell, so I guess I will believe you.”

Now Al is a babbling mess next to you, though his voice isn't loud enough for you to make out any of what he is saying. “You're only giving me more proof.” You flash him a grin and entangle your fingers in his, causing him to relax some, going back to his humming. You begin singing along, not catching Al’s stare from the passenger seat.

When the song ends, his wistful voice comments, “You have the voice of an angel, so maybe it's you who the Heavens sent me.”

You just look at him, giggling, and let him take his victory. “We will be there soon. Time to human up again.”

[marchtooctober]

This fic happens after they everyone gets back inside. I was supposed to post this after chapter 90's release but I was busy with my internship so I couldn't finish it in time. A longer note will follow at the bottom of fic. Thanks and happy reading!! 💕

Clothes to Wear for Another Decade

The Forgers have been helping their new neighbors, the Authens, unpack their luggage and arrange their belongings. Loid moved and opened the boxes while Yor dusted the shelves and cleaned all over the dirty nooks. Bond lazily lied after the tiring adventure of a walk. Anya and Mr. Authens are engaged in a more or less coherent chat about housewares and zoology.

“Should we open this up?” Yor asked, carrying a massive trunk with no difficulty.

“As for that one… I can't remember what's inside. Can you please open it?” Mrs. Authen said, trying to recall its content.

“Okay.”

Yor did as requested and clothes of unfamiliar style and colors emerged. Dresses with puffed sleeves and capes, pleated skirts, wide-legged pants, vests, flat caps, suspenders, pinstripe suits, knitted tops and many more. Mrs. Authen's expression turned bright as she grabbed some.

“It's our old clothes! Now I remember! It would be a shame to leave them behind so we had to bring some of them.” She delightfully said.

Anya and Mr. Authen joined them in rummaging through the colorful pile. 

“How nice to see these again. Look at that! It's my Sunday favorite, and this one too from one of our dates.” Mr. Authen held up some oddly paired baggy trousers and sweaters.

“I used to wear these for parties.” Mrs. Authen took her flapper dresses with elaborate patterns.

Anya held up several items out of curiosity.

“Will Becky approve these long thingies?” She thought out loud.

Mrs. Authen smiled and turned to Yor and Loid.

“Come and choose anything you'd like to try!"

"But we still have to-" Yor started.

"Don't be shy, dear! Here, this. Try this. And this one, that one too! Your mister can surely take care of himself, isn't that right?" The woman turned to Yor and Loid.

Suddenly, they were too stunned to speak. As if it was their first time to be identified as husband and wife.

"Uhm…"

"Oh? Aren't you two wedded?"

"Uh- Y-Yes, ma'am! We're already married. Last year. Anya is my child with my late wife who passed away." Loid was so taken aback by the question that it caused him to stutter.

"Is that so, dear? But what a nice family, you all are."

"Well… Thank you, ma'am."

Mrs. Authen continued searching through the folded items until she got her hands on a large fabric. She unfolded it and showed a set of baggy top with and pleated skirt. Underneath is another set of plain shirt with suspenders and wide-legged pants. The colors have already faded a little but the fabrics are barely damaged.

"I think these will look good on both of you."

"But we can't-" Loid started but the old lady spoke again.

"Please, It'll be very nice to see you wear our clothes just this once. Won't you grant this old woman's favor?"

They became fidgety and couldn't stare at anyone at all.

"O-Okay… We will try them on." Yor said shyly.

To shield himself from embarrassment and scrutinizing gazes, he took the clothes and went into one of the rooms to get changed. Yor did the same and went to another room. It did not take long before they both stepped out.

"My, my, it really suits you!" Barbara said in delight.

"Really, they do. Just like us when we were younger." Her husband added.

“Mama and Papa look like people from old movies.”

Loid and Yor could not help but blush in embarrassment and smile awkwardly. It simply felt different. Because they are donning the old couple's clothes.

“How do they fit?” Mrs. Authen asked.

“It fits just right. But I was scared that I might damage the skirt so I had to adjust it a little.” Yor said, scanning the clothes for damage.”

“And you?”

“The shirt fits me but the pants seem a little bit short for me.” Loid replied while adjusting the suspenders.

Mr. And Mrs. Authen couldn't help but pour compliments and tell them stories of old, the memories that were stitched on the clothes.

"Oh dear… you look so good in our dress. Why don't you keep it?" Mrs. Authen suddenly asked.

"Hm-?! Keep?! But we can't accept this ma'am…" Yor immediately said in surprise.

"I think so too, Mrs. Authen. We think your family should be the one wearing these. I believe they'll treasure it more dearly." Loid added.

"Could it be that you don't want it because it doesn't suit your taste? Then we can just go to the tailor for something nice." Mr Authen said.

"N-No, sir! We assure you, it's not! We simply think that we don't deserve your beloved items." Loid reasoned with a smile.

He started worrying that they offended the couple for rejecting but he was surprised when Mrs. Authen took his hand.

"You know, son," The old lady started as she also took Yor's hand and placed it with Loid's.

The physical touch that was shared did nothing as much as what the rest of Mrs. Authen's words did to them.

"These clothes gave us good memories for a long time. I hope that they'll do the same for you too."

Loid and Yor only smiled. It was only in an instant but their gazes crossed. Their countenance showed half-torn cheerfulness. If anything, the words caused a sudden pang of bitterness to Loid.

Loid doesn't know what's in Yor's mind but for him, they are unworthy of such a pure gesture. It wasn't only because they are not a real couple. They are simply bound by the benefits of a fake relationship with no lasting commitment on his end. It's unspoken but he knows it very well.

Good clothes for good memories.

The uncertainty of the future was enough to keep them from accepting such prized possession. Loid knew that the Forger family would not last long enough for such clothes to be worn a dozen times.

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

I hope you enjoyed this little fic of mine. Actuallyyy,, this is pretty much a by-product of my rainy day fic that i posted some time ago. That fic was supposed to be longer because Loid and Yor were supposed to be taken in by an old couple that runs a boutique shop for vintage items (their old items). And because Loid and Yor are rain-drenched, the old couple will give them clothes.

But since there were still no elderly couple in the manga back then and of course with my laziness and distaste for carelessly naming my OCs, I cut off the said fic as i have posted. You can go ahead and read it if you're interested 🥰🥰.

So ever since i posted that fic, I've been waiting for old characters to be introduced in the manga and finally chapter 90 came. We now have Mr. and Mrs. Authen!!! 🤩🤩🤩 I'm so glad that i put this fic off until the right time comes. And now I'm sharing this with you.

[gvtted-ratz]

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THOMAS

Tom/Thomas x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 11/07/2024

TW: mocking, drugging, imprisonment, kidnapping, illegal auctioning, human trafficking

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,721

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes from gvtted-ratz (writer/creator): Tom, our beloved. There isn’t much, if any, info on him, so we did our best. If you don’t enjoy the headcanons we’ve established here, we don’t mind you clicking off the fic. We do suggest looking up Nazca and its culture. It was pretty interesting to read about.

Notes from @rppik (editor/co-writer): a quote from when I was editing: “Rat, you self-indulgent meta-ass whore, PLEASE”

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to cease to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?”

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED THOMAS 《

“Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’d love to have that Thomas boy! I’ll do 140 for him! And perhaps Mason for 250?” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” The Auctioneer's  facial expression is unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“200 on Machete, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. Machete doesn’t look to be phased at being chosen by Red; his face stays calm despite this very unlucky situation he’s found himself in.

Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, of Blue’s selected prizes, Mason looks ready to kill; his eyes looking this way and that, body tensed like a large predator ready to pounce. Tom's widened eyes, however, are shiny with fearful, unshed tears.

It appears Blue wants to have someone she can “put in their place” while also having somewhat of an obedient mutt.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“150 for Tom,” your warbled voice makes said man flinch at your words. You can see his clasped hands shaking.

“What! But, Green! I want him,” Blue whines, making a distorted sigh spill from your lips. A few of the products’ eyes have that “oh God, now what” look to them. “200!”

“Nearing your budget. 300,” you retort, no hesitation in your tone. You hear a few huffs from her window, the blue glow only highlighting how spoiled she acts despite her age.

“Fine! I’ll take that dirty cop for 150 then!” You can mentally hear the ‘humph!’ after her words, leading to you to sigh once more. Blue is probably the Bidder you like the least, due to her spoiled tone paired with the inability to actually fight for items she deems worthy of her money. You already know she can’t afford the things she wants, compared to you or Red, that is. How she acts only adds fuel to that raging fire.

“‘Dirty cop!? Who the fuck do you think you are, you stupid bitch!” Said dirty cop is now making a fuss, making you smash your hand into your window to silence him. The rattling directs his gaze to your area while others try to look anywhere but.

“Auctioneer, the bidding is done. I will send you the money as agreed upon, including the extra,” you declare, the modulator only making your voice sound emotionless.

“Oh, yes! Of course! Thank you for joining us here today! As ordered, those who were not purchased will be dropped off in or near their respective towns!” A high-pitched whine rings out as a clear mist fills the room, falling from the spouts attached to its ceiling.

The Auctioneer stands away from the shackled group, seemingly watching on as they yell at everyone around them; cornered animals always tend to lash out when there’s no escape. While they proceed to collapse in heaps on the metal ground below, you, The Auctioneer, and your fellow buyers remain standing; you’re not sure if The Auctioneer has a resistance or a built-in filter to keep out the gas used to put the products to sleep. You do know that the buyers’ rooms have a separate system from the main room, holding its own spouts for the gas in case there happens to be a violent mishap.

Just as quickly as the gas started, it clears just as fast; the spouts no longer whine from releasing the unknown chemicals in the air. Dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, employees of hers enter through the only metal door leading into the room. They grab both the purchased and the unsold, hauling them out for shipment; those that have not been chosen will be carted off as The Auctioneer had stated previously, able to be bought again at a later date. Each of the merchandise will be connected to a drip, keeping them under as they’re delivered to their respective drop-off locations.

You feel a small amount of glee at seeing your chosen target being placed in a wheelchair, IV hooked into the meat of his espresso-brown arm. While he doesn’t know it, he’ll be awaiting your arrival as is per policy; there must be a positive identification of the commodity before the Auction House's job is labeled as complete, with this being a precaution in the case of the delivery being in the wrong area.

“All has been settled, yes?” The Auctioneer’s polite speech forces you to stop staring after your new companion. “Would you kindly wire your payments at this time?” Her customer-service tone hasn’t dialed down nor increased during the entirety of the show’s presentation; it simply remains as prim as possible without grating on your nerves.

“The amount should arrive shortly. Exactly as agreed upon.” You present your burner, clicking the keys to gain access to an offshore account you’ve set up prior to this visit. If one were to try tracking it, somehow getting past your secured firewalls and the encryptions you spent days installing, the trail would only lead to some sap who has a very disturbing interest in illegal images containing unsavoury depictions of people’s mutilated bodies. No skin off your back– literally or figuratively, in this case.

Your distorted-sounding words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over at it before nodding, deeming your actions acceptable.

“Thank you, Green. I have hope from the bottom of my heart that your lovely purchase with bear the ripest of fruit for your taking!” You only give her a nod from the glass, knowing she cannot see into it unless you were to talk, forcing the light to shine on your form. You don’t bother to stay any longer, deciding to leave the little boxed room. Likewise, you’d rather not listen to any concerns nor issues the other buyers may have; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way.

With the door closing behind you, another figure dressed like one of the many previously seen employees steps out in front to guide you. There are no words exchanged, the only sounds you hear being that of your own footsteps, paired with your guide’s own muffled breathing through the gauzy wrappings around their head.

Nearing the end of the hallways, the guide opens the dark-wooden door before you, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. Your pace stays consistent, neither slowing nor speeding up. Brick steps turn into a worn gravel path under your shoes as you approach your vehicle. The keys are pressed into your awaiting hand by another member of staff, dressed like the others before them. The rental is easy to gain access to, the engine starting with ease now that you’ve put the key in the ignition. As you drive off, you don’t look back, looking forward to approaching your place of work. You’re sure that by the time you arrive, your chosen prize will be there waiting for you, unknowingly in his sleeping state, of course.

-------------------------------------

The black van parked in front of the dilapidated garage you call your workplace almost makes you chuckle. It’s hardly inconspicuous though the van is needed to transport goods like the one you’ve purchased; it only makes the image of a kidnapping, or even a body dumping event, brighter in your mind’s eye. Maybe if it was part of some sort of amateur fanfiction made by a sleep-deprived author, you’d have thought more about the vehicle’s design or the fact that you’re at a very odd location after visiting a human trafficking auction to purchase someone. As it were, you had better things to preoccupy your mind with.

You park the rental close to the van, exiting it to approach the back of the dark car. The back doors swing open, an employee of the auction house opening them from the inside. They gesture at the incapacitated man, allowing your hidden eyes to glance over his form.

The IV is still inserted in his median antebrachial vein, or the superficial vein of the forearm; it’s one of the most common places one inserts an IV. He’s been strapped down on a gurney, keeping him in place during the entire ride here; if he were to wake up during transportation, he wouldn’t have been able to escape with all the leather straps keeping him held down. The man hasn’t been changed out of the white tank top or blue shorts, glasses still on his face.

With a quick nod at the worker to signal your approval, they start the process of getting him prepped for you. They remove all the bonds, drip taken out afterwards, and have one of the bulkier employees carry him over their shoulder like a sack of grains.

You step to the side, allowing them to exit their van, just to lead them into the dilapidated garage. Rubbish, dust piles, as well as weeds decorate the ground before you. While there is a house attached to this abandoned hole, you don’t use it. The house has more damage to it than the garage itself, all thanks to some squatters; there may have been a few drunk, teenage party animals who pitched in too, though that remains unproven. There’s no use in trying to clean up the rest of the place, the garage being the most stable despite its looks; there’s still electricity running through the place, leading to your computer set-up, including a portable heater for when the nights get a little too chilling.

You motion towards a spot in the corner of the room with a dog bed on the floor to have some cushion against the concrete ground. A few blankets are thrown haphazardly near it, the portable heater pointing towards the corner. Along the wall, there are some old pipes, carrying water to the shower a few feet away.

To you, the place looks more like a basement than some abandoned garage, and you can’t help but think you got lucky when nabbing this place. With it purchased under one of your many aliases, the trespassing has been cut down greatly; a few shots from a hidden gun does wonders on chasing them away too.

The business-casual dressed worker sets your merchandise on the dog bed as you gesture towards said spot, being careful as to not cause any damages. Those who aren’t careful with purchased goods tend to disappear, as is stated in The Auctioneer’s policy; only the best is expected, after all.

With your new companion disposed of in his respective spot, you give the worker a dismissive wave. You don’t have to watch them leave, hearing their footsteps retreat. You approach your desk, pulling open the bottom drawer to find your desired items. Shoving aside a few snacks, you pull out a pair of handcuffs, and a chain hook connected to a heavy-duty chain; the chain gives two feet of length if used correctly. With your items acquired, you kick the drawer closed.

You approach the unconscious man, knowing he won’t be that way for long. You loop the chain around the pipe, using the hook to lock it in place. With the chain secured, you put one of the chain loops in one of the handcuffs, tightening the cuff until you can’t click the metal any farther. With everything now set up, you lock the cuff around your prize’s wrist; it isn’t tight enough to cut into the meat of his wrist, but it will cause bruising if he yanks on it.

Now that your possession is secured, you throw one of the discarded blankets over him in some semblance of care for the man. A ping from your computer notifies you of a possible correspondence. Leaving the man to continue with his rest, you instead place your focus on work. The office chair is pulled out, creaking with your weight as you plop down in it. A click of your mouse causes the multitude of monitors to light up. Your helmet provides cover from the bright lights, the tinted lens serving its purpose well.

The clacking of your keycaps fills the rotting room, replying to messages from clients about any delays or issues they may be concerned about. Other responses are to those like you, sending out warnings on which clients to avoid and what people to not try messing with when it comes to their valuable privacy. A familiar last name comes up in those encryptions, leading to you sending one to those you’ve worked with: Goffard. Auction. Bought. Both. Location Unknown . You knew the moment you heard that last name, it wouldn’t be long before there would be reports in the hidden parts of the web about it.

Father. Killings. Watch out. Another code says, the word of caution making a warbled hum leave you.

Other Buyers. Not User. Safe. That’s your last response, seemingly making the others let up. Perhaps they thought you had bought the men, but with your short messages, their worries are put at ease. You’re sure these correspondences will be sent to the men’s father, only leading him down another path, as two of his heirs are missing. That is none of your concern, however, as people like you are highly sought after. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asks for aid from one of you; he may or may not care for his sons, but he certainly will care for his business and image.

A gasp not far from you alerts you to your captive. You turn to look towards your right, hands not leaving the keyboard. Tom has huddled up close to the pipes, staring at you with wide brown eyes; his pupils seem contracted, merely pinpricks with how he shakes in terror. To see such small pupils almost makes you proud of your apparent ability to intimidate without even trying, though you usually see dilated ones for those in fear. Maybe it truly does just vary from person to person.

“Rise and shine, Sweetheart,” you adopt a mocking tone despite the modulator forcing it to sound monotone.

“How long was I..?” He asks, though it’s more hesitant than anything. You find it cute that he thinks there’ll be some sort of repercussions for possessing curiosity.

“A few hours, give or take. Nearly the entire day, maybe. Then again, it’s hard to tell considering I haven’t kept track of the time,” your insincere chagrin is coated in the surgery sweetness of falsehood; if it had been an actual treat, it would have rotted your teeth out. 

“What do you want from me?” Tom sounds a little more confident with this question; it’s not by much, if you’re being honest.

“Companionship, a pet, someone to complain to, and whatever else I want you to be,” you’re blunt with the answer, no use sugar-coating why you purchased him. “Believe it or not, Tom , it tends to get very quiet here. Unless I’m dealing with a very crass client. Then there’s screaming from them and shit-talking from me.” You put emphasis on his name, showing that you do, in fact, know it. He likely doesn’t even know the half of how much you know about him; the summary The Auctioneer gave you couldn’t cover the array of other things you’ve found out about him.

With some digging, you knew his parents came all the way from the city of Nazca, stationed on the southern coast of Peru, leaving before he was conceived. Following their trail further, you found that his parents now reside in Eatonia, Saskatchewan of Canada. Looking a bit more into Tom himself, you saw that he was born and raised there, only moving to a more university based town after his high school graduation. You did have someone take a few pictures of his dorm in your place; at first, you were unsure if Thomas practiced anything relating to Nazca culture, but the few hand-made pottery and ceramic items placed around show he still has a connection. You also spied a few small plants in his dorm, grown by his own hands, if the dates on the hand-made plant pots said anything about that; there were even care instructions next to each one.

From your own research into Nazca culture, you knew there was an emphasis placed on agriculture as well as an array of crafts like pottery, ceramics, and textiles. Even as a full-time college student pursuing media development centered around sound design, he still has time to stay connected to those before him.

“You won’t be letting me go, will you?” Tom sounds devastated at this revelation, his words rousing you from your silent recollection of your findings on him. At least he caught on quick enough without you having to spell it out for him.

“I wouldn’t buy you just to throw you out. What a waste of money,” your scoff can be heard through the helmet. He looks to be cowed at the sound, making that small bit of pride nestle close to your heart. You look back over at him, watching his shaking form. A loud sigh spills from your lips, catching his attention. “Behave and your little spot will be upgraded. I’ll even let you continue your college courses. Online, of course, and monitored carefully. I don’t need you running off the moment you think you taste freedom.”

Your words seem to be enough to comfort Tom, his eyes shining at the idea of having some semblance of normalcy despite the circumstances, seeming to recognize that this is a far better fate than he might have received otherwise as an unwilling captive.

“I’ll- I can behave! I promise I will!” His eager words make you nod.

“I’ll hold you to those words, Thomas. Remember, I have eyes and ears everywhere . So long as you behave, you’ll get whatever you want.” His nod seals the deal, leading you to go back towards your work. If everything works out, he’ll be more than some glorified pet in this run-down shit-hole.

-------------------------------------

“How was your day out?” Tom sits on your couch, laptop in hand, with notebooks spread across your coffee-table.

“You know how I always complain about my clients, yeah?” You flop down next to him, spreading out on the couch. Ever since you bought him from that auction, he’s kept his word; no running, no sending SOS messages through his email to family or college, or screaming for help when you do take him out of your flat. In fact, you never even had to hurt or manhandle him in any way to keep him from fleeing. Due to this, you’ve kept your word. Instead of that shit-hole of a garage, he’s been moved to your own apartment. From some pet to a possible friend, he’s been living with you for nearly a year now. You buy him whatever he wants, giving him anything he asks for. All he has to do, in return, is stay.

“You did mention this specific one two days ago. Is she complaining again?” He asks, writing some notes down. Your scoff makes him glance at you for a second before continuing with his work.

“More like trying to get me to redo the entire 143-page document I created after saying they wanted every little piece of info I could gather on her target. She says it’s too much, but won’t pay me to cut down and summarize the information.” You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against his side, watching him work. Tom doesn’t even react to your touch as you keep talking. “Like, what do you mean you want me to do more work without being paid for it? That’s not happening. You can find someone else to redo my work if you’re that upset with it.”

“As you said, she can find someone else if she won’t pay you. You did what she asked, so that's on her for giving you the wrong instructions.” There’s a pause as he stops his note-taking. You watch him collect himself as he tries to find the words to express what he wants. “Can I… Go out later today?”

“Take your phone with you,” it’s more of a demand than anything, and Tom knows it. You can’t risk losing him if he does leave. 

“Of course! I… I wouldn’t leave it behind. You told me you have eyes everywhere…” There’s acceptance in his words, knowing that you’d find him no matter what.

“Good. Then you can go out. Make sure to be careful. Worse comes to worst, you’re hurt, and I have to get my hands dirty to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Your hands twitch at the thought of having to take another life to ensure Tom is off limits. You’ve already made it clear within your informant group through a series of warnings and threats.

“And if I’m dead?” It’s asked casually, almost like he expects to die on one of his trips.

“The only way that happens is if I allow it.”

》START OVER?《

[theretirementstory]

07/07/2024. Greetings from Bar-sur-Aube, yes you read that right! I was allowed home, yesterday, for one night only in an attempt to boost my morale. What a night to choose as today is the day the Tour de France goes right past my house and of course I will be watching that from an upstairs window, just to make sure I don’t get bumped, cut or burned!

The last time the Men’s Tour de France came through the town was 6 July 2017, I was there on that occasion too.

The stage finish yesterday was at Colombey-Les-Deux-Eglises, Charles de Gaulle made his home there, died and is buried along with his family in the small church cemetery. It’s a mere 15 kilometres from where I live.

A couple of songs for the music spot, how about Bicycle Race by Queen from way back in 1978. Or this one that I found by Kraftwerk, Tour de France from 1983.

So how do I come to be at home? Well the transfusions the doctors were giving me had become ineffective, this hit me like a sledgehammer! Was I ever going to return home? Was there another course of treatment? What was going to happen? Well the answers were , yes there was more treatment and the “big wig” doctors were meeting to discuss the situation. Obviously I got a little upset talking to one of my doctors and she requested a night at home to boost my morale, so here I am.

I was tanked up with transfusions before I left and of courseI started thinking it’s too soon. Will I cope? I will need some food items etc etc. Then I realised it’s only one night. I will cope and voila, I have!

Monique was desperate to see me which was understandable, however, having just arrived home she was at my door within an hour. I had just managed to eat something. She didn’t stay long by and then I was free to do some washing! I must have settled down for sleep by about 10:30 and was surprised when my first real wake up was at 6:30! That was a very good sleep.

Anie messaged to see if I had arrived. I don’t know if she will come to see me tomorrow but if not I have plenty to keep me busy (I think).

So now I am thinking about breakfast, plus, apart from the TDF I am wondering how to fill the hours until my return to the hospital. The washing is on the airer outside that is hopefully going to dry quickly.

My bag is repacked and I feel ready to face the next phase of the treatment.

I am sitting in my armchair with the shutters open to get light and sunshine into the room. The sun has some strength to it even though metro tells me it is mostly cloudy and 15c.

I try to take photos of landmarks in Paris (even just from the taxi), I saw this dome shape in the distance and took the photo as we waited at the traffic lights. Unfortunately, I have been unable to identify it!

The road sign nearby indicates Austerlitz, Place d’Italie, Notre Dame and Pitié-Salpêtriere, thé hospital where Diana, Princess of Wales was taken after the crash in the Pont de l’Alma in 1997. Google the hospital to see other famous personalities who have been treated there, including one Michael Schumacher. I did note that the one of the two men who came to do the aspiration of bone marrow from my sternum was wearing clothes not showing Sainte-Antoine hospital but Pitié-Salpetriere 😊.

Now all that is left to be done is to wish you a very happy Sunday and to say that next time we meet I imagine I will be back in my hospital room.

🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️ allez, allez.

Jusqu’à la semaine prochaine.

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires, Chapter 16

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, slight angst

Summary: Teasing and setting sail.

Notes: The further we go into the story, the darker it's getting. Which is very on point, but I'm definitely going to intersperse the darkness with light, cute moments. Because I love writing them all adorable.

Hope you enjoy! <3

Read on ao3 here!

Previous chapter | First Chapter | Interlude 1

Sovereign Spaw was very pleased to hear that they killed the slavers, and the group’s reward, of course, was another job. Astarion has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Sable agrees to kill the True Soul Nere. He supposes it’s not too much of a hassle, considering they’re killing all the absolute cultists anyway, but still. She doesn’t have to say yes to every request that’s asked of her. 

“Come on, let’s take advantage of these merchants while we’re here,” Sable says to the group. “Who knows when we’ll find another.” 

They sell their junk and unwanted items, and while there, a particular ring catches her eye on the merchant’s table. The merchant herself, a woman who deals with mushrooms of all things, shrugs when she asks what it does. “Dunno,” she says, handing over some gold to Shadowheart. “Had it a while though.” Sable glances around. “Gale, could you come here for a moment?” 

“Of course! How can I help?” the wizard asks, stepping up beside her. 

“This ring here. Could you identify it?” 

“Certainly.” He reaches out his hand, a gentle blue glow suffusing his fingers, and hovers it over the ring for a few moments. “Ah, that’s a nice find! It gives a person’s weapons attacks just a little more damage. Acid, if I’m reading this correctly.” 

“Oh! Thank you,” she says with a smile to him, and he gives a gracious bow and moves away. She nibbles her lip just a little, and finally hands over the gold. “Astarion?” she calls, searching for the man. 

“Over here, darling,” he calls, and she looks around. He’s sitting over on some rocks nearby, taking the time to sharpen his daggers. “Having fun?” he asks with a faint smirk as she settles next to him. 

She smiles in response and holds up the ring to him. “Here.” 

He blinks in surprise, and his lips twist into a teasing, mischievous smile. “My dearest kitten, it’s a little early to propose, isn’t it?” Her eyes widen, and her face flushes with heat. “I’m flattered of course, but really, give it another year before we-” 

“Astarion! That isn’t–I wasn’t going to–” 

“Easy darling,” he cuts in, amused. “I’m only teasing.” He plucks the ring from her grasp, his fingertips brushing over her palm and making her blush deepen ever so faintly. “Is this just a pretty bauble, or…?” 

“Ah, no. According to Gale, it will give you a little bit of acid damage when you attack something. I figured you could put it to best use.” 

His eyes light up, and he slips the ring onto his finger. “Oh, I most certainly can,” he all but purrs, his grin as sharp as the daggers in his lap. 

She smiles. “Good. You’re welcome.” 

“Hm?” He glances at her from where he’d been admiring it on his finger, then sighs, pretending to be put out. “Oh, thank you, I suppose.” And he leans over and kisses her cheek. 

As she ducks her head with a pleased little smile, she hears Karlach say, “Awwww!” 

Astarion throws the tiefling a wink, wrapping an arm gently around his bashful kitten’s shoulders. 

////////////////////////////////////////////////

Fighting on the deck of a ship that has no railings is…well, Astarion can’t say it’s fun, but it’s certainly interesting. The water from the dark river makes the wood slick underfoot, and in this gloom he can only see so far. But he supposes he has it better than the melee fighters, who are jumping between ships and nearly skidding overboard to get to their enemies. 

Karlach’s roars and Lae’zel’s battle cries echo into the cavernous space, and he hears Gale close by, muttering some incantation or another. Halsin and Sable are standing next to each other, the small space and tricky footing making wildshape a bad idea. So they’re healing and shooting elemental attacks as needed. 

Astarion pulls the bowstring to his ear, taking sight on an enemy trying to flank Lae’zel, and he releases, the arrow flying true and burying itself in the duergar’s throat. The slaver falls, blood bubbling from his mouth, and Lae’zel spares him a nod before rushing to the next. 

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and watches a duergar drop invisibility, her sword raised to stab Sable in the back. Astarion’s moving before he even realizes, before he registers the dread. An arrow catches the dwarf in the side before he yanks his dagger out with his free hand, shoving her to the floor and plunging it over and over into the woman’s face. He’s lost in a panicked rage at the thought of anyone harming his kitten, and he only stops when gentle arms wind around his waist, when her voice in his ear douses the fires of his anger. 

“Astarion, she’s dead,” Sable murmurs. “It’s over, and I’m okay. You can stop.” She steps around him, getting between him and the mutilated body.

He stares at her as he comes back to himself. He’s covered in blood, he realizes, the scent cloying, sticky on his skin. “You’re not hurt?” he murmurs, licking crimson droplets off his lips. 

“No, I’m fine. We’re all fine, actually,” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Am I…?” He laughs, his mirth soft, and he cups bloody hands gently around her face. “You’re fine. That means I’m fine.” 

“Brutally slaughtering your lover’s attacker?” Lae’zel says from nearby. “Finally, Astarion, you do something worth praise.” 

“Everything I do is worth praise,” he shoots back. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

He stands, pressing a kiss to Sable’s forehead, and walks to the edge of the ship. He kneels down and scrubs his hands and face clean in the dark waters of the river. He pauses there, hoping to catch some sort of reflection in the gentle current…but there’s nothing. He looks up as water drips slowly from his features, watching Sable as she speaks with Halsin and Karlach about something or other. 

She’s fine. She’s fine, so I’m fine. 

I’m fine.

[felassan]

Some thoughts on the role of narrative designers in game development and at BioWare, from David Gaider, on Twitter:

"A common misconception: "narrative designer" is not just a fancy name for writer. Yes, sure, a writer "designs a narrative" in that they form and write a story, but narrative design is about fitting that story in the context of a game. They're two different disciplines, often performed by the same people because they inform each other a great deal, but they need not be. In early BioWare days (we're talking BG and KotOR), most narrative design wasn't done by the writers - it was done by the lead designer. It was only later that more and more of the narrative design work started to fall to the writers, mostly out of necessity, and that's where it was slowly recognized it was really its own thing. "Narrative designer" wasn't a separate concept back then... at least to my perception. To explain the difference, let's look at quest design: A writer would probably come up with the concept. The story of it. Write the actual dialogue. A narrative designer figures out what systems it involves (like combat or progression), how it supports them and what's needed. As with most dev things, it's going to vary from company to company. There are no hard rules across the industry when it comes to ANY discipline. But, yeah, this gets awkward when we talk about "narrative design" and all someone hears is "narrative"."

[thread, source]

Some further snippets from the replies (respective source links can be found by clicking on "DG” or "source" throughout):

User: "I’ve found that happens quite often from client to client. Expectations versus the perspective of what “narrative design” is." DG: "I'd say that's doubly true for those projects who opt to bring in a writer late in the process to "wave their writer wand" to make story... whereas narrative design is something that needs to happen MUCH earlier in the process. And not everyone would understand the difference."

User: "How true is it in your estimation that narrative design and writing often falls to the same staff because the value of both disciplines is a blind-spot for studios from a staff budgeting perspective? Hiring writers is hard, hiring narrative designers who can write is easier." DG: "Mmm I think it's often in the hands of a single person mainly because they are (by necessity) so heavily intertwined. But not every writer is as good at narrative design, and vice-versa, and that difference needs to recognized. If there's a blind spot, it tends to be that."

User: "Question; at what point is it defined what systems are needed for a quest vs systems already established in dev? i.e. Say I design a quest and the player needs to solve a code for an alarm system. Is it the Narrative Designer going "Hey, I need a system for investigating the room, collecting evidence, and inputting a code solution"? Or is it someone else going "Hey, let's do something more than 'player->grab item->input code'?" I guess what I'm asking is who defines what systems are available for a quest to use? Does a ND work around systems already built by a team? Or does the ND write the quest and another team define how they execute that idea?" DG: "Speaking personally, I would know what systems were "in my tool belt" to use in quests, as provided by systems designers, but if I identified a need for one that I thought might work but didn't yet exist I would first bring it up with stakeholders to see if that could happen. If we didn't already have systems for "investigating a room and collecting evidence", that might be a big ask - so I'd avoid doing that. But something like "could I get a way to input a code for an alarm?" might be do-able as a request... if we could get the GUI support." [source] User: "Interesting. This question always comes to my mind when a game suddenly veers in a wildly different direction with a bunch of new mechanics... for a single scene and then goes right back to an action game or something. It always made me wonder if they were artifacts from some earlier builds or if some designer just "really had an idea" they wanted in the game. Moments like that just fascinate me. Especially if the wild change is *good* and makes me go "Why didn't they do this more???"" DG: "Could be any of those things, or just parts of the team that didn't communicate well with each other. If it worked well, possibly the team wished they'd done more of that but it was too late to propagate elsewhere by the time the verdict was in. Just how dev teams roll."

User: "I know may be an aside, but how important or necessary do you think it is for a narrative designer to have engine-specific knowledge and skill? (Unity or Unreal etc…) or even experience with software like Twine and Ink?" DG: "Personally, I'd say it's useful rather than necessary, unless you're also responsible for implementing narrative (specifically meaning doing the in-engine scripting for dialogue and/or quests). Then there'll be much more of a learning curve."

DG: "Implementation/scripting of dialogue in-engine is always best done by writers, I think, but it's a fairly technical task, yeah. A super handy skill for a narrative designer to have, either way."

DG: "It’s not always two separate people. It is, however, two separate disciplines, even if performed by the same people."

[respective source links can be found by clicking on “DG” or "source" throughout]

[throne-for-queens]

Why are multiple girls in the fandom openly and loudly fantasizing about him sleeping with Bunnie? I am reading stuff like them wanting him to 'steal' her from Jelly Roll and Bunnie being is ultimate sexual preference? are these girls actually projecting?

And holz the F awn! why are they also going out of their way to say they feel like he didn't know what he was talking about when he said he actually preferred women that they defined as being "opposite of him/dark features"? 🤔🧢🟥?Reminds me of when people say Travis Kelce was never sexually into his ex K.N. That man is probably getting sex flashbacks of his ex as we speak! (Ofc, needless to say, it was beyond lust. Let me get that clear for ya.)

Also, why all this commotion for Bunnie! She wouldn't be neither the first and nor the last blonde he would hook up with! She would be just another one in the list. But what about Josie Canseco, Sahara Ray, Paris Hilton and maaany others... where were you then with all this *REVISIONISM*? (ahhh, my favourite word!) when whatever that was, was happening? Or is it because of their model bodies and their stuck-up and out-of-reach type of personality they were not relatable enough? Maybe it's easier to identify in Bunnie!

To all the Bunnie-Kells shippers, go watch that Lip Service interview. He also talked about the preference for a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets... Was he also lying then when he said that? Can he know what he actually likes without being considered clueless about his own tastes? Also I see the excuse "actions are louder than words". Does anybody really know what goes on in his private life ALL THESE YEARS beyond what you actually have seen in public? Especially considering how many people don't like to be known by the public?

I think Bunnie offers a down to earth vibe that draws people in and I think a lot of people who ship them want that for him. Now shipping them together as an item is strange considering that she's a happily married woman and colson is friends with her husband. However, I do think he would've benefited greatly with someone who was as accepting and dedicated as Bunnie is to Jelly. And with respect to her, I don't think Bunnie would have issues with the requests he made in the lip service interview.

[the-firebird69]

We have a few items to mention

We have a few items to mention-

= They're giving him a hard time again about everything.

- We need to stop them and stop them now

- There are several action items I'm going to list and right here

= Stop them from pandering to him and talking about mathematics.

= Stop them from being mean tricks every time they encounter him they have no right to they're not being his friend and what they're rejecting is they don't need his help we need to stop them and exterminate them is what it says they're not aware of it don't care about it yet they're giving that impression to everyone and we have to do something to stop them. They don't care about the implications it's not frightening enough we have to use force.

= We need to halt all progress they're making on injuring him taking things from him harming him and having him talk out of turn screaming at people having tantrums trying to put him in the hospital for a variety of reasons messing with all his bills trying to put him in prison we do not want to see any of it or causing him injury from his bicycle messing with his bicycles all of those things need to be stopped his poor financial situation and him being held in the apartment not being able to leave town all of it should be very atrocious to people this is house arrest and it's reflecting on a lot of society because of their asset and plan we must stop them and we need to hire our people request that they hire up and save people. Of ours only of course but there's a lot of us we think.

= Haltom from going by his house there's too many cars that go too fast stop big trucks and tractors and big lawn mowers and front end loaders they have no business on this road.

= Do not allow the cops to harass him on one shining day or daily at all these are directives we issue every day and he's an idiot sir running around free we have to use what we can use i'm gonna list what we can do. We are to use it and and follow up on it as well but use it.

= We have a few more things to do and they are pretty hefty and we will list them off but we need them to stop messing with electronics and practically everything in his life he's got pain all the time he's got a new pulled muscle here and there every day and it's not healing he's not growing he's attracting less attention no he has too many people following him around a big caravan and I want that stop too i'm gonna make a list of things where not to allow and say that we're getting used to it and it's evil and he's been screaming don't let him do it means you're used to it and you shouldn't be and the rest of society should not be either these are standards that are very low and I'm gonna I'm gonna set the standard.

= We need to stop the swearing and the cursing and then ill behavior they're causing and they're making him do things that aren't really right and injured his body and it's horrible and the daily routine is nonsense and it's slow torture and we're going to identify what it is and put it up there. This is becoming a project he says and it will be it involves our son and the people of Earth and it is about standard of living and treatment civil rights abuses abuses of freedoms and abuses all over the place there's bullies and bullying and we can tell the difference and we're going to arrest people doing it and most of them don't come out. So good luck with that.

Thor Freya

Olympus

we are attentive do apprecite it as ours do noeed it now right now. and they are at me all day and night now. all thet ime. i tell you you have to put it up tortoring me im not there and not near tehm at all

Hera

Olympus

we shall and fuly and post it. and POW papers too and great he sys

Thor Freya special ones

[keefwho]

June 17 - 2024 Monday

10:57pm

5/10

This morning I shaved my body. I made corned beef hash and oatmeal for breakfast. I took extra care in making it and it paid off, it was all cooked perfectly and I learned how to keep frozen apples crispy while cooking: just keep stirring them.

At work I didn't know what to warm up with, I didn't feel like doing anything. I ended up doing a few little color studies of food items and that was fun. Then I worked on 57's commission for 2 hours. He was getting a little persnickety regarding the fluids as usual and he was NOT happy that we are watching Little Bear on stream now but it's my stream and I stood up to his opinion. Because it feels like he tries to push me around whether he realizes it or not.

After stream I spent a bit of time organizing my phone storage and I had a little epiphany while seeing some old photos. I've lost touch of so many things I've done the past few years and it was something I brought up to my therapist. For lunch I made buttery pasta shells and a slice of totinos pizza. Squeex was streaming so I watched him play Half Life for the afternoon.

While doing today's request, I realized halfway through that I accidently drew nearly the same angle/pose I've done before for the same character. This happened because the request winner told me to surprise them and some part of me will draw what is familiar with them when I'm prompted like that. It was just different enough that I think it was okay. Then I spent an hour finishing a Zelda pic and 30 minutes on my Mr Bean world setting up the Whistler's painting animation.

Therapy wasn't as productive as I'd like but it was still okay. I thought about shooting for weekly appointments again but I fear I might be banking on therapy a little too much and it would be expensive. Some time was wasted today talking about the possibility of having depression/bipolar 2 because I brought it up and he did a lot of re-iterating about the topics. Other than that the big thing is that I need to start identifying triggers for my depressive episodes and Im also going to log all the thoughts that hook me the next couple weeks and make a graph.

After therapy I played Kerbal for awhile but ended on a replicable crash that totally bricks my game unless I can figure it out. I called DS in bed and we did our puzzles before she fell asleep pretty quickly. I spent the rest of my night watching more Twitch and trying to diagnose my Kerbal install.

[purplesurveys]

1856

Do you know anyone who has a hearing deficit? No, don't think so.

What is the average number of customers that stop by where you work? Doesn't really work that way in our industry, but I'd say the average number of accounts a team handles within our agency would be 5-6.

When you are having a bath, do you have the water low, medium, or high? Is this referring to temperature or height? as someone with no bathtub and would not be familiar with terms lmao. Anyway, I'll answer both ways - I like my water lukewarm but leaning towards hot, and I like it able to cover up to my neck so it feels like I'm swimming.

Do you know exactly what a physician is? Would you ever want to be one? Sure, and no.

Does your phone have a stopwatch? How often do you use it, and what for? It does, but I don't use it unless I'm rehearsing for a presentation that needs to be limited to a certain length (20 mins, 30 mins, etc) as some clients request that. I don't really have use for a stopwatch, otherwise.

What is your surname? If you could change it, what would you want it to be? I'm not sharing that and don't prefer a certain one over mine.

Do you know anyone who pronounces 'ketchup' with 'catsup'? Nope.

Speaking of cats, what is your favorite colours for a cat? I don't have a favorite color on animals lol, they're all beautiful.

What are you methods to remind yourself of something important? I have a to-do list that I keep updated no matter what and no matter how busy I could possibly get. If a day is particularly hectic and I feel like drowning in all the load, I take it a step further and place times on each of my to-do tasks so that I manage my time wisely.

So for example, Item 1 can be "Do this report - 10:30 AM," item 2 is "Review teammate's draft - 11:30 AM," item 3 is "Reply to so-and-so's email - 1 PM," so on and so forth until I get to organize everything until 6 PM.

What are your opinions on fake sugar? Do you use it? Why or why not? I dunno really, I don't think I've even had it before.

Would you ever want to study sociology? Why or why not? That'd be great. I looked up the sociology electives and majors from my university and now I'm asking myself why I never took any of them up, hahaha. The topics are right up my alley, plus you can say it's related to history/social history and that makes me very happy.

If you had to have a porch for your house, what colour would it be? I'd go with white or black.

What makes a person physically beautiful to you? Vibrant, genuine smile; healthy teeth; glowing cheeks.

Would you rather have a hospital become a church, or vice versa? We don't need any more churches here.

Would you miss winter if it never came back? Why or why not? Not really the best person to take this question on.

Do you notice a pattern with people who were born as the middle child? Yes for the most part, and I know this because I have a sister who's the middle child haha. She's *very* independent, is the one who avoids all conflict, way more responsible than my brother and I would ever be, and is down for anything in all contexts.

Did you ever play around a hydrant when you were younger? No.

Does bad weather ruin your day? Why or why not? To be honest no, because I like the rain. The only time I feel like it's my enemy is when it rains on a day when I have to drive, because that shit can be terrifying especially when it rains too hard that you can't see anything on the road.

What is one thing stopping you from becoming a veterinarian? All the big brain, science-y stuff that goes behind it, I guess. Even if I take all the courses in the world, my natural paranoid self might not trust myself when it comes to giving the correct dosages, being confident about diagnoses, identifying the best medication to give... things like that. I also don't think I'm mentally strong enough to handle emergency cases.

When you read 'bass' just now, was it read like the fish or the instrument? Instrument.

If you wear them, what is the average length of skirts you wear? I don't wear skirts but if I had to, I'd go with maxi ones.

Do you spell it like 'cheque' or 'check'? Also, do you even use them? Cheque, because check can mean so many things and I hate being confused haha. No, I don't.

If you had to live your life carrying a shield, what would its design be? Just a plain pastel purple one, idk.

[longislanddivorce1]

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