#blasting this shit is restorative

[ekholocationn]

what are traveling parties for if not arm wresting each other in a tavern?

characters are from @meltingchaos and I's collaborative fantasy story Song of the Fateless!!

[sirfrogsworth]

Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

“Steve.” 

He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.

“STEVE.”

He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.

Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by 

“Alexa, volume up.”

“Steve – STEVE!”

It hits different, it hits different this time

“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.

“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”

“I’d rather not.”

Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They lay in silence.

“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even text me.”

“I know.”

“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”

“I know, Steve.”

There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”

“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”

Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”

Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”

“Steven, I’m always right.”

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”

“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”

/////

Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle. 

“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”

Silence.

What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.

He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.

The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.

There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.

Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:

I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.

Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank. 

Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.

Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else. 

Your biggest fan, Steve

He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit. 

He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.

It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.

What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.

And now Steve is gone.

Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.

“Fuck.”

Five days. 

He’s five days too fucking late.

He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.

“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”

Jeff’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m on my way.”

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! pregnant reader) Part 4

Synopsis: The Hag learns not to underestimate an angry mother and Eowyn decides to make an early appearance.

CW: Mentions of gore, mentions of torture, labor, breast feeding

Author note: thank you for your patience! I’ve had a lot of big life changes lately and have been struggling with my mental health. I have a couple other fics I’m working on that I’m super excited about!

This will also have more parts in the future! I have lots more ideas!

Pic is mine!

You know you need to stay in bed, but you will be damned if you are going to let Astarion face that terrible Hag alone. You knew he’d never agree to let you go with him considering your current condition, but you had always fought side by side together and not being there to protect him feels wrong to you.

They have been gone far longer than they should have been and there is a sick pit in your gut that tells you something is wrong. You don’t know what, when, why, or how, but you have a feeling Astarion’s life is in danger.

Jaheira had caught you sneaking out right away and even though Shadowheart was skeptical about the safety of the situation, she also agreed that something felt off and that they probably should have been back a few hours ago.

So you squeezed yourself into something that you can move in- settling on an oversized Wizard’s robe you had accidentally bought right before you found out you were pregnant. It’s like the retailers knew before you did.

Shadowheart and Jaheira are right behind you as you follow Scratch to Astarion’s location. The hag must not be very social considering the trail has led to a remote part of the beach. You feel even more uneasy the further you go and then you hear it.

Minsc is screaming at someone to stop and then there is a scream of pain from Astarion. Your entire body feels on fire and your rage is bigger than your own body. You can feel Eowyn’s fury too- no one is allowed to hurt her dad.

You storm in and you blast an ice shard straight through Hag's chest and send her away from Astarion. Based on the cuts along his chest- she was slowly, painfully torturing him with some type of weapon. Minsc, Halsin, and Gale are in equally bad shape and are hanging up shackled to the wall.

Astarion is blinded by some kind of spell because when you race over to him- he flinches away from you. His skin is torn up in nonsensical designs and your chest hurts looking at him. Tears are pooling in your eyes, but you have to contain yourself- he needs you to be strong right now.

“It’s just me, Star,” you say softly, “I’m getting you out of here.”

The fear and horror in his eyes intensifies, “you need to leave now!”

“Oh I’m afraid that ship has sailed little spawn,” the Hag cackles, “I didn’t even have to do any of the work- you came straight to me!”

You put yourself between the Hag and Astarion. You stare daggers into the Hag and she looks taken aback. She was a fool to believe you are just a blubbering pregnant woman who enjoys an apple cupcake.

“The only thing I will be giving you is a very painful death,” you snarl.

Shadowheart and Jaheira attack her first and you silence the Hag- preventing her from using any spells. In between Shadowheart and Jaheira’s melee attacks, you throw cantrip and spell hand over hand at the monster.

When the Hag finally goes down, you feel absolutely victorious! You untie Astarion and Shadowheart casts restoration and healing before moving onto the others. Astarion immediately pulls you into him and places lots of kisses on your face while chastising you for taking such a massive risk, but you can also see the shining pride in his eyes.

Then your water decides to break.

“Oh are you fucking serious!?” You shout in alarm.

“What’s-“ Astarion looks at you in confusion and then stops when he sees the puddles on the ground.

“Shit!” Shadowheart is racing over to check on you and puts her hand on the lower part of your stomach, “she’s ready to come at any minute- we need to get you h-“

She doesn’t even finish her sentence before Astarion picks you up and begins rushing back to the house. Everyone is hot on your trail, but you are too afraid to even be worried about that right now.

“My love, it’s going to be okay,” Astarion whispers, “you’ll be okay. Eowyn will be okay.”

“But she’s early,” you sob, “and Isobel and Dame Aylin aren’t here and what if I di-“

“No- don’t even begin to think that,” Astarion scolds you, his pace picking up, “you are going to live through this and we are going to be a family. There is no other outcome.”

You don’t argue with him because you don’t want to scare him. You’ve read a lot about Dhampir babies and their birth. Your understanding is that it’s up to the child whether you live or not- they can either make the labor excruciatingly easy or they can claw their way out of you until you bleed out. You hope that Eowyn loves you and wants you in her life. You really don’t want to die.

Everything moves in slow motion as everyone frantically moves around you. Your contractions came on much faster than Shadowheart anticipated and thank the Gods that Halsin was there because he’s delivered several children before. He was equally as surprised- this is a process that could take hours, days even, but it’s been mere minutes. Astarion asks if that’s a good thing, but neither Halsin or Shadowheart know.

Jaheira and Shadowheart push your legs as you fight through the pain and push as hard as you can. The pain is searing, but you don’t feel like you are being ripped apart more than necessary so that’s a good thing.

“You’re doing such a good job, my Love,” Astarion whispers as he wipes the sweat from your forehead, “you are so so strong.”

Yes, you are. You just fought a hag and then immediately went into labor, but that doesn’t settle the fear in your heart when you are told to push again. The pain just continues to increase but nothing feels scary, if anything, the more the pain increases, the more relief you feel. Not your own, but Eowyn’s and for some reason, you feel like she’s excited to meet you.

So you push a few more times over the next two hours until a high pitched cry echoes through the room. Halsin asks Astarion if he wants to cut the cord and he agrees, but looks like he’s going to throw up the whole time. Halsin is laughing as he shows Astarion how to bathe Eowyn- your poor partner looks like he’s about to have a conniption.

“Congratulations,” Halsin says while handing Eowyn over to you, “you are the proud parents of a very healthy little girl.”

Eowyn stops crying the minute she’s in your arms and she opens her eyes- she has topaz, sun elf eyes with red flecks and you smile widely- she has your eye color!

“Well hello my sweet girl,” you coo, “thank you for not killing me.”

Eowyn is the most precious baby in the world as she squeals happily at you. You giggle and hold her tighter. Your heart feels so so full when you look at her. It was just the two of you for so long and you are so happy to be here to know her.

Wispy, blonde silver curls adorn her head and her ears are adorably pointed. Her skin is the same color as Astarion’s but with more life in her cheeks. Her lips are in a happy little pout and she is inquisitive while taking in your features. Oh and her rolls! She is a chunky little gal!

You understand now what all those parenting books were saying. You would destroy the world for Eowyn.

“And!” Shadowheart pops up from in between your legs, “you’re totally okay! Besides the expected, that is.”

A relieved laugh leaves your lips and Eowyn happily squeals again in unison. Eowyn’s eyes then seem to wander around the room, her head turning ever so slightly. You read that Dhampirs are stronger than normal infants, but you are still weary of her moving without your support.

She doesn’t stop looking around until she meets Astarion’s eyes. You follow her gaze and you smile softly at Astarion who looks so happy, scared, and relieved at the same time. Eowyn offers a chubby hand to him and you watch as Astarion walks towards both of you as if hypnotized. He hesitantly lets her take his finger and Eowyn smiles before closing her eyes and relaxing against you.

“She’s beautiful,” Astarion says in awe, “but she’s also too smart for her own good.”

“I told you so,” you say with a huff, “but noooo no one listens to mom.”

Astarion smiles brightly at you and kisses your chapped lips slowly and lovingly. He sits next to the two of you, his finger never leaving Eowyn’s hand.

****************************

The Hag had overtaken them. Astarion still isn’t quite sure how- he just remembers a big flash and something in the room taking him down to his knees. When he woke up being tortured- he felt as helpless and pathetic as he had under Cazador.

Astarion was certain he would die there or just be there for eternity. The hag blinded him and carved into his skin as much as she pleased.

Hearing your voice had felt like a balm for his shattered spirit, but that feeling was quickly overtaken with fear for you and Eowyn. You were not supposed to be here trying to protect him. He’s supposed to be protecting you.

Today was humbling. You killed the hag and saved him. You then proceeded to give birth not even three hours later and you still had asked him if it would be okay for you to take a nap.

In spite of today’s lack of success, Astarion can’t help but feel nothing but pride towards you as you snore softly next to him in the bed. Your arm is absentmindedly thrown over his torso and Eowyn is napping in his arms. You are truly a miracle walking and it’s in these moments that he still can’t believe you took him back. You’re incredible and you could easily have done this on your own.

Astarion is extremely nervous. He knows he has absolutely no paternal instinct, but he does know he loves Eowyn and you. At the end of the day that’s the important part, right? He can figure out the rest as he goes- he’s smart and quick enough on his feet.

Eowyn begins crying and suddenly that process of thought is completely gone. You stir and begin to sit up with a yawn.

“She’s-“ another yawn cuts you off, “probably hungry.”

Astarion passes Eowyn to you- once again feeling entirely unhelpful. Sure enough, she immediately begins to suckle and her crying ceases. You smile at her and then look to Astarion- your features quickly changing to a look of concern. You use your other hand to wipe his tears.

“Star, what’s wrong?”

He struggles to fight the lump in his throat and to stop the tears in his eyes. You continue to look at him lovingly, providing him with comfort and assurance. Astarion can tell you what he’s feeling- maybe you can even help him get a new perspective.

“I feel so useless and well, worthless,” he chokes out, “I didn’t kill the hag, I couldn’t do anything but watch you be in pain, and I can’t even feed Eowyn.”

Your hand pauses on his cheek for a second before you shake your head.

“Astarion, you saved me from that horrid creature earlier this morning. If you hadn’t been there, I would be chopped up somewhere and Eowyn would be turned into a hag,” you say tearfully, “and I could not have gone into labor without you here. That was one of my biggest fears before you arrived at my door- I just wanted you here with us.

“And you are certainly welcome to try and feed Eowyn,” you tease, “but last time I checked you aren’t producing milk and besides, it’s not your fault. She’s mere hours old and I haven’t even begun to try to fill up a bottle or two for you to use. Just please don't beat yourself up, my Star. You mean the whole world to me and I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Not to mention- Eowyn adores you so you have to stick around.”

Astarion’s heart glows and cracks at the same time. He would never leave you- he may raise Eowyn with questionable morals, but he has no intentions of not being a part of her life until both of you are long gone and his own time comes.

Everything else you said though? It did help to throw the worst of his negative feelings out.

“I never intended on leaving,” he says quickly, not thinking about how his feelings may have sounded, “but thank you, my Love. I needed to hear that.”

“Of course, anytime.”

The two of you talk and obsess over how adorable she is, what features she seems to have from who, etc. You eventually fall asleep leaning against Astarion while feeding Eowyn.

When she’s done, Astarion gently takes her from your arms and burps her like every parenting book says to do. It’s not a ridiculously hard process, but the spit up on his shirt is definitely not his favorite.

“Really? This is my nice shirt!” He whispers at Eowyn who just smiles at him, “okay fine, you can spit up on my shirts.”

Eowyn yawns and goes back to sleep- it takes everything in Astarion not to melt into a puddle. He didn’t think a yawn could be so adorable in his whole life.

You begin to snore softly again and Eowyn is right behind you. Astarion chuckles to himself and places a soft kiss on Eowyn’s forehead.

He’s excited to introduce her to everyone- Dal has been sending letters non-stop asking when she can visit. Astarion has been procrastinating because he knows she’ll bring Petras too and if you hadn’t made it… well it would not have been a happy union.

Dal is already referring to herself as Eowyn’s aunt which made Astarion slightly uncomfortable at first because he and his siblings had never truly been close, but then she visited with Petras, Aurelia, and even Violet during your 7th month of pregnancy and you all had hit it off very well and, without Cazador, Astarion found he actually enjoys his siblings’ company. They are actually decent people now that they aren’t all being horribly abused. Well, Violet may be the exception, she’s still a shit who loves to play pranks, but at least they aren’t painful or out of vengeance.

Then there are his traveling companions- his chosen family as you refer to them as. Every single one of them is going to want to meet Eowyn and smother her in love. He’s most excited to see Lae’zel’s reaction- she’s going to be horrified by how squishy human children are, but Eowyn will win her over.

Astarion decides to talk to you about having them visit once you are awake and if you seem to be feeling much stronger. He knows one thing for sure though- Eowyn is going to have the biggest and most loving family anyone could ever have.

[spacelazarwolf]

Maybe i just need to vent.

I fucked up. Got called out. And wouldn't you know it, the callout has done nothing for me a trans man but isolate me, make anyone scared to speak up for me, and now i have fash chuds spoof calling my phone! No matter how bad it gets and what they are told about it by concerned parties in private these people won't even update their shit to say "we don't endorse harassment of this user, stop. " which tells me they just endorse harassment of me.

It's like it's just cool to harass an autistic trans man! It's like if you direct fashy chuds to the lowest common denominator, no one will acknowledge you're being as bad as those chuds.

Maybe people should stop unintentionally creating a police state online because they're used to it? IDK

imo "callout culture" is entirely antithetical to concepts like prison abolition and restorative justice, which a lot of people who perpetuate callout culture claim to support. i remember reading years ago about how "callout/cancel culture" was a concept that originated on black twitter to let other black people know about businesses and people that weren't safe for black people to go to or interact with. so it makes sense that, like intersectionality theory, it was co-opted and bastardized by white people and turned into a bludgeon against other marginalized people.

and like. this is something i've been talking to my irl friends about a lot lately. because what's the goal? what are you trying to achieve by making that callout post? what happened to prompt it? did someone prove a pattern of dangerous behavior, or did they just fuck up and now you have an excuse to put them on blast to feel morally superior? are you making this post so people are aware of someone with a pattern of dangerous behavior and can stay away, or are you making it knowing that it will prompt the people in your circle to go after that person and "punish" them? do you want that person to learn from their mistake(s) or do you want to brand them as a bigot forever? do you want the world to be a better place, or do you want to be angry at your (perceived) oppressors?

so yeah, if you're going to say acab and if you're going to say you believe in prison abolition and restorative justice, you cannot turn around and make a callout post for everyone on tumblr dot com you think has wronged you.

[theangrycomet-art]

The Almanac is a very... interesting read

I have... opinions on some of the behind the scenes world building and what they had planned with S4 (it makes me a little glad the show ended where it did... writers it's bad enough you offed Prowl when you could have had restoring the Allspark be the Key's purpose instead of upgrading Sari- but then to further split up the team whyyyyy)

Anyway, here's Blitzwing and my take on him before the Triple-Changer experiment was done to him against his will and his former partner the cold hearted bitch who did it to him, also pre-op.

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Ramblings (no really- RAMBLINGS) below: I wanted to make this a comic but the Art wasn't Arting

TLDR: Lancer and Blitzwing were taken as prisoners of war by the autobots and Lancer made a lot of bad decisions to try and save his life within they circumstances which directly led to him becoming the first triple changer.

It's a little more complicated than this but basically Blitzwing (then known as Kaltwing) was hurt REALLY bad when he and Lancer were trying to retrieve the Allspark-about partway through the war. Like- missing his legs- wings ripped off- half his face blasted off bad.

So Lancer, or Himmel Lancer as she was then called, tried to put him back together with what she had on hand because she was not about to let her best friend go OFFLINE. This resulted in her basically frankenstein-ing him parts from a fallen tank decepticon's corpse as well as her own parts to try and keep him online.Most notably her own T-cog, as his was damaged and forcing him to attempt to transform at random. Because they were the same Frame type it was compatible enough to stabilize it when she fused the two ports.

Unfortunately, this still left him in extreme agony as Lancer was a RESEARCHER, not a Medic by any streatch of the word. It was one of those times he was pleading with her to offline him that they were caught by Autobots. With Blitzwing barley able to move and Lancer unable to transform, they were fish in a barrel.

The Autobots, after surgically stripping Lancer of ALL her weapons and installing a "contingency clause" protocol, allowed her to continue Blitzwing's "treatment" as well as forcing her to continue such experiments on other captured ‘cons. Many were curious to see where this "project" would go, even if most wouldn't openly agree to it themselves.

This went on for years with Blitzwing being their geniua pig until they reached the final straw for both of the former seekers.

Through a string of luck and incompetence, Lancer managed to achieve the two's original goal and stole the All-Spark right from under Ultra Magnus' nose. She was hoping it would reverse the damage she's done to him, and possibly restore herself in the process, but she was interrupted when the gaurds caught up with her and the contingency clause protocols activated and began frying her from the inside out.

While she was able to stabilize Blitzwing before all this and relieve him of the physical pain he'd been under, it came at cost. Between his fritzing original T-cog and the trauma of having endless, painful operations at the hands of his friend and subsequent the poor treatment from Autobots, his mind broke under the Allsparks "upgrades"z

During the chaos, he manages to break free and slaughters everyone in the facility including Lancer (at least he thought so). He was trying to grant her the clean death she refused him.

(Ironically enough, this damaged her enough for the protocols to think she'd offlined, and thus deactivate on their own).

He escapes back to the decepticons empty-handed and scary the shit out of everyone while Lancer is left to deal with the remaining wrath of the autobots.

[solar-wing]

⚣ Magical Lessons in Ass-Whooping ☀️

⚣☀️ A/N → If you remember, this was like a snippet out of a story I was going to write for Conner x an original character. Haven't decided if I'm going to continue it, but I definitely want to write my scenarios and shots like this. Hope you guys enjoy it for those reading the first time and even those reading a second! WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence, Tension, Implied homewrecking

⚣☀️ Summary → Considering you've spent your entire life learning and studying magic from the moment you could utter your first words, it'd make sense for you to eventually start teaching and helping others. Especially those who are currently providing you refuge as things back home are a bit dangerous. But, one of them is going to learn that our knowledge is not just limited to thaumaturgy and the arcane. 'Talk shit, get hit' is a global phenomenon.

⚣☀️ Words → 2.8k

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY ☀️

“And just make sure to control your breathing…you got it!” You cheered.

A bright glimmer enveloped the room as little wisps of light started appearing around the room, forming tiny butterflies. You’d been helping Zatanna train and master her magic while also teaching her some new tricks. 

You hailed from a hidden kingdom, created from a divine gift bestowed on to your ancestor from the powerful deity linked to the sun. This power continued to pass on to their descendants, every eldest child in your bloodline blessed with the power of our solar system’s star, making you and your ancestors some of the most powerful beings to live in existence.

It was a heavy responsibility, bearing the mantle of the ‘Child of the Sun,’ being able to control such a potent and raw energy inside you. From the moment you were old enough to even say your first words, you’d been in magical training and studies to ensure your mastery of your powers. You could blast bad guys and restore an entire city with your magic by the time you were five years old.

And now, you were teaching others!

“Oh my god, I actually got it! Thanks, Y/N.” Zatanna cheered, wrapping you around in a hug.

You returned it joyfully before separating, “It’s as I mentioned previously, magic is special to us all. It lives all around and inside us. Everybody has their own individual sense of magic. Some just know and are better at channeling it than others.” You explained.

“Oh, I get it! Like a magical DNA print,” M’Gann summarized. She and Artemis were standing to the side watching the lesson you were giving Zatanna, both wanting to learn more about the mystic arts.

You smiled at the Martian’s words, nodding your head, “Exactly! Magic forms differently in everyone and changes itself as we grow and change ourselves. That’s why it’s important to find your source and learn how to connect it with a strong emotional foundation, and boom… You’ve got magic.”

Your hands glowed as you raised them to the air, a bright spot at the top of the cave forming that shined like the sun before bursting, releasing dancing rays of light swept across the room along with the little wisps of butterflies.

“So, what’s your source? If you don’t mind me asking,” Artemis inquired as the magic dissipated.

“Not at all,” You replied with a smile, “Well, obviously, being the whole ‘Child of the Sun’ thing, my source centers around that, the Sun and its solar energy.” You waved one of your hands, a light trail tailing behind as you summoned a bright illusion of your solar system’s central star.

The girls had to cover their eyes a little bit since even as a magical illusion, it still hurt their eyes. It felt so real, it was almost as if it was generating its own heat as well, warming the air around them.

“Ooh, like Superman?” M’Gann asked.

“Close, but not exactly. My source is the sun, so my magic manifests and channels itself as pure light granting me the enhancements and abilities that come with being, well, ‘light.’ Superman relies more on the radiation from its solar energy, another ability I may possess,” You answered.

Your new friends paused at that, “Wait, huh? What do you mean?” Artemis asked.

You considered for a moment if you should share this information as it was technically confidential and only privy to those of the royal family and their most trusted attendants. You figured there couldn’t be any harm in sharing this bit of information as it wasn’t like it could spell the end of the world or anything.

“A group of royal scholars and sorcerers have dedicated themselves to studying the magic and power behind the Children of the Sun since my great-grandfather’s reign. They’ve studied its different forms and how it’s moved down my family’s line over generations, noting its different strengths and weaknesses. They’ve also cataloged the different abilities it creates over time,” You explained, the teammates hanging off your every word.

“One of the scholars recently made a discovery that linked solar radiation with one of the spells I learned as a kid that can create daylight at night. When they discovered this connection, they explored more on the topic, finding that many of my spells and powers also give off their own form of radiation similar to the sun’s solar radiation. It’s led them to theorize that my ancestors and I may possibly have the ability to utilize the sun’s radiation to our advantage.”

“Wait, you’re saying you can manipulate solar radiation?! Does that mean you could take down Superman if you wanted to?” Zatanna asked.

You smiled at their surprised faces, “I’m not sure since it’s a new theory and will take time to study. Plus, I’ve never actually tried before. Hopefully, I never have to. At least with that kind of scenario,” You responded.

“Never have to what?”

You and the girls turned around to see the other guys coming down the hall, assumingly having entered the base from the ‘front door’ as M’Gann likes to call it. Conner looked at the girls and you with his arms crossed, his usual deadpan expression sitting on his face as he waited for an answer.

“Where did you guys go?” Zatanna asked, ignoring his question as Dick, Wally, and Kaldur made their way to the center of the training floor, Conner standing a little further back.

“We had a little team outing with just us guys. Hope you ladies weren’t too bored without us.” Wally smirked.

“We weren’t, as a matter of fact. We had Y/N here to keep us company since you all apparently didn’t want to include him on your little guy’s trip,” Artemis replied with her own smug smile.

“Oh really, what did you do? Sit around and do rain dances to call on the Lords of Make-Believe?”

“Wally,” Kaldur scolded.

“What?” He questioned, seeing how everyone was giving him unimpressed looks, “You all know I still don’t buy into this magical woo-hah babble. I’m a man of science who believes at the end of everything, there’s always a logical explanation.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh really,” Your face growing a mischievous smile. “So, can you explain how we’re all fully clothed and you’re standing in your underwear right now?” Everyone missed the slight glow in your irises as you cast your magic in your head.

Wally looked confused before he looked down and realized he was standing only in his underwear, his clothes vanished into thin air with his heart and rainbow-colored boxers on display for everyone.

“What the- Y/N!” He shouted before running off, his face burning red as a tomato while your friends laughed.

Artemis had her hands to her stomach before wiping away a fake tear, “Oh, that was more entertaining than anything I’ve seen in my life. Thank you for that, Y/N,” She grinned.

You gave a mock salute with two fingers while everyone was still laughing when Wally came back, now dressed in a new outfit. Everyone except Conner, who held a glare on his face that you could tell was in your direction. For whatever reason, you didn’t know and chose not to care.

“Why didn’t you invite Y/N on your outing if it was just for guys?” M’Gann asked.

“Because it was a team outing, and despite rumors to the contrary, Y/N is not on the team,” Conner voiced with an indifferent tone.

Your friends all frowned at Conner, not appreciating his sudden attitude toward you. Even Wally looked surprised by his little outburst while Zatanna spoke up in your defense.

“Well, that seems stupid. I wasn’t on the team yet when M’Gann invited me to your school’s Halloween dance. Why should Y/N be any different?” She remarked, crossing her arms. M’Gann nodded in support, her face signaling her disapproval of her boyfriend’s actions.

“We didn’t really think about that. It was more of a decision on the spot when Wally expressed his desire for a bite to eat,” Kaldur explained, with a genuine tone of regret in his posture before turning to face your direction, bowing his head. “My apologies, your Royal Highness. We meant no offense.”

“Speak for yourself,” You heard Conner mutter under his breath.

You ignored it, focusing back on your friend. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Kal. I had fun training here with the girls anyway. And I told you, it’s just Y/N. I’m not the Prince of Amun here, just a regular guy who happens to be bunking with you.” You said. Kaldur smiled in return, appreciating your forgiveness.

“Yeah, a regular guy who needs attendants waiting on him and personal guards always watching his behind,” You heard another snide comment from Conner, who was looking at the two guards standing by the opening to one of the hallways leading into the cave. Your patience also vanished into thin air by this point.

“Conner, that’s enough!” Kaldur ordered, but you were fed up.

“Is there something you need to get off your chest? You’ve been acting pissy with me since I got here, and I’ve had just about enough of it,” You snapped at the Kryptonian.

“Oh, the oh-so-regal prince actually has a backbone? Please…” Conner said, deeming you not worth his time.

“Yeah, the oh-so-regal has a backbone and will happily whoop your ass with it,” You called out after him.

The room went quiet, M’Gann now looking worried as Conner turned around to face you, a jeering expression now on his face.

“Oh really? You’ll ‘whoop my ass,’ huh? Tell me how exactly you plan to do that. With a little song and dance? A show of special effects and illusions. Or will you use your little guards in their shiny armor to fight for you? I could take them and you down without lifting my pinky toe.” He teased, slowly walking towards you until he was standing in your personal space, his arms crossed against his wide chest.

You didn’t have to turn around and see how Atlas and Samar, your two guards in mention, were standing at attention, more than ready to disprove Superboy’s insults. You raised your hands silently, signaling them to stand down. You could take care of yourself.

“Hmm, you may be right about that,” You replied calmly. Everyone except Atlas and Samar looked taken aback at your words. Conner still held a cheeky smirk, even though you could spot his somewhat quizzical look behind his eyes. “So, I’m sure you stand ready to prove it then.”

“Ooooo…” Artemis said, ever the instigator.

“Someone’s getting called out! Whatcha gonna do?” Wally shouted, joining in with the archer.

Though he appeared unphased by your friend's teasing, he considered your words, “Fine, you’re on.” He answered.

A devious smile appeared across your lips, your guards looking at you with knowing grins. Everyone cleared off the combat circle as Kaldur loaded up the sparring protocols. You and Conner stood on opposite sides of the training floor, waiting for Kal’s signal.

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” You heard Dick ask on the side.

“Nope.” Zatanna said.

The floor brightened beneath you as Kaldur started the program, signaling it was ready.

“Who are you betting on?” Wally asked.

“Oh, Y/N 100%,” Artemis replied.

“I’ll bet you $20 bucks Conner beats Y/N in 15 seconds flat.”

“Hmm, $40 bucks says Y/N knocks out Conner in 10.”

“Deal.” Wally agreed, shaking on it.

M’Gann stood next to Kaldur, watching her boyfriend with a chagrined look. She wasn’t happy with his behavior, becoming suspicious since the team’s mission to Liza during your kingdom’s anniversary celebration and your birthday, leading to your temporary move to Happy Harbor in the Cave after rebels made an attempt on your life.

“Hope I don’t end up as the focus of your next album after this. Though, it’d be nice to say someone’s writing songs about me, even if it’s angry ones.” Conner mocked.

“Oooh, good one Con!” Wally cheered, Artemis rolling her eyes with a scoff.

You didn’t respond, letting him have his fun. You were about to make him eat his words anyway.

“Begin,” Kal said.

You stood in your spot, waiting for Conner to make his move. He cracked his knuckles before charging at you with his usual loud grunt. You side-stepped his attack, leaning and turning on your back foot while swinging your other foot around into his back, sending him flying only to land on his face. Even though he landed outside the battle ring, an interface popped up that spelled his name, and next to it, read the word ‘FAILED’ in red.

“HAH! That’ll be $40 bucks,  please.”

You heard Zatanna and Dick clapping behind you while Kal just gave you a nod of approval.

“Looks like you lifted more than your pinky toe. I’m sure you can do better than that tough guy,” You taunted, hearing Atlas and Samar snickering on the side.

Conner pushed himself off the ground, grumbling in frustration before turning around. He huffed in anger before his grimace turned into another smug grin, “Cute. They teach you that in etiquette class?” He mocked. 

You returned your own playful smile, “No, actually, Atlas taught me that during one of our combat lessons. You could learn a thing or two from him. Your form is terrible,” You remarked.

You heard the others laughing behind you, Conner’s face going red before he brushed past you, bumping your shoulders, “Let’s go again.” He stated.

“If you insist.”

When Kal signaled to go again, you chose now to charge at Conner, faking him out when he swung at your left. You ducked under his fist, bringing your body down before sticking your leg out to swipe him from under. He fell back against the ground with a grunt, the interface popping up again next to his face announcing his quick failure.

“Samar taught me that one. Hmm, are you sure you’re good at this? Quite frankly, I was expecting more.” You said while standing over him, hands held at your side.

You reset again for a third round. You amused yourself, allowing Conner to believe he was holding out for a bit before you ducked under his fist again, standing back up behind him, pushing your hands on his back to shove him forward.

He almost lost his balance but managed to stay up. 

He turned around to see you waving your fingers at him in a teasing manner. He charged at you again while swinging his arms together to trap you in a bear hug. When he got his arms around you, your body broke apart like shattered glass, dissipating into the air. 

Conner looked confused until he heard you ‘Yoo-hoo’ behind him, turning to see you launching at him with another kick across the face. He fell to the ground, the interface once again signaling his defeat.

He growled in anger before he looked up to see you standing over him again, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you get a hit in.”

He huffed before grabbing your ankle, yanking it out from under you, making you fall on your butt. The interface popped up next to you with your name now signaling the word ‘FAILED.’

“How was that?” His cheeky smile returned.

“Cute. They teach you that in anger management?”

Conner looked confused, “I don’t go to anger management.”

“Clearly.” You responded.

The others expected Conner to blow up at you (the boy did need anger management), but to everyone’s shock, he just smiled at you. Before standing up and reaching his hand down to help you up.

You stared at his hand for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you up to the ground.

You both stared at each other for a bit with no words said until you heard a throat clearing beside you, realizing the team was still here. Artemis smiled knowingly at you while Dick, & Zatanna looked uneasy. Kal scratched the back of his head awkwardly while Wally looked confused. M’Gann held a sullen expression on her face, clearly not happy.

You felt heat come up your face before clearing your throat, “I’m gonna head to the beach to do some meditation. See you guys later.” You said before turning away, your body vanishing in a flash of light. Conner looked confused when he saw you disappear, not understanding what happened. He saw Atlas and Samar shaking their heads at him before heading down the hall towards the garage exit to catch up with you. Still not getting what happened, he turned to see his friends giving him sour looks causing him to frown in return.

“What!”

☀️ | Conner Kent/Superboy | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[str4wb3rr1e]

Laundry Mat

tokio hotel x reader

the sound of the led lights buzzing over took the yellow lit room, the white walls that have faded into a dark grey color over time screaming for restoration, the white tiles on the ground having permanent shoe marks tattooed on them.

you sat there quietly, back leaned against the old washing machine, loudly tumbling your laundry.

your mascara was smudged, lipstick everywhere but your lips, eyeshadow staining your under eyes and was probably going to stay that way for at least a day.

the metal door creaked open, ‘who would do their laundry so late at night?’ you thought but yet, here you were, doing your laundry at the 24/7 open mat at 2 in the morning.

lucky for you it was your next door neighbor, at least he wasn’t a stranger. “hey…” he whispered, his voice echoed on the quiet room, “hey.” you whispered back with a soft smile.

you watched as he placed his laundry in an empty machine and threw some cents from his pockets before sliding down and sitting down in front of you.

“you alright?” he asked pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. “I don’t know… do I look alright?” you asked wiping some of the lipstick off your cheeks.

“don’t know,” he shrugged “I don’t know what ‘alright’ looks like”. he slid the cigarette pack on the floor tiles, the pack flying over towards you and hitting the bottom of your shoes. “I quit.” you mumbled sliding the pack back.

“good for you.” he chuckled trying to light his cigarette with a cheap lighter, “shoot, you have a lighter I can borrow?”.

you reached for your pocket and slid the lighter across the room, “thought you said you quit?” he smiled, “I did, yesterday.” you smiled.

“what’s up with you?” you asked as he slid the lighter back to you, “returned home late from tour.” he replied taking a long drag. you chuckled “oh yeah, forgot you’re famous.” with air quotes on ‘famous’.

“okay, just because your music taste sucks doesn’t mean we’re shit.” he chuckled throwing a lost sock towards you way, “ew!” you squealed as the sock hit the sleeve of your jacket.

you fixed your hair as your laughs faded into the room, “I’ve never heard your music anyway…” you teased, “oh yeah?” he pulled out an mp3 player from his pocket.

“you want to?” he asked plugging headphones in, “yeah, sure.” you nodded as he reached over to hand you the small device. you picked it up from his hand and put on the headphones in.

to be honest, they were good, really good. “mmm, not really my style.” you muttered, that was a lie and you knew damn well you would go home and blast the same music your called shit the whole night.

“well, everyones style is different.” he shrugged as you handed the mp3 player back. you felt bad about lying and decided to fix it by saying “but you are good, really good…”.

“yeah,” he snickered, “thanks.”

“no problem.” you chirped. the timer of the machine behind you went off, covering the entire room with a simple yet loud tune.

“my uh… my stuff is done.” you mumbled with a small smile as you stood up to gather your fresh laundry.

“hey uh,” he called behind you, “how about we go for coffee this weekend?”. you stuffed your laundry in your backpack and turned around to face him. “coffee?” you sneered, “I mean, it could be something else too, dinner maybe?” he added shoving his hands deep in his jeans front pockets.

“sure,” you replied, “dinner sounds nice.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: writing isn’t enough I need to make a short film 😭 this can be imagined as any one of the members 💜 💜

I forgot to mention that this isn’t from the winter series, that series is going to be longer and placed in high school (older grades tho dw)

[frostbitebakery]

sometimes i remember your The Unlucky Ones AU and lose my mind 🤩

So do I, so do I! I am wholechesting saying that! I just love them so much. @adiduck and I have been putting so much thought into each character, each relationship. The lore alone could fill a book.

Like when we talked about various reactions the command class invokes in the troopers. The whole range is covered, jealousy, pity, empathy, hero-worship. I kind of derailed about the hero-worship and the contrast of what the troopers see and what the command class experiences. So, how about this unedited bit?

.

DEF a tall tale how the commanders have died and walked it off repeatedly!

Trooper: “Now I heard Commander Doom walked to enemy command like it’s nothing because his Generals were down! Just went right up and blasted the shit out of them. And he didn’t even look at the explosion!”

Trooper 2: “He didn’t even look at the explosion!”

Trooper 1: “And get this, according to multiple reliable sources all he said when he came back was, like, I think I need a bandaid, and just continued to work!”

Trooper 2: “He’s so cool!”

.

Doom let himself stumble against his desk. “Fuck.”

“Sit down, sit down,” his CMO urged and Doom tried to make it at least a somewhat coordinated fall on his chair.

He breathed through the pain, tried to not let it catch in his almost healed lungs. His bucket got removed and his breath hitched, screwed his eyes shut.

“It’s okay,” General Tiplee murmured, her small hand against his cheek while his armor got removed.

The CMO hissed when the chestplate stuck, bouncing back to the ruined undersuit, blaster shots fusing the dead skin to the new to the fabric to the duraplast.

Doom bit down on his tongue, tears gathering unbidden from the sting and exhaustion.

“General,” the CMO asked, “can you hold the plate in place?”

“Fucking rip it off,” Doom grunted. “‘S gonna heal anyway.”

Tiplee grabbed his shaking hand, adrenaline and shock working their way through him as uncoordinated as ever. “There’s no need to put you through more pain.”

Doom ignored that. Shoved the feeling of the Curse restoring his damaged cells, rushing through the body’s trauma response. “How’s General Tiplar?”

Another gentle squeeze to his hand. “We were able to get her transport ship off planet to the nearest healing station while you distracted enemy forces. She will make it.”

Good. “Good.”

“On 3,” the CMO said so Doom got ready to have his armor cut off him on 2.

“General,” he inquired and he despised how slurred his voice started to sound. “Permission to take a fucking nap after this.”

[mooncello]

Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy (queuing up some star trek snowbaz for tonight) and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe (simply cannot wait for this fic to premiere). And thanks to everyone who has tagged me recently. I've been quiet for a few weeks. Life and work and mental health shit, but also I got so very stuck with both my wips. I invested a lot of creative energy into lost boys and then got ... lost tbh. Burned out. All the joy got sucked out, which broke my heart. It's on a shelf right now. I'll return to it (that Baz is very precious to me) but I need a break. I can't bear to look at it atm.

And then! My COBB decided to set fire to my original outline and go off on an unanticipated hike through the woods without a map. No nav equipment. I'm not even confident it knows which star is north. It's just ... wandering around with zero fucks about due dates or timelines, which has sent me into a panic spiral. My one wip is an angsty teenager who has shut himself in his room and refuses to talk (and like same dude), and the other thinks they're Bear Grylls with the survival instincts of a spoiled house cat. EPIC TIMES.

So I started a new wip. (Obviously.)

I needed something fun. Joyful. Something that reminded me why I like writing in the first place. And my boys Dev and Niall fucking showed up, and I'm halfway done with a lil Watford-era, canon divergent wip from their perspectives. It's the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written, and I'm having a blast. Eternal love to my fellow Dev/Niall stan and comrade (and beta!) @valeffelees, and to @bookish-bogwitch and @thewholelemon for cheering this fic on. And thanks to @iamamythologicalcreature and @best--dress for chatting about craft and process and validating that sometimes projects need rest and restoration, and breaks are a natural part of creativity.

Short snip of untitled deniall fic below the cut:

Niall POV, Watford, year 7

“You’re the worst, Niall.” I grin. “So you always say.” I stretch my arms up and flex my fingers before interlacing them behind my head. “And yet you keep running to me for advice.” Dev’s nostrils flare, and there’s a very real moment I think he’s gonna punch me in the shoulder, but then his face splits into a sharp, crooked smile, and he shucks off his blazer. He tosses it toward his bed, but it only partially makes it and falls to the floor.   “You give the best advice,” Dev says, and I see the flash of his tongue piercing. “You’re so practical.”  He begins undressing. Casual, unhurried movements, until his entire school uniform is a wrinkled bundle on his bed, sans jacket which is still on the floor, and he’s rooting around his dresser in nothing but pants and socks. The light from the late afternoon sun cuts through our window of Mummers, casting him in muted orange and amber. He does this all the time. Mindlessly strips in front of me. We don’t have an ensuite like Baz does (the lucky bastard), and Dev has always been comfortable in his body. He’s open and confident in a way that makes my chest ache. I wish I were more like that, but I’m sinew and bone whereas Dev is polish and muscle. Half the time I feel like something the cat drags in, and Dev, well … Dev’s the cat.

tags and hellos 🩵 @drowninginships, @run-for-chamo-miles, @youarenevertooold, @blackberrysummerblog, @orange-peony

@hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @shrekgogurt, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @emeryhall, @rimeswithpurple, @shemakesmeforget

@raenestee, @skeedelvee, @rbkzz

[shithowdy]

Please tell us more about fallout Oliver (falliver?) did you like the show by the way?

You could say it made me... falliver in love....

That sucked, I'll workshop that one.

I loved the show!! I even did some fanart for it, I never do that! Like a lot of people it was my impetus to actually Play A Game, despite people insisting for years it would be up my alley and getting the old 'I'll add it to my list'. Seeing Cooper run around like a yeehaw maniac had me continuously thinking "oh he and Oliver would be such good friends" and once you start imagining an OC within a setting it's all over for you.

Considering they are both prewar ghouls who served in Alaska as power armor operatives there's a significant chance they do know each other (in WoW, he was a Silver Hand paladin before becoming a DK-- how could I resist the parallels). Maybe one day I'll draw them getting trashed on coke together.

Unlike in WoW, where he deserted on conscience in the middle of the Stratholme culling, he stayed with the military right up until he met an abrupt "retirement" in 2070 after a psycho-induced heart attack inside his armor, an incident that left him deeply traumatized and mistrustful of any sort of organization where you can't say 'no' to a command, which is why he refuses to fully affiliate with the NCR. The "good boy" payout he got for the incident allowed him to retire and purchase his dream ranch in the Jemez Mountains, which he and some fellow hands maintained for seven years until the bombs dropped.

My headcanon is that northern NM didn't get that cooked in the blasts (Alamogordo is presumably a barren field of trinitite, though), but his area was so remote that when communities tried reforming into city-states and pooling their resources, no one could justify the back-and-forth with limited transport options. So he released his small livestock and they all packed up and attempted a cattle drive toward Taos with other ranchers. But winter was setting in, and an irradiated storm from the north blew through in what would be the event that began his ghoulification. Most died, the cattle scattered or also died, and as an absolute husk of an individual he decided "fuck it" and went west with his horse to find the hidden vault that is his son's tomb instead.

And for 200 years he's chased that delusion, not knowing he's been looking in the wrong city the entire time. 👎 He did meet and fall in love with a woman (hi, Senkha!) about 150 years before this RP; they spent decades together and through her he gained experience with psykers and how to wall them out of your surface thoughts with constant music, but he also gained experience with the eventual understanding that most humans grow old and he doesn't. When she passed, he began distancing himself from people.

When he's not scouring the old LA metro haystack for a nonexistant needle, he does mercenary work to support his hobby as a scavenger for prewar memorabilia and civilian tech. His prized possession is a turntable he repaired (and the vinyls he's scavenged for it), and he also has a truck he's completely restored save for the fact that he has no power core for it. So he just sits in it and pretends.

Some mercenary work he did close to their formation put him immediately on the Legion's shit-list, a status in which he takes pride and now goes out of the way to cultivate to the point that he's earned the nickname "Matador" within the NCR. Now that he is traveling with the deserter son of a high-ranking individual in the Legion, life is about to get spicy!

So yeah, I'm having fun. I've joked that this is actually the setting he's supposed to be from and WoW was actually the AU, because my boy was made for this.

[ech0thegeck0]

random thoughts i had during my rewatch of sophmore year!

MANY SPOILERS

in Blast from the past, you can see brennan roll Poks sneak roll right before murph talks about trying to scoop him up

the cast joked about all of them getting cool ass magical shit and they actually did!!

Adaine got her spell from Ayda (adaine’s furious fists)

Gorgug got his thunder axe from the tinkerers hall

fabian got fandrangor from adaine who found it in calethrial tower

fig got her infaethable bass from Gorthalax

riz got decked out when he went to heaven and became a part time spy for them (the video tie, and lazer watch)

Kristen got her spell slot question mark staff (though she did have her spells taken away by helio)

Kalina genuinely seemed to care about riz?? :

She kept The nightmare king from possessing him while he slept even though he had dragon madness

she tried to convince him multiple times to turn back and while saying shed kill all his friends, she never said shed kill him

when Kristen cast greater restoration on riz Kalina seemed genuinely scared and angry and i feel like its because she felt genuine loss after being with riz his entire life

watching someone get raised for 15 years and suddenly losing them, even if you we’re technically more just “family friend” still would make you feel grief

the bad kids almost solved the entire thing a couple episodes in but then completely forgot about it (Kristen and Gorgug both literally said the sentences “is the unnamed goddess the nightmare king?” and “are we looking for the nightmare queen??”) but then someone asked if kalina was the unnamed goddess and even after they learned she was just her familiar they didn’t remember and i was screaming even during my first watch like even when Kristen saw the picture of the half unnamed goddess half skeleton she didnt catch it until the VERY LAST EPISODE

[rjzimmerman]

You get two takes on this. The first is a press release from Colorado Parks and Wildlife. The second is a video from the Defenders of Wildlife, severely (and in my humble opinion correctly) blasting this action. Using better language......a "fucking stupid action." So you have a group of ranchers who lost some livestock, but who will be paid by the state for their losses, prevailing over the action of a majority of Colorado voters who approved the relocation of wolves to Colorado. McDonalds wins, again. Everytime I want to be sympathetic to ranchers, shit like this happens.

Now, the press release:

Colorado Parks and Wildlife, with technical support from federal partners, and as provided for in the 10(j) experimental population rule issued by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), have begun an operation to capture and relocate wolves from the depredating Copper Creek wolf pack. 

“The decision to capture and relocate the Copper Creek pack was made with the careful consideration of multiple factors and feedback from many different stakeholders,” said CPW Director Jeff Davis. ”Our options in this unique case were very limited, and this action is by no means a precedent for how CPW will resolve wolf-livestock conflict moving forward. The ultimate goal of the operation is to relocate the pack to another location while we assess our best options for them to continue to contribute to the successful restoration of wolves in Colorado.”

Colorado Parks and Wildlife is committed to fulfilling the will of Colorado voters to successfully restore the gray wolf population while meeting the needs of Colorado communities. As we have throughout the implementation of the Colorado Wolf Restoration and Management Plan, CPW is working with wildlife biologists, federal partners, and producers to develop solutions that will reduce the risk of additional wolf depredations. 

For the safety of these animals and staff, CPW will not be sharing the location of the pack members or operation. CPW will provide more information and details at the conclusion of the operation. 

[passionpeachy]

hi!! i'm so sorry to hear about your blog, holy shit. something similar happened to me last year so I get how shitty that is.

i'm not sure if it'll work for you, since it's not the exact same situation, but you could try to contact Tumblr directly. in my case, my blog had been deleted by a bot after being flagged as spam (still don't understand how that happened) and once i tweeted about it Tumblr put it back up within days. so maybe there's a chance for yours too? it seems they respond really slowly to emails, but if you blast them on social media they respond much faster.

i'll be sharing posts from your new blog either way!! i love your art so fucking much you better believe i'll be sharing it forever. ♥

You're so sweet, thank you so much. It really means a lot to me to have cool mutuals to support me 🤍

I can keep trying, but they already told me twice now that they can't do anything about it. Which is confusing because tumblr's twitter account told me to contact support to help in restoring my account? Yeah, not sure what to do now except keep reposting my art.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 61 - It Compels You Though

You remember what happened and learn some things.

On AO3.

And you immediately flop back down as the continent gives a whirl beneath you. Shadowheart sighs. Something rustles as you squeeze your eyelids shut and try to stay awake. A stopper squeaks, and then Shadowheart’s cool hand slips around the back of your neck. She urges you up at a much more sedate—and sensible—pace. And the taste of dirt and fire flood your mouth.

“Fuck shit that stuff is so nasty!” you say.

“It doesn’t smell pleasant, either,” she says. “Now lay back down before you break your spine again.”

Again? The fuck?

You ease down. Wiggle your toes. And them fuckers move. The surge of relief almost takes you out again.

“Do I wanna know?” you say.

Dark smears hang beneath her eyes. Her lips press thin. Then, “Suffice to say, you nearly died. I managed to piece you together, but barely. You need to take it easy for several days, no exceptions. It took a lot out of you.” And her, judging by the slump of her shoulders and the sheer exhaustion painted over her posture. “Your bones and flesh had to knit back together. You’ll be tired for some time.”

“Something exploded,” you say.

She nods. “One of the goblins was some kind of mage. Sent a sparkpowder barrel back towards the pillar holding our section of the rafters. I managed to catch myself, but you…it was chaos below. It took all of us some time to find you.”

Laying on your back, coughing up blood. Ruptured insides, bleeding out into your own body with your spine shattered. There was a beam on you. You were too far gone to lift it. But your memory is hazy. Pain and smoke and screaming. Something pale. Red…?

Where’s Astarion?

Y’all look clear of the goblin camp. Set up in a patch of woods that don’t smell of burnt hair or blood or piss, so that’s nice. Karlach has her tent set up, with Wyll’s beside hers. She’s on her side, passed out and curled around Clive. Gale’s voice murmurs, and something scrapes across metal—Lae’zel tending to her gear.

“Everybody else okay?” you say. You scan for white and don’t find it.

“In one piece, yes,” Shadowheart says. “A few bruises, burns, and Gale has a concussion. You were the worst off.”

She don’t mention Astarion. His tent ain’t in the usual spot…oh. Oh, it’s not in his usual spot. There’s a clear area next to Karlach, where your tent would habitually go if your body wasn’t “knitting” its own bones back together. But the red fabric of Astarion’s tent ain’t next to yours. It’s next to Gale. On the other side of camp.

Something about that twinges in your chest.

But you don’t got time to study that at all, because something rasps behind you and the voice of the devil says, “Thou must take care to protect thy flesh.”

Motherfucker!

Injuries be damned, you’re up and backing into Shadowheart, clutching at her as your legs almost spill out from under you as the dizziness blasts through your vision.

Withers stands there, arms at his sides, rotten and dried out face peering at you with his nasty, shriveled eyes. Fucker just appeared behind you. You just looked around and that fucker wasn’t nowhere around.

“What does that mean?” Shadowheart says for you, and it’d be rude to kiss her on the cheek without asking.

“Thy soul is bound to a vessel, and thy name is not written within this realm.”

Which means fuck all to you.

“Her soul is here,” Shadowheart says. “Couldn’t she pay your price as the rest of us can?”

But Jerky shakes his head. “Nay. To restore thy flesh to life, thy soul must inhabit it. Should thy flesh die, thy soul will remain bound to its vessel, trapped.”

Now you frown. Turn to Shadowheart, who’s gone pale. “What’s he saying?”

Cause you got a suspicion that if you go and kick the bucket, you’ll be the first poltergeist Faerun has ever seen wandering the wilds hollering, “It’s Britney, bitch!”

Shadowheart takes a breath—to compose herself, you think—and says, “He can’t revivify you if you die, anymore. You’d…you’d become a lich.”

“A what?”

A fucking ringwraith, is what she describes. Which don’t that just sound de-fucking-lightful.

“And this ‘vessel’ containing her soul,” Shadowheart says to Jerky. “There’s no permanent solution? A better way?”

Jerky holds up a hand. Ignores Shadowheart completely. “Thou is not of this realm. The divine powers do not recognize thee. Take care of thy mortal flesh. I shall say no more.”

“Wait,” Shadowheart says.

Jerky only walks off into the shadows. Gone off to lurk, like usual.

Shadowheart’s jaw clenches a couple of times. Something flashes over her features, it looks like worry, if you’d be so bold to assume. Then she stuffs her emotions into a mental jar (like your soul), and gives you a once-over.

“You need to lie back down,” she says. “And we’re going to have to seriously reconsider this for any…future plans of yours.”

You got enough bullshit going on, that becoming a ringwraith ain’t even in the top five list of Shit to Deal With. The fact that these people can just be, like, brought back from being dead is enough of a mind boggle. It only makes you feel even more vulnerable in comparison. Makes you feel coddled.

You are always gonna have to stand back, now. Always let all of them deal with everything and do all the work of whatever bullshit your brain throws at the wall. Because the big druid is gone, and he ain’t gonna help y’all, so now y’all will have to go to Lae’zel’s people and that just…just seems like such a fun time.

You’re starting to wonder if that demon fuckhead was onto something. All y’all’s leads are closing off. Y’all are stuck with the memory of Not-Sasha and whatever the fuck she’s going to ask for because that bitch has a reason for shielding you, she just don’t want to spill it right now which means it’s a lot and it’s probably very, very bad.

Jesus lord.

You need sleep. Your body feels ragged, like you ain’t slept in a week and the only thing keeping unconsciousness at bay is a couple a shots of espresso and you got the shakes and you are three long blinks short of a hard-crash pass-out.

So of course that’s when Lae’zel decides to pick a fight with Shadowheart. And of course Shadowheart does the smart thing, and waits until Lae’zel falls asleep before almost slitting her throat.

These fucking people.

When you do pass out again, you don’t even remember lying down.

***

You wake to both the owlbear cub and a dog in your camp the next morning. Gale is nice enough to lend you an animal speaking potion, and the owlbear is the most adorable little murder machine you ever met. The dog says his owner died on the road, and that Volo guy took him in, but the Volo guy lost him (or ditched him, you ain’t really sure) so he followed the people smell back to y’all.

You ain’t never had a pet dog. There were a couple of dogs on the farmstead, but they wasn’t for playing with. You kinda always wanted one; living in an apartment nixed that idea, though.

“You’re not going to seriously let two animals follow us around, surely?” Shadowheart says.

You look from her, to the dog, and back to her.

“But he’s such a good boy,” you say.

And if that dog’s tail don’t give a fucking wag at that.

So now y’all have an owlbear cub and a dog. Add two more members to the brainworm crew.

Gale says he’ll jump all y’all back to the grove with them magic rocks. After breakfast (“the mind requires nutrition as well”), and that means letting him snack on a magic necklace as he cooks breakfast.

It’s something Wyll found in the temple, casts magic lights that turn invisible people back to visible (…that’s a thing you don’t like at all). He forks it over without complaint. And after Gale disintegrates it, he looks at y’all, sighs, and explains what the fuck.

When he’s done, you quietly add Mystra to your “people to kill???” mental list. Lean to Shadowheart to whisper, “Can somebody fistfight a goddess?”

And the look she gives you damn near regresses you back to childhood.

“I would highly discourage any attempt,” she says, drier than Withers’ ass.

So Gale’s cursed by a goddess (and his ex???). Only he don’t call it cursed, but she certainly left him out to die, didn’t she?

Nice to see gods here are a bunch of useless fucks, too.

Which you kinda, maybe, accidentally mutter too loud. Because Astarion—freshly emerged from his tent after what appears to’ve been a great night of sleep—says, “On that, we can agree.”

You accidentally meet his gaze. Jerk yours away. (fuck).

But that just jiggles something loose in your head. Red eyes peering down at you. A beam crushing your legs.

You were trapped. Astarion. Astarion was there.

“When you found me,” you say to Shadowheart, “was I under rubble?”

She hums. “You were actually very lucky. You just missed it when you landed.”

You remember. Couldn’t breathe. Aching exhaustion. The weight of all that crushing you, and a pair of red eyes staring down out of the smoke.

“Right,” you say. “Good thing.”

She goes off to gather her things as everybody packs up—Karlach insists on taking your pack, cause Shadowheart glares at anybody who tries to hand you anything heavier than a plate of scrambled eggs.

You said to keep distance. You said it was for the best. No more misunderstandings, no chance to be hurt. People do the most damage when you let them in, and the safest thing right now, especially right now, is to clam up tight.

But you remember that asshole. And so your feet carry you over to the pale elf as he finishes stuffing his tent into his magic pack. The rampage yesterday left a pink tinge to his skin, a bit of color to his lips and the tips of his ears. He looks quite a bit more, well, alive than usual out in the sunlight.

For a long moment, you look at him. It don’t make sense. He ain’t the type to help somebody; he’s the exact type to advocate for you to break a man’s kneecaps for fun and profit. And even if he did, if something possessed him to do something nice for somebody else, he’d brag about it to every living soul to score brownie points.

Maybe you’re wrong. You cracked your head; whole thing could’a been a hallucination, easy-peasy.

But then why him? Why would your brain conjure this bastard, instead of Sasha or Uncle Randy or, or anyone else?

“Is there something in my teeth, or did the cleric not heal your brain injury?” Astarion says.

There’s no fucking way he helped you.

Still.

You ain’t sure how to phrase the question. It sounds so stupid in your head. He stands there, unnaturally still, hardly blinking as he looks at you. And frowns at you.

“Brain injury it is,” he says and starts to slip by.

It makes no damn sense. The man himself don’t make no damn sense and that’s on a good day. He’s snarky, a bitch, and steals from refugees. He likes killing people, he’s vain as fuck, and…and he had absolutely no idea what to do with your apology. You’d caught it on his face. And the way he perked up when you flattered him, that night you talked about your Kahga plan.

There’s your opening.

“Just wanted to thank you,” you say, all casual.

For a second, you think it ain’t gonna work. His back is to you as he saunters over to where Gale gathers all the gear for the portal. He wasn’t there, and you really did hallucinate that douchebag because human brains are fucking weird.

But then he stops. Turns, to give you the most unimpressed glare. “Excuse me?”

And oh. Oh, he almost sells it. He’s real good at obfuscation. Man would make a helluva street magician, all “look here and not at my left hand”. But there’s a flicker. The tiniest goddamn thing. So fast and so subtle—the barest twitch to his eyelids—that you ain’t even one hundred percent sure you see it.

So you jab at him again. “Thank you. For what you did at the goblin camp.”

“Murdering goblins?” he says, slowly raising one eyebrow. “It was hardly a challenge. By all means, I ought to be thanking you.”

You stare. He stares back.

You didn’t hallucinate. He was there when you landed. He fucking killed the goblin trying to knife you, and he must’a moved that big fucking beam.

The both of you square off, shields up, waiting for the other to blink first.

“Right, everyone ready?” Gale says.

The fuck game is he playing?

One you ain’t gonna win by brute-forcing it. So you change tack.

“Not a fan of gods then, huh?” you say.

And that shithead changes tack right alongside you. “Never saw much use. Most of them don’t care for undead. Which I heard is a new little problem for you?”

Die and become a ringwraith. Awesome.

Gale opens the portal. Lae’zel charges through first, Wyll following along behind her. The both of you shuffle along as Karlach steps through, then Shadowheart. Until it’s your turn.

You pause at the edge of the glowing, purple swirl. Turn to give one, last shot.

“You did real good back there,” you say. You ain’t friends or whatever, but that don’t mean you can’t include people, and he did do a damn good job.

Again, that hairline crack in his mask. Something beneath it…

But then he’s all liquid smarm again. “My limited talents remain at your disposal, darling.”

Gale clears his throat, because he’s holding this damn thing open, and you give him an apologetic nod before stepping into the crackling swirl of magic.

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