#and the freedom to rebuild somewhere new

[selffagellation]

Hey btw if anyone feels like they need to have a Talk with me, I'm open to that now 👍 the initial Reacting phase has passed enough, at least, I think I can talk this out like a rational human being now

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SIX

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Morning came, and when you woke, the Captain wasn’t by your side. Rather, the pair of shoes Soap had gifted you, left behind in the brig during the overwhelming visit from Price, laid neatly on his side of the bed. A note was placed on top, the telltale sign of Price’s handwriting written, one you recognized from the brief glimpse of his secretive map.

“Soap urged me to return these to you. Join us for breakfast when you wake.”

Tossing your legs over the side of the cot, you meticulously strapped the shoes to your feet one by one, tying them with careful hands. You couldn’t remember the last time you wore shoes, and the feeling was foreign.

Wiggling your toes for good measure, you found you had plenty of room. Taking a few steps around the room guaranteed they stayed. Soap had somehow observed your previously dirtied and battered feet and somehow sized them to his best knowledge.

They were perfect. You felt brand new.

New clothes and now new shoes. Bathed and scrubbed clean without a speck of dirt tainting your skin.

Perhaps you could give them a chance. At least, until you were able to get back on land again and say a silent farewell to all four of them. That was what you still wanted after all, right? Freedom, regardless of how kind they were trying to be.

Stepping out of Price’s quarters was that first taste of freedom you’d had in a while. Not a man to guard you like a dog, teeth bared if you tried to bite back. This time, it was peaceful.

The sea was calm with the waves lightly lapping against the sides of the boat. The scent of saltwater filled your nose and put all worries at ease. The sun was shining brightly above you, beating down with a lovely warmth that tickled your skin.

For a brief moment, it felt like you were home again. It was nothing like it, while mirroring it all at the same time. A bittersweet feeling it was, to feel a touch of serenity in a place so far from the place you knew.

You dared to think that this was somewhere you could rebuild a home with. In a way, this could be the freedom you’d been seeking. Far from entrapment on an island with no way out, with the feeling of sea legs on a boat that could take you to places you never knew existed.

You shut the thought down quickly. At the end of the day, the ones halting that dream were four rugged men who wouldn’t dare let you live out the fantasy long enough to cherish it. They were your captors. Not your friends.

It was fairly easy to figure out where their dining hall was. The boat was large, but the sounds of burly laughter and banter billowing through the breeze was unmistakable and it led you right to where you needed to be.

Your initial walk in wasn’t acknowledged. Not because they were ignoring you, but because they were far too occupied to realize. And by they, you really meant Soap and Gaz.

The two were bickering puppies. Mouths full of food, like ill-mannered children, spewing complete nonsense.

The first to notice you was Ghost. His gaze was chilling, eyes locked on you. While being uninterested and almost bored, there was also that glint of annoyance that came from your mere presence.

That alone was your subtle reminder that these men weren’t your friends. Your reality was not so lucky, and a few spouts of kindness given from the other three weren’t enough to warrant any comfort on your end. You were still in an unfair situation, one that you simply had to grow used to for the time being.

Ghost was a force, though. Just from his stare, you could feel the foreboding threat that lingered deep within. The mask he wore certainly didn’t help. In fact, it made him almost inhuman, like he was a vessel for something far more dangerous.

Eyes were the window to the soul, yet all you saw was an empty void.

Ghost’s shift in attitude seemed to transfer to the others. Next thing you knew, all eyes were on you, peering at you like a pack of wolves when an enemy entered their turf.

You felt severely underdressed. You weren’t much of a sight in your old rags, but now, clad in Price’s sheer clothes that ended near the knee with Soap’s new shoes clinging to your feet, you felt a sense of embarrassment.

The men were dressed appropriately, white shirts with billowy sleeves down to their wrists, heavy coats with a dizzying amount of buttons undone that fell to their knees, as well as classic breeches and thick boots. The colors were bland, yet the jewels they displayed were beyond comprehension.

You hadn’t taken much notice before of the extravagant gems.

Soap adorned that of sapphire, dangling from his neck and worn along his fingers. The blue glinted in the dim sunlight that peeked through the windows of the dining hall, shining brightly.

Gaz wore ruby, the deep red jewels clashing with his clothes and skin near perfectly. It accented the warm tone of his eyes that stared back at you, swirling with uncertainty yet a hint of curiosity.

Price preferred pearls, and it made complete sense. He was Captain, and pearls were the heart of the ocean. The waters were his home, and he held a piece of it wherever he went.

Ghost’s jewelry was the one who mirrored him completely. Black onyx, glistening on nearly every finger, paired with silver bands that held the precious jewels. The only difference was the single skull ring that stuck to his ring finger, staring back at you tauntingly.

You felt like a parasite in comparison. Jewels were something you could only dream of.

“Hungry, dove?” Gaz broke you out of your trance, raising his eyebrows at you. His tone was soft, holding no previous resentment. The man was a mystery, picking and choosing when to butt heads with you or express his displeasure. Yet not, it seemed that had all begun to melt.

“Quite,” you murmured in response, shifting uncomfortably from where you stood. You made no effort to sit next to them, deeming yourself unfit and unwelcome.

Gaz stood in an instant, leaving the table and fluttering to the kitchen. Your eyes followed, watching the swinging doors sway behind him as he disappeared.

“Sit,” Price gruffed, nodding his head to an empty seat across. You stared for a moment, unsure, before hesitantly taking the seat next to Soap.

Soap had said nothing yet, but his eyes never left you — or more specifically, your feet. The shoes, the one he’d specifically sought out for you that fit perfectly on your feet. They were a nice gift, despite the events that transpired after.

“They fit,” Soap stated, finally looking up at you when you sat. You gave him a brief nod, eyes peering down at the table. “Do ye like ‘em?”

You shifted your toes in the shoes, wiggling them around in the bit of space left. They felt comfortable and they’d protected your feet from the splintered wood of the ship when you made your way to the dining hall.

“I do,” you confessed quietly.

You felt strange. You felt almost shy, as if nervous to disappoint Soap.

His face broke out in a boyish smile, seemingly pleased with both himself and your answer. “I’m glad,” he sighed in relief, returning to his meal.

Price and Ghost remained quiet, though Ghost continued to stare. It was harder than before. Now, it felt more like a glare. You could practically feel the intensity of it toying with you.

You risked a glance at him, which only worsened the hit. In an instant, his eyes narrowed, a growing fire burning fiercely. It caused you to feel unsettled, and you wondered what you had done to make him agitated.

Sure, he wasn’t nice before. He was an angry brute from the very beginning. But it had never been this… personal.

The table shook when Soap knocked Ghost’s shin under the table. Ghost’s head whipped over to switch his glare to Soap, who only gave him a warning look in return. Price, seeming bored and rather used to the banter, simply sipped at the drink in his cup.

“Don’t mind him,” Soap dismissed sheepishly. “He’s just…”

“Jealous?” Gaz mused from behind you, and when you turned to look, he was holding a plate of hot food. He placed it in front of you before taking a seat on the other side of you.

Ghost let out what sounded like a scoff, muffled under his mask. He stood from the table, the force of him shaking it once more, before he set off to the upper deck without a spared glance.

Jealous? That was a strange way of describing what you witnessed. What Ghost held seemed far from jealousy, and resonated more with hatred.

“Jealous is a nice word,” Soap hummed, stabbing his food with his fork and popping it into his mouth.

“Why would he be jealous?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you…?”

“Aye, that’s complicated territory yer gettin’ into, dove.” Soap gave you a grin, full of food. You grimaced, resorting to your own food.

The three men fell into simple conversation while you remained the outsider. It was how it had been up until this point, something you were growing used to. After all, you were still a prisoner, even if you had a shed of freedom now, and you were still supposed to resent them.

“Awfully quiet today, dove,” Price said. His tone held no mockery. “You had quite a lot to say last night.”

Images of last night flashed through your mind, the ones where the two of you came to an agreement of getting along. No bad blood, as he said.

Quite a bit had happened last night. So quickly, too. One moment you were in the cell, awaiting a punishment for a failed attempt at fleeing their crew, then the next you were bathed and asleep in Price’s bed. Now, as the morning came, you were offered a meal rather than more unkindness.

You wondered if it was all a test. You had even snooped through the map laid out on Price’s desk, memorizing the poem scribbled on scratch paper. It seemed all meticulously planned, and you prayed it wouldn’t be your downfall.

“I have nothing to offer to the conversation, Captain,” you replied meekly. “I am quite bland.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Price mused. “You were rather witty last night with your jest.”

“A jest?” Soap piped in, curious. “Ye got her to joke with ye, Captain?”

“Aye.” Price nodded. He crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. “She’s a part of the crew now, after all. Isn’t that right, Soap?”

There was unspoken conversation between the two men. Gaz seemed just as lost as you, before something dawned on him. You remained clueless, separated from a secret agreement.

“Aye,” Soap agreed with a nod. He seemed prideful of something, but that you weren’t sure of.

Had they spoken of things without you? Perhaps it was the reason Price let you off so easily. Where you were expecting to be lashed out upon, angry words of your stupidity spewed your way, you had gotten a softer side of Price. An understanding one.

You sat dumbly, confusion evident on your face. Your mind swirled with every possibility of what they could mean, but nothing useful popped up.

You felt like a fool. You were a pawn in a game, and this you knew from the beginning. It had everything to do with your capture and the hidden reason as to why.

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

The answer was right in front of you, yet it felt impossible to grasp.

“You will stay with Soap and Gaz tonight,” Price said. You were zoning out quite a lot today. “I have business I must attend to in my quarters.”

You blinked at the Captain, turning your head to Gaz. You couldn’t fathom Soap having an issue with the arrangement, but Gaz was a unique case. You weren’t friendly, nor were you enemies.

Ever since throwing your food on him nearing the first nights, there was an awkwardness, but it certainly wasn’t bitter. It simply felt like two people who had gotten off on the wrong foot.

Gaz stared back at you before turning away. You weren’t sure how he felt about you staying in his quarters. He didn’t make it obvious.

You just hoped it wasn’t as awkward as it was right now.

Gaz and Soap came to collect you when the night began to fall. Price had let you bathe once more before sending you off, where the two men stood waiting for you outside.

“Hello, dove,” Soap greeted warmly. He seemed bashful that you were staying with him.

He was a strange one, for sure. He was also the most welcoming from the jump.

You didn’t let it fool you, though. You’d seen a side of him when you ran from him during your time on shore, and you knew he had a personality that made him the feared pirate he was, just as the rest of them.

Gaz offered you a nod in greeting, and you gave one back.

The two guided you across the deck and to the other side of the ship. It was quiet between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or strange. What was strange was sharing a bed with two grown men.

“Come in,” Gaz said quietly, opening the door to their quarters and allowing you in first. It was gentlemen-like, which was unforeseeable coming from his background, but you took it with grace.

The quarters were much more cluttered than Price’s, and you safely assumed it was from Soap. Gaz didn’t seem the messy type, though you could be terribly wrong.

“Sit,” Soap ordered, grabbing you by the shoulders and plopping you down on the edge of the bed. You watched as he shuffled into a small closet, your ears picking up on ruffling fabric.

Gaz stood silently, deep in thought. You didn’t bother to ask.

“Here ye go, dove,” Soap offered, returning with new clothes.

Would this be a pattern?

“Will I be using all of your clothes?” you asked, taking the folded shirt and placing it in your lap.

“We will get you new ones soon,” Gaz replied. “Once you don’t wish to flee again.”

Soap snickered, finding it amusing while you mulled in your own humiliation. At least they were being humorous rather than crude.

“Understood,” you grumbled with a small huff, standing with the shirt in hand. The room stood still while the three of you stared, shifting between each other. “I’d like to change now.”

Soap’s mouth gaped, before he sputtered out an apology. Gaz scruffed him by the collar, dragging him out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your thoughts wandered as you changed into your fresh shirt. While you would’ve worn Price’s shirt some more, used to the old rags you collected grime in in the beginning of your capture, being offered new clothing for a second time was nice. It was kind.

You didn’t like to admit it, but despite weeping bloodshed and performing heinous acts upon the innocent lives of those on islands, such as your own people, they really were just… boys.

Boys with a sense of wonder, a sense of joy that was smothered by their titles.

They were still guiding through the world in their short lives, learning how to live as people. Just as any other. It was their first time living, too, even if their actions could be cruel at best.

When you stepped out of the room to let them know you were finished, you only found Gaz,

leaned up against the wall. He spared you a quick glance upon seeing you, offering you another nod like before.

“That certainly fits better than Captain’s,” he murmured, acknowledging the shirt that didn’t quite reach your knees anymore.

“Yes, it will do,” you replied quietly. Your hands fumbled in front of you, that familiar awkwardness filling the air.

With Soap, it was easy. With Price, it was witty. Ghost was an entirely other story.

But Gaz? Why did it have to feel so strange? Like a lingering cloud of tension?

“I am grateful to the Captain for allowing me a chance of redemption after I… fled,” you continued.

The sparkling of stars shone brightly above the two of you, and you made your focus on admiring them rather than on Gaz.

“I don’t know how he did it, but Soap convinced him of your worth in all of this.” Gaz joined you in staring up at the night sky, his fingers picking at the loose string of his shirt where it remained untied by the collar. “We fucked up your life, after all. That’s on us.”

“Soap?” you asked, baffled. “What does he have to do with it? The Captain came to me willingly.”

Gaz turned to look at you, his head cocked in confusion. You mirrored him, eyebrows pulled taut.

“He spoke highly of you after you attempted to flee,” he explained carefully. “Price was angry with you. Soap was your voice of reasoning. Even got me on your side, too. I had my reservations at first for obvious reasons.”

Ah, so he was still bitter about the porridge you’d thrown at him.

You allowed his words to digest, letting them sink into your bones and simmer. All this time, you thought they thought of you in disgust. You were an inconvenience.

Except… you weren’t. They had their formed opinions on you, but you were clearly worth more than they let on. It was why you were spared, why you weren’t rotting away to flesh and bone in their brig.

All along, you thought they simply hated you, that they were unkind, mean pirates.

But just as you thought moments ago — they were boys deep inside. Human. Navigating through life without a compass or map.

“With time, things will begin to connect,” Gaz continued, voice softer. “We are not as cruel as you may think. There are far bigger fish out there, and they are much, much worse.”

You prayed that you would never have to face it, for as long as you remained on this ship.

[rainbow-rebellion]

I said I wasn’t doing supercorptober this year and then my hand slipped... oops

*content warning: implied abuse*

fly away on the breeze to freedom [ao3 here] (Prompts 1-5: Leaves, Courage, Dress, Garden, Alone)

“There is freedom waiting for you, On the breezes of the sky, And you ask “What if I fall?” Oh but my darling, What if you fly?” -- Erin Hanson

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

Thick fog swirls soft and gray along the edge of the yard, long fingers slowly snaking their way through a maze of trunks and branches to settle in a heavy blanket above the multi-colored treetops. A blue ceramic mug gripped tightly between her hands, she savors its warmth in the chill of the early morning. Wisps of steam curl off the hot liquid to dissipate in the crisp autumn air, and the rich aroma of hot chocolate wraps itself around her like a gentle hug, always her comfort drink of choice on a dreary day.

She thinks about the dress hanging in her closet, silken white, skirt layered with tulle to make it full and fluffy, bodice overlaid with intricate lace and beadwork.

She thinks about the suit in the closet opposite hers, a classic black tux with a silver vest and shiny black shoes. She thinks about the man who will be wearing it.

She almost didn’t buy the dress. It had been a rare moment of bravery that had risen from within her, but then had dissipated as quickly as the steam from her cocoa.

Her sister had pleaded with her, tried to convince her she’d be safe, that all of Kara’s family and friends would be there to protect her if she could just find the courage to walk away. But she was too scared of the consequences, too scared of ending up alone. It was something her fiancé liked to remind her of, how sad and inconsequential her life would be without him. For some reason she always believed him.

That was before though, before a dear friendship blossomed into something that promised the possibility of more. Before kind words and patient company began to heal her shattered sense of self and slowly rebuild the confidence she had lost somewhere along the way. (Not surprisingly it was a friendship he never approved of). She’s still scared of course, she’s always scared these days, but she’s also so very tired of it all, and doesn’t know how much more she can take.

The morning sun peeks through the haze to cast pockets of golden light on the changing leaves - varying shades of orange, red, yellow and green - setting the trees ablaze in a magical show of color and glowing light. The sun’s rays catch a lone leaf as it falls, floating on the breeze to land softly on the dewy grass below. She wonders if it could be that easy - if she lets go, will she land as gently? She thinks about how the trees shed their old leaves and bare their branches to the winter’s fury, comforted by the assurance of warm spring days and new life ahead of them.

A determination settles in her soul, solid and resolute. She thinks about her sister and her mother, their pleas and their promises. Maybe it’s time to finally trust them. She thinks about someone else, piercing green eyes looking deep into her own and asking Kara to think about what she wants - not what anyone else wanted or what she thinks she’s supposed to want, but what she actually wants. A whispered oath swearing to always be there for her, no matter the answer.

But she thinks she knows the answer now - she’s known it for a while if she’s being honest with herself. It’s just now she’s finally finding the courage to take the leap, knowing there will be somebody to catch her. Someone who will love her the way he never could, with soft words and gentle hands.

A cold breeze has her pulling her cardigan tighter around her body, but she can’t help the quiet smile that appears on her weary face.

When she goes back inside she stands in the living room and looks around a house that has never felt like a home. A place that should have been a safe haven, but often felt more like a prison than anything else. Four walls and a roof that she’ll be happy to be free from.

Mike is still asleep on their bed, face down, snoring in his deep baritone. With the alcohol still in his system from last night, he’ll be out until at least noon. She gathers a few of her belongings in a small bag, only the really important things that can’t be replaced. She leaves her ring on the kitchen table with a short note, even though he doesn’t deserve her explanation. He’ll be angry no matter what, but she’s done letting him intimidate her.

She drives on autopilot to the other side of the city, to a quaint little white house with a blue door, her heart knowing exactly where it needs to be right now. She doesn’t bother with the doorbell, instead she walks around to let herself in the wooden gate to the garden in the back. That's where Kara knows she’ll find her, kneeling on the ground with her hands in the soil. Lena had bought this house in a quiet suburb after semi-retiring from her high-stress corporate career, and had taken prolifically to gardening. The multitude of flowers and abundant greenery evidence of her green thumb, all thriving, vibrant and full of life just like Lena.

She looks up when Kara enters the garden, the warm dappled light accentuating the hint of auburn in her dark brown hair, and falling across her face in a way that highlights the slight difference of color in her eyes, one a jade green, the other a hint more blue. Her gaze is soft and welcoming, but curious, tilting her head in question at the bag slung over Kara’s shoulder.

“I thought about what you asked me.”

Lena simply nods and waits patiently, though she can’t help the way her heart involuntarily skips a beat and her stomach flutters in anticipation.

“I know what I want now.” Kara takes a deep breath in, letting the tension drop out of her body when she exhales. Then a little more quietly, but steady and full of certainty, “I know who I want.”

Lena doesn’t say anything right away, but the smile on her face and the sparkle in her eyes says everything. She pats the ground next to her with a gloved hand. “Come sit with me.”

So Kara drops her bag on the small stone patio and sits down in the dirt next to her. Lena slips an arm around her and pulls her close, so Kara’s head is resting on her shoulder. She nuzzles her nose in golden blonde hair and places a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. Humming in contentment, Kara relishes the warmth of Lena’s body and breathes in her calming scent, allowing herself to finally relax and to be loved in this tender way.

Lena eventually pulls away to gaze at her, eyes full of adoration, achingly gentle but also fiercely protective, promising a hundred tomorrows each better than the next, and never one of them alone. She reaches out to grab a small plastic pot filled with orange and yellow flowers, and holds it up so Kara can see them.

“Did you know that chrysanthemums symbolize rebirth and new beginnings? They're actually revered in many cultures as a reminder of the beauty of change and transformation.” She pauses, dimples forming in her cheeks as her smile grows. Reaching out with her free hand she takes Kara’s in hers and squeezes. “Would you like to plant them with me?”

Kara can’t help but feel as light as the leaf she saw that morning, as if she herself had been carried here by the breeze, landing soft and sure, exactly where she needed to be. For the first time in a long time, when she smiles, it reaches all the way to her eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners.

“I’d like that very much.”

And as she sits side by side with Lena, working together in a little garden grown from love and filled with life, she feels the warmth of the sun break through and lift the fog from her soul.

[nerdlydelicious]

Solas: “Let me ask you a question, Rook.”

Rook: “Could I stop you?”

Solas: “Why did you want to stop my ritual?”

Rook: laughs “That’s your question? Why would I stop the end of the world?” Takes a pull from a half empty bottle of wine “I thought you ancient elven gods were supposed to be intelligent…”

Solas: “But you knew what my ritual was for! What it would do! With the Veil gone, the world would again be whole! The elves, our people, would be restored to their former glory! You would be immortal! You would be able to wield magic as easily as you breathe!”

Rook: “And what about everyone else?”

Solas: “As I said, all of the elves-”

Rook: “What about everyone else?”

Solas: “You mean the humans?”

Rook: “Humans, Qunari, Dwarves. What about them? What happens to them in this new world of yours? The ones that survive the Veil coming down, that is.”

Solas: “They would have a place.”

Rook: “As our slaves, maybe.”

Solas: “I did not fight against the Evanuris and their tyranny just to take their place! I would never see any people enslaved again.”

Rook: “Maybe you wouldn’t, but what about every other elf? You really think some of them aren’t going to want revenge? I give it a day before elves are clapping irons on the wrists of humans or forcing them into the very same alienages so many elves lived their whole lives in. Will you fight for their freedom too, and kill the elves you tore down the Veil for?”

Solas: …

Rook: Takes another pull of wine “Here’s the thing you and a lot of other elves don’t really get, egg head. We’re not better than anyone else. There are plenty of our people out there that I wouldn’t trust with a dull knife, let alone Maker damned magic. Some people just shouldn’t have power, be it magical, physical, or political. And what you want to do will let those people go mad with power. Nothing will be fixed. It’ll just be a different kind of broken.”

Solas: “And leaving the world as it is now is any better? Tevinter enslaves our people, the Qunari grow ever closer to a full scale invasion of the mainland, and despite fighting a war for their freedom mages everywhere face persecution for the powers they’ve been granted. With the Veil gone the world as it once was, as it’s meant to be, would return. We could rebuild without the influence of the Evanuris.”

Rook: Sighs, drinks more wine “Solas. There will always be people like the Evanuris. Maybe not in the same scope of power, but ambitious, greedy tyrants will always appear from somewhere, and you won’t be able to stop them all.”

Solas: “But it would still be a better world for our people!”

Rook: “Maybe. But the cost for that world of yours is too high. If raising up the elves means tearing down everyone else, then it’s not worth it.”

Solas: “Even if it meant another young elven child wouldn’t have to be torn away from their family? Like you were?”

Rook: …

Finishes the bottle, slams it down

“Even then.”

[antianakin]

If you were the one writing the sequel trilogy with complete creative freedom what would you do?

I answered a pretty similar question a few months back. You can see the most relevant snippet below.

I'd still set it 30 years post-ROTJ, I'd still bring in a new ensemble cast, but I'd focus on how the New Republic and Luke's Jedi were able to rebuild in that time and how they now have to withstand this new threat, whether it's something akin to the First Order or a completely new kind of enemy. It can be a STRUGGLE, they can have LOSSES, but I think eliminating the entire New Republic and Luke's Jedi in order to just focus on a new "resistance" makes no sense. I want to see this community LEARN FROM THEIR MISTAKES and actually figure out how to fight TOGETHER again, I want to see this world evolve from the one we already know so that they can face a similar enemy or an enemy of similar strength to the one faced in the PT and, this time, they will defeat it because the New Republic stood WITH the Jedi and didn't give in to selfishness and fear and corruption. I like the characters they introduced well enough, I think they're cool and interesting, and I really like the subverted expectations with characters like Finn and Kylo and how those were being set up in TFA, so I'd keep that, too, and maybe just adjust as needed for the slightly changed narrative.

I know Lucas intended to explore the Force on a sort-of micro level a little bit more in his version of the Sequel trilogy, too, and I kinda like that. I like learning more about how the Force works each time we go back into the world.

But narratively, the most important thing for me is to show this community face the same evil as the Prequels did and this time, they choose to stand firm and overcome it rather than succumb to it. I want to see what the last six films were all leading to, I want to see this world we're so invested in actually DEVELOP somewhere meaningful by the end of the story rather than just making the same mistakes all over again except rushed through to what a few people thought were the fun bits.

[aroacebaker]

Today it’s the 24th of February, 2 years after the full-scale war started in Ukraine. Most know that this isn’t completely out of the blue, since Crimea was invaded 10 years ago, but let’s go back even further.

During the first world war, Ukraine was torn to pieces, literally, it was occupied by Poland, Russia, France, anarchists, and the Whites, Kyiv changed hands over five times in a year, communication inside and outside the country was almost completely cut off.

This war eventually resulted in the Soviet Union occupying Ukraine. Due to this Ukrainian people fought in the Soviet army. At the end of the war Ukraine did gain some independence, for some decisions, such as being accepted into NATO as Ukraine, rather than as the Soviet Union.

On the 21st of January 300 000 Ukrainians lined themselves up between Kyiv and Lviv, forming a human chain for independence and on the 24th of August Ukraine declared itself independent from the Soviet Union.

In 2004 there were presidential elections between Yushchenko and Yanukovich, in which Yanukovich won, however the results were falsified, and the Ukrainians protested for 2 months, this is known as the Orange revolution. The protestors won, and the elections were re-done, where Yushchenko won fair and square.

6 years later there are new elections, in which Yanukovich wins, again, fairly. He promised that he’d integrate Ukraine with Europe and join the EU. However, in 2013 when he was about to sign the agreements to improve relations with the EU, he made a complete 180 degree turn, and spoke about rebuilding relations with Russia. This, naturally made upset the Ukrainians very upset, so they protested for three months straight. They’d eat and sleep on the streets to protest every minute of every day and night, this resulted in police brutality. Every February 20th the people lost during these protests are mourned for their sacrifices for Ukraine’s freedom.

Yanukovich, unable to resist these protests fled the country, While the population was looking for a new president Russia invaded Crimea, there was a referendum, which was accepted due to the pressure and the country we are dealing with, Crimea was taken, and soon the fight over Donetsk and Luhansk begins.

Then, on the 24th of February, the full-scale invasion begins. Ukrainians have fought strongly, never ever giving up, fighting for there freedom, for the freedom of Europe, fighting for the truth and honesty Russia has yet to show. Take a minute today, after reading this far (thank you for still sticking around!) and thank the Ukrainians who have lost their lives in these battles, those who have lost their lives in merciless attacks, and those left behind.

Now, let’s listen to the experiences of one awesome Ukrainian: Living in war is terrifying, “you stop caring about food, sleep. Just staying alive, only thing that matters. We [Ukrainians are] Europeans. We’re not Russia. We died for this, and we continue to fight, every day, for this. We’re not just some people dying somewhere. We are real! We have our language, our songs, our fairytales. We exist. We matter.

Finally, a line from the Ukrainian anthem: "Душу й тіло ми положим за нашу свободу, І покажем, що ми, браття, козацького роду” Meaning “We'll lay down our souls and bodies to attain our freedom, And we'll show that we, brothers, are of the Cossack nation” Слава Українi!

[amphiptere-art]

Dim was devastated when the old man stopped coming around. Being an animatronic. Death by old age wasn't something he really considered. Animatronics die when they get dismantled or injured. (Sure technically old age can get them by rust. But usually taking care of yourself extends that.)

So when the old man just didn't show up one day. They were completely confused and concerned. Plus they had the old man's hurty-gurdy. The old man had basically lent it, because Dim was going to try and do his best audition for Sun and Moon. Since sun and moon didn't know how to play any rock like instruments. So he was fully expecting to give it back. But the old man wasn't there. (In fact the old man was going to give him the hurdy-gurdy either way. He knew he was on his last strides.)

With the fact that Dim even did an audition. With an instrument that was not supplied in the pizzaplex. Everyone was pretty quickly learning that there was something different with dim. But like always. Sun and Moon were ignoring it. (Mostly for their own hides to not get in trouble.) But the others weren't quite so ignorant. Now Dim was being let out for a specified amount of time each day to play a song or two.

And they could notice the absolute sadness in Dim. DIm had come running too Eclipse quickly to ask why the old man wasn't there. He simply couldn't fathom that the old man wasn't around anymore. Or at least was stuck at home in bed. Eclipse tried his hardest to calm the little guy down. Basically having to explain slowly and painfully that even if the old man had simply been bedridden. They probably would never see him again. And Dim was very sad at this idea.

No one could ignore that dim got this hurdy-gurdy from somewhere. No one could ignore that dim. Despite having been in all their eyes nothing more than a simple AI. Was seemingly sulking and at times looks like he was going to cry. The kids couldn't ignore it either. The evil policeman version of Sun and Moon looked sad. They would play songs on stage and then immediately looks sad. Everyone was trying to talk with them, but Sun and Moon were gate keeping hard. Basically not allowing anyone to figure out what was wrong.

At least until that one scenario where the owner finally catches Dim talking with Eclipse. When they quickly catch on that dim is hiding something, and sun and moon aren't being nice to them. Sun and Moon are called out for what they did. And eventually even eclipse gets a point in time to chew them out. Even if it was extremely dangerous for him.

It took a while for anyone to even realize Dim had this old man friend. They kind of had to rebuild their relationships with Dim. They finally got to hear about it when eclipse was given freedoms by the owner. Who basically just helped dim start off. Everyone was practically surprised that this little AI had a companion even when he was a tiny nonsentient drone. And at that point didn't finally had a group other than eclipse just sort of grieve with.

The old man never came back and no one could really figure out who he was. The warehouse isn't necessarily incredibly close to any living areas. Sure it's closer to a bunch of stores. But no one could track down a nearby housing district that possibly had the old guy. He was gone. But even when Dim was given a new hurdy-gurdy far more themed to the pizza place. He kept the hurdy gurdy. One part of him hoping that somebody would recognize it and tell him what happened. And another part to just remember him.

[tired-dragon22]

I've been seeing this going around, and I just wanna vent and see if it clears my thoughts. Since last October, and even before then, I've struggled with what's happening in Palestine and Gaza. Because it's bullshit that the US government is funding a genocide, is refusing to listen to what a great majority of the people want, which is a complete cease of aid to Isr@el . I want that so badly, I want to see good news I on my phone, I want to see those families have the room to grieve and to rage and to rebuild their beautiful homes. I want to see Palestinian children play in the sun without having to worry about being labeled as a threat. I've seen the protests and fundraisers, and shared/participated in anyway I'm able to. And I've also seen the shit show that's coming in the US depending on which presidential candidate goes into office. I'm a lesbian, Mexican American woman. Both my parents immigrated from Mexico when they were young. I've got younger siblings, two sisters and a brother. I know so many people like us. We struggled when Trump was in office before. We struggled before then, but it has been even more terrifying ever since then. We're fucked if he goes into office, especially with the layout for Project 2025. All of us are. Every single minority, every single person that doesn't fit into the cookie cutter image that Republicans want will be fucking crushed. Our rights are already being taken away because of who Trump put into the Supreme Court. My family struggles with a crap ton of health issues, my sisters both have knee and back problems. They've had a number of surgeries and still struggle with more issues every day. I thank whatever deity exists that we're able to cover most of their necessities with insurance. And I know damn well all of that is gone if Trump wins. I fucking hate what Biden did during his administration, refusing to see what was happening, refusing to fucking listen. I'm tentatively hopeful things will be easier to protest and try to fix if we were to be under Harris. But I'm also too pessimistic and skeptical to fully believe that. And that's my main problem. I don't want to vote for someone who would support a genocide. I would so much rather vote for a third party. But I know damn well it'll only push things in the wrong direction, considering how terrible this fucking country's election system goes. That's how Trump got elected in 2016 after all. People didn't vote and they assumed cause of the popularity win Clinton had she'd win. And I'd rather fucking rot somewhere than vote for Trump. So my only viable option, it seems, is to vote for Harris, whether I like her or not. And I hate it. I hate it so fucking much. I see people say they're gonna vote for a third party, I've even seen some people say they're gonna vote for Trump because they don't want to vote for Harris. And I'm just begging someone to explain to me how any of that would be better. We can try and fix things if we're under a politician that will at least not practically burn our rights at the stake. I want to have autonomy of my own body. I want that for my sisters, for my mom, for my brother and for my dad. I want that for all the trans kids who'll die if Trump goes into office. I want freedom for all the minorities that live in this godforsaken country, I want Palestine to have it's land back and for Isr@el to fuck right off. I just don't know what to do anymore. Btw, if anyone bothers to read everything I just wrote down, I'd really appreciate any advice.

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark

The Netherbrain is defeated, and all of Astarion's plans for his future dissolve when his closest friends leave him for Avernus. Struggling to find purpose and a way to walk in the sun again, he meets Liv, a wizard working in an alchemy shop in the Lower City. She has her own reasons for wanting to help him, but their search for a cure is put on hold when a mysterious blood illness begins sweeping the Lower City.

Together, they team up to solve the mystery.

A Baldur's Gate 3 Eldritch Horror AU.

Read on AO3.

_____________________________________________________________

Prologue

The chamber is silent as a tomb before the figure begins. Magic coils in the air, a snake poised to strike. Then, there is the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of blood as the figure mutters words for a spell under their breath. 

There is something reverent about the ritual as if this spell was a prayer and not simply a plea. Even the fury held behind their teeth feels like a benediction. The words spill out, slick and oily in the air, carrying a power all their own. But there are no gods listening; there is no divinity here.

It is something else that awakens instead. Something that has been slumbering. Something old and patient and twisting. The figure knows not what it calls upon, but it answers anyway. The figure asks for vengeance, for power, but they will not find that here. It is not interested in vengeance. 

It is only here to consume.

It reaches out, in the space between worlds, crawls between the words the figure chants. There is blood, so much blood, and blood has power enough. It will do.

The spell is finished, and the figure is not satisfied. It hasn’t worked; the world is unchanged. It doesn’t care. The figure leaves the room, climbs the winding stone steps to somewhere brighter, open, better. Suddenly the world explodes with variety and chaos and potential . 

The figure announces that the spell did not work to the others present in the room. One reaches out, a hand placed on the figure’s shoulder. It startles at the contact, sends out a touch, and is suddenly torn asunder. It mourns, it cries, it reaches for that piece of it that is now gone forever. But then, it can feel this other self, like a phantom limb. It is more. 

It reaches further and further, beyond itself, tumbling in freedom, in ecstasy. There is so much to find, to discover, to take. But there is another power in this place, a rippling sort of magic it intentionally skitters away from. That’s alright; it can be patient. 

It retreats, pulls back slowly, and waits. And waits. And waits. 

Until it doesn’t.

____________________________________________________________

Chapter One

Astarion stands alone on the docks. Behind him, his ruined city is celebrating and mourning and rebuilding. In truth, he’s not sure why he’s here, again. Ever since Gale had told him about Karlach’s engine, about Wyll and Tavren’s desperate plea to take her to Avernus, he’s wanted to return to the spot. He thinks he can make out the scorch marks in the planks of wood, and though he knows they’re alive and well and probably kicking ass in Avernus…his dearest friends are gone and he didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

He hadn’t been far from his friends, but he might as well have been a world away because the sun was shining and he was no longer immune to it. They’d looked for him; he’d heard their shouts, but he hadn’t wanted to see them. He hadn’t wanted them to see him, weak, pathetic, just a vampire spawn once again. He’d stayed hidden, and waited alone until nightfall, unable to bask in the victory in the face of so much loss. 

So he hadn’t heard the news until he arrived at the Elfsong, the air filled with desperate and fervent celebration. He hadn’t intended to join in, he didn’t feel he had much to celebrate, but then…four of his friends were missing from the group in the middle of the tavern. What was left of their group was accepting thanks and drinks and gratitude from casual moths. There were whispers in the crowd of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate gone to take on Avernus, to the Blood War, so he’d pulled Shadowheart and Gale away from the chaotic revelry and they’d told him everything. How Lae’zel had jumped on the back of a red dragon. How Tavren, Karlach, and Wyll had gone to the Hells. 

His losses just kept stacking. 

He’d stayed just long enough for a drink of mediocre wine, and then he’d slipped away, unnoticed. And now he’s back here, and he’s not sure why. Just hours ago he and his friends had celebrated their victory here, and had wondered at the tadpoles now gone from their heads. He wishes he could go back to the moment just before it all fell apart, when it felt as if the whole world was waiting for him. 

And now? The world is still there, still waiting, but he’s not sure how to reach out and grab it on his own. He had hoped that once this was all over, they’d keep adventuring, keep finding trouble and causing chaos together. He hadn’t considered another future, hadn’t believed that they wouldn’t find some way to fix Karlach’s engine and move right along to the next heroic deed. Tavren had done so many impossible things, what’s an infernal engine after gods and hags and a giant Netherbrain?

He spends a long time on the dock in the darkness, until there is a light blue quickening on the horizon that tells him dawn isn’t far off. It’s depressing just how quickly the learned habits from two hundred years of retreats just like this kick in, but instead of Szarr Palace, he heads back to the Elfsong. He doesn’t know where else to go. 

In the days that follow, their group dwindles even further. Halsin and Shadowheart depart the city too. Minsc and Jaheira are busy with the work of rebuilding, and he is left with only Gale for company. 

“Wonderful news, I have managed to procure us new lodgings!” Gale announces one late afternoon while Astarion counts down the hours to nightfall in his room. It was probably practical for them to be moved out of the large room their group had shared and into smaller, private rooms, but Astarion is starting to hate the Elfsong. He’s counted the floorboards, found odd shapes in the stitching on the curtains, and wondered if this is all his life is now. 

Despite not being charged a penny for their rooms, probably out of deference to their service to the city, he’s sure they’re quickly outstaying their welcome. Astarion doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so he’d decided not to worry about that particular problem until he has to. At least the Elfsong has an endless supply of wine. 

“New lodgings?” Astarion asks. If Gale has gotten an apartment in some facsimile of forced domesticity for them, he’s not going no matter how much he hates this room. 

“Rolan has kindly invited us to stay with him and his siblings at Ramazith’s Tower,” Gale says with a sense of accomplishment. “The help of another wizard will be most welcome as I puzzle out how to get the crown out of the Chionthar and returned to Mystra.”

Ah, so it’s charity. Fabulous. “No.” 

“Oh come on, Astarion. You can’t tell me that you’re happy here trapped in this room during the daylight hours.” Gale is doing that thing where his words are earnest and his eyes are intensely focused. It’d worked on Tav, but it won’t work on him.

“I have no desire to be in the debt of a trio of tieflings we’ve rescued three times over,” Astarion replies.

Gale nods like he understands, and Astarion resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Rolan is a friend, Astarion. A friend offering his wizard tower that has plenty of room and many, many books. We merely skimmed the surface of the tomes that were in Lorroakan’s possession. Perhaps there’s something that might help us find a way for you to walk in the sun again.”

Astarion isn’t stupid. He can see what Gale is doing, dangling out hope and optimism like some second-rate trinket peddler. It’s clear that Gale will be going, and Astarion doesn’t want to be left behind again. So he grimaces and sighs. “Ugh. Fine. But there better be something in that book collection that is actually helpful if I’m giving up proximity to an endless supply of wine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Astarion is pretty damn sure he’s going to regret this. 

***

“Have you ever conducted an autopsy?” Kharis asks, his words softer and more gentle than Liv expected. It’s not a question she’s expecting, but then, her work at The Shadowed Quill hasn’t been anything she expected either. 

“No,” she replies and immediately wonders if admitting this means she’ll get dismissed from the room, lectured about all the ways she’s useless.

But Kharis just nods understandingly, and Liv reminds herself he’s never made her feel small or useless. The dwarf sighs, his bright red beard shifting against his barrel chest. Liv hasn’t ever asked how old Kharis is, but when he looks at her like he’s doing now, his blue eyes carry the weight of many, many years. She doesn’t know what his life was like before he opened this alchemy shop in the Lower City, but she suspects it was not a kind one if the deep, jagged scar that bisects his left eye and cheek is any indication.

“That’s alright,” he says kindly, “it’s been a while since I’ve done this. I’ll just have you watch and take notes for me, yes?”

She’s grateful for the out. She’s never considered herself squeamish, but after the mind flayer incident a few days ago where she’d been forced to fight and kill no less than three illithid enemies, she’d found herself looking around at the death and destruction afterward, and she’d had to retch in the alley. 

Information had trickled out in the days following the attack, and it had answered some of the questions she and Kharis had, but not all of them. The Shadowed Quill was not meant to be a clinic, and Kharis and Liv are not doctors, but they do trade in magical remedies, and sometimes when no one else has answers, people are desperate enough it doesn’t matter.

It certainly hadn’t mattered for Alfran, who lays on a table in their workroom, dead. Alfran had come in complaining of headaches, weakness, dizzy spells, and bouts of memory loss. They’ve seen a lot of that lately…now Liv knows some of those people were infected with mind flayer tadpoles because they’d all turned into mind flayers in one terrifying, horrible instant. But there are also people like Alfran, whose symptoms did not go away when a brain fell out of the sky. He’d died yesterday, and there had been nothing she or Kharis could do. 

It’s only been six months since Liv left her family’s comfortable Upper City estate, but it feels longer for all the heartbreak she’s seen. Alfran’s dead and there’s no one else to care, no one else who’s trying to get to the bottom of it. No one else wants to help the other people with the same symptoms, and it’s all because they’re poor, and they live on the wrong side of the city. Before she came here, she knew about the cosmic unfairness of the universe, was intimately acquainted with loss and pain, but it’s another thing entirely to see it play out on the street she lives on. 

“Ready?” Kharis asks her, scalpel in hand. Their workroom is not made for this sort of work. The counters and cabinets are littered with everything they cleared off the workbench to accommodate Alfran. Globes of light bob up and down slowly in the space, lighting up the room.

She smooths her hands down her apron and steps closer to the table, to Alfran. He was young, barely eighteen, his golden skin pale in death. He’d been a runner for the Guild, and Liv had held his mother’s hand while she wept over her dead son. It had been more than a little alien to see a parent mourn a child like that. When her sister had died, her parents hadn’t so much as flinched. 

She picks up her notebook and quill. “Ready.”

Kharis murmurs a prayer to Lathander before he begins. Liv catches only about half the words, but glances away anyway, as if she is witnessing something private. She doesn’t put any of her faith in the gods, and has never believed they listened or cared. But Kharis’ voice is soft, his eyes as kind as they had been when he had asked Alfran’s mother for her permission to examine her dead child. Liv had been surprised at the care, and she’s surprised by it now too. 

Kharis takes the scalpel to the skin and begins to carve in a diagonal down from Alfran’s shoulder toward the center of his chest. It takes a moment, but the cut begins to ooze with blood. Kharis draws back his scalpel in shock. 

“That…that shouldn’t be happening.”

“What?” Liv’s heart is racing, there’s something in Kharis’ tone that spells danger.

Kharis peers down at Alfran’s body before placing two thick fingers against his pulse point. “He’s been dead nearly a day, all his blood should have been pooled at his back.”

Right, she’d forgotten. Liv is reminded that they are not doctors, not experts at this. They are scholars playing at medicine because there is no one else interested in a boy from the Lower City who died mysteriously. 

And yet, the wound is leaking blood anyway, as if the blood is somehow still pumping through his veins. But it’s not, so this doesn’t make sense. 

Kharis pulls his hand away from Alfran’s neck, before crouching to peer below Alfran’s back, which is lifted slightly by a block beneath his upper back. Liv crouches as well, though she must drop almost to her knees. The telltale mottling of the skin is there, indicating that the blood has pooled, so why is the cut Kharis made bleeding?

They both stand up at the same time and immediately freeze. The blood is no longer oozing. Instead, tendrils of it reach like the tiny weeds that sprout between the cracks in the cobblestones. “Step back, Liv,” Kharis warns, his voice unyielding. “Don’t touch anything.”

He mutters something Liv doesn’t catch, and a blue spectral pair of hands appears. Kharis himself has backed away, but he’s watching and directing the mage hands that pick up a specimen jar and carefully coax the blood into it, just like one might a spider onto a paper. The blood moves easily, as if wanting a direction.

“What in the hells.” Liv chokes on the fear, on the acrid stench of wrongness in the air. “What is that?” 

Only once the bottle is sealed does Kharis examine the blood within, the way it branches and reaches and shifts. “I don’t know, but we need to burn that body immediately.”

***

If Astarion had to admit it, staying at Ramazith’s Tower is better than being cooped up in his tiny room at the Elfsong all day. There are a great many windows in the tower, but Rolan and Gale have enchanted enough of them to block out the sun so that he can move about the tower freely, even in the daylight hours. It had been a kindness he hadn’t expected, hadn’t known how to express his gratitude for properly, so he hadn’t said a thing about them. 

There is plenty of space in the tower, and it’s easy to be alone. Which is what he tells himself he wants, even if he’s not sure that’s true anymore. He spends the first day or two mostly in his room, not wanting to be out and about the tower if it means acknowledging the kindness present. But by the third day, he’s figured out that Rolan might make a comment or two about the place being his, but no one is holding this over his head, no one is demanding a thing of him. 

Gale and Rolan are busy working on recovering the crown, and Astarion has no plans, no direction for what he wants his life to be. He has longed for freedom for so long, for the ability to plan and shape his own life, his own destiny. And now that it is here, he is lost. His list of friends and allies dwindles by the day. He doesn’t know what he wants. 

The only thing he does know is that he wants to walk in the sun again. Tavren had been sure they could find a way, just like they’d been sure they’d find a way to fix Karlach’s engine. Astarion had hoped they’d all be looking for the answer together instead of him alone, but he’s got a wizard’s tower at his disposal for at least the time being, and well, he might as well use it. He spends the long daylight hours looking through books and taking notes. It’s slow, boring work, but he’s hopeful that if he just keeps looking, he’ll find something. 

“I found another tome that mentioned vampires down in one of the vaults,” Rolan says approaching the desk Astarion has claimed for research. The space is a mess, piles of books and scrolls and hastily scribbled notes. If the new wizard in residence of this tower is bothered by it, he doesn’t say so. 

Astarion looks up from the scroll he’d been reading. “Who’s the author?”

Rolan consults the spine of the book. “Lysander Grimholt.”

Astarion points with his quill at a pile near the top of the desk. “Add it to that pile.”

“You mean there is a method to the madness?” Rolan asks with a cock of his head. 

Astarion glares at the tiefling. “If you’re not here to help, you can go.” He’s not sure about the wisdom of ordering around a wizard in his own tower, but then, the tower only belongs to him because Tavren made it so. He discards the worry. 

“Well, if you’re going to be rude then I won’t tell you about the lead Cal and Lia wanted me to pass along to you.”

“A lead?” Astarion repeats. He doesn’t mean to sound quite so doubtful, but it is what it is.

Rolan grins, and then the little shit shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to ask them since I’m clearly bothering you.”

There’s a lightheartedness to the exchange that Astarion might have appreciated a few weeks ago, but it falls flat now. “Just tell me what it is.”

Rolan gives him a complex look and his smile disappears. “There’s an alchemist shop in the Lower City, apparently they’ve been helping people with all sorts of magical maladies.”

“You think some Lower City magical swindlers are going to be able to help me?” Astarion scoffs. 

Rolan sighs. “I wouldn’t mention it at all except that Lorroakan had complained about them taking business before, and seemed somewhat convinced that they were legitimate competition. Who knows? It might at least be worth a try.”

Astarion’s not exactly making loads of progress here. He’s found plenty of books mentioning vampires and chronicling how to kill them, but he’s found nothing else useful. Astarion is well-read, mostly out of necessity, he had so few avenues of escape for two hundred years, but he’s not a researcher or a scholar. Rolan and Gale have helped, but what’s the harm in casting a wider net? 

“I’ll pay the little shop a visit this evening,” Astarion says. Rolan takes it as a dismissal, and Astarion watches him retreat. “Thank you, by the way. It’s…well it’s something.” Though what, he’s not sure yet. Rolan doesn’t turn, and instead waves a hand to indicate it’s nothing and continues on. 

When he’s not annoyed at being in the wizard’s debt and trespassing on his hospitality, Astarion does actually like Rolan. He’s grumpy and gruff all to disguise his deep care for his siblings, and he has enough ambition to see an opening and take it. Like this tower that’s now his. Astarion can respect that. 

He glances out the windows, to the bright and shining day just out of his reach, and gets back to work. 

***

The Shadowed Quill is quiet this evening. They’ve likely seen their last customers for the day, and Liv should turn the sign around and lock the door, but she’s busy cataloging potions and spell components, and Kharis has stayed later than usual, examining the blood they’d pulled from Alfran. He hasn’t shared any theories with her yet, but she suspects it has less to do with secrecy and more that he is genuinely baffled.

She is too, if she’s honest. Curiosity has seeped the fear from the situation, and she’s been spending her off-hours poring over every tome they have on blood diseases and disorders. Nothing has explained the viscous tendrils that emerged out of Alfran. They’ve taken blood samples from two more people who’d come to them with similar symptoms, but so far, Alfran’s blood appears to be the only one behaving oddly. They haven’t told anyone about the strangeness with the blood, had given reassurances and promises to the others that they have no business giving. But the families can’t pay, so all they get is a cleric and a wizard with good intentions. 

Liv knows why Kharis does it, the sense of responsibility and righteous duty compels him forward, but for her, it’s more complicated. She doesn’t know what it is she believes in, where she places her trust, she just knows that in the face of so much suffering, she can’t stand idly by. But she and Kharis help, they always help. And Liv tells herself that she’s adding some net value good to this world, and maybe it’s enough to balance out her past, her family name. 

The bell over the door rings as the door opens and someone enters. “We’re actually closed,” Liv calls. 

“Your sign out front says otherwise.” The elven man who steps into the shop is pale and wiry, all sharp angles. He’s dressed finely and his accent carries the inflated sense of self that so many Upper City types have. He’s also beautiful if beauty was something that could be balanced on a razor’s edge. 

“I apologize, I forgot to turn it, but our hours are posted. You’ll need to come back in the morning.”

The man’s nose wrinkles in displeasure. “I can decidedly not come back in the morning.”

She knows his type: pompous, entitled, and rude when something doesn’t go their way. And yet, there’s something vaguely familiar about him, like she’s seen him somewhere before. Liv keeps her voice even, but firm. “Like, I said: we’re closed. We’d be happy to help you with whatever you need in the morning.”

“Do have any idea who I am?” the man asks, his voice rising steadily in both pitch and indignance. 

If he’s a noble, she doesn’t recognize him. She shrugs. “No.”

“Honestly, it’s as if some people aren’t grateful at all. Look, I understand you’re closed, but I have a very restricted schedule when it comes to visiting tiny alchemy shops in the Lower City, so maybe you can just tell me if you can help me.”

Liv’s curiosity gets the better of her. “With what exactly?”

He seems genuinely surprised at her question as if he didn’t expect her to acquiesce. “I…well…I’m…you see….uh, what’s the best way to put this? I’m…I’m a vampire.” He rushes the end of the phrase, tacks a laugh on at the end as if he’s told her a joke. 

And suddenly it all clicks into place. His too-sharp features, the pointed incisors she understands now are fangs, the air of danger that seems to bleed off of him. And then she recognizes him from the broadsheets. “You’re one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate.”

He looks genuinely exasperated that it took her this long to get there. “Yes,” he says, drawing out the syllables. “I’m Astarion.”

“Thanks for protecting the city…I guess?” Liv replies, unsure exactly where he’s going with this. She’s interested in helping him, but he still hasn’t told her a damn thing beyond what he is.

He glares at her as if she’s being deliberately obtuse. “Can you help me or not?”

“With what exactly? You still haven’t told me your problem.”

“And he won’t. I’m afraid you need to leave.” 

Both she and Astarion’s attention snaps to the doorway that leads to the workroom. Kharis stands there, axe in hand. Astarion raises both hands. “Now, I know I was a little rude, but this is uncalled for.”

“I will not ask again. We don’t help the undead here,” Kharis says, taking a slow step forward. 

Astarion’s gaze catches on the rising sun etched into the axeblade. He sighs. “Rolan could’ve warned me you all worshipped Lathander. Well, then, I’ll be on my way.” He turns and leaves, the bell jangling in the silence that falls. 

Liv turns to Kharis in confusion. “I thought we helped everyone.” She likes working for Kharis, but they both know that she’s overqualified to work in an alchemy shop. Now that she’s free from her parents, she’s been looking for a project or piece of scholarship she can use to get the hells out of Baldur’s Gate. Her family poisoned every last one of her connections when she left home, and none of the academies would even touch her. She’d genuinely like to help Astarion if she can, but even if she can’t, she’s not sure any researcher has ever worked this closely with a vampire. It’s sure to at least get her in the door somewhere. 

Kharis lowers his axe. “Lathander teaches that all undead must be destroyed. I’m not interested in killing him, but well, I don’t have to help him either.”

Kharis rarely talks about his religious convictions, but Liv’s gotten the sense that they were acquired later in life and that he didn’t grow up in worship. She wants to bring up the questionable coincidence of strange blood and vampires calling all within the same tenday, but she knows it’s a losing battle. Kharis is stubborn and once his mind is made up, there’s no talking him out of it. 

“I’ll finish up out here. Why don’t you grab us some dinner from Hattie’s?” Kharis suggests with an air of apology. Hattie is a giant of a half-orc who runs a food stall down the block, and after Kharis healed some bad burns for him, he gives them a steep discount.

“Won’t Wynn be upset you’re skipping dinner with him?” she asks. 

“He’s working late. I’ll eat dinner with you, and then head home.” 

Liv doesn’t argue the point because there’s an opportunity here. If she leaves now she might still catch Astarion on the street. Kharis won’t help, and that’s fine because he has his beliefs, but he didn’t forbid her from doing a damn thing. She’s the one who lives above the shop. Astarion could come by at night and she could help him, and Kharis wouldn’t be any the wiser. 

“I’ll be back,” she smiles and then ducks out the shop door. 

Astarion hasn’t made it far, but she still hurries down the street before calling his name, worried that somehow Kharis might be watching. When he hears his name, he pauses before turning, his face a mixture of surprise and disdain. 

“I assure you I got the message; I won’t be back,” he says, voice tired. 

“I’m sorry about Kharis. I didn’t realize just how…unyielding his beliefs were,” she says, closing the distance. It’s a pretty night, the moon is high in the sky, casting Astarion in moon-touched silver. “I have no such convictions. I’d still like to hear your problem.”

He looms over her, silver hair glinting as he cocks his head. His crimson eyes narrow, and she is reminded that she has chased a vampire down a darkened street. Alone. This close, there’s something preternaturally still about him, and she’s unsure how she didn’t immediately realize what he was. 

“I’d like to find a cure for my condition .”

A cure for vampirism? That sounds more than impossible. But if she managed it? Well, that would be an accomplishment even her parents couldn’t ignore. She doesn’t want to give him hope where there is none, but she wants this. “I could try.” 

“Really? I assume not out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want?”

She doesn’t want to tell him about her family, about the thorny complicated pieces of it. So she settles for something smaller, more immediate. “We’ve been treating people with a blood sickness, and then you come knocking. It can’t be a coincidence. I want some of your blood.”

He laughs, fangs flashing as he steps near. The angles of him are just this side of wrong, too sharp. There is a sense of otherness about him, but she is not afraid. “Darling, that’s not how this typically works.”

She doesn’t want him to know just how much she wants to work on his problem, so she shrugs and turns away. “Well, good luck then.”

“I didn’t say no.”

She glances over her shoulder, doing her best not to smile in victory. “Come back in an hour then.”

[adoracora-elizabeth]

But Papa! Why? Chapter 22

A couple of weeks had gone by. Cora and Robert stayed in New York for the funeral. Robert made sure everything was arranged before he took her back to London.

Cora was settled in her new position and together with Baxter they worked on many new advertisements. Patrick gave her freedom in how she wanted to work. All the clients loved her work.

"Cora?" Robert popped his head around the corner.

She looked up and upon hearing his voice a big smile appeared on her face. "Yes?"

"What are your plans for this weekend?" He asked, stepping further inside. When he noticed Baxter was not in the office he walked over to Cora’s desk and planted a kiss on her lips.

Since they were back in London, they had gone on several dates and the relationship was getting more and more serious. They said, that in the office they would not show too much affection towards each other, but Robert loved these stolen kisses.

Cora raised her hand to Robert’s cheek. "Hi." She said with an even wider smile. She pulled Robert in for another kiss. "I do not have any plans besides doing laundry and vacuuming."

"Good." He said, his face close enough to press one more kiss on her inviting lips. He then walked back around the desk and sat down. "I want to take you up north to show you the estate and the house."

"The house my father's money will rebuild," Cora said.

Robert leaned over the desk and took her hand which was resting on the desk, in his hand. With his thumb, he brushed the back of her hand. "You showed me your family home and the home you grew up in. I want to show you mine."

Cora squeezed his hand. "I know, I am sorry. I would love to see it, when do you want to leave?"

"I was thinking, tonight."

"Tonight?" Cora exclaimed. "I have so much work left and need to pack. What time do you want to leave?"

"It is a two-hour drive, I thought to have an early dinner and then leave around 20.00 o'clock."

Cora looked at the clock, and felt the colour drain from her face. "I love you for your spontaneous idea, but I cannot be ready tonight. There is so much work left."

"You love me?" Robert teased. "What is the deadline of what you are working on?"

Cora raised her eyebrows. "Friday next week."

"Good." Robert got up. "I will pick you up around eight."

+++

Cora stepped outside, Robert could arrive any moment. She realised that she did not know what kind of car he drove. She had only been in the company cars, with John as their driver. But Robert said he would come with his car, without a driver.

A luxurious-looking car stopped and Robert got out. Cora had to force her mouth shut.

"What do you think?" Robert said with a beaming face.

Cora was not sure what to say. It was adorable how excited Robert was about the car. But she had no idea how special the car could be. She knew Rolls-Royce was a luxurious brand, but not if this was a special model or something. "Nice car." Was all she could say before Robert continued.

"It is the ghost Ékleipsis brand new. This will be the first trip with this car."

Cora smiled, Robert looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Welcome, Milady." He opened the car door for her, put her trolley in the trunk and got in on the driver's side. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Are you excited for this trip?"

Cora put her hand on Robert’s knee. "I am." Robert's excitement was enough for her to forget her worries. She had repacked her trolley several times. Did she bring the right nightwear? The right clothes? She did not know what they were going to do, so she packed nice clothes for a fancy restaurant, but also clothes to wear for a day outside.

It did not take long for Cora to dose off, Robert looked at her sleeping figure and he could not be more content. How did he get so lucky to have Cora in his life?

It was a shame they would arrive this late in the evening. It was not worth it to drive up to the house now. Robert drove to the pub where he reserved a room. It would be weird, he never slept somewhere with less than four stars, but it felt romantic.

Robert parked the car and gently woke Cora up. "We arrived."

Cora needed a minute to wake up. "I was far away. I am sorry."

"For what?"

"Well, I was not what you call an entertaining travel companion."

Robert leaned in for a kiss. "No, but you were a very cute one."

Cora scrunched her nose. "I bet I was snoring."

"Oh, but your snoring was cute." He brushed his nose against Cora’s. "Let us go inside, I could use some sleep too." He paused and suddenly looked scared, leaning back in his chair.

"What is wrong?" Cora asked worried.

"I booked one room, but I forgot to ask if that was what you wanted."

"Are you kidding me? I hate it when you sleep at home during the week. I sleep better with you next to me." He hand went to his knee.

"Good." Robert was relieved, he hoped to get closer to Cora this weekend. They still had not done anything else than kissing and cuddling.

Robert got out and walked around the car to open Cora’s door, he loved that she waited for him to open the door. She was not expecting it from him, but when she noticed his intention she waited for him. She let him be a gentleman to her, and he adored her for it.

Cora took his arm and they walked to the pub. "Do you think my Mama, will one day be happy for us?"

Robert stopped walking, her question surprised him. "Both our Mamas need to understand, that they started all of this. I am at the point where I do not care about their opinion. Your father was happy for us, and so is my father. Our mothers have to accept the fact that I love you." He turned towards Cora. "I mean it. I love you."

Cora got on her tiptoes and kissed Robert. "I love you too."

[trashboatprince]

A Bendy one-shot written here on tumblr by me? In the year 2022?

It’s more likely than you think!

So, now that BATDR is out and my friends have finally seen it/played it, I can finally sit down and write up this one-shot I’ve had in mind! I’ll probably even have more in the future, if I bother to sit down and think on things more.

Warning: contains spoilers for the actual story of BATDR, au post-ending, this is a comfort fic, no serious angst, headcanons

On with the fic!

--

The room with the piano and the fish tank was Henry’s favorite place to draw.

Often, he was left alone, but sometimes Audrey or Allison would come and spend time with him, and Bendy, when not around his friend, would sit himself down and play while Henry worked. More often than not, Boris would nap in this room too, but people usually left him alone when he wanted the privacy.

From what he was told, it was about three months since the new cycle started and things were, for the most part, better for the studio. Depending on who you asked.

Many of those who lived in the studio accepted that the Ink Demon was ‘gone’, none of them knowing where he had gone to except for those small few who knew the true nature of Bendy. With the Ink Demon out of sight, many of the Lost Ones decided to try and rebuild their little societies in the studio, though many branched off into little factions, like before.

Many still believed the demon to be lurking, and sided with him, not with Audrey, not with the new writer of the story. Sammy seemed to be in a sort of limbo, he was... better, but would often go back to the music department somewhere in the studio and spend his time there with Jack. Though sometimes he would show up unannounced to the manor and just go find Bendy.

From what Audrey said, Sammy would just sit there with a banjo and music sheets, working, while Bendy would watch him with curiosity. Then he’d just leave, never saying much except a thanks and a good bye.

Alice... well, Henry hadn’t seen much of her since the cycle restarted, but he thinks he hears her singing from somewhere much deeper in the manor. He avoids the original library at all costs, Audrey says it’s for the best. 

Allison and Tom come and go, they live in the manor with the cyclebreakers who decided to occupy it, but often they’re out helping where they can and taking down those who want to cause trouble. And to fight any of the Butcher Gang members and Searchers that are still out there, trying to kill anything that moves, be them Lost Ones or cyclebreakers.

The Projectionist, now in one piece, went off to wander the inky halls, sometimes Henry saw him walk through the city streets, his light illuminating the road, a bag in his hand, dragging on the ground. Henry had learned quickly to not question the contents, he had a pretty good idea. 

Then there was himself, Bendy, and Audrey. 

Henry had nowhere to go, he wasn’t really a set character in a location, he was a wanderer, he was a character but not one meant to only occupy select places in the story. With the expansion of the studio, the story, Henry was given freedom.

To a point. 

He wasn’t the real Henry Stein, but he was real enough to be his own person, and Audrey told him so, believing that he still served a purpose. He was, in a sense, a writer like her, someone to weave the story. He could help her protect their friends, the people of the studio, from the machine. From any other people who wanted to twist the world even more.

Henry found he could help with his art, he was helping with repairs, with providing things for those who wanted the help. And he did it from Wilson’s old home in the studio, which the cyclebreakers took over. Betty seemed to accept this, though they had to wonder if she knew the truth of her creator.

Henry hadn’t seen what became of Wilson, but from what Audrey said, it was better that he hadn’t. Especially since they weren’t sure if he was truly dead, did anything ever stay dead in the studio?

Audrey lived in the manor with the others, though she came and went from the studio to the real world. She had a life there, but she always returned here. Sometimes Bendy followed her to reality, but often he stayed behind, spending his days acting like the Li’l Devil Darlin’ that Henry designed so long ago.

He was curious and cute, much different from the demonic being that haunted Henry’s dreams even now. It was amazing they were the same being.

Pausing in his sketching, Henry looked over at Bendy, who was sitting on the floor of the piano room. He had toys from Heavenly Toys with him, a train and a few plush toys. He was making the train drive around the plush of himself before sending it sailing across the floor, where it hit the leg of the piano. Bendy clapped, happy with his little game, before he paused, going still.

Henry knew what this meant, it was Bendy listening to any little noise he could pick up. Like his other self, the demon had extremely excellent hearing, always seeming to be aware of someone’s arrival before anyone else. A wide, toothy grin came to Bendy’s face as he got to his feet, turning to Henry. He lifted his left hand and moved it in a spiral-like motion.

“Oh, is Audrey back?” Henry asked and Bendy nodded, holding out his hand for Henry to take.

Bendy didn’t seem to speak in this form, even though he could talk. Henry and Audrey wondered if it was because of his powers being restricted in this form, or if he just chose to be quiet due to what happened to him when he was in the hold of the Keepers (who seemed to be in hiding, somewhere, hopefully much deeper in the studio). 

Still, he had his ways of communicating. He whistled a lot, which helped, and made little noises like hums and squeaks. But now he was learning to do hand gestures and signs to speak. Audrey’s was meant to be like the spiral on her hand, Henry would be a drawing motion. Boris and Tom both shared Bendy pretending to make ears out of his index fingers, but he bent one for Tom.

Allison got Bendy making a halo over his head with his fingers, but Alice was Bendy covering half his face with his hand. Sammy was just covering his whole face and making a very sharp whistle. Betty was Bendy holding his hands in front of his chest, he was still learning to do others, but people got the gist of who he was speaking to, about.

They walked out of the room together, just as Betty was approaching. “Oh!” She stopped. “I guess Bendy heard Audrey’s arrival?”

“Seems so.” Henry smiled and was pulled along still, the now-trio making their way to the manor’s kitchen, where they found Audrey. She had shopping bags with her, from the real world, meaning that tonight’s meal wasn’t going to be made from whatever was found here in the city.

Which was great, because Henry really didn’t want to eat meat from the city, especially after learning of... well...

“Hey, you two!” Audrey smiled, golden eyes glowing brightly. “Guess what we’re having tonight.”

Bendy looked even more excited as he ran over to his friend. He cupped one hand and then used the other to pretend to mix something in an imaginary bowl. Henry wanted to roll his eyes, that was the first thing Bendy showed them that he was referring to something. 

Bacon soup, of course. 

Audrey smiled at Bendy before turning to Henry, her smile looking a little more apologetic. “Sorry, Henry, but he’s been asking. And besides, I brought fresh things with me, none of that canned sludge!”

“Well, anything is better than that.” Henry replied as he approached, lifting Bendy up to set him on the counter while Betty moved to get a pot and a frying pan out. “Do you want to help us, bud?” He turned to the demon, who happily nodded.

“Great, you can help me with cutting up the bacon then, Audrey can do the veggies.” Henry smiled and moved to get a cutting board.

It was different, finding himself in a new loop but without the horrors, without the threats on his life. No cultish musicians or deranged angels, no monster wolves and demonic beasts, no words from an old friend that forced him to go through Hell over and over.

It was surreal and hard to get used to after so long, but Henry could get used to this, if it meant he could rest, he could be happy. 

--

In case you’re wondering why I mentioned Boris, he can be found in the game, but he’s basically a blink-and-you-miss-’em Easter egg. I’d like to think he wants to just stay outta sight, outta mind, since Henry isn’t with him. 

But anyway, I mainly wrote this for my friends, because we just want good things for Henry, okay?

[komorebi-art-blog]

Pt.2 of infodumping lore for our with @koyato AU

A traitor and a fighter.

Tet tried very hard not to stand out among the brothers. That's what made him stand out. He squinted his eyes so that as few people as possible could see the color of it. He followed orders without delay. He hid from the Jedi because he was afraid that if the generals found out about his "defectiveness" they would send him back to Kamino. But he felt a little better. He was much less socialized than his brothers, but they didn't get very far either. They were learning a new life together.

Tet was even promoted to lieutenant for success on the battlefield and leadership. And despite his paranoia, he was able to build a very close relationship with another clone, a sniper who always had his back.

But this was not enough, because the weaker the fear became, the louder the questions sounded in his head, suppressed back in childhood for the sake of survival. There was nothing under the illusion of his loyalty to the Republic. Because even as a child, he knew he was lying. And now the Kaminoans won't come after him. After the fear came anger.

After meeting natborns, he was able to see what he was deprived of. Family, home, freedom, justice. For the sake of a war that the clones had nothing to do with. He learned what a "slave" is.

The realization gave him even more anger, fear and loneliness. The only person with whom he could share at least some of these feelings was his partner. And even from him, Tet hid as many emotions as he could.

Tet was looking for support and found it in the Mandalorian culture. "Ka'rta Tor", "One Heart of Justice" made a strong impression on him. He quietly repeated it like a mantra when he felt bad. "Tor", "Justice" is tattooed on his forehead, right above his constantly squinted eyes, as a mute reproach for what was done to him.

It was getting worse every day. The fear of losing everything he has returned with renewed vigor. Once again, he put everything on the line for a chance.

He led his squad into a trap. Failure of the mission in exchange for freedom. The local separatist leader promised that his men would soon return to the army without any harm. He kept his promise. But not everything went according to plan, which led to the death of one of his comrades, a medic who pieced him together after the first suicide mission. Tet couldn't stop it.

Tet had been discussing the possibility of escape with his partner for a long time. Tet thought he would decide to go with him now. He refused.

That's how Tet was left alone. Not a socialized, scared clone in a huge galaxy.

Then he became Tet. Stole a Mandalorian name from somewhere, got a new armor and became a bounty hunter. By the way, Tet does not see himself as a Mandalorian. "Ka'rta Tor" is just a symbol that supported him, and the identity of another Mandalorian hunter is just a good cover for a clone.

In any case, he worked without rest for several years, completed mission after mission, saved money. He was even able to find a new work partner, as suspicious and secretive as himself.

The Chancellor of the Republic was assassinated. Order 66 was sabotaged, the conspiracy was investigated, the worldview of most of the galaxy was destroyed. The Confederation of Independent Systems and the Republic began to slowly rebuild what had been destroyed. Without the threat of war, the scale of the crisis became clearly visible.

For clones, too. I cannot describe the escalation of the conflict in detail right now, but in short, the indifference of the Republic almost led to an armed uprising of its own army. There is no Rebel Alliance in this AU, but there was Resistance instead. The reduction of the army led to rapid criminalization and a split among the clones. Inevitably, the clones who found themselves on the lower levels of Coruscant huddled together in groups to survive, actually forming gangs. The gangs eventually grew into a network of organized groups fighting for a place in the sun for all the brothers.

Tet became a member of one of these groups. Suddenly, his skills of living outside the army and earning money turned out to be more significant than his past as a traitor. After all, he understood before others how they were treated. Thanks to his experience, Tet was able to work undercover and gather resources and information for the group. He helped the brothers adapt to their new lives and spread the influence of the Resistance throughout Coruscant. Graffiti and street art have become an integral part of the life of clones since the time of gangs. A great way for both self-expression and communication with brothers. The resistance has essentially formed its own visual language. Loud cries of paint on the walls for the natborns, quiet whispers of warning for the brothers. Tet drew a lot of graffiti, even other clones started using his "Tor".

He also painted his armor. Just symmetrical orange vertical lines, but any clone from the Resistance would understand what they mean. Two vertical parallel lines - the rank of lieutenant. Orange is the color of the 212 battalion.

Resistance was the Rainy Season for the clones. They had to run just to stay put. When anger was the only fire warming in the damp, wind and fever. But the rain also ends one day.

[dramamelon]

Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek

I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)

What Once Was

Day 2: Long Haul | Formula Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, updated as necessary Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: Bored out of his cranium, Long Haul jumped at a chance to get away from all the team brainiacs.

He might not have been a science guy, but even Long Haul was aware that things were best when done to a schedule. A formula, if one wanted to consider it such. He was a big fan of them, really. Schedules. Formulas. Whatever a mech wanted to call them. As much as he groused over not being a frontliner when the fighting was still going on, he still liked knowing rushing into anything half-cocked was bad. He was more than happy to leave doing something like that to those Stunticon sparklings.

While considering the perks of the formulaic approach to life, Long Haul came to the conclusion that maybe he thought this because he was surrounded by a bunch of nerds. Well, maybe not Bonecrusher, but certainly the rest of the gang. All he had to do was look around at the rest of the Constructicons as they went about their days with nothing more than the need to further their knowledge and skills. Much to his disgust, it was science this and science that, in utter smorgasbord of sciencey scrap that left him staring blankly when they attempted to explain any of it to him. Sure, as a Constructicon he understood more than the average mech, but that didn't mean he understood Mixmaster in the slightest when the guy got deep into his brain module and muttered aloud to himself. (Of course, Mixmaster had Bonecrusher more than willing to spend unending joors listening to him all moony-opticked. He didn't need Long Haul.)

He was just ready to get on to putting it all to work in building and creating already.

When the excited comm came in over the gestalt bond from the kid, Long Haul was more than willing to head over into the distant district of Crystal City Scavenger had wandered to. It would certainly break up his day a bit to get out and take his time finding his way over there. No one needed to know if he just happened to dawdle his way through town.

::Hey, Scrapper,:: he blasted over the shared frequency, ::I'll get over there and give Scav a hand—::

::Don't worry about it!:: Scavenger interrupted, sounding exactly like a sparkling with the new toy they'd asked for. ::I'm already on my way back. This is going to be the best surprise any of you have seen in I don't know how long!::

Long Haul frowned behind his mask, optics narrowing behind his visor, as well. He was not losing this chance to escape the doldrums of listening to the science nonsense the rest of the team got up to with all their peacetime freedom. Bonecrusher could sit and listen to it—at least from Mixmaster—all he wanted. Long Haul wasn't having it. ::Nah nah nah, that's not the way we're gonna do this,:: Long Haul replied before anyone else could jump on the bond. ::You are gonna tell me what direction you're coming from and I'll meet you somewhere in the middle.::

He was up and out of their bunker, transformed and rolling through the rubble, the moment Scavenger's answer came through. When Scrapper's incoming reprimand started to bubble on the far end, Long Haul slammed the bond shut, leaving open only the connection to Scavenger. Scrapper was free to yell at him when he and Scavenger got back.

[fio-renze]

TMIT: What does she miss the most about her old life thus far?

Easily the structure.

Since she was old enough to really retain information, how to be in high society, how to act in society, how to climb in society, how to be the very specific person her parents wanted her to be to continue the family legacy, was all she was taught. It was never her choice to learn the cello, how to fence, or what magic classes with the finest tutors were on her daily roster. Her little, approved rebellions, were learning how to garden and playing with divination magics.

But her whole life was planned for her by other people. She was buffed into the shiniest jewel to attract a very specific kind of partner, which did work. One of the only things she kind of got a say in was her marriage, and she had more "freedom" after her husband passed -- but that freedom was still within the constraints of having achieved the majority of what she was supposed to, and she was able to thrive in high society with the etiquette and rules that come with being elevated into widowhood.

Her days in the old life always had a particular cadence, there were specific things to do as the owner of a titled estate and as one of the Grand Magister's informants. Her presence was always in demand somewhere and the puzzle pieces of what events and audiences made up her mornings, afternoons and evenings had their own specific guidelines.

The last, most important, piece of the life that was planned was ultimately having a child to continue that curated legacy -- but there was always more time for that, until there wasn't.

Fiorenze already knows that everything she was taught growing up was only useful for one extremely specific lifestyle. When Pyraelia forced her out of the House the first time, she had no idea what she was doing or how to be a regular person and it didn't really go well, but it was always temporary. She was able to keep structure because the goal was getting those titles back.

Now it's permanent.

It's not relieving for her to wake up and be able to do whatever she wants to do, because the vast majority of her experience has been so narrow and on pre-designated rails. Now it's all gone, she is ultimately in a wild kind of free fall with nobody to catch her, least of all herself because she sure as hell has no idea what direction to go -- and that's terrifying. She's never had to think about it, and now it's this great, yawning void of choice.

The structure is gone. And she's the most alone she's ever been, with full understanding that she doesn't know how to be a regular person, that she was never given the tools to rebuild in case of emergency -- and it's a steep fucking climb to make up over a hundred and fifty years of learning what that means and who she is outside of what other people made her, and that the people she loved don't really want much of anything to do with her anymore.

The old life, at least, made sense. The new one is still overwhelming.

Thanks @turning-through-the-never!

[fuzzydreamin]

3, 9, 26, 30, & 36 for Nora & Al?

3. What is something other than money that could make your character do something they otherwise wouldn’t want to do? What about something they otherwise really, really, really wouldn’t want to do?

Neither of them is materialistic enough to compromise their morals for a mere object, not unless it was something they desperately needed for someone else's sake, which is what would do it. They would both go to extreme lengths for the people they care about, there are just far more people on Nora's list than on Al's.

9. Is there anything that anyone who knows better should avoid bringing up to your character (i.e., any conversational landmines)?

✪ Nora is fairly open to talking about most things, she might just change her approach on how they are talked about depending on the subject and who she's talking to.

✝ Alberta: their father/family, and a lot of the things they went through shortly after leaving the vault. They might bring it up on their own in their own time, but generally they don't want to think too much about it and do not like being pushed to by others.

26. What kinds of things fascinate your character? Do they have any personal interests that aren’t necessarily practical, but that they just like?

✪ Nora is most fascinated by people. Seeing how they talk, move, act, and figuring out why they do things or think certain ways. She enjoys meeting all kinds of people because of this.

✝ Alberta enjoys watching things visibly change. They're a bit of a pyro because they like seeing the reaction caused by a bomb, and how whatever it's made from and how powerful it is effects the area around it. They like to pull apart the top layer of power armour and see how the servos and gears inside shift as the suit is moved. Same with other machinery and robotics. They often stare into campfires if they don't have something to fiddle with. Al would really like one of those liquid motion toys.

30. Suppose your character just wants to disappear; where would they want to disappear to?

✪ Nora: Probably somewhere highly irradiated, since she can survive in those areas a little better than most other humans. Taking inspo from Virgil there ig. She might even join a cult of atom just to be able to have somewhere to hide, not that she'd be particularly devoted as it would literally just be for the sake of staying hidden.

✝ Alberta: They wouldn't go anywhere in particular but rather keep moving. They would obfuscate their trail and make sure no one could point anyone else in their direction.

36. What keeps your character going? What is the one thing that they have that could motivate them to keep persisting if they lost literally everything else?

✪ Nora: Knowledge, and how that could potentially be used to bring back or rebuild what she's lost. Nora is smart, it's something she cultivates, and at her core she wants to find a place she truly feels she belongs. Without that place or anything else she would simply seek all forms of knowledge to expand the power of her mind in order to once again pursue that place or those things, whether she knows exactly what they are or not.

✝ Alberta: Freedom and the ability to do what they want. It isn't much, especially if they really do lose everything, but Al is very stuck on their ideal of being able to come and go where and as they please, and the opportunities for meeting new people and learning new things this opens up. Even when everything else is gone from their life, they could still be found shuffling about the wasteland, even if dispassionately.

[monkeymanproductions]

MTO S4E15 Quote Thread!

It's time ... two days now until Moonbase Theta, Out S4E15, "Freedom To Move" - here are some quotes from the episode to whet your appetite! Try to guess what these mean and who says them!

"It’s all about those walls, you know? They set themselves up in their safe little cities, but they gave up the freedom to move."

"Now, what’s a nine-letter word for 'caught up, as in a web'?"

"I’m busy, I hope you’re busy … what’s the status of my goddamn rocket?"

"Close your mouth, you look like someone’s pulled you up from the sea."

"I’ve been rebuilding here ever since, beefing up my stats. I knew there’d be more fights to come."

"You had to get the Moon involved, that’s why we’re all in this mess."

"This is the end of your story."

"You’ll have your call soon. He can’t get through for me, but for the Moon …"

"Things are looking … well, I’m not gonna lie it’s a shit show up here. Like one of those reality sensurrounds where they’re all at each other’s throats. And we’re on the good base."

"... news travels fast, and I thought if there’s gonna be a fight I should be somewhere closer to the middle of it."

"I’m someone, and I’m here. Let’s have a talk."

"But yeah, Tumnus. Something’s got to be done about your kids!"

"And who comes to get me if I pull a Wilder?"

"You haven’t lived if you’ve never jumped from the Pedra da Onca …" "I'm thinking no."

"I brought cheese puffs. Vegan Gougères, vegan Gougères, vegan Gougères …"

"An observatory, a cup of coffee, and thou … well, not thou except for Jaxon ..."

"If this is gonna be some kind of a flashy Moon-heist, I am so in."

"Ashwini Ray!"

"Okay, I have to hear you do the voice."

"'You’ve got nowhere else to go.' I’ve got one place, and that’s where I’m headed ..."

"You’ve got yourself a strategy."

"Cloudy’s up there on the launch tower, doing some atmospheric tests ..."

"Perhaps we’ll meet again in the future." "I really, really hope we won't."