#Hope you enjoy it

[hunnam]

Sam Vass via IG December 15th, 2024

[oppalus]

♡ INTRO/ABOUT TEMPLATE — the feminine urge

two (2) free templates made from scratch and fully customizable. even when text, colors, and images can be changed easily, you’ll need to know how to use the clipping mask and how to change the bending option of each layer.

credits: beckan (findt it here) and poppins as the fonts used.

as usual, don’t claim this as your own and reblog if you find it useful.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

incoming smutty thoughts:

the other night i had a dream i asked something like “how come you always tell me to talk and you rarely do?” and he replied “i like your voice more.” so we know bucky is the “ask for what you want type,” but do you think he’s more or less verbal than her in bed? he’s generally quiet, do you think maybe that leads to him talking dirty more?

Oh, I love this, because I do often write about him dirty talking.

I think we all know that Bucky only speaks when he absolutely has to and even then, it's usually something sarcastic or cynical. Also, Bucky isn’t the best with words. Yes, he can lie and manipulate well, but most of that is body language and perception. It’s fascinating how few words he has to utilise to get what he wants. His skill is mainly in listening and observing and most people know this about him, so they let him.

Just as most people have the good sense to be somewhat on their guard around him, especially when Bucky doesn’t bother to be sly about keeping a close eye on everyone and everything. But he has never really been able to unnerve you. Or… Maybe he has, but it only made you talk more. You share unapologetically and you ramble and you show most of your emotions. At first, he thought it was foolish to be so open and vulnerable. Now, he can see it has probably saved your life (and others’ lives) more times than he can count. With you living, speaking and feeling so out in the open, he doesn’t have to pay so much attention to you.

And yet…

The man cannot stop himself from paying attention to you. Everything else just kind of blurs. It mostly amuses everyone around Bucky how distracted he gets. They pull petty little pranks when he isn’t paying attention. And they fail awkwardly, because Bucky might be smitten, but he’s still a trained soldier.

So yes, Bucky is quiet and you’ve always known that about him. You expected him to be more quiet in bed, too. But he has learned that he loves how responsive you are and it just so happens that you get more responsive when he speaks to you. When Bucky has his tongue buried between your legs or his cock hitting your cervix, he usually grounds you by splaying a wide palm over your back, or thigh, or tummy. However, Bucky has found he likes the way you shudder when he mumbles against your neck or the shell of your ear. He likes how you can only respond with a soft mewl when he uses his voice.

Sometimes he asks you a question and then drives his cock into you with a thorough thrust at the end, making you writhe under him and choke on air. Then he nuzzles his nose over your pulse with a soft laugh. “Who’s the quiet one now, huh?”

You want to answer him, you do, but fuck– his fingers are at your clit and his teeth bite into your collar bone and he’s moaning and– and– Oh God… But he talks you through it. Every step of the way. Teasing. Coaxing. Soothing. Praising.

“That’s the spot.”

“Look at you,” when your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Hug me tighter, sweetheart,” he’ll groan when you clench around him tightly. “Fuck. Good girl.”

“That’s my girl,” when you come. And the sounds you make - that will have him nearly go blind with pleasure. “There you go. Keep coming for me.”

[finemealcreates]

What Day Is It?

July 19: Forgetting an important date | offense

If Danny was a better planner, he would have been paying attention to the date. If Danny had been paying attention, he would have known what date it was. If his phone hadn’t been destroyed in the last fight, he would’ve gotten an alert to what day it was. 

Yet, none of those things happened. Danny hadn’t seen the date, hadn’t checked. Hadn’t thought to check. He’d been living at the tower for so long, he’d grown complacent, hadn’t thought about the fact that the seasons were changing. 

Hell, he hadn’t even really processed the fact that Garfield asked Robin what day it was. And got a response! Danny heard it out loud, and it hadn’t registered in his head. No, the fault is his own. He has no one to blame but himself. 

It just would have been better for it to click in his head what day it was not in the middle of a fight with Killer Moth. 

Kori ducked under one of the creatures that flew over her, hands glowing with her blasts as she shot to wound some of them. Danny was near her, releasing a cool breath to ice over their wings so they would fall. Garf was currently a gorilla smacking bunches of the down at a time. 

Robin threw his bird-a-rangs at the creatures, grappling all around the battlefield to get closer to Killer Moth and stop his device. Rachel was providing cover, using her powers to restrict multiple of the creatures before throwing them to the ground. Victor was tailing behind Robin, shooting any being that got too close, but aiming to help hack the device. 

That was the plan, anyway. 

None of the creatures had even put a scratch on Danny, not really. He was getting better at remembering to go incorporeal, letting any blow go through him than land. It was something he had told Robin he wanted to train more to do on instinct than not, and Robin had agreed. Robin will be proud of how much progress he’s made. 

The point is, none of the beings they were fighting had landed a hit on Danny, so why was pain suddenly coursing through him? 

It started with his left palm, causing him to hiss as the ice blast flickers before going out. The pain is sharp yet jolted, almost pulsing. It crawls up his arm, causing the muscles to spasm in the worst kind of way. He loses the ability to focus on flying once the pain spreads past his arm and begins to crawl through the rest of him. 

Hitting the ground so hard a crater forms doesn’t hurt as much as the pain he’s currently experiencing. Some of his muscles are locking, other muscles are jolting and spasming. He has no control of his body, teeth clenched and eyes closed. He can’t even curl in on himself, offer any comfort. 

Ringing in his ear, that’s all he can hear. The worst pain he’s felt in a while coursing through him. Is he seizing? He can’t tell if he’s seizing. Why is this happening? Why is he in so much pain? He hasn’t felt like this since–

A yell pushes through his teeth as he realizes what’s happening. What day it is. 

His Death Day. August 24. 

Fuck, fuck he knew it was coming. He’s always been so careful. Making sure he’s in the Far Frozen when this happens. Frostbite always knows how to soothe the pain. Hailwind, Frostbite’s coremate, always has a drink ready for him afterwards. 

Are they wondering where he is? Are they worried about him? Fuck, he was so stupid. So so stupid. 

Sounds, so many sounds are around him. But he feels like he’s underwater. He can’t understand what any of the sounds means, he can’t tell what’s happening. 

But he feels when someone grabs him, touches him. It burns, it burns so much. Please, please stop. Please don’t hurt him. He’s sorry, he didn’t mean to—

“Frostbite!” he manages to call out, his throat has a lump in it. “Frostbite please!” 

Is he crying? He wouldn’t be surprised if he was crying. He just wants his dad. He wants Frostbite. He wants to go home—

Coolness touches him, and he can finally breathe. 

“Dad?” Danny whimpers, the pain still too strong for him to manage to open his eyes. 

His father chirps at him, core rumbling. Danny relaxes into the hold, the pain still coursing through him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what day it was,” Danny whispers as he digs his face into the familiar fur. 

“Don’t apologize, frostling,” his dad soothes, pressing a soothing kiss onto his head. 

“Please make the pain go away,” Danny begs, hands clutching whatever fur he can. 

“I’ll do what I can,” his dad assures, his hands becoming a lot cooler as they rub Danny’s back. 

“What’s happening to him?” a semi-deep voice Danny should recognize demands, firm. 

“Thank you for taking care of my son, but I will be taking him now. He can explain when he wants to,” Frostbite replies to the voice, not answering. 

Good. Danny doesn’t want strangers to know what is happening to him. He feels so vulnerable, out in the open. He wants to be home. He wants to go home. 

“But—” the male goes to protest, but something stops him. 

“Leave it be, Robin. Phantom called for this being, called him dad. He’ll take care of him,” a more feminine, yet slightly monotone, voice speaks up. 

“Thank you,” Frostbite says softly, offering a smile. “You’ve all made my son your family and taken care of him. He’ll be safe, I promise.” 

“Home,” Danny groans out, feeling another strong course of electricity run through him. “Please, I want to go home, dad.” 

Frostbite softly shushes him, pushing his hair out of his face as he plants another kiss on his forehead. 

“We’re going, Hailwind has some hot coco brewing for whenever you’re up to it.” 

Danny forces a smile as he cracks his eyes open slightly. 

“Yes please,” Danny whimpers, vision blurry through all the tears. 

Frostbite chirps soothingly at Danny as a hand lets go of him. He feels his dad making a sweeping motion, hears the familiar sound of a portal. Danny barely feels the familiar shiver down his spine as Frostbite walks through it, feeling his body jolt against his will. 

He hears people whisper behind him as the portal closes, cutting their words off. 

💀📅

Danny comes to with a hot cup of coco in front of his face. 

He groans as he sits up properly to accept the cup, his muscles protesting and groaning. 

“Was it that time of year already?” Danny mumbles, hands curling around the cup. 

“Yes it was, young one,” his pa confirms, sitting on the bed next to him. 

Hailwind’s hand comes up and pushes his hair back. A soft kiss is placed on his forehead. Blissfully cold and chill. 

Danny feels himself relax as he takes a sip of the warm drink. 

“I don’t remember coming here,” Danny admits after he lowers the cup, fingers twitching slightly in anxiety. 

“Well,” his pa hesitates, right ear flicking slightly as he pushes his mouth into a thin line, “to be honest this year wasn’t like the other years.” 

Danny frowns as his brows furrow. 

“What do you mean?” Danny questions, taking another sip of the rich chocolate drink. 

He doesn’t know how Hailwind makes it taste so good, but it’s the best hot chocolate he’s ever had. Human world kinds don’t compare. 

“Frostbite had to come to retrieve you,” his pa admits, running his claws gently against Danny’s scalp. 

“I don’t remember that,” Danny replies, leaning into Hailwind’s hold. 

“You were in the middle of a fight. Or … you were?” his pa ponders, tilting his head slightly. “The fight seemed to be over by the time your dad got there.” 

Danny’s brows furrowed. A fight? If he was in a fight, does that mean—

“Did I start …” Danny trails off, biting his lower lip anxiously. 

“Your father and I were worried when you didn’t show up when you usually do,” his pa begins to explain, pulling Danny close against his side. “After it had been too long for us, Frostbite came after you.” 

“And he found me while I was around … my friends,” Danny breathes out, curling closer into his pa. 

“Yes,” his pa confirms, turning his head to press a kiss against Danny’s head. “You were on the ground, a crater had formed around you. He got there as soon as one of your friends tried to grab you.” 

Danny tucks his face into Hailwind’s shoulder, his own shoulders drawn up as much as he could. 

“Can’t imagine that went well,” Danny sighs, closing his eyes as he allows the soft fur to soothe him. 

“No, you started to scream and call for your dad,” his pa admits. 

Danny lets out a deep breath, handing Hailwind the cup. Only after he hears it clink on the end table does he climb more into his pa’s lap. 

“This is awful,” Danny says into Hailwind’s chest. “They’re going to have so many questions.” 

His pa hums, Danny feeling the movement on his face in the other’s chest. 

“You only have to answer what questions you’re comfortable answering,” his pa assures him, one hand still running gently against his scalp while the other rubs his back. 

“But if I don’t answer them they’re going to be so annoying about it,” Danny bemoans, turning his face so his ear is pressed against his pa’s chest. 

Hailwind chuckles gently, body shaking slightly with it. 

“That’s what happens when you join the Teen Titans,” his pa teases gently. 

Danny huffs out an annoyed breath. 

“I’m a teen, Pa. What team was I supposed to join? The Justice League?” Danny asks sarcastically. 

“Just saying,” Hailwind goes on, ignoring Danny’s sass, “you can’t expect a group of teenagers to be completely emotionally mature about something.” 

Danny huffs, knowing his pa has a point but not wanting to admit it. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Danny mutters, turning his head to the other side. 

Focusing, he brings the cup of hot chocolate back to him and takes another sip. Still warm, even though it shouldn’t be. His pa is the best. 

“Thank you,” Danny says after he gulps down half of the cup. 

“Of course, Bear,” his pa replies, pressing another kiss on his head. “We’re always here for you, whenever and whatever you need.” 

Danny feels tears begin to gather in his eyes, and wipes at them. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Danny eventually says, a lump in his throat. 

“That’s the thing, frostling,” his pa starts, voice gently yet serious, “we’re family. You don’t have to deserve us. We don’t feel like we deserve you either.” 

Danny hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Will you help me figure out what I’m going to say to them?” Danny asks after he finishes his drink. 

“Of course, Bear, of course,” Hailwind tells him, a smile on his face. 

💀📅

Danny shakes himself slightly, trying to rid himself of the nerves he feels climbing their way through him. 

He’s ready, he practiced what he was going to say with his pa and dad. He discussed what boundaries he could set, and which ones he would, and what to say if they asked certain things that crossed a line. He was also reminded that worse comes to worse, he could come home. 

Though, his parents assured him that wouldn’t happen. It was clear that his team cares about him. 

But Danny’s not sure. 

Most of the team, sans Robin, has revealed their secret identity. Danny told them his first name is Danny, which isn’t untrue, but he hadn’t shared the whole truth. All they knew for sure was that he was a ghost boy who wanted to help. That was good enough for them. 

How are they going to react when he explains everything? Does he even have to? His parents told him all he had to share was what he was comfortable sharing. Theoretically he could just explain his Death Day, all ghosts have them. You don’t have to be a half-ghost to have a Death Day. 

But … but Danny doesn’t want to half explain. He wants to share all of himself with them. Because he trusts them. And part of him wants to see if they’ll accept all of him. He’s come to think of them like family, so he hopes they take the news well. 

With a final sigh and shake, he phases through into the common area. 

Everyone is gathered, Robin is pacing, Rachel is meditating, Garfield and Victor are playing video games, and Kori is floating near Robin while shooting him nervous glances. They all snap their heads towards him when he lets the invisibility fall away from him. 

All of them shout a form of his name as they rush over, Robin the first one to reach him. 

Robin’s eyes seem to scan over him, hands reaching up to physically check for any wounds. Kori and Rachel are on either side of Robin, doing their own checks. Garf transforms into a hawk and perches on Robin’s shoulder, Victor towering over all of them as his own eyes do a scan. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” Kori questions as Robin flips Danny around to check for any more injuries. 

“I’m fine,” Danny answers, letting them finish checking him to soothe their own nerves. 

“What happened?” Robin demands, turning him back around. 

Danny does his best to offer a soothing smile, but he fears it comes out as a bit of a grimace based on their reactions. 

“It was my own fault, I lost track of time,” Danny states, letting out a sigh as he rubs his arm nervously. 

“What does that even mean?” Garf questions, face scrunching up as much as it can in hawk form, wings rustling slightly. 

Danny lets out a big breath, steadying himself. 

“So, you know how I’m a ghost?” Danny asks, all of them nodding. “Well, ghosts who become ghosts through … death have a …” 

Danny pauses again, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair. His legs become a tail as he wraps it around himself for a sense of comfort. 

“This is a bit hard to explain, I’ve never had to explain it to the living before,” Danny explains. 

“You don’t have to explain if it’s too much for you,” Rachel assures. “We all have parts of us we don’t feel comfortable sharing.” 

“It’s not that,” Danny says. “I want to explain. I don’t want to keep any part of me hidden, not anymore.” 

“Take your time, man. We’re listening,” Victor promises. 

Danny offers him a smile as he releases another breath. 

“Ghosts who have died have what we call a Death Day,” Danny begins to explain, moving towards the couches and taking a seat. “Every year on your Death Day, you re-experience the thing that killed you.” 

He doesn’t look to see their reactions. He’s not sure what reaction he wants. None would be ideal. He doesn’t want sympathy, or to see the sadness in their eyes. It’s a part of his life, and he doesn’t want to have to hold their feelings about it along with his own. 

“Point is, August 27th is my Death Day. I forgot it was so close, and wasn’t paying attention to the date. I usually go to spend my Death Day with my folks. They always make the pain … less,” Danny explains, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll make sure to mark the date so that we don’t have something like this happen again,” Robin assures, surprising Danny slightly with how close he is. 

“Yeah dude! And we can make a care basket or something for you next year to take with you!” Garfield pipes up, taking the form of the cat as he rubs his body against Danny’s legs comfortingly. 

“On my planet, we would have a date to celebrate the dead, perhaps we could do that for you if you’d like,” Kori offers, a smile on her face. 

“I have some techniques that help with physical pain that could help you perhaps,” Rachel proposes.

“And I have some lotion I made that helps me during bad pain days,” Victor suggests. 

Danny feels his lips wobble and his eyes gather moisture. 

“You guys would do all that for me?” Danny asks. 

“Of course!” Kori exclaims. 

“You’re family, man,” Victor follows up with. 

“Can I … show you something else then?” Danny asks nervously. 

They all nod, backing up slightly to give him space. 

“I am a ghost, and my name is Danny Phantom, but …” Danny sighs as he closes his eyes, concentrating. 

He feels the familiar tingle course through him, like a toned down experience of the day prior, run through him as he transforms. 

“But I’m also a human. Danny Fenton,” Danny finishes, opening his eyes. 

His teammates look a varying degree of surprised. Even Robin looks a little shocked, though he covers it up better than the rest of them. 

“Wow,” Garfield mutters, eyes wide as he looks up at Danny. 

“I’m a … I’m a halfa,” Danny begins nervously explaining, hands twisting together. “At least, that’s what they call me in my home dimension. Half-ghost, half-human. We’re not very common. Most people die all the way, not just halfway.” 

Rachel nods, hand coming up to her chin as she seems to think. 

“I believe I’ve read about halfa’s in one of my tomes,” Rachel says thoughtfully. “There’s not a lot of knowledge about them due to their rarity.” 

“Wait, if you’re half-human, then how come your dad’s are yetis?” Victor asks, brows furrowed in confusion. 

Danny laughs a little at that as Kori elbows Victor. 

“You cannot ask someone about their parentage, Victor! It’s quite rude,” Kori hisses under her breath. 

“Honestly it was the first thing I thought you’d ask when I revealed myself,” Danny admits, smiling to show that he’s not offended. 

Victor smiles sheepishly anyway, offering an apology. 

“Frostbite and Hailwind took me in after some … unfortunate events in my past,” Danny explains, stomach clenching as he thinks about what happened. 

He wants to explain everything to them, but perhaps not everything everything. Some things still hurt too much to talk about.

Robin nods in understanding, offering a smile. 

“Thanks for explaining this to us, Danny. It takes a lot of guts to open yourself up to people,” Robin says, pulling Danny in for a hug. 

“We love you Danny,” Kori says, joining in on the hug. 

And, before he knows it, everyone else has joined. He’s surrounded by his team, nah, his family. They’re all hugging him, holding him, they accepted him. 

Danny smiles wide, hugging them all back. 

“I love you guys, too.”

[startanewdream]

This new affair

Summary: Severus has seen them together — the whole school has seen them. They are not shy about their new relationship — holding hands in the corridor, grinning at each other when they meet in the halls; sharing meals; laughing on the grounds — which seems to suit Potter and Weasley. If rumours are true, all of the Gryffindor house has watched them snogging in their Common Room.

Show-off, but when did he ever expect discretion from James Potter’s son?

(Harry and Ginny's new relationship, as seen by Snape during HBP)

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair alphabet fluff

h - hugs

finnick odair finds peace in holding you in his arms. his heart swells with quiet joy whenever his arms are tightly wrapped around you, with his face nestled against your hair as he breathes in the familiar scent of you. with his arms wrapped around your torso, he savors the closeness of your warm body pressed against his, a rush of excitement running through his veins. finnick has always thought of you as his safe space, there’s nowhere else he feels more at peace than in your embrace. though the self-deprecating thoughts are always roaming through his mind, it’s with you that his mind grows a little quieter. 

as the next hunger games looms closer, knowing he will be forced to return to the capitol for weeks, he needs you. anxiety takes over his mind as the days go by, and he spends the days previous to the reaping battling the overwhelming urge to run away with you. 

finnick knows deep down that any attempt to leave district four in search for a better life anywhere else, even hiding and trying to live in the isolated woods, would only lead to ruin. yet, he can’t stop daydreaming about it. a quiet life far away from the capitol, finding an old abandoned cabin in the forest that it might have belonged to a rebel many years ago. he pictures a life where his only concerns would be hunting to put food on the table and keeping you safe. he dreams of how your lips would be the only ones to love on his skin, how his mind would probably be quiet if the gentle, serene sound of a river nearby joined him in his everyday, where the two of you could bathe. 

finnick has to force himself to stay grounded. he tries to be realistic and think about the harsh reality of what would happen if the capitol ever found you. he knows they would tear you apart, separating you from him, leaving him to endure months of not knowing if you’re safe, if they’re hurting you, or even if you’re still alive. he would move through each day like a lifeless shell, carrying the weight of your absence. but he can't bring himself to think about the worst scenario. tears well up in his eyes at the mere thought of them torturing you to hurt him. he accidentally spirals into panic at the idea of them cutting out your tongue, and turning you into his personal avox. a torture designed to make the strongest one crumble. that’s the only thing that keeps him from running away with you.

so, you spend the entire month before the games taking care of him. you hold him close while you lie together on the couch, whispering soothing words in his ear meant only for him. as his shaking figure clings to you with his life, your arms get tighter around him. your heart aches for him, wishing you could ease his pain, though you know it’s beyond your power. you discover that gently rubbing his back while sharing stories from your life helps him relax. his weary eyes brighten and he chuckles softly as he hears you describing how you got denied entrance to the career training academy after accidentally falling on top of one of the men in charge at the auditions. you never voice a single complaint about the weeks leading up to the games, when he needs to sleep draped over you for comfort. your fingers caress his sun-kissed cheek as the room fills with his soft  snores, ignoring the numbness in your arm pinned beneath his body.

on the day of the reaping, you wait for him at the train station, staying out of sight of the cameras that are trying to capture the tributes fearful or, on the other end of the spectrum, arrogant expressions. when he arrives, he greets you with a hug before you can finish registering in your mind that it’s him. “honey,” his shaky voice captures your ears. even though he is taller than you, he leans down to be completely enveloped by your arms like a cocoon. finnick immediately begins to ramble about his concerns for the tributes, worried that one of them might actually have a chance to win. he buries his face in your neck, seeking for your sweet scent to calm him down. when the train speaker announces that departure is imminent, he holds you tighter. out of habit, you cup his face in your hands and rest your forehead against his as you always do in private. “i’ve got you, honey. just come back to me,” you whisper softly, wishing you could go with him. “i love you so much,” he breathes out in reply, his hands tightening around you as if reluctant to let go. “don’t take any risks while i’m gone,” he rambles, anxious about what could happen in his absence.you let him give you his instructions, even though most of them are obvious, knowing he won’t be at ease until he’s said them all. finally, he pulls away, giving you a soft but desperate kiss before boarding the train. your only wish is for him to come back to your arms.

[howtotrainabraincell]

I was curious if you had any head canons pertaining to Malik Al-Sayf and him as a person? Let's forget that he is an assassin for a second and focus on him as an individual. Like is he comfortable with the loss of his left arm or is he embarrassed by it? What sparked his interest in maps and making them? Why was he so close with Kadar his baby brother? The more humanizing elements.

INDEED, I DO HAVE HEADCANNONS ABOUT THE DAI OF JERUSALEM! Ahem... But fr tho I do have a lot of head cannons about Malik as a person.

I don't know why...but he gives major "I'm abusive and angry toward the idiot novice but I'm actually really sweet" vibes. I think he's a total sweetie bear behind constantly humbling Altair lol

I think we ALL know that Altair's redemption arc wouldn't have been the same without Malik's verbal bashings and occasional scroll throwing.

About the loss of his left arm...

He was angry at first. Very angry. He had plans of how he wanted to help the Brotherhood and further their cause he so believes in, and then suddenly it was all taken away. He was told that he could no longer be in the field lest he be unnecessarily slain and then sent to Jerusalem. (This winds up fueling his spite and he became obsessed with mastering one armed swordsmanship...to the point where he could put two armed Altair on his ass lol)

Now he did go of his own free will, but he knew they put him in charge to soothe any battered ego he had. The man felt that it was a form of pity and emotional smothering. He had felt that Al Mualim had "requested" him to depart from Masyaf as a way to keep him from killing Altair... because he wanted to. He had felt...betrayed by what he believed in after it took so much from him and then it just swept him to the side like an old sandal. But being away and trying to focus on his responsibilities helped. Being alone also gave him time to cool down from his anger and focus on mourning his baby brother which he needed a lot of time to do.

He's not necessarily embarrassed by losing his arm, but he does feel inconvenienced by it from time to time. Forgetting that he no longer has a left hand to multitask and reach for things with. He was mad when he discovered that he couldn't carry as many books as he used to be able to, but he's smart so he found ways to get by (one of them including making a certain novice carry them lest he refuse and get bonked on his hooded coconut)

Malik can handle himself and you just KNOW that he mastered his f- you glare by giving the death stare to anyone who looked for too long ahaha. He does not appreciate staring AT ALL. He has eyes to make eye contact with hello. He also gets tired of explaining his sudden missing limb and of people expressing sympathy at the beginning because it just refreshes everything - plus he's Malik Al-Sayf OKAY he doesn't need BOTH ARMS to be a BADASSARINO.

He also feels vulnerable from time to time, and he doesn't like that one bit. He already lives a high alert lifestyle so losing his arm put him on peak "don't touch me or I won't hesitate" mode. The vulnerability wore on him for a while but eventually he became confident enough in his skills to protect himself again and his love helped too.

Though in a way he does appreciate the new awareness that losing his arm has brought him. It made him more reactions quicker and he became more responsive - such as a catching a falling book in the blink of an eye or blocking the cat from bapping his quill in the inkwell and knocking it over lol. (He has a cat in there with him and you CAN'T TELL ME OTHERWISE)

As for his interest in maps and making them...

We know that Malik was jealous of the way that Altair from a young age was "the favorite" of Al Mualim - so we can assume that he does in fact feel jealousy and it affects him on different levels. Whether it consists of the manifestation of saltiness toward the one he's jealous of, or it results in him learning a new skill. SO -

Malik was jealous of the eagles. Yes, the bird. He was always jealous of how they could fly so high up into the sky and see everything, everywhere, far and wide from multiple angles, and it made him wonder if such a thing was possible for him. When he could, he loved climbing up to high places - not to perform the Leap of Faith - to see the view from above. He loved it. And it made him think about other ways he could see everything from different perspectives.

Then he discovered Cartography. Needless to say, he was ecstatic lol. Map making for him was the perfect way to achieve what he wanted. He could have an Eagle Eye view of a large area from multiple perspectives and see everything just like he wanted. He could even make multiple versions of it from different angles! He could make a map of Masyaf from his POV in the mountains OR from the top of the Bureau.

I also think that him being so into cartography is a bit of a traumatic response. If he has a map and he knows the place intimately or can study it to see what it holds, he feels better about sending someone there or going himself. He didn't know what the Temple of Solomon held that day...and if he had he would have made Kadar stay home.

I even have a head cannon that Malik makes multiple versions of maps not just from different perspectives and to have backup copies, but to troll people haha. You telling me that this man wouldn't make a fake as hell map to fool Templars in case they stole them? I just KNOW he gave Altair multiple maps and told him to keep the true one on his person so if the enemy was successful in snatching the maps they'd get BAMBOOZLED ACK-

Finally, you wanted to know why I think he was so close with his baby brother Kadar...

I believe that he was so close with his baby brother Kadar because he's a family man, he's loyal, and he loves hard. They didn't really have their parents growing up so more oft than not he felt alone in the world. But no matter how alone he felt Kadar was always there for him, whether it was annoying him, joking with him, or just sitting with him. He fell into the role of big brother easily and got used to being the protective provider. Without Kadar he no longer had someone to care and look out for and Malik didn't know what to do with himself besides bury himself in his work.

It felt like a knife to heart when he lost the only family he had ever truly had because he knew that the Brotherhood was merely a figment of family - not the true family that he wanted. He had always dreamed of Kadar and him having their own families and bringing them both together to be one big happy family. But when Kadar was killed the reality of that dream never coming true...hit him hard.

Malik was also incredibly angry by the slaughtering of his brother Kadar because he was so young. He had so much potential and so much life to live - and it was taken like it had never even existed. He had imagined teasing Kadar about falling in love when the time came, the pride he would feel watching his baby brother one day become a Master Assassin as he had always dreamed of, the happiness he would feel on behalf of his little brother when he became a father. He had imagined what it would've been like to grow old and have Kadar crack jokes about aching bones and greying hair. Malik had imagined watching his little brother grow up the same way parents would anticipate watching their child grow.

Now, for the rest of his life he'll be tortured by "what ifs" and possibilities that will never happen. Malik felt robbed of the one true gift he had ever received in his life - especially as most people in his position don't get what he had. Family.

[lemonycranberries]

there's a bunch of parallels to be made between wicked and mo dao zu shi, as many people have already pointed out (see: these reddit posts, these animatics). but i was thinking about how wangxian's roles in comparison to elphaba and glinda can be considered to reverse over time. i mostly see people comparing wwx to elphaba and lwj to glinda, and sure, there's a lot of comparisons to be made there, but try to consider another angle.

in the cloud recesses, when they're teenagers, lan wangji is a disciplined, hardworking, intelligent student with a lot of pressure put on him to honor his family and their reputation, beloved by his teachers but witout any friends around his age, except perhaps for his brother; much like elphaba. meanwhile, wei wuxian isn't exactly the most dedicated disciple, and breaks quite a few rules without caring about it, which doesn't exactly make his teachers love him, but at the same time, he's popular and loved by his colleagues (who mostly dislike lan wangji, either finding him a sort of teacher's pet or being afraid of him); in that sense, he's more like galinda (if we're looking through a queer galinda lens, we can also say both characters are very entrenched in comphet and very oblivious to their same-sex attraction, with galinda supposedly being a boy-crazy, girly girl and wei ying being very flirtatious towards women, and claiming to have been with many of them without even considering the most remote possibility that he could like men too).

but then, let's skip to both pairings in their adulthood. wei wuxian, that formerly popular, charming individual, is now the yiling patriarch, a previously very talented, advanced young man who's considered different from others in his society because of his methods, something that used to make people admire him and then became his downfall; he started to be hunted and blamed for all evil that ever happened, becoming the biggest public enemy in the cultivation world, and a legend of sorts, nearly a mythical figure, the represention of evil itself. at the same time, despite being warned by those who loved him, he didn't back down in doing what he thought was right (also defending a vulnerable and marginalized group that was being ostracized and blamed for doing evil things - the remaining wens - like the animals were), officially cutting all ties with the respected, traditional cultivation circles and running away to the burial mounds, very aware that this would make him be hated and turned into a villain. eventually, after losing people he loved, he started actually leaning into this evil version of him that was publicly known, comitting so called "evil" deeds while stricken by pain, and soon after, he died on hiw own, while the entire world celebrated his death and talked about how he deserved it because of how he'd done certain things, a lof of them not being true (note: both pieces of media begin this way, with the viewers/readers being introduced to the story with celebrations of the main character's death - and in both cases, said character wasn't actually - or permanently - dead). i don't even have to say how extremely similar to elphaba's story his story is in that sense (and you could still find more similarities, like both characters being morally gray or both characters being very attached to their siblings and going at extreme lenghts to protect them; i could go on). now let's look at lan wangji, who used to be that stubborn student disliked by many of his peers. in the current time, he has become hanguang-jun, a strong authority figure, respected by everyone in the cultivation world and widely considered an example of righteousness and Good. always very put together, always elegant, always where the chaos is; he's often resolving conflicts and is looked upon and admired as someone trustworthy and strongly virtuous. he was offered the chance to join wei wuxian in what he was doing at the burial mounds, years ago, but he declined, which led to him only being capable of helplessly watching from afar as the person who mattered the most to him grew to be more and more misunderstood by society at large, and consequentially, more and more hated - and persecuted. he was then forced to watch as the entire world celebrated the death of said person, never learning the truth about what had actually happened and who he actually was. does this remind you of anyone?

so basically, what i mean is that teen wei wuxian, a popular, likeable, enjoyer-of-life (or perhaps dancer-through-life) galinda, became a brilliant, but villanaized, ostracized and misunderstood wicked witch, like elphaba; while young lan wangji, a disciplined, introverted, hard-working elphaba, grew to be a respected and admired authority figure who was actually in deep suffering because of the way he lost the person he loved - not unlike our gal glinda, the good.

[coline7373]

The fanart of the fanfic of the fanart.

Happy May 4th @independent-variables and @archfey-edda.

[thesharmat]

my secret solenoid gift for @deadlysoupy!

these lads got to surf in cyberverse, so it is my deepest belief that they would enjoy skateboarding too. here i am, representing that truth.

[nepofledgling]

i only know how to make 1 face during a selfie

[justpked]

Today is May 13th.

You know what that means. Here is what was promised a long time ago.

Happy birthday, you bastard. May the Maiden forgive you for your sins.

I swear if someone finds a bug, I WILL cry

Happy Birthday, Asol

[honeygrahambitch]

It's a sunny afternoon. Will is washing the dishes while Hannibal is organizing the food in the fridge. Their kitchen window is facing the front of the little house they rented, allowing Will to watch those who were passing by on the sidewalk.

"It's that dude again."

"Who, darling?"

"The one who is walking the border collie. Come here." He says and abandones the dishes as his eyes follow the particular individual. Hannibal is a bit surprised by Will's tone since it's not the usual "Come see this pretty dog". He walks next to Will and looks outside.

"The dog is limping." Hannibal observes and Will nodds.

The owner is a big guy, way taller than Will and maybe taller than Hannibal as well. He is wearing a black tank top which reveals some very well-defined muscles.

"I just don't have a good feeling about that guy." Will says as he shifts his attention back to the dishes and the running water.

"The dog could have stepped into something or been involved in a fight with other dogs. You cannot assume he is responsible for that."

"That is exactly why I need to look for more than assumptions." He says. The gut feeling he had been having was too hard to ignore anymore.

For the rest of the week Will leaves the house as soon as he sees the guy without saying a word. He tries not to be obvious about following him so he keeps a safe distance and makes sure to stop from time to time to "admire" flowers or birds in the trees. So far everything looks normal. Just a guy walking his limping dog. The only issue was that the limping was getting worse, indicating the fact that no one was taking care of that. By the end of the week Will starts believing that he had read too much into it.

That changes when a squirrel jumps from a brench, close to the sidewalk. The border collie starts barking, almost pulling the owner down, trying to chase the rodent.

The guy agressively pulls the leash and starts yelling. Will knows that is still not a good amount of evidence. Yelling like that at your dog is not a crime. Unfortunately.

All of a sudden, right in front of Will's eyes, the man slaps the dog's back so hard that the dog whimpers. Will sees fire.

He knows he shouldn't say anything. He knows he should go home and debate what to do next. But he decides to ignore all his rational thoughts.

"You are not supposed to hit your dog." He says sternly, closing the diatance between them.

"Mind your own business. It's my dog, I can do whatever I want."

"Looks like we will have a little disagreement."

When Will comes home later that day, Hannibal almost drops the vase his carrying. "Who did this?" He asks referring to Will's black eye.

He approaches him and gently turns his head to have a better look. It was an ugly bruise that someone would have to pay for.

"I was right. He is hitting his dog." Is all that Will says as he passes by Hannibal.

"Well, where is the body?" He asks as he goes to the kitchen to grab some ice for Will.

"I haven't killed him. We were outside, it was daylight, there were people around. I just wanted to confront him and I didn't see his fist coming. Thanks'." He says as Hannibal hands him the bag of ice. The cold feels good on the pulsating bruise that was threatening to swell.

"What is this really about , Will?" Hannibal asks as he is watching him, not trying to hide his concern.

"I miss my dogs. I see them in every dog." He says and stares at the floor. "I thought I had made peace with that."

"You are projecting."

"I see myself in that asshole too. I abandoned my dogs. How am I better?"

"Isn't your previous confrontation answering that question?"

He feels like a child who is bullied at school and is not capable of standing up to himself. But that was going to change.

"Tonight." He replies. "You don't have to join, I know it's not your type of pig."

"I disagree. Individuals who support animal cruelty are exactly my type of pigs." He says. "I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

"I know. You like to see me angry like that."

"Not only that. There is a certain wilderness in your eyes. Pleasure and drive. You are a force of nature, Will."

--

When they break in, he doesn't even hear them. He is watching football in the living room, making loud comments about the game. At some point he is so angry that he throws his beer bottle on the floor, causing it to break to pieces. Will realizes the neck bottle will make a great weapon and Hannibal recognizes that in his eyes.

Will steps into the living room casually as if it was his own.

"W-What are you doing here? GET OUT!"

"I'm here to finish the little disagreement we had today." He replies.

Will smiles and his eyes gleam just like Hannibal has mentioned earlier.

Hannibal watches Will grab the neck bottle and then fight the guy who is so much bigger than him. Blood is sprayed against the walls. He knows he could help but he also knows that it's something Will needs to do by himself.

He would have loved to make him suffer for bruising Will's eye. He tells himself he will feel better when he will be cooking him. He is debating which parts he should carve when Will is done.

The fight doesn't take too long. Even though Will is impulsive, his moves are very calculated. He had come a long way since they had killed Francis six months ago. He is just like a cat, swift and confident. Sure, there is blood all over his face and his eyes look hungry for justice, but there is something divine about that scene which Hannibal watches in awe.

"Feel free to grab anything you want" he tells him when he is done. He is panting heavily.

"We could grab a thing or two. This was a big pig."

Just as Hannibal pulls out his scalpel and sits on the floor, the limping border collie enters the living room, probably coming from his hiding spot.

"I hope I didn't scare you?" Will asks as he kneels on the floor and lets the dog smell his hand. He is friendly, as abused as he had been by his owner, he is waving his tail.

Hannibal is trying to take the liver out of the dead body while he is watching Will talking and playing with the dog. The blood thirsty Will from minutes ago was now a different person.

"Hannibal?" He calls him and smiles mischievously.

"Yes, you can take him home but I don't want to see him in my kitchen."

After all, Will had abandoned his own dogs to be with him. It's the least he could have done for him.

[aesthetic-gamersnail]

One scenario I have been thinking about:

Poppy, freshly in a relationship with Branch, wants to do something nice for him and show that she is an awesome girlfriend. She knows that Branch likes chocolate very much. So, what would be the most normal course of action?

One morning, Poppy sits in her pod and scrapbooks peacefully until Branch comes barging in and says calmly: "Poppy."

Poppy: "Hello Branch, how are you doing? :)"

Branch:".....I'm fine, just, eh, one question. - Was it you?"

Poppy:"Whatever do you mean, sugar boo?"

Branch:"Well, you know, I mean the THIRTY CONTAINERS OF CHOCOLATE IN MY BUNKER! How do I know how many there are? I COUNTED THEM!"

Poppy:"Oh, good, you found them."

Branch:"Well, they are kinda hard too overlook. How did you even get them in there and why do you have so much chocolate at your disposal?"

Poppy:"Being queen comes with certain perks, Branch. But I will not elaborate because there are secrets that I am not yet willing to share."

Branch:"Oooookay? But, for the love of god, tell me why, what was the reason? Why did you put a comically large amount of chocolate into my home?"

Poppy:"Oh, it is rather simple, really. For you see: As your girlfriend I want you to feel happy and secure. I know that you like chocolate. I also know that you have been alone for the last 20 years, so, the twenty containers of chocolate are supposed to make up for that, and the other 10 are supposed to be kind of a promise, that for the next ten years I will be by your side and you won't be alone. I, of course, want to stay longer with you that just 10 years, but I did not have more chocolate at hand to show it, sorry about that."

Branch:"......Look, I appreciate it and I think it is very sweet of you, but it does not make sense."

Poppy: "Well, the math is mathing, so it makes perfect sense to me."

Branch:"Poppy - you can't do something like that."

Poppy:"Do you like chocolate?"

Branch:"Y-yeah, I-"

Poppy:"Do you have room in your bunker to store it?"

Branch:"W-well, yes, but-"

Poppy:"So, what is the prob?"

Branch:"P-Poppy, it is not about the technicalities, it is about the principle. You can't leave 30 containers of chocolate in my home, that is too much. How much time will I spend to eat it? Why would you even do something like that?"

Poppy:"I love you and I want you to be happy, that should be reason enough. And besides, there is nothing that I could give you that would be too much, it is rather always the question if it is even closely enough.*grabs his face in her hands and looks at him* There is nothing too grand for you, because you are the coolest and best Troll I know, so don't sweat too much about the details, ok sweat cheeks? :)"

Branch *visibly blushing*:"....You are going to be the death of me. I always thought more of a heart attack type of situation, but I guess I will be probably die from diabetes."

[nicotinemaiden]

Clockworks;

Pairing: One-sided Astarion/F!Tav - Established Gale/F!Tav

Rating: T (Teen & Up Audiences)

Tags: Major Character Death, Angst (With a happy ending), Suicide (Attempts & Implied previous suicide), Dealing with Grief, Vampire Spawn Astarion, Astarion's POV, POV Third Person Limited

Word count: 3,721

Summary:

In the wake of losing the woman who had shown him the true meaning of love — the first person he had ever truly cared for — Astarion's life lost what little meaning it had before, his title as 'Hero of Baldur's Gate' becoming more of a burden than an honour. In his grief and drunken despair, he convinced himself that the only answer was to step into the sun and follow her to the afterlife. It was all he could do after failing each attempt to make her stay at his side.

You can also read on AO3 ↬

The direct sun burned through his eyelids, hot and unbelievably bright even with his eyes closed. The sand around him sneaked into his clothes and tickled him in an unpleasant way. He couldn’t remember how he got there, not where, exactly, was him — a consequence, no doubt, of the incredible amount of bottles of wine he had endorsed himself with, enough to make even a vampire falter — yet, why would it matter? Why should he care?

Things, any kind of thing really, even the ones which brought him joy before, had stopped being relevant and important. The city, for which they had done so much, lost so much, quickly forgetting the heroes that so readily fought to protect it. Life had taken a turn for the worst, a plunge into the unending darkness, from the moment the woman who had completely changed his life — the person who gave him the strength and confidence to break his chains and kill his merciless master, the one who taught him what it meant to have a friend, who made him learnt about the delights of love and the devastating pain of heartbreak — took her own life not so long ago, the victory against their enemies unsavoury and underserved, a thought shared by most members of their old group.

Things should have never gone as they did.

And he couldn’t help but put the blame on but one person.

Blame and guilt were easy to throw, to accuse, when the person in question wasn't there to defend themselves… easier still to focus on when it would fix nothing. When there was no turning back. He had exclusively a resolution in his mind, a goal. Perhaps two, if he was allowed to believe in anything.

He wanted, first and foremost, to stop hurting. The pain of grief had been unknown to him until the last couple of months. He had never cared enough for the death of someone to affect him as theirs had done, and the one before them that honestly mattered to him, he enjoyed. The grief he felt for Cazador wasn't exactly for him, but for all the people he tricked because of him, for all the spawns that were lost, for himself and the centuries of freedom he had taken from him. It had been pleasant. It still was, in a manner.

The grief of losing both of them, months apart from each other, was not.

He did not understand, even after her passing, what he was feeling. It was similar to other emotions — sadness, despair, hurt, guilt. It was all of them and none, each less important, less meaningful, than the sum that had accumulated inside of him.

At first he rejected the feelings. He hadn’t had a need for such strong emotions in centuries so why keep them? Why entertain them if they were useless? If they made him clumsy and inattentive and only pushed him further into the darkness.

He tried to embrace himself again, to explore intimacy with different people now that he didn’t have to, now that he was actively choosing to do it. Yet a choice made to hide from healthier ones was not truly a choice, not truly something he decided. He hid, again, behind the comfort of the familiar realizing only later that it didn’t help. Nothing he did helped, they never left his mind.

The best he found, before she abandoned him like she did, had been trying to work on the sadness that had been presented to him while he made her company, trying to help her as best he could, to pull her upwards and steal a smile or two with a new joke, with a stupid conclusion, with an unnecessarily flirty line.

She had loved them, before.

The memory of her laughter invaded his dead heart, enveloping it in warmth. She hadn’t been the same person after defeating the Absolute. Even if he had been lucky enough to enjoy her company a couple of months more, the real her had died that same night, along with the brain. Along with the wizard.

And he was just about to follow them, if he remembered correctly. If the alcohol wasn’t playing him a trick and he had finally gathered the guts to do it.

Life as a spawn — sunless once more after becoming addicted to its embrace, alone, hiding in the cold sewers with the only sunny side of his short visits to the woman that had become his entire world, finding work and food when and how he could and doing his best not to let her fall, their titles as heroes of Baldur’s Gate unwelcomed and despised despite how much he had wanted to revel in them, to be praised, to be seen and admired — had been harder than he could ever have imagined. Harder than had been worth it after, without her.

Luckily, nothing compared to his life with Cazador, as much as he complained at the time, yet it hadn’t been an easy walk with flowers at the side and decorated with colorful lights either. It had been fulfilling, being truly free for once, visiting his friends in the city, doing little adventures, killing horrible people for a price, getting to know himself as the elf and vampire he became once his master was no more — trying without success to forget his feelings, to hide them in a small box at the edge of his heart and lock them away, for the woman who taught him the meaning of the previously foreign concept of ‘love’, the one he had spent months admiring and daydreaming about, wasn't meant for him.

And when such a woman couldn't take it anymore, when she finally became overwhelmed by the sacrifice of the man she had given herself to, his life lost the little meaning it had. He had been a survivor up until that point and he had never before regretted allowing her to influence him to give the Ascension up, to be better.

Yet what worth had been ‘being better’, what worth had been saving the remains of his soul if he couldn’t even save his friends? Save her?

He felt the sun burning his skin, his eyes closed in defeat. Sooner or later it would take him to a better place. If he was lucky enough, to a place in which he was no longer. After more than two centuries of pure survival and the promise of something better being crushed before he could even taste it, he just wanted to rest. He was tired. Exhausted. 

The saviors of Baldur’s Gate… but at what cost? Their sanity? Their friends? The only person Astarion had ever loved. And the one he lost because he had chosen to stay quiet about it, because he had been unable to acknowledge it as it was, because he had failed to give it a name.

And by the time he had grown enough as a person to see it the light of her eyes brightened for him no longer, not in the same way.

It still hurts up to this precise day. But he had contented himself with seeing her smile, with watching her rush about camp doing all kinds of things and almost… floating in her happiness, with the red that appeared in her pale cheeks and in the tip of her pointy little ears when she had drunk or laughed too much.

She always was sunny and optimistic, innocent yet not naïve, fun and incredibly playful. She brightened the place with her sole presence, nevermind her songs. She never allowed anything to bring her down and she made it her problem to cheer everyone around her, dissipating the clouds each of them had been hiding, changing their views and the course of their fates completely without effort. She was the embodiment of life.

Up until the day Gale sacrificed himself.

The wizard had not said a word to anyone until the last moment, had lived his last days as if he had an eternity remaining. He boasted about the future, made plans as to how to tackle a well-organized group to help, clean and reconstruct and even spoke about his intentions with her once everything was over. He should have noticed the change in his voice then. He should have realized when his friend asked for his support, confiding in him that he trusted him to care for her if something ever happened to him. He should have noticed his words had been more of a desperate plea than an anxious, passing worry. He already knew what he would have to do if everything failed, he had already decided. And he knew if he shared it with any of them they would do everything in their hands to stop him.

So he remained silent until the shadow of the Nether Brain darkened the city and they prepared to attack.

Astarion liked to think, as obvious it had seemed afterwards, that he still had other plans before the Netherstones failed them, that he had wanted to live beside her and not forego her and ruin her life too, before all their plans crumbled. Before he took upon himself to be the savior.

Before he failed to trust them to do a good job by themselves, as if they wouldn’t have been able to win. He thought he trusted them, that they were friends. It felt wrong to realize otherwise.

No one had been in favour of the choice, no one believed, like him, that it was the only choice, yet, at the time, it had been difficult to oppose it. Difficult to choose better instead of easier.

It hadn’t been easier in the long term.

The wizard had kissed the leader of their group with tears in his eyes, desperate, gripping to life, to her, the emotion of the gesture not going unnoticed for any of them who were looking, who even gazed their way. Afterwards, without any further words besides the ones he could have left with her, he moved forward and blocked the rest from following him. Everyone realized immediately there was something happening too important for any of them to grasp, at the time.

They had seen themselves forced to drag a kicking and punching tiefling, screaming and crying, back to safety. A poor tiefling who a moment before had been about to join the final fight of their journey followed by the man she loved, the one who had promised her a love more beautiful than the Outer Planes, eternal and unquenchable. Gale had been, to her, the answer to each internal conflict, each complex, each doubt and sadness… and, at that precise instant, he became the entire opposite.

They were lucky Halsin and Karlach had been with them, lending a helping hand and a couple calming words that did little, or he had no doubt she would have followed the wizard to the end of the world.

Of course, he couldn’t have imagined she would do so anyway.

It had been a couple of months, perhaps more. She seemed… okay when he visited, which, to be fair, had been almost every day since then. Not the definition of happiness, by any means, but… more herself, especially lately. She helped with the rebuilding of the city to keep herself busy, took over herself to find a home for different orphans and pets that had nowhere else to go, donated her share of goods to different shops and locals around who needed a hand. In the last days of her life she had even seemed… relieved, her smile bigger and warmer, as if after all the darkness she could finally see a glimmer of light. It had given him hope that she could overcome this with the help of the friends close to her, like Jaheira, Shadowheart or himself.

He had never hated being wrong so much.

And so, in the days after her departure, knowing that carnal pleasure and physical work wouldn’t work to keep his mind busy, knowing that they would do nothing but made him ask why she wasn’t there with him, why had any of it been worth it in the end — his freedom a far too small a prize for everything he had gained and lost in between, he had thought about releasing himself into the sun more than once. Following their steps.

No one needed him, no one would miss him. The friends he made had their own lives and wouldn’t worry about him. No one could understand the void that occupied him now, no one could see how nothing was important anymore, how nothing mattered. He had lost the will to do anything — to feed, to clean himself, to interact with other people, to watch the moon and the stars.

What good were they if he was the only one remaining to see them?

What good was he if he didn’t even want to be?

Yet the sun was taking too long. It should be painful. He should have been resisting the urge to hide. Instead, the sun over his skin was more like a caress, a punishment for wanting to rest, to destroy these feelings, than the excruciating release he had been hoping for. Astarion felt cheated. 

He was done. He had experienced the life of a hero and it had been nothing like the tales promised. He had learnt love and how unbearable the feeling of losing it, of renouncing it, could be. He had known a regret deeper than the seas and wider than the sky, a despair colder than an ice storm.

He had gained much, so much that, between his regrets, he didn’t regret the journey at their side nor the things he had experienced. He would be eternally grateful for their help with Cazador, for how she, specially, helped him to understand that he was the master of his own body and if he didn’t want to do something, he shouldn’t, simply as that. There were so many good things he had embraced at her side, so many beautiful feelings he hadn’t even found a name for back then but that brought a stupid, irritating smile to his face that he couldn’t wash away if she was close. So many peaceful moments of discovery.

Yet he had lost a lot more with their absence. With the emptiness she had left that never could be filled by anyone else. It wasn’t worth it, the alcohol in his veins had proclaimed, and he had believed it.

However, despite his very clear intentions to die and his absolute no resistance to it, he was still alive while under the sun, his eyes closed to help with his dizziness, confused as to why he could still think and feel the air, an extremely familiar feeling inside his head.

“Hey, pale guy! Are you alright?”

That voice.

Even a million years from now, in a thousand different realities, he would recognize her voice.

He smiled to himself.

The second thing he had wanted from this desperate suicide attempt had been to see her again.

Perhaps, being optimistic, he had somehow succeeded in his endeavors and the dreams of his death, the embrace of whichever god it was the one who took care of these things, had carried him to her. He would be lucky if that was to be the case. He would do anything to save her, to change the curse of fate. 

If only Gale had been in his place he would have been able to cheer her up, to find the words. After all, those were his specialties. He would have known how to care for her, what to do each time her smile faded, what to say to never allow her to reach that point. The stupid, selfish wizard, making himself a name in the history books at the expense of the most precious thing of all. He should be ashamed. And it had been Astarion who had been accused of making ‘poor choices’. 

“It is possible he is in need of some kind of refreshment. Who knows how much time he has been there, lying in this heat. I should have something…”

He rose up, suddenly, adding to his discomfort. He sat in place and opened his eyes, immediately closing them again. There was far too much light for his unaccustomed eyes to be comfortable opening. The sun felt strangely real, the situation weirdly nostalgic, the voices loud and palpable, not a simple echo of the past nor a ghost of his memories.

With a hand shadowing his face he opened his eyes again, allowing them to get used to the colors of the beach he was in, the silhouettes of the people who looked worriedly in his direction.

This time he could see them, colorful and full of life, right in front of him.

Shadowheart had her arms closed over her chest, an uneasy, disapproving look on her face and the same Shar uniform she wore when they met, thinking her belief hadn’t been as obvious as they had for everyone else.

Gale — purple robe, quarterstaff on his back, unkempt cute beard on his face, the whole packet he had grown to know and care for — stopped the search of his bag to look at him and raised a brow, as if instilling him to speak.

But at his side, almost white skin and long hair black as coal, was Laihya, the woman he had lost barely days ago. Better than that, she was the real one, the one he had not seen since they became heroes of the city. The kindness and curiosity of her gaze remained and her tail bounced around playfully, excited, while she approached him. Her pale gray eyes pierced him, as if she had recognized him that same instant. He felt entranced and she stopped her steps and opened her mouth just to close it again, as if thinking harder, as if something was wrong. Shortly after, sooner than he had enough time to paint her smiling expression again into his brain, the clash of their minds interrupted the moment, showing him pieces of her past he knew far too well while flashes of his life at Szarr’s Palace mixed in between.

He had been here before.

The people gathered, the landscape and sights, the unease of his body and the damn worm occupying a place not for him, a place from which he had tore it up before.

“Well? I’d love to say there’s no rush but if we don’t get these things out soon we will become part of that tentacle army and I would really like to stay as is.”

He pinched his nose, gathering strength to rise and stand, the situation too overwhelming.

He had just done this. He had just saved the city. He could not believe he was back at the beginning, this must be a joke. He hoped it would be a joke, at least. He had known of magic, some of his friends were well versed in magic, but he had never heard of something as ‘undoing what was done’. Or… traveling back in time. He wasn’t even sure this was something proper for a god, why would he be…? He must have been mistaken. He must be hallucinating. If he’d known enough alcohol could do something similar he would have started drinking a lot more. Laihya’s hand came to his arm and squeezed it slightly, grabbing his attention. She inspected him worriedly, her eyes examining each little part of his face, stopping briefly over the scar of his neck before rushing away from it, as if she didn’t want to insult him by staring. Instead, her gray shades focused on his red ones and he could feel the world melting, the words fumbling in his mouth without pronouncing anything coherent.

“You didn’t answer me. You just fell here like the rest of us but you seem worse for wear. Do you want to come with us? We were thinking of making a camp around these parts to think about where to go next.”

“Go ahead, tell him everything, I’m sure is perfectly saf-” “Oh, shush. The man clearly needs a moment. We can’t leave him here to become bait for the hyenas, it is common knowledge there are plenty around these parts.”

“Look here wizard, I have no clue where ‘these parts’ are and-”

The conversation that had originated a couple steps away seemed to disappear completely when he heard her chuckle, a dismissing shake of her head while her attention returned to him, the intensity of her gaze capable of even seeing the remains of his soul, if there was still any. He looked away for a moment, overwhelmed, his hand reaching for his shoulder to relieve some of the tension while he searched for the words.

“Don’t worry about them for now. What’s your name?”

She smiled at him and everything else went out of focus, nothing else seemed to have color, not like her.

Should he tell him that he knew her? Would she believe him? He wouldn’t believe himself, not easily. Not yet. He might trust her completely but she didn’t even know his name. She trusted him as far as she could throw him and she did well. Despite the excruciating pain he felt at knowing her better than himself while being a complete stranger to her, to the woman he loved. The unfamiliarity of his person in her gaze. The warmth it carried either way.

He could not believe he had her again at this range, could not believe she was touching him.

He could not believe he was back at the beginning and he prayed to all the gods and goddesses who had ignored him before that it wasn’t a joke.

Because even if he had to remake his entire journey, even if he was back under Cazador’s service, even if nothing he had done before had left any scar in this world for him to see, it was worth it.

Now he had another chance to change the course of everything.

At least she was alive. At his side.

And now that he could he would do anything to ensure she remained that way.

Anything.