#cyclone frost

[subhollic]

Her name is Cyclone Frost or 사이클론 프로스트 in Korean

(I finally made a cardbot OC! wahoo! I’m still currently practicing on drawing difficult robots which is why I only have the human version of cyclone.)

Her pronouns are She/her

She’s a little taller than Cielo in cardbot form but same height with Jun’s uncle in Humanized version.

She’s based off on a KTX bullet train ( In Korea )

Her Age is completely unknown in cardbot form but, She has the same age as in between with Fiery Phoenix and Blue cop in cardbot. As for humanized version, She has the same age as Jun’s uncle ( Like what i said earlier.)

—————————————————————————————

In her cardbot form, Her capsule landed somewhere in the part of Arctic. When she met Jun, She was very curious and sad why would a Kid capture that has the same race as hers. This also lead to her frustration and Charge immediately.

After she got Captured by Jun, Her behavior changed she’s shy and more dramatic. She’s already like that back at the planet Machina. She always worries any cardbot, Especially for Buster gallon ( she nearly choked to death him because her strength is pretty strong and dangerous.) and Black hook.

She tried her best to get in touch with Humans, Like blue cop, But, fails. BC told her Just to keep it calm and simple but fails again. This doesn’t mean she hates humans. She doesn’t like them for a vague reason. (typical cyclone 🙄)

She also loves Fashion and has passion for making clothes. She used the cardbots as her “Mannequins” to design or make new clothes, Especially on Buster gallon and Blue cop. BC thinks they’re playing dresses up and he was embarrassed after Jun saw him.

—————————————————————————————

Her weapon is an Umbrella/Parasol. She has three different types of attacks:

“Blizzard freeze”

Is the First attack that Cyclone has, which can only last for five minutes. This only Affects to Thunder, Fire and Water related cardbots. Damage is pretty low.

“Thorn Icicle”

the second attack of Cyclone has, That it could penetrate the opponent’s body. The icicle comes in different sizes (depending on how large or small the Opponent is.) It’s still painful. (It’s similar to the chimera Falin’s But ice. in EP17) The damage is mild depending from the opponent’s experience.

“Glacier Smash”

The third and last Attack of Cyclone. With just a single tap of from her parasol, It gives a powerful yet devastating power that could blow a whole group of Cardbots. Cyclone only used this power for Larger cardbots that difficult to take down Such as; Gigantrex, Black Hook and Heavy Iron.

[compacflt]

Rumors from Pearl Harbor.

When Admiral Kazansky first comes to Pearl, he brings with him about half of his previous staff, all exceptionally-hardworking people hand-picked over years—advisors, flag aides, secretaries, ranks all over the board. But his new hires, upon getting acquainted with the old guard, are shocked to discover that his previous staff still hardly knows him at all.

“He keeps to himself, mostly,” Lieutenant Commander Hartford explains over a pint. “I made the mistake of asking him once what he did for fun. You know, like, hobbies and stuff. He blinked at me for a second, and then said, ‘I read.’ That’s it! I read! My advice to you newcomers would be, don’t ask him questions about his personal life, because it tends to be pretty boring.”

“It sounds to me like he’s a walking, talking Wikipedia page,” says Captain Calvert, who worked for the previous two Pacific Fleet Commanders and thinks she knows how to deal with them by now. “We owe it to ourselves to figure him out. It’ll make our lives easier, anyway. So, let’s put our heads together: what do we know about him?”

What they know are his habits, which they’ll come to learn intimately over the next few years, and which are admittedly pretty boring. Admiral Kazansky is one of the first to show up to work in the morning and one of the last to leave in the evening. He often answers e-mails past 2300 hours, but never later than midnight. Jokes never catch him off-guard; he rarely smiles, and when he does, it has an ulterior motive. When he’s not working, he’s scheming and making plans to go back home to San Diego, and his requests for leave are always granted, because he works like a pack mule from home anyway. He signs off every e-mail with “Sincerely,”…

“Is he sincere, though?” asks Chief Warrant Officer Kent halfway through Admiral Kazansky’s first year. (Admiral Kazansky is surely unaware that his staff now spends the second Friday of every month chit-chatting about him over drinks in downtown Honolulu.) “I can’t ever tell. And he lives in Hawaii. San Diego’s nice, I know, but what’s so different about the beaches there that he can’t get here?”

“I genuinely don’t think he’s human,” confesses Commander Stoddard. “People warned me about that when I came here, and I laughed it off, but… he keeps his desk biologically sterile. Not one fingerprint, but I’ve never seen anyone wipe it down. I’ve looked through his drawers. Don’t judge me, I got curious. Everything squared away, like he’s goddamn Einstein or something. Have any of you ever seen him in his civvies?” No one has. “God damn it, where does he shop for groceries? No one’s seen him at a grocery store? Does he even own a pair of jeans? Does he wear his uniform to bed, too?”

“He probably goes grocery shopping on the whole other side of the island to avoid all the enlisted kids,” laughs Captain Calvert. “Come to think of it…you know how he always eats lunch in the office? It’s always a salad. And always the same kind of salad. This guy survives on one cup of coffee and one spinach salad a day. Maybe he really isn’t human.”

They build out their wealth of knowledge and come to learn that Admiral Kazansky is defined by his extremes, by what he always does and what he never does. Admiral Kazansky gets his uniforms dry-cleaned every week, though he never spills anything on them. No one has ever seen Admiral Kazansky stumble over his words while giving a speech, or trip over a sidewalk curb, or push a “pull” door. He is always polite and never friendly. Sometimes he is cold, and sometimes he is cruel in his patience with you when you’ve fucked up, like a cat toying with a hemorrhaging mouse. But he never raises his voice. He is always immaculately put-together, well-groomed, constructed every day like a product on an assembly line. Nothing is ever out of place. Allegedly his umbrella once turned inside-out during a rainstorm; he disdainfully shook it once, as a hunter might pump a loaded shotgun, and it flipped itself right-side-in again. The laws of physics do not seem to apply to him. Nor do the natural embarrassments that come with being human. Admiral Kazansky is never flustered, never harried, and never falls apart.

“I found this old picture of him shaking hands with another pilot on the Internet,” says Chief Warrant Officer Kent in Admiral Kazansky’s second year. “Smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Never seen him smile like that in all my years working with him. And he had frosted tips, too. Like Guy Fieri on a diet and steroids. It was the eighties, sure, but it’s like he knew how to have fun, once upon a time. Wonder what happened to him.”

“I feel lonely for him sometimes,” says Commander Stoddard. “Strict guy like that, no family, no friends, no wife, nothing to live for but the Navy? He’s like a workhorse with blinders on. Nowhere to go but forward. That’s a lonely existence.”

“Not if you’re a robot,” says Lieutenant Commander Hartford. “I swear, sometimes he breathes and it makes me jump, ‘cause I forgot he was alive!” —What else doesn’t Admiral Kazansky do?

That’s when they realize that none of them, not the old guard nor the new, has ever, not once, ever seen or heard Admiral Kazansky sneeze.

And they all finally give up the game and quit arguing and agree that, no, he really isn’t human after all. He must be some cyborg from the future sent to whip the Pacific Fleet into shape, and you can’t ask for too much humanity from someone who’s doing a pretty damn good job of it.

The rumors start soon after that. Jokes that could get them all tossed out of the Navy, but probably won’t. Jokes that accidentally spread like wildfire.

Yes, Admiral Kazansky could be a cyborg, but he also could be a Mormon fundamentalist, or a Scientologist, or a really weird Catholic. Maybe he goes home to San Diego so often because in his spare time he’s really a mule ferrying cocaine across the Mexi-Cali border. That’s what he does for fun. He eats spinach salads because he’s a reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man, and he needs all the super-strength he can get to deal with the Navy’s modern-day bullshit.

“I don’t know if that story makes sense,” laughs Captain Calvert on the phone with her husband in Washington, “but it makes more sense than the real Admiral Kazansky does!”

So the rumors get spread around.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Maverick comments, watching Ice make their bed from the relative comfort of the bedroom doorway, “or if I should tell you this, because you might crack down on it, which would be a shame, ‘cause it’s funny. But every time you send a mass e-mail to the Pacific Fleet commissioned officer corps, you become the main topic of conversation between all of us officers for a solid day and a half.”

“Oh?” says Ice with a smile, struggling to fit the last corner of the fitted sheet to the mattress. He sighs, tugs on the strings of his old ratty-ass hooded sweatshirt, and looks at Maverick balefully through his glasses. “Help me out over here, would you? —What are people saying? All good things, I hope.”

“Not really,” Maverick says, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he stares out the window into the San Diego sunshine. “Some pretty crazy shit, actually. Hard as hell for me to keep a straight face. I heard this one—you know, people are saying you eat nothing but salads?”

“Oh,” laughs Ice, hospital-cornering the free sheet. “Yeah, that one’s kind of true. I bring salads in to the office sometimes.”

“You hate salads.”

“I know, it’s torture! Move over.” He bumps Maverick out of the way to tuck in the last corner. “But, I figure, if a man torments himself with spinach-and-arugula salads three times a week, you ought to respect his commitment. It’s all an act. You get to a certain Defense Department paygrade, it all starts being storytelling and stagecraft.”

“Or trickery and deception, depending on how you look at it.”

“Sure. But you could say that about everything. —Besides, I’d rather the Navy discuss my salads than discuss… well, this.” He gestures to Maverick, then down to the bed. They start tugging the comforter over it together. “How much slack you got over there?”

“‘Bout a foot.”

Ice pulls his side down a couple more inches to match, then flips the top up. “Is that it? That’s all people are saying about me?”

Maverick grins and bends down to pick up a pillow. “They’re also saying that you’re the reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, and all that. Think fast.”

Ice doesn’t think fast, and the pillow hits him square in the face, and he laughs again as he catches it in his arms. “Shit, that’s good,” he says; “I was just about to call Slider, think I’ll tell him that one. That’ll make him laugh. Popeye Iceman.” He tosses the pillow onto the made-up bed and pulls out his cell phone, but—then he frowns, grimaces, mutters “Ah, no,” and turns away to sneeze.

[saltysunflowersugar]

I don't care that my first post about this AU was just a few hours ago, I already made the character designs for the choir members

Some design notes:

• I gave the Onceler a thneed around his neck

• I made Alastor a human since In canon, he only has deer features because he's in Vivziepop hell where everyone becomes a furry when they die, but since RTC's afterlife doesn't do that, I figured it wouldn't make sense to give him real deer ears and a tail, so I just gave him an amylered headband, as for why his left eye is gray, that's because he usually has a monocle there but I didn't feel like giving him a monocle so I just made him blind in that eye

• ALL OF WALLY'S LITTLE PAINT SPLATTERS!!!!! also, I think his crutches turned out pretty good considering this is my first time drawing someone with them

• It took my forever to get John Doe's snow leopard plushie to look good, both the head and the body

• this is also my first time drawing any of these characters, and I gotta say, I did pretty good

[omanatascha]

(via GIPHY)

[sotiredimbored]

mutual appreciation post

what i would get everyone for the holidays(not christmas bcuz holidays)

if this is basic asf i apologize i am currently exploding <3

also if i forgot you i am so soryr i forgive me please i am afraid(maybe im afraid of you and youre too cool)

@sweetest-thing-in-hell ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you an album (soryr i dont know you well but sabrina carpenter)

@mintbecrazy ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a camera like a vintage one

@woahg-i-am-thoroughly-confused ˋ°•*⁀➷ its your bday soon !! sorry mention of bdays anywho i would get you alien stage merch because i think you like that

@apjofan ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a mug that says "it will all be ok"

@emdabitchass ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you pjo merch

@just-another-starry-dreamer ˋ°•*⁀➷ at the comis store in the mall i always go to theres a litlte sign that says i am an unpaid therapist and id get you that

@that-willowtree ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you bsd things

@starkissed-mars ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would give you a fucking hug bc i fele as though you need one(if ur ok with hugs)

@here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a book of robert frosts poetry because yes

@asters-tempo ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you art supplies(praying you dont think this is basic)

@stars-taylorsversion ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would write you marauders things(soryr i dont know you superly yet)

@rins-batcave ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would give you a wallows album

@deadatthealtar ˋ°•*⁀➷ ride the cyclone merch

@circe-butbetter ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would write you fanfiction

@emilem-forevermore ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a hoodie that says "all my friends think im amazing"

@racc00ning ˋ°•*⁀➷i would get you something from epic(idk if theres merch but)

@aidens-ocean-galaxy ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you yellow jackets things and let you rant to me more about them because yes

@calypso10191 ˋ°•*⁀➷ CAL MY FRIEND i would get you airplane tickets to visit anyone you want

@seekmemystar ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a greek painting(the vibes trust trust)

@thestrawberryapologist ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you that ring that expands into an angel

@planetjinko ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you all the tbhk books

@a-t1r3d-b1s3xual ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a laptop bcuz i know you want one

@moku-and-his-madness ˋ°•*⁀➷ getting you merch of tsuchigomori(i spelled it wrong didnt i)

@serialkilluh-1996 ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a red button that screams(trusttrust)

@arandombiped ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you alice oseman merchandise

@demigod-jack-hearth ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you hestia paintings

@blizzardtheartisticfox ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you hermitcraft things

@choucon ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a star pin(badly drawn) that says "your did it"

@xx-neuro-xx ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you tally hall album

@kermit-the-fag-official ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a kermit puppet

@pearl-div3r ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would write you epic shit

@fishcow99 ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you newsies stuff

@hershey-not-the-chocolate-maybe ˋ°•*⁀➷ i woud get you arcane shit

@kunikisss ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you call of duty things because i think you like that

@kawaiibarty ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a record player idk trust

@butch-marauders ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a girl in red album

@sunsets-are-my-universe ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a break(you need one lets be real)

@mun-urufu ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a mug that i made

@raeprise ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you spn things

@k-is-for-potassium ˋ°•*⁀➷i would get you a banana for the funny

@yourlocalbadgerscales ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you taylor swift merch

@stqrgirl3 ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a star mirror

@you-will-never-be-satisfied ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a hamilton advent calender

@whydousernamesevenexist ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would give you one of my old peanuts comic books from like the 1950s n shit

@aesthetic-writer18 ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would give you WRITING MOTIVATION WOO

@klondyke-the-bearˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a stuffed animal

@funz1es ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you oil painting sets becauz i think it would be good for you

@themortalityofundyingstars ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you sunflower seeds

@lifegoalsofafish ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you tcgf things( i hope thats how it works)

@garden-of-runar ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a cotton candy machine(its off vibes)

@gasolinehornet ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you tickets too a movie you want

@stars-on-my-bedroom-ceiling ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would give you a childrens book

@definitionoffuckup ˋ°•*⁀➷ i would get you a tea packet(trust is this a shit gift perhaps)

if youd like to be removed from this lmk !!

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 18: Unleashed

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.7k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

CW: Chapter gets dark - please be cautious

A howling tempest is whistling in your ears, muffling your ability to think clearly. A biting frost permeates your body, seeping into your bones and desiccating and fragmenting them. Although it’s agony, there is a peculiar pleasure in the descent into exile. The wraith strums a ghostly lullaby, like harpies enthralment, that encourages you to close your eyes and float away in the cyclone. 

Your lashes flutter as you resist the temptation to let your dimming eyes shut. Icy vines braid and curl up your spine and caress your brainstem, coercing you to allow yourself to be devoured. 

It sounds so easy, so serene, like the bottom of that dark lake where everything was wondrously still, still, still. 

It starts slow, snowflakes fluttering through the irises of your dying eyes, each one descending to your soul. The first flakes melt and sizzle like drops of water touching a hot surface, but the barrage increases, and the fire within cannot sustain the onslaught. 

Your very spirit is being doused, and it throbs as your psyche is pelted with sharp hail, chilling you to your very core and numbing you of your will to fight. The melody of violent winds, ice, and snow is rapturous, a perverted sonata that you long to get on your knees and recite. 

You want it to sweep you away, sedate you, and submerge you gently into that final eternal night. It promises to remedy the heavy emptiness, and you pine for the feeling of not feeling at all. There is no drowning it out, no resolve to struggle, and the glacier you’re tripping on has cracks. There are tears creeping out of your eyes, turning to ice pellets as they hail down your cheeks.

Yes! Yes! The voice warbles as everything goes dark. Let go.  

The crevice between your feet collapses, and you’re plunged into the frigid abyss. You fall down, down, down, until you find yourself in a barren whitescape with nothing but snow in all directions. Jagged icebergs the size of mountains jut impossibly high into the grey-blue sky and drift erratically with surreal speed, making them look like teeth trying to saw through the horizon. 

The cold is lethal as it forms ice crystals in your lungs when you try to breathe, and even though your breath is as cold as death itself, it billows in misty clouds when you exhale. You try to suppress the urge to breathe so the biting cold can’t nip at your throat, lungs, and nostrils, but it’s hard when your jaw quakes and you’re nearly crippled by shivers. 

You wade through the waist-deep snow in this hellish, frostbitten land. It’s difficult to form coherent thoughts as you feel yourself freezing to death. Your ability to move is quickly being confiscated as your limbs stiffen. Your skin is wind-burnt and blistering, cracking like dry firewood. 

You will die here, or perhaps you’re already dead — you do not know. 

An enormous shadow passes over the landscape, blotting out the meager light the dark, cloudy sky provides, but your neck will not crane to look up. 

The terrain shudders under your feet as something immense lands just out of sight. Powdery snow is belched into the air like a puff of wafting smoke. When was the last time you were able to blink? Your eyes cannot focus quite right. The muscles in your face strain to war against the thin layer of ice accumulated on your skin.

A looming figure takes shape in the snow drifts, coming toward you, making the ground under your feet tremble with every step. It seems to shake an iota of sense back into your senseless body, and you find yourself taking steps toward the silhouette. 

A dragon emerges from the squall; five chromatic heads in all colours rear up on regally serpentine necks to evaluate you. Their nostrils flare, shooting vapour into the air with every breath. The scales reflect the low light and appear almost prismatic, with strips of bluish-green, purple, and grey, glassy-smooth, running down the massive body and merging into a bronze that covers a long tail, tipped with a stinger. 

Each head moves individually, sinuously slithering through the air until each one is poised close to your body. They are massive, each with maws twice the size of your body and flaming eyes of all different colours that examine you intently. 

Their jaws open, revealing long, tapered teeth and forked tongues, and their hot breath wreathes you, dispersing the ice in your veins and biting frost in your muscles. 

Although the figure does not seem to speak, you hear an alluring voice in your head. It is bewitching and gently ethereal. “Do you know me, child of night and dragons?” 

Why you recognize the voice and why it soothes you is unclear, but it awakens your soul, sparking the white-hot blaze of your being roaring back to life with a vigour you have not felt for what feels like centuries. 

“Tiamat.”

The dragon’s lips pull back, baring her teeth in a viscous smile. She opens her mouth and blows her scalding breath over you. “You do not belong in this realm, night stalker.” 

The ice accumulated on your hair melts away, leaving it limp, wet, and sticking to your cheeks. Drops of water rain from your scalp, down your face, dripping off your lashes. 

“I am lost. He is lost. We are lost.” 

“Lost, thou say?” Timat’s laughter sounds like a celestial chorus that the stars themselves dance to. “Thou hast just been found. Wake, bloodkin, return to your realm, and seek the Lord of Lies. He shall hark thy plea.” 

Tiamat rears her scarlet-scaled head, unhinging her jaw like a snake, with the ominous white glow of Hellfire scintillating in her throat. You reflexively take a step backward, putting your hands up to shield yourself as the white, molten flames burst. 

Nothing survives Hellfire. 

Her voice serenades. “Burn bright, child of night, blood of dragons. 

The flames swim through the air with a crackle, enveloping you in a tornado of light so bright that you wonder if your eyes will be reduced to ash. You’re thrust off your feet, plunging you back into the abyssal depths you fell into, and careening directionless at an unfathomable pace. 

You see yourself floating in a black, bottomless netherworld. The impression of movement halts you horizontally above your lifeless shape. Wake up; you want to scream, but you do not have a voice.  

You must claw your way out of this watery grave.

Reaching toward yourself, you find that the other version of you mirrors your movements. Your fingers touch, and her eyes — your eyes — snap open and glow white. The Hellfire swirls around you both and flares out like ghostly, liquid flames in the shape of wings that curl around and fuse into you. 

In a rush, you’re shot like a meteor, rocketing through planes of existence and bending time itself. 

Your eyes flick open to see Rhapsody poised above your chest, the polished silver blades glinting in the candlelight. With a hard, inhumane scowl on his face, Astarion's lifeless eyes are fixed on you, the light obliterated by insanity. Rhapsody whistles through the air, plunging straight for your static heart. 

Something beckons you to wield it — something new yet ancient, both familiar and unknown. When you reach out and grasp it, a blinding light is released from you in a destructive shockwave. Astarion cries out, staggers back, and rubs his eyes furiously. 

“You petulant little shit!” He barks, his voice oozing revulsion and vitriol. “You will not leash me — you cannot leash me! I created you, and I will destroy you!” 

Try as you might, you cannot get your feet to move as your mind fails to construct a viable strategy. You will not survive a battle with him, and you can’t imagine you will get too far even if you flee. Astarion shakes his head, blinking rapidly. His eyes coast around the room, unfocused, and his arms reach out, fingers grasping blindly. 

He cannot see.

It’s only a matter of time before he heals, but it does give you a chance. You must make a decision quickly. Astarion cocks his head, growling like a feral animal with his lips pulled back in a snarl, trying to listen for your position. As soon as you move, he will be able to pinpoint your location. 

You know what you must do, but you don’t want to do it. Furthermore, you don’t know if you have time to do it before he regains his sight. 

Casting Misty Step, you bolt into your room, rifling through your drawers until you come across the scroll you need and stash it. Astarion is in the hall, and you quickly cast Gust of Wind to push him off balance and snatch Rhapsody from his grip before he has time to right himself. 

“Fool,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he lunges toward you. “I need no implements to end you. I will tear your limbs from your body as easily as wings are torn from a fly.” 

You cringe at his tone — so cold, so unfeeling, so full of loathing. You sprint to the door, throwing it open and hurtling down the streets. Glancing back, you make sure Astarion is following you. His eyes remain aimless and restless in their sockets, and he moves erratically and only when he hears you. 

“Astarion!” You call out, making sure you’re far enough away that you have time to make it to the next target in this death race. 

He barrels toward your voice, fingers clawing through the air as you reappear at the next point, calling out again and again and again, keeping yourself always just out of reach, until the Crimson Palace looms out of the darkness. 

You sprint for it, throwing yourself through a window. The glass lacerates your skin, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Astarion scents the air and races toward you. You tense your muscles like Astarion has taught you, roll back onto your feet, and dash through the halls toward your target. 

Astarion is quickly gaining on you, hunting you through the halls with the finessed movements of an apex predator. His movements become more fluid, and you know he’s starting to get his sight back. 

You are running out of time. 

Veering left and hurling yourself down the steep staircase, you narrowly avoid his clutch. 

“Oh, I have missed this, my little treat,” he taunts. “Chasing you around these halls, teaching you all sorts of delightful lessons. Do you remember my lessons, pet? Oh, how I loved the way you screamed.” 

Of course, you remember his lessons vividly. The tortures and torments he subjected you to in the name of taming his unruly spawn, making you a perfect, pretty arm piece to dazzle and delight his opponents while he carried out his twisted ambitions.

And oh, how you screamed and begged for death. 

And oh, how he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

The corridor is like running headfirst into a dark tunnel with no light at the end. The air is musty, and the only sounds are your battering footsteps and the drumming of Astarion’s rapid heartbeat. Your eyes skip over the wall, searching for the invisible wall, and whirl, running through the illusion and into the dank, stone-brick room. 

The kennels.

Your prison stands empty and desolate — the cage he had constructed just for you.

He had been so proud of himself when he commissioned this cell to be built with its chains, restraints, and locks too complex to use Knock on. You swallow thickly, forcing the memories down as Astarion enters. 

“Ah,” he smiles menacingly, strolling in casually. “It’s good to be home. Isn’t it? I must say, I’m surprised that you would lead me here of all places. Did you miss my expert administration? I shall remedy that.” He tsks, clicking his tongue as if chastising a child. “I can deny you nothing, after all.” 

Luring him into the cell was an easy enough feat, but you’ve run out of time. Astarion can see, but by the way his eyes are narrowed, you don’t think completely. 

“Astarion.” Tears slip out of your eyes as your fears well up. “Please come back. Don’t make me do this.” 

He sneers with a wide, eerie Cheshire grin. “I am Astarion no longer, but you know that, don’t you? He drowns.” Astarion points to his head. “In here. I am devouring him, making him rot from the inside out until the pest is conveniently lost. I will exhaust his light. He slips away from you, even now.” 

You lash out with the Weave, casting Hold, but he dodges your attack with a fleet movement to the side and slams into you before you have time to recover. You’re thrown to your stomach on the stone floor, his boot pressed into your back, leaning his weight on you. 

“Stay,” he commands, and you’re immobilized as the compulsion branches out in your mind and twists through your muscles. You cannot see the self-satisfied smile on Astarion’s face, but it’s evident in his voice as he purrs. “Good girl.” 

Astarion leans down, grabs Rhapsody from your hand, and chuckles. “We could have had it all, love. Power, wealth, pleasure — if only you would have just fallen in line, been obedient, but you were always an obstinate little cunt, weren’t you?” 

Astarion lowers himself, sitting on your legs and squeezing your arms to your sides with his knees settled on either side of you. You cannot speak, and the only sounds that make it out of your mouth are strangled whimpers. 

The pointed tip of Rhapsody presses into your back, not yet hard enough to break through skin, and you think you know what’s coming. He will plunge the dagger into your heart.  

There would have been a time when your imminent demise would have brought you a sense of peace and relief. You’d sought an end to this nightmare often enough in the past year. Now, it’s only fear and the overwhelming feeling of failure that nestle in your chest. 

You try to conjure up happy memories. Astarion’s face lighting up in camp when you walked toward him, the walks through the forest in the dappled moonlight, the way he would slip into your tent and cuddle you when he thought you were fast asleep. 

You try to remember his eyes when he proposed, so vividly crimson, wistful, and happy. In that moment, you could have been just another madly in love couple. It all seemed so ordinary, so beautifully human, that you didn’t think about all that opposed the bright future he was offering.

I forgive you, you think, though the connection between you is sealed. I forgive you.

Thoughts move sluggishly through your head, as if getting caught on the sticky threads of spider webs. The cold metal bites into your skin. Slow and steady, Astarion carves into the flesh of your back with precise movements. The shock hits you first, realizing that he’s mimicking Cazador’s torture, and the pain soon follows. It feels obscure for a moment; your brain not able to conceptualize what’s happening. 

The shock wanes, and the sensation strikes with an intensity that makes you almost lose consciousness. Your limbs itch to scramble as your brain wails at your body to thrash. When your muscles don’t comply, everything swims around you as your psyche dissolves. 

“Ah-ah,” he tuts flatly as he focuses on the canvas before him. You can hear the blade cutting through your clothing, tearing and rending skin and muscles alike. “Stay with me, darling, and no going into shock either. I want you to feel the art of it.” 

Astarion’s compulsion takes hold, and you’re alert, all your nerves aroused and buzzing back to life at his behest. It is a mind-obliterating kind of torture. If you were able to writhe, you’re not even sure your body would, as you lose sight of the ability to consider how to get it to stop. A bone-deep nausea overwhelms you, and your mind is seized by the white-hot agony mutilating your flesh. 

He mumbles as he whittles away at your back. “I may not be the same man, but I do have most of his memories. Do you want to know a secret he keeps from you? Do you remember the first time we had sex in that forest? He loathed every second of it. Every one of your pretty little moans made him want to retch. It disgusted him — you disgusted him. How easy you were.”

The pain frays the edges of your mind as your husband, your lover, sketches a tapestry of heartache into you with his words and dagger. Every drag of the blade is like an artist's brushstroke, and your blood is the watercolour of his unspeakable masterpiece. 

“Oh my,” he croons with feigned empathy. “Wherever are my manners? You may speak, my love.” 

As soon as your lips are no longer stitched shut by his compulsion, an insensate wail erupts from your throat. It rebounds off the walls and echos, cutting through the silence like ghosts lamenting the torture this room has been witness to over the centuries. 

Astarion still talks, but his words are just another hum flowing over your ears but never sinking in. 

You don’t know what prompts you to laugh, but you do so bitterly and madly. Your own laughter is so hollow that, at first, you’re not sure if it is you until words start to form between the hysterical mirth. “I am fucking coming for you. I will defy the Gods to save him, and I cannot wait to make you choke on my light.” 

The dagger punctures deeper, through muscle and into bone, you’re quite sure, and another hoarse, harrowing cry is loosed from your lips. 

 “Yes, sing.” 

For me.

He’s said this to you many times in this room, a haunting mirror of Cazador, and you wait for him to finish, but nothing comes. The knife carving your back stills, and Astarion’s heartbeat goes from being steady and rhythmic to clattering with such intensity that you cannot tell if it’s skipping beats or beating so rapidly that the sound just merges into one thundering call. 

“Illyria?” The blade buried deep in your muscles begins to tremble, no longer the steady-handed glide, and you wince as it vacillates your raw nerves. It clatters to the floor abruptly. “By the Gods. What have I done?” 

Astarion throws himself off you, his back thudding into the back wall of the hellish cell so hard it knocks the breath from his lungs in a wheeze. The compulsion pales, receding from your mind, and your body shakes uncontrollably as shock starts to set in.  

Your mind wants to slip away, your eyesight blurred by the tears welled in your eyes that you were unable to shed without permission, but you force yourself to focus. The muscles in your arms tremble violently as you aim to push yourself up to your feet, but you only make it to your knees before the pain makes your body wrack, dry heaving between fitful sobs. 

A noise between a croak and a gasp hiccups from Astarion. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide with horror. His hand covers his mouth, and his still-flickering eyes brim with tears. You stare at him, wanting to speak and tell him it’s okay, but instead you ravenously take in every feature of your Astarion to try to rid yourself of the cold countenance of the man who flayed your back. Your eyes focus on every soft feature, on the lustre of those wide, mortified eyes and the rampant fear in them. 

You have not yet decided if you want to run from him or crawl into his arms, kiss him, hold him, and tell him everything will be okay, but his eyes still rock between dimness and lucidity. 

“Stay with me, Astarion,” you choke out, begging him not to go, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

“Oh Gods. Oh Gods.” His voice breaks, cracking and tight with emotion. 

Astarion looks around frantically, and you see the recognition of this room, but also the confusion with the concrete walls and barred door surrounding him. He may never have seen this cage, or if he did, you imagine he would not know what purpose it served. 

He’s unsteady on his feet as he reaches for the shackles hanging from the wall and snaps them around his wrist, clicking each padlock into place with a hiss as the silver manacles burn his skin. 

“You have to get away from me. I will kill you. The darkness, I cannot walk away. I am—“ 

You see the moment he loses himself again, the flickering light in his eyes dying out like a cooling ember. You grab the dagger, stumble out of the cage, and slam the door closed. You remove the scroll from your pocket and unravel the parchment with shaking fingers, leaving bloody prints all along the edges. 

The incantation flows quickly, but precisely, off your tongue as you recite it. The words glow golden, float into the air, and the scroll vanishes. The blue-white shimmer of Arcane Lock encompasses the cell door. 

Astarion hauls on the restraints, testing their strength with a calculating look at the locks. The shackles are made for you, thick chains braided together to make sure you could not escape, and locks too complex for any spell. The silver in the manacles is meant to weaken, but there’s no knowing if it will affect him in the same way it did you. He observes the incandescence pulsing around the door. 

His deathly, cold eyes peer at you through the darkness. “Clever, clever girl. What’s to stop me from just compelling you to dispel it?”

“You’re welcome to try, but it won’t work. Only a Wizard has the ability to suppress this spell.” Your silver tongue lies perfectly and effortlessly. 

A silence stretches out between you for what feels like an eternity before he sinks into the darkness of the cell. His voice is unnerving. “It’s only a matter of time before I get free. Enjoy what little time remains of your life.” 

You nod curtly and stride out of the room. Closing the door to the kennels, you bolt through the halls to Astarion’s old study and pull out all the drawers until you find the ring of keys that he kept well away from you. You descend the stairs back down into the hall, terrified that you will see Astarion standing in the dark, but it remains empty. You shove keys shakily into the lock until one finally spins with a satisfying click. 

It’s a pointless endeavour. If Astarion escapes, he can break the door down, but it gives you some small sense of comfort to know there’s another barrier between you and that monster wearing Astarion’s face.  

You’re not sure what you will do if he gets curious and compels you to let him go. There was no time to plan quite that far in advance, but for now, he seems to have accepted that you cannot dispel it. 

You can do nothing but pray that his ignorance of the arcane arts still holds true. 

The walls themselves seem to brood at your presence and press in on you. You drop to your knees on the floor, and the open wounds on your back flood you with fresh agony with every movement. You would whimper, perhaps scream, but the thought of giving Astarion the satisfaction makes you grind your teeth and dive deep into the solitude and silence. 

The silver shackles burn your wrists and ankles and drain your strength. The rough stone blocks grate at the skin on your back like sandpaper, but at this point, it’s almost a welcome sensation.  

How long have you been shackled now? Weeks? Months? You cannot seem to keep your grip on reality these days. Sometimes you think you hear voices outside of your cage in the darkness. Seven thousand souls tell you that you deserve this, that you brought this upon yourself, and that you should rot in here for eternity as they will rot in the Hells. All true, true, true, you think, and you let it hurt until that too stops.  

Hunger has become an all-consuming, mind-numbing pain. Bloodlust is such a complex patchwork of sensations. It is a pain of pressure, of maturing, of constantly growing larger, larger, larger until your limbs cramp and jerk. You want nothing more than to die before your body can twist itself into excruciating positions and lock up on you, and even then, the hunger grows.  

You cannot die from starvation any longer. This pain will only ever increase. Every second, the burbling acid in your stomach seems to burn hotter in the pit, an agony that often makes you whimper and weep.  

At least you are not entirely alone. You can hear the bugs, feel them clambering against your naked skin. Sometimes they are light; others are heavier, with chitinous shells and legs that prick. They chitter and clatter their pincers together. Sometimes they bite between your toes, climb over your face, and through your hair. You don’t have the energy to brush them away, and so you don’t.

You have not yet decided if you might try eating them.

You haven’t moved — not so much as a twitch of a finger — in what must be weeks. It goes on and on and on until you’re very sure that this is all you will ever know for the rest of your immortal life. 

Hunger, pain, loneliness, and bugs.

And then you hear the lock click, and you squint your eyes against the dim light of the candle that is set just out of your reach. You smell brandy and rosemary, and your lower lip quivers. You bite it to stop it from giving away your emotions.

“Don’t do that.” Astarion says, “Is that how you want me to see you for the first time in weeks, pet? Weak?”  

Weeks… Is that all it’s been? It felt like years. 

You hate that you are relieved to see him, happy to hear the devil's voice, and smell home, even if this home burns down around you even now.  

Astarion grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces you to look into his dead eyes. “I bet you’re starving. Hm?” He grins sadistically, turning it into a fake pout. “I do not like to see that look upon your face. Worry not. I’ve brought you dinner.”  

He twists and grabs a silver bucket, turning it over and letting a dead, decaying rat splat on the floor beside you. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of it. It’s been dead for some time, and you can see and hear the maggots writhing underneath its rotting pelt.  

But Gods, you are so hungry.  

When you don’t immediately go for the rat, Astarion grabs your restraints and tugs hard, making your raw, blistered wrist light ablaze, and you whimper. “What? Not good enough? You ungrateful bitch. I lived on this diet for two hundred years.”  

He kicks the rat forward. “Eat it. Now.”  

“Please,” you croak weakly. Your voice has not been used in a while, and it sounds odd in your ears. “Please, Astarion. Don’t do this. I’ll behave. I’ll do whatever you want, but please.”  

“I said.” Astarion grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your face in the mushy corpse, rubbing your nose in it like a pup who has had an accident in the house. “Fucking eat it.”  

With its putrid guts already spread across your face, you sob as you bite down into it, your fangs sinking into fetid flesh and stinking muscles, and feed.  

It is worse than you thought it ever could be. Your mouth is filled with bits of congealed blood, but mostly puss and death and decay, and you swallow it down because you have no other choice.  

“Gods,” Astarion grunts with his lips curled in disgust. “Hush now. You are terribly ugly when you cry, darling.”  

You don’t dare trance and instead remain still and soundless, with only the pain igniting your being keeping you company. Fear keeps you rooted to the floor on your knees. Fear that if you leave, he will not be here when you return. Fear that if you dare move, he will strike from the shadows. Fear that you wasted too much time, and he is truly gone. 

Fear. Fear. Fear. 

Fear so sharp that you can feel it enclosing around you, squeezing the air from your lungs, making it feel incomprehensibly thin. Even though you do not need it, you try to gulp it down in shallow breaths, but there is no relief from the fear or the depravation that still strangles you.

You long to feel the connection with Astarion so you can stop feeling so boundlessly empty and alone. How easily you can get used to having another presence always at the back of your mind. It was comforting to know he was always there, nothing more than a thought or feeling away, but now that comfort too has been ripped away.  

Sometimes you think you feel him touching your mind, but the sensation is fickle, like the wings of an insect tickling with soft, fluttering whispers. 

There is no time to remain in this state of dejection, and yet you wallow in it. Perhaps you should not have told him, and this is your fault, but perhaps it was only a matter of time. 

Nothing good ever seems to last.

You need help, but anyone who aids you will be in grave peril. Getting to your feet is a monumental effort; the scabs of the raw mosaic on your back split and reopen anew. You wonder what he sculpted into your flesh. What scars will you carry for eternity? It’s not like you will ever be able to see them, but maybe that’s a blessing. 

You let yourself back into the kennels and force yourself to face him. There is a fleeting hope that when you light the candles, your husband's warm scarlet eyes will be what you see, but that, too, is another disappointment.  

Astarion’s eyes remain almost matte, like once-polished rubies forgotten and dulled by the patina of time. 

He sits on the floor, his arms resting on his bent knees, and watches you with a keenness that makes you shudder. You hold his stare. You will not be shy or meek. You cannot afford to show such weakness. 

“Why?” Your voice is hoarse, clipped, and unsteady. 

“Why what, pet?” 

You ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind since you walked out of this wretched place — since he allowed you to walk out of this place. “Why didn’t you kill me?” 

“Last night?” He snickers. “I wanted to hear your angelic cries once more before I—“ 

“No,” you bark, cutting him off. “Not last night. Why didn’t you kill me before? You had every opportunity. There was no one here to stop you.”

Astarion leans forward, making the chains rattle. There is a gleam in his eye, those perfect lips pulling back into a cruel smile. “Because I love you, of course.” 

You almost want to laugh, as if he’s just told you a hilarious joke, but there is a resoluteness in his voice, a matter-of-fact intonation, that tells you that this is a truth to some extent.  

Even this version of him, this soulless, fragmented rendition, loves you in his own twisted way. 

It also indicates what you fear most: that this monster before you is still Astarion, and the only thing that stands between your Astarion and this one is the tattered remains of whatever is left of his soul. 

If you fail in your quest and run out of time, this hateful, power-hungry savage will replace the man you knew. What would you do? Every atom of your being longs for him. If you cannot be his saviour, will you languish in the dark with him if only to keep him company? Would you be capable of hating him — killing him — if need be? 

You wish to believe yourself resilient enough to roll your betrayal, sadness, and anger into loathing to release you from this self-flagellating love, but you know you will never be able to. There is still a soft part of your heart harbouring hope that if you keep getting up every time he knocks you down, if you keep fighting, there might be a happy ending at the end of this cluster fuck. 

Or perhaps it is only your ending that awaits you at the finish line. 

“That was quite a fancy trick,” Astarion drones, tearing you away from your thoughts. “Blinding me.”

You don’t bother answering before leaving him alone, locking the door uselessly behind you once again, and making your way to the main floor of the palace. The dust has settled in a thick blanket on the furniture, with cobwebs stretching out in every corner and between the slender candles in their opulent candelabra. It makes the atmosphere of this palace of nightmares all the more foreboding. 

“Mizora!” You call out, knowing the cambion is ever watchful. 

The air heats, smelling of sulphur and brimstone, and the oily blot opens up on the floor. Mizora’s fluid form arises, wings unfurling with her usual flair. 

“That was quite the show last night.” She smirks with fangs peeking out of her lips. “Stupid, pet. Very stupid.” She sports a faux pout. “I thought you much wiser.” 

“I’m not interested in your chastisement.” You cross your arms and immediately regret the way your shoulder blades stretch your injured skin, bringing fresh tears to your eyes. “Tell Shadowheart to meet me here.” 

“What do I look like to you? A messenger pigeon?” Mizora tsks haughtily. 

“If you want me to kennel Mephistopheles, you’re going to do as requested.” 

Mizora huffs indignantly, stretching her wings out and jutting her chin up. You stare at her unyieldingly, not allowing your face to display your uncertainty, pain, or fear. 

“Fine. Fine.” She huffs, waggling her clawed fingers at you. “I will fetch your darling little Cleric.”

Once Mizora disperses, you head straight for the library. It’s one of the bigger rooms, lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases that are brimming with all kinds of tomes and books, ranging in age from new to ancient. Your fingers and eyes flit over the titles as quickly as you can, looking for anything even remotely related to infernal contracts, deals with devils, the nine Hells themselves, or arch devils. 

The knock on the palace door makes you jump, and you are cautious as you make your way through the latticework of halls and corridors, trying to light candles as you go so that the palace is less oppressive.

Unsurprisingly, it does little to help. 

When you finally tug the door open, you stay carefully behind it because you’re not sure if your sun protection has been rescinded, and you’re not interested in finding out. Shadowheart is waiting with her armour and weapons, arms crossed, and tapping her foot in the way she does when she’s either irritated or worried. 

“You sent Mizora to fetch me? What in the blazing Hells is going on?” She strides into the palace, dropping her pack at her feet and putting her hands on her hips. “Why are we here, and where’s Astarion?” 

Once the heavy door is shut and locked, you come out of the shadows where you’ve been hiding it. Even though you try to swallow them, tears weep from your eyes. “Astarion is downstairs. He’s locked up in the kennels.” 

“Locked in the kennels?”

Shadowheart finally turns to look at you, and her stern expression vanishes. Her brows round, her eyes widen, and she pulls you into a hug, unaware of the wounds on your back. You wince as her arm folds over the barely healed lacerations. Shadowheart tries to jump away when she feels the cool wetness of your blood against her hand, but you mutter pleas to stay. 

Eventually, when the bloodlust threatens to overwhelm, you let Shadowheart go. She stares at her blood-dappled hands and back at you. 

“Show me.” She instructs, but you hesitate. You don’t want to show her this. She might not be able to forgive Astarion, and if that’s the case, she might be more likely to try and kill him than help you save him. “Turn around, Illyria.” 

You do so slowly, with your head hung in defeat. Shadowheart’s heartbeat increases, and she gasps. 

“By the Gods! Did he do this to you!? Did that monster finally show his true colours?!” 

“You don’t understand,” you say quietly. “It’s not his fault. It’s not him.” 

“We have to get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

“No!” You yell, grasping her forearms and falling to your knees to beg. "Please, before you make any judgments on him, hear me out. Please, Shadowheart.”

“I... Ugh. Fine. Take off your shirt. We have to clean your wounds. Do you have any clothes here?” 

“Astarion might,” you mutter. “I can go look up in his room for something.” 

Shadowheart helps you carefully pull your shirt off, but it seems almost melded to your body, and it peels off some of the formed scabs as well. You can feel the blood dribble down your back. It scents the air with a coppery perfume, which makes your bloodlust surge. 

Shadowheart is quiet while she works on patting your wounds as gently as she can, trying to clean them, and using her healing magic again and again and again.  

You don’t have the heart to tell her which blade these were made with and why they will not heal. 

“These are not healing well.” She comments, almost perplexed. 

“They will heal in time.” 

Shadowheart accompanies you to Astarion’s old room, and you pull out drawers only to find most of them empty. The various wardrobes are the same, but you do manage to find one shirt that still resides here, apparently not good enough to be packed and taken with the others.

His old camp shirt. 

You slip it on; at least the fabric is soft and does not get caught on your wounds. It is, of course, much too large for you and likely looks beyond ridiculous, but it’s something at least. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Shadowheart says softly, her usual prickly demeanour nowhere to be seen.

So you do. You explain it all from top to bottom and back again. You tell Shadowheart about the way his mind sounds if you use Detect Thoughts; tell her about the version of him that lurks within; and about Mizora and Mephistopheles. 

You conveniently leave out the marriage proposal.

“Hells!” Shadowheart rubs her face. “I knew there was something we didn’t know about that godsforsaken Rite. Fuck. We were such fools. So the man in the kennels, the man that did that to you, is not Astarion?” 

 She means that you were a fool, but it matters not.

“He is Astarion,” you answer. “But he’s a version of Astarion that’s been corrupted. He’s not the Astarion we know.” 

“I want to see him - this version of him.” 

“It’s not a good idea.” You shake your head. “I don’t actually know how long it will hold him.” 

“How are we going to get our Astarion back?” Shadowheart says. “What’s brought him back before?” 

“Me,” you say, sitting and combing your fingers through your hair. “It’s usually me, but this time seems different. He came back for a moment, but he was gone again quickly.” 

“We’ll get him back, Illyria.” Shadowheart says it with a smile, but it’s forced. She squeezes your shoulder. “We will find a way, or he will.” 

You nod, “Until then, we need to learn everything we can about infernal contracts and how to negotiate them.” You rise from the chair with renewed determination. “I pulled some books from the library already. We can start there unless you know where to acquire more specific books.”

“What do you mean negotiate them?” Shadowheart retorts with her brows pinched. “Don’t we want to destroy the contract? I very much doubt Mephistopheles will be willing to renegotiate if it means putting a muzzle on him.” 

“Who said anything about Mephistopheles?” You grin wolfishly. “I’m going to negotiate new terms with the Lord of Lies.” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

It's been a while since we’ve seen this version of Astarion... We need our Astarion back!

Tiamat - Real or hallucination?

Lord of Lies - Bad idea? Most likely...

Posting a day early because it's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm not sure how drunk I'll be by the end of the day 🤣

[lieutenantfloyd]

A Wonderful Life - Cyclone x Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: After years of blissful marriage to your lovably stoic husband Beau, you think you have learned all there is to know about him. That is until you come home early from Christmas shopping and discover his best-kept secret.

Warnings: nothing but pure domestic fluff.

Authors Note: Merry Christmas and happy holidays, y'all!

Read on AO3

You hum softly as you unlock and push open the front door, arms heavy with bags full of presents from today’s Christmas shopping spree. It may be seventy degrees and sunny in San Diego, but that doesn’t stop your holiday cheer one bit. 

You kick off your shoes and set the bags in the entry way, the faint sounds of a movie playing on TV spilling into the room.  Your husband Beau rarely deviated from his routine, and that included working countless hours every week to ensure everything on base was up to his standards and running smoothly. A soft flash of worry shot through you as you wondered why he was home so early. Had something happened? Yet as you step further into your home, that worry melts into wintery confusion.

Beau sat stretched out on the couch, his expression as focused and stoic as ever as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. He hadn’t made notice of you yet, and with his reflexes that was a surprise. What was even more shocking, however, was the intensity of which he was watching the picture perfect couple competing in a gingerbread house competing. You blinked a few times, completely bewildered by the sight of your reserved and practical husband spending his rare bit of alone time watching a Hallmark Christmas movie.

You padded closer, newly bought gifts all but abandoned in the foyer behind you as you bite back a massive smile. He still hadn’t noticed you, his hands laced and resting against his ribs as if he was looking over schematics or watching one of those documentaries on the History channel he loved so much.

“Invested in the magic of Christmas miracles now, are we?” you tease gently, finally breaking the silence —and his heavy concentration.

Beau jumps at your voice, scrambling for the remote and grumbling under his breath as he realizes he’s been caught red handed.

“I didn’t you’d be home yet,” he mutters, pointedly shutting off the TV and turning to you with a mildly unimpressed look.

You spring forward, plucking the remote from his hand and clicking the power button once more, letting the sounds of the movie fill the air once again.

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Beau says with a scowl, his voice as deep and controlled as ever. He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to maintain a bit of his sternness that’s now been ruined by your early return.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you tease, dropping onto the couch and putting your legs over his lap. Your eyes go to the screen, watching in amusement as the main characters put the finishing touches on their opulent gingerbread house, the female lead focused on frosting while the—apparently grumpy—man watches her with a flicker of adoration in his eyes. 

“So, were you enjoying yourself?”

Beau groans, rubbing his temples as he gathers his defense. “I was flipping channels,” he says, a bit of resignation breaking through in his voice

“Sure honey,” you say, glancing back to him pointedly, “And if all of the options, this channel happened to be the one to catch your attention?”

Beau exhaled a half hearted sigh, looking at you with that mix of exasperation and affection he always wore around you.

“I don’t like being chastised over my viewing habits in my own home.”

You grinned triumphantly and leaned your head against his shoulder as he all but admitted to it, intentionally or not. 

He huffs again, knowing exactly what’s going through your mind but putting an arm around your waist and tugging you closer anyway.

“They’re ridiculous,” he grumbled, “there's no real stakes to the plot, everyone’s too happy,  and every problem gets solved with a snowball fight and a kiss.”

“Exactly,” you smile as you reach for his hand, “it’s fun, low stakes fluff to make you feel good.”

Beau glances at you, his hard expression softening just a hair. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away either. Instead, he shifts slightly, making more room for you and opening his blanket for you to cuddle up beside him. You take the invitation instantly, tucking her legs under the cover and snuggling up to his side with a soft hum.

“Okay,” you say with a grin after a few moments, “so what’s this one about?”

Beau sighs, but you don’t miss the shine of humor in his dark blue eyes.

“It’s the same as always. City girl is back in her hometown for Christmas and meets a guy with a failing business who for some reason or another needs a wife. They bake cookies and don’t communicate with each other, then kiss in the snow when they realize they’re—for some reason—head over heels in love two days after they first met.”

You laugh, putting a hand on his chest as your eyes drift to the screen, 

“And yet here you are, watching it.”

“You weren’t home,” he scoffs, leaning down to place a kiss to your forehead, “so I figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

“And your verdict?” You smile. 

“I plead the fifth,” he sighs, his voice low but his eyes warm as he sits back comfortably and glances over at you.

“Mhm,” you tease as the movie continues, “your secret is safe with me—though we both know you love a happy ending.”

Beau rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply. Instead, his arm draws tighter around you as the couple on screen shares their first kiss—in the snow, just like he predicted.

It wasn’t often that he let his guard down at all, but especially like this. You take note of the uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor he carries, as if now unbothered by the weight of the world, and lean into him on instinct. 

The soft glow of the Christmas lights he’d helped you string across the tree reflect over you both, and for a second he didn’t look like the no-nonsense man who took to even the smallest tasks with military precision. Right now he was just a man—fully content with life and with someone by his side who had always seen his good heart through his cold exterior—finally letting himself feel the spirit of the season.

taglist: @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @bella-law @callsignaries @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @paola-carter @barbiewritesstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @nyx2021 @teti-menchon0604 @kmc1989

[jackiequick]

Meeting your boyfriends sister | Hangman fanfic ✨

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Amber ‘Skysolo’ Kazansky

Timeline: Post-Top Gun Maverick

Summary: She didn’t think she would ever be nervous about something like meeting the family. She has done it plenty of times before but what happens you boyfriend Hangman Seresin’s sister comes to town?

Charcters mentioned: Elena "Enigma" Seresin, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado, Georgia “Peach” Wells and etc.

Top Gun Maverick AU

——

Amber Kazansky had been though a lot in her lifetime so far. From moving around as a child to different states to watching her aunt Carol die in her teens. Hell she has seen her father go through cancer and survive it.

She has seen friends break up, others get married and move on with their lives. So it was something she was fine with.

It was part of life, meeting people and trying to see if things worked. And if they did, you meet your lover’s friends. They get to meet your parents, seeing if they approve of your relationship.

But meeting her boyfriend’s sister? That was not one of them. So imagine her surprise when she founds out she’s in town for the weekend.

She. Was. Actually. Terrified! 

Yeah she Amber has met a boyfriend or two’s brother and sister in the past. But a naval base boyfriend’s siblings? Never. Jake Seresin was her first boyfriend to be a pilot and a damn good one. Sadly he wasn’t good at breaking news like this.

Because he decided to break the news right before they went to sleep the night before. He said he had something to tell over dinner but forgot about it. But he remembered it right before he turned off the bathroom light and jumped into bed with her.

And he said it so casually too! Like it was the most normal thing in the world?! She knew he had siblings but she wasn’t expecting for her to come over to visit her in the next 24 hours.

Which lead her to find herself roughly tapping her French tips against her desk the next morning. Biting the tip of her nail on one hand as the other typed away furiously on her keyboard. She was filing in information for her father. His assistant, Mindy, sent a small stack of paperwork for her transfer over into spreadsheets within the next couple of days.

She was so focused on her laptop screen, having Rocket Man playing from her speakers, that she didn’t hear friend come in.

Georgia smiled chatting with Bradley at the door as he gave one kiss goodbye before she walked in. She hung up her jacket and set her lunch down on table nearby, grabbing her laptop from the cart. She left it charging earlier beforehand.

“Hey Amber.” She said with a peachy grin on her face as she started rambling about her morning. It was the cutest thing. Her eyes fell onto the blonde who was only half playing attention to what happened, making the brunette pause in her tracks.

“Uhh, earth to Sky? Amber, honey? Hello?” Georgia asked, waving a hand in the air and sighed, “Kazansky!”

“Huh?! What? I’m here, sir!” She yelled snapping out of it, ripping her fingernails away from the tips of her teeths, “Oh, what’s up sweets?”

“I was talking to you and you weren’t listening. That’s what’s up! What’s going on? Your usually cracking a joke by now.”

“You know. I can be very busy, busy, busy bee!”

“Ha! No. That ain’t it. Your always on a semi-busy monthly schedule but this is different. What happened? Was it Rooster and Jen?”

“No..”

“Uhh, hmm. Did Coyote say something stupid again?”

“No he didn’t. Neil didn’t do anything either.”

“Ohh was it Cyclone’s girl Valkyrie?! She’s a tough cookie!”

“No it wasn’t. Nor was it anyone else like Frostbite.”

Georgia’s eyes widen and gasped, “You and Jake had a fight? What did his sorry southern ass to do you? I’ll talk to him. I’ll get Phoenix and Frost as my backup. No one hurts my girl and gets away with it!”

Amber couldn’t help but laugh as she leaned against her chair. Peach was such a doll sometimes. Always so sweet and charmingly spiritual with the way she carried herself. She tend to get nervous and annoyed sometimes but other than that she was well..a peach!

Honestly she needed that today. A laugh from a friend.

“That’s not exactly what Jake said…it wasn’t a fight! We didn’t fight each other for anything. Oh god, I’m sweating. I don’t like this.” Amber admitted with a soft chuckle.

“Oh god something is up if you’re sweating bullets out of nervous. Come on, spill it out!” Georgia encouraged with a certain look.

“I’m meeting my boyfriends older sister today!”

“OH MY GOD! That’s great. From what I received from past relationships, that’s a good thing. That means he likes you, a lot! I’m so happy for you!”

“Now is not the time to be supportive! I’m freaking out, what if she doesn’t like me? What if she hates me and tells Jake stop dating me?! Tell him to aim higher?! That I suck! Cause technically, it’s kinda my fault I put him on a death defining mission to come back to Top Gun. Oh god she’s gonna hate me!”

Georgia stood there with her jaw dropped onto the damn floor. This was one of the first time she ever seen Amber Nic Kazansky in such a frenzy. This woman was always cool, calm and collected from the moment she met her. Giving her advice, by saying if everything is okay and sending a message to everyone on deck she meant every word she ever said.

Yeah sure, she had her moments where she lost her cool like an X-Men during a fight with Wolverine or something. Living up to her callsigns. Like when Jake and Bradley were arguing in the classroom or when Cyclone refused to listen to her and Maverick during the missions they went on.

But this?!

Here she stood in her office freaking out over meeting the family. It was honestly kinda hilarious to her. If she wasn’t such a good friend she would’ve recorded this and sent this whole thing as a video to the group chat.

But honestly it was cute though. It reminded people like her that the Kazansky family was just as human as the rest of them.

It was Georgia turn to calm her down.

“Hey, Amber. Amber, honey look at me. Look at me. Good. Just relax you’re gonna be fine.” Georgia encouraged, holding her shoulders.

“Wh-how? Sorry. How did you react to meeting Jen? She’s practically like a sister to Rooster.” Amber replied, taking a breath.

“Yeah well, I was freaking out cause her dad is sorta a legit legend, but I found her that she’s a total goofball. So maybe eh-what’s her name?”

“Elena.”

“Right, pretty name. Maybe Elena is the same way, just some cool chick. So go on, your gonna be late.”

“But what if she doesn’t like me and Jake didn’t say anything about me? Oh god what if she hates blondes?”

“Ok, now your rambling. Relax, you just gotta prove why your the first Mrs. Hangman. That ring on your fingers means something, right?”

“Right. Right..i yeah, I got this.”

“You got this! Now go on, I have a meeting with Wraith now.”

“Okay but..”

She didn’t have a moment to say anything else because Georgia practically pushed her out the door. She could’ve sworn she’s rubbing off on the brunette with her actions. Amber relaxed her shoulders, she was right. Elena probably a cool girl, relaxed and lay back.

But she was also beauty.

She seen the picture of her last night before she went to sleep. She was stunning with beautiful long blonde hair, pretty eyes glowing like a goddess of the sun and a lovely smile that take someone’s breath away. From just her pictures she seemed like the best women in the world.

A ray of sunshine wrapped up in pretty dress.

Hell she wanted to date her!

The moment Amber entered the cafeteria, her heart stopped. She saw her.

God she was even prettier in person. Laughing in mid conversation with Frostbite—Rachel, chatting about god knows what. 

Elena was enjoying herself greatly. It made her smile.

Her outfit was so sweet, her smile was sung by as she laughed and her makeup made her shine.

Amber pushed her hair out of face walking over to the pair who sat at the table, chatting about they’re active services. Once she got closer she heard them a lot clearer.

“Oh stop it!” Elena said mid laugh waving her hand, “You’re the one who got her first air to air kill last week. You should be overjoyed! It’s amazing.”

“Ok it’s not as cool as you! Yeah sure, Jenny and Wraith encouraged me to do it but still.” Rachel added with a chuckle, “You have been to so many different places. That’s awesome.”

Both girls acknowledge her walking over to them.

Frost smiled sheepishly and chuckles, “Hey, have you met Elena? She’s new.”

“No, I haven’t.” Amber repiled with a soft smile turning to the blonde, “Hi.”

“Hey.” Elena said with a smile, “Nice dress.”

“T-thanks. So is yours, I love the pattern!”

“Thank you! I got it from H&M, big sale last month.”

Rachel got a phone call and realized it was one of their friends, excusing herself as she left with a small wave. That left both women to stand there awkwardly chuckling, before Elena realized what her was name again. She remembered her brother telling that her that his girlfriend worked here in the building.

She assumed this was her? But she could be wrong.

So she smiled pointing to the seat in front of her and said, “Sit. Please. Sorry I’m a little nervous, which is rare because I’m not like this.”

“It’s fine, I’m nervous too. Jake has told me about you.” Amber repiled with a smile, sitting down across from her. 

“Ohhh! You’re his girlfriend? I’m sorry, he didn’t even show me a picture of you, just told me your name. He just told me that I’ll probably bump into you today.”

“Hahaha! He told me the same thing, he can silly sometimes.”

“No, he can be an idiot sometimes.”

Both girls chuckled breaking the ice a bit.

“He just said, ‘hey since your coming here for the weekend! Come meet my girlfriend.’ That’s all he said.” Elena explained with a chuckle, “I was supposed to be here last week but my boss decided to change my schedule.”

“No, it’s okay! Things happen, my schedule ain’t always the clearest either. Literally Jake just threw that information at me last night so casually. I was freaking out…I mean, you sound cool according him.” Amber repiled as she shyly smile.

Elena found it cute. How did her brother get a someone like her? She seemed so sweet and honestly pretty nice. She felt bad she didn’t get information from her baby brother beforehand, she was completely clueless about this girl.

But it a good thing in her opinion, a clean slate.

“Sounds like him, she tends to tell people stuff and never make himself clear. He’s like a bird strike, I guess.” Elena said with a smile, thinking about all the times her little brother messed up.

“Oh your correct. He knocks someone off course and brings you along for the right. But it’s a nice ride.” Amber added thinking about something and smile, “How about we start over?”

“How so?”

“It’s kinda been a long week for us and I think we should just relax..”

“I like that. Actually I love that! Good idea.”

Amber smiled holding out her hand for the blonde to shake and said, “Hi, I’m Amber Nic Kazansky. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Seresin.”

“Haha! Nice to meet you too, Ms. Kaz—” Elena replied, stopping herself realizing what she just heard and laughed, “Wait! Kazansky?! You’re the Admiral’s daughter?”

“Hahaha yes. Why? I’m sorry that last name kinda surprises people.”

“Surprises people?! How did-? No offense, but i thought the admiral’s kid would have guards nearby or something…sorry.”

It was Elena’s turn to become shocked and a bit nervous but excited all at the same time.

She didn’t know her baby brother was dating the admiral’s kid?! For how long, she didn’t know. He aimed high! Respectfully, she would date an admiral’s kid too if they let her. Even steal her brother’s girlfriend off his hands!

She was impressed. Very impressed.

Amber chuckled, “It’s okay. People like to make rumors around here.”

“Real question, how did my brother pull you? No offense, but he’s a little stupid.” Elena replied with a laugh.

“I guess I like ‘em a little dumb.”

“Oh I like you.”

“Hahaha, the Seresin siblings are one of a kind.”

“And clearly my brother has good taste in women. He got it from me! Where do you work?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing!”

“You first.”

“Okay um. I’m a training officer for recruitment here. I overlook plenty of paperwork for research, send people on missions and organize them.”

“Lieutenant, huh? Respect. I’ll love to see your office some time.”

“What about you?”

“Oh! I work as a lead engineer at the aerospace engineering firm.”

“Wait! Really? That’s so damn so cool.”

“Thanks! I worked on designing cutting-edge aircraft with advanced maneuvering capabilities. All kind of planes.”

“How have we not met before?”

“I have no idea.”

“My uncle Mav, he was the one to worked with you guys for a project a while back. Uh, The Darkstar projects?”

“Yes! That was him?! Everyone was talking about it! He reached so high on the list that day and survived being ejected.”

Both girls laughed, kept chatting and smiling the whole time.

Amber decided to walk her around the building and probably head out to lunch later on. Elena smiled liking that idea very much, holding the door for her as they walked out of the room. Realizing they had nothing to worry about, it was all Jake’s fault that they were so nervous in the first place.

Little did they know Jake Seresin was sitting across the room with Rachel, Javy and Neil watching the whole thing, with his jaw on the floor. He glad they didn’t hate each other or anything but he wasn’t expecting for it to go so well.

Neil was laughing at his reaction and muttering, “Your screwed now.”

“W-what just happened?” Jake asked, sipping his glasses of a water.

Rachel snorted, “I think your sister just stole your girl. Honestly i don’t blame Amber, she’s cool. I’ll date her.”

That was when Jenny walked in with a smirk hearing her and asked, “Who would you date, Frosty?”

“Uh huh? What? Shut up, I’mma shut up now.” Rachel said, rested her head on her shoulder.

“Weirdo.” Jenny repiled with a scoff, grins at Javy and asks, “What we talking about?”

Javy grinning back and chuckles, “The Seresin siblings.”

“I made a huge mistake letting my sister and girlfriend meet, didn’t I?” Jake added downing his drink with a sigh.

His friends just laughed.

Thanks for reading this one! Tell me what did you think about it?

Remember to like, comment and share ✈️

Tags: @mandylove1000 @gaminggirlsstuff @hanlueluver @gcthvile @topgun-imagines @hangmanbrainrot @sherloquestea @rooster-84 @whitewiccan @msrochelleromanofffelton @buckysteveloki-me @djs8891 and etc

[fluffyzoey]

Hey Noel! It's been a long time, could I maybe get some Nisha headcanons? No pressure

AUGHHHH HI CHASE!!

YES IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME AND YES YOU CAN GET NISCHA HEADCANONS!!!

-Mischa is just the dedicated chauffer to the whole choir but he always lets Noel sit shotgun AND pick the music. Does Noel abuse this power whenever Ocean is in the car? You know it.

-On the weekends they take little walks around town and point at all the spots where memories happened “hey there’s that pothole that Ocean fell in that was hilarious” “oh look, that’s where we found that rabid raccoon!” “Look, where we had our first kiss…”

-Sometimes Noel will wake up at 3 am, find that Mischa isn’t next to him in bed, panic, go downstairs, and find his boyfriend hunched over the cookie jar cramming oreos in his face

-When they got married, Constance made their cake, which was tall and decorated with roller coaster tracks and cart made of fondant and frosting (in an au where they don’t die, their first date was the fall fair)

-On that first date they went on the Cyclone. Neither were huge fans of roller coasters but it WAS nice to hold hands over the loop-de-loop

[aheckinmess]

Winter Wonderland

(Part 14 of The Snowball Effect)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Enji Todoroki, Endeavor, Female Reader, Reader Has Ice Quirk, Endeavor x Reader, Enji Todoroki x Reader, Christmas Special, Ice Skating, On a Frozen Pond, Reader is Super Graceful, Enji Be Strugglin', Toya is a Little Brat but I Love Him, Tenko is the Epitome of Boys Will Be Boys, MHA Christmas Special

Word Count: 638 words

Summary: One of your favorite Christmas pastimes is ice skating! So whenever the opportunity presents itself, of course you end up teaching Enji to skate.

Playlist: The Snowball Effect

December 14

“You know this will never work.” Enji grumbles, his feet unsure.

“You can’t possibly know that!” You laugh, sliding with ease across the ice in an elegant twirl. “Just glide and pivot, big boy.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t exude heat the way I do.” 

“Hm, that sounds like an excuse, Enchan.” You taunt, squealing when he pulls you in by the waist and sends you both sprawling across the ice.

He hovers above you, cold air steaming from the heat of your breaths before he leans down to seal your mouths together in a kiss. A moment passes before your tongue swipes at his lip and then he’s wrestling the strong muscle with his own for dominance.

“Why are you guys so gross?” Tenko grouses as he closes the back door and snow crunches beneath his feet. “I thought Mom was teaching you how to ice skate?”

“Tenko,” Enji huffs as he pulls back. “Your mother is teaching me how to ice skate. But we fell.”

“We’re gross because we’re in love with each other.” You fake swoon, throwing your arm across your forehead and using the other arm to wrap around Enji’s neck.

“I think it’s romantic.” Fuyumi sighs; she’s next to exit the back door. “They still love each other even after having us!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natsuo furrows his little brows in confusion when he files out behind her.

“I dunno. It’s something my math teacher said. Apparently the romance dies with every child born.” Fuyumi shrugs.

“That’s a bunch of crap.” Toya carries Shoto out with him and then sets him on the snow-covered ground. “Having a bunch of kids means there’s still plenty of romance!” He smirks.

“How do you know?” Shoto asks.

“Because they’re having a bunch of kids.” Toya snickers.

You roll your eyes at the antics of your children before Enji helps you up. Both of his large hands swallow yours in their heat, but you guide him again in a dance across the ice. 

“Just take it slow. You don’t have to be an expert by the end of the night.” You remind him.

“”I at least want to be proficient.” He grunts, nearly slipping again.

“Baby steps, Enchan. Think of skating like your flames. Move as an extension of the ice and go with its flow.” You demonstrate with poise that could rival professional figure skaters.

Your children watch with increasing interest as you teach the hulking behemoth of a man how to make a smooth journey around the thick ice covering your backyard pond. When you tell him to take a break, he insists you keep going. Telling him he doesn’t have to be perfect results in him trying even harder to float over the frigid frost as easily as you do.

Until finally, he does.

The two of you race across the ice until you’re pleasantly surprised when he scoops you up into his arms and holds you against his chest while his skates glide across the ground. He kisses your forehead while he spins the two of you in a slow and steady cyclone.

“I may not be as graceful as you, but I’m definitely as fast now.”

“But not as fast as me!” Toya whoops, suddenly tearing across the ice in circles around Enji. “Try and catch me if you can, Dad!”

Enji smirks and then sets you down on the ice as he takes up the challenge.

Everyone laughs when Toya ends up the winner after Enji slips and crashes into a snowdrift. You snort and head over to sit by him in the snow, swiping the leftover frozen flakes from his fiery red hair.

“Well, you were right about one thing.” You rub a thumb over his cheek and giggle. “You’re definitely not as graceful as me.”

Day 15

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the holiday banner! Thank you so much!

[saltysunflowersugar]

Ride The Tumbler patch notes/random little details I'm gonna put in the AU

• everyone's pupils become slit with yellow-ish scleras during the songs, as if Bill is possessing them to dance, I'm thinking the backup singers will have two Bill eyes while the lead singer for each song only has one Bill eye because they still have enough free will to sing what they really think.

• Cecil Gershwin Palmer is gonna get replaced by Tony The Talking Clock as Virgil, his whole thing I time which is obviously a big theme in Ride The Cyclone, plus he's a clock so his face would be made of glass, I think this version of chewing through the wires would be Tony shooting Bill with the memory gun and then the recoil just hits him in the face. Sorry Cecil, I just know a little more about Tony than I do about you

• the Onceler swears exclusively in made-up Dr. Suess words

• IDK if I still want Alastor as Noel, I don't want to have to rewrite all of Noel's Lament to take out the hooker stuff since Alastor is canonically AroAce. Honestly, I don't really like my human Alastor design I made for this AU that much anymore.

• for The New Birthday Song, I think it would be cute if all of the choir members gave John something. Like, Wally could use one of his apples as a substitute for the Hello Kitty cupcake, Dabi could light the candle, Luigi could put a fire flower behind his ear or something, IDK what Alastor/Alastor's possible replacement would contribute, and The Onceler could give John his thneed to substitute for Jane's birthday cape

• during What The World (Th)needs (yes, I do believe he would make his song title a pun) The onceler changes into his Greedler outfit because of course he would

• I already posted art of this, but I really like the idea of Dabi creating an illusion of his lover out of flames during this AU's equivalent to Talia

• I've also been slightly toying around with the idea of replacing Jack Frost with Sans as the John Doe, since Undertale Monsters turn to dust when they die, but I still think Jack Frost works really well in this role, maybe I'll put this on a poll

• speaking of Jack Frost, I remembered that all of the guardians used to be normal humans but they got chosen upon death by the man in the moon to gain powers, so I'm just imagining he wakes up in the hospital with his head re-attached and the Man In The Moon is just like "DAMNIT! I GOTTA WAIT FOR HIM TO DIE AGAIN!"

• Bill and Tony are just shit-talking the Onceler under their breath the whole time during What The World (Th)needs

• The whole warehouse freezes over during TBOJD

[dreammakcr]

( next batches of muses being added because i have no control )

lilith - a court of thorns and roses (rhysand's sister)

medusa - greek mythology

isobel - baulder's gate 3

vidia - disney's tinkerbell

balthazar - supernatural

johnny gat - saint's row

han solo - star wars

leia organa - star wars

padme amidala - star wars

helios - greek mythlogy

nora west-allen - detective comics

barry allen - detective comics

dorothy gale - the wizard of oz

angelica schuyler - hamilton

eliza schuyler - hamilton

olivia pope - scandal

jasper frost - the royals

eleanor hestridge - the royals

alosa kalligan - daughter of the pirate king

eelyn - sky in the deep

mirabel madrigal - encanto

dolores madrigal - encanto

barbie - barbie

artemis - greek mythology

rose dewitt bukater - titanic

alice liddell - alice madness returns

will turner - pirates of the caribbean

elizabeth swann - pirates of the caribbean

nessarose thropp - wicked

penny lamb - ride the cyclone

[tomorrowusa]

Hurricane Helene was not the first tropical cyclone to hit Georgia. But it entered the state through Georgia's land border with Florida, still at hurricane strength, and retained its tropical characteristics all the way through the middle of the state until exiting at the border with North Carolina and Tennessee.

Helene was one of the increasing number of tropical cyclones experiencing rapid intensification. And it also moved more rapidly than usual for a storm of this type at such latitudes. What people in Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas, and Tennessee experienced with Helene may be a taste of our climate future.

Helene reminded many Georgia voters, especially younger voters, that climate is an issue which needs to be addressed.

In 2020, Donald Trump lost Georgia to Joe Biden by 11,779 votes out of nearly 5 million cast in the state, one of the closest races in that election.  Since that time, the Peach State has seen an increase in extreme heat days, rising sea levels and frost damage to crops. And the electorate has grown more concerned about climate change — with 76% of registered voters now supporting congressional action on climate. This time around, with voters in the battleground state closely divided between Trump and Vice President Kamala Harris, climate activists are determined to make sure that their concerns help swing the election to Harris, whose policies are seen as more climate-friendly than those of the former president. Almost half a million voters in Georgia who have expressed concerns about climate change but have not voted in the last two election cycles are now being targeted by the Environmental Voter Project. The overwhelming majority of the voters in this group (88%) are between the ages of 18 and 34 and almost half are Black.  Of all the states, “Georgia has the largest number of low-propensity climate voters,” said Nathanie Stinnett, director and founder of EVP, which is nonpartisan but because of its climate focus tends to mobilize more Democratic voters. The group has been targeting young voters in the state with door-to-door canvassing, phone calls, direct mail and social media.  According to EVP’s polling, 40% of young voters in five battleground states including Georgia will only support candidates who prioritize climate change — it’s a “deal breaker” for them. And an additional 40% of them said they’d prefer candidates who make it a priority to address climate change. “Young voters are seeing the increases in extreme weather events in Georgia and their rising power bills driven in large part by fossil fuel costs, and noting the need for greater investment in climate technology and solar,” said Marqus Cole, the director of church engagement and outreach for the Evangelical Environmental Network and a former political candidate. 

Voters in climate sensitive states need to hear more about climate-denying Donald Trump's coziness with fossil fuel companies. While the increasingly demented Trump often has trouble putting a sentence together, he has no difficulty reciting his favorite mantra, "DRILL! DRILL! DRILL!"

[datapacks]

So some thinking for new Valley of Plenty stuff, re:Blazes, Breezes, Shulkers, the Wildfire, and more.

The Blaze drops Blaze Rods, which can be made into Fire Charges (with a few other items). The Wildfire exists in canon, though we have little-to-no idea what it would drop. In Valley of Plenty, I'll have it drop the Heart of the Nether (old item I worked on, chestplate slot, exchanges durability to decrease burn-time, as well as allows the player to enter the super-hot Brimstone Cradle biome ov the nether). Perhaps this can be crafted into some sort ov Lava Conduit?

The Breeze drops Breeze Rods, which can be made into Wind Charges. There's something else coming to 1.21 which will make the Heavy Core harder to obtain. If it is not a miniboss version ov the Breeze, I'll make one myself- similar to Blaze -> Wildfire, I'll do Breeze -> Whirlwind. If the Heavy Core is not given another use, I have a use in mind for it that I don't super want to spoil here, but I will say it is heavily inspired by Minecraft Dungeons.

Shulkers share a similar design to both, and both have some implications that they are Constructs. End Rods exist, and can be made with Blaze Rods. Shulker bullets are, effectively, a "levitation charge" or "gravity charge. I want to add a miniboss version ov them, as well, and some sort ov "core" or "heart" they can drop; perhaps something that would Guarantee an elytra, but have a secondary use; possibly using my old idea ov negating gravity on ender pearls in a radius, for pinpoint-precision teleportation.

The Brisk is my "Frost" themed member ov this mob family. I would like to have a boss variant ov it called the Blizzard, as well as some sort ov "core" or "heart" they can drop. I think this should be paired with the Chillager/Iceologer, as a guaranteed way to obtain their ice rod. I am unsure what else it could meaningfully do, though.

The Bubble is my "Water" themed member. Boss version can be the Typhoon and the Cyclone, depending on where the player encounters it. This will be a guaranteed way to obtain a Heart of the Sea, and using their Rods can be a part ov a Trident recipe.

I also have an "Earth" themed member ov the mob family, but I'm not even sure what to call it yet.... I know I want it to be less "Stone" and more "Earth", in Bionicle terms; tied heavier to Deepslate palette, sorta implied to be from before the Sculk crept into Ancient Cities, based on Vibrations....

[honourablejester]

PF2e Character Concept: Tengu Oceanic Kineticist

So I was browsing the Kineticist class, because I do enjoy Constitution-based classes as a concept (see also Starfinder’s Vanguard). And it is very much Avatar the Last Airbender, elemental manipulation, you channel raw elemental power through a kinetic ‘gate’ inside your body. It is pretty cool, but Avatar style bending isn’t necessarily the most exciting thing to me? It’s fine, but I’m not enraptured or anything.

Unless. I still don’t care about AtLA style bending. But the concept of raw elemental power, on a sailor. The raw power of the ocean. Sea and storms and air and lightning. That. That I can get behind. If you’ve ever gone swimming in high weather, if you’ve ever been immersed in the sheer power of the sea. It’s stunning (sometimes very literally, try to be with company in case you get smacked off the sea floor by a wave and need somebody to pull you out).

So. A sailor. A dual-gate kineticist of air and water. This is probably going to be a Shackles-adjacent character, I would like to play them on or near the sea. I want the full vibe of a sailor with the seed of storms quite literally in their blood. We don’t necessarily have to go actual pirate here, though. I was thinking more deckhand for background, partly because it’s Acrobatics instead of Athletics, and given the storm and air part of this character, we’re going to want flight later. Just your average sailor, spending most of their time up in the rigging.

And if we’re talking sailors, and storms in particular. I think we’re going to make a Tengu. A crow person. Because Tengu have a strong association with migration, with ships, with luck, with superstition, with storms. Their ancestral deity is a storm god. They’re good luck charms on ships. They’ve spread across the whole world from Tian Xia. And, for a kineticist, they also tend to be a bit … they don’t differentiate as much between primal and divine magic, they tend to hold nature itself as holy in its own way, even if there’s not a specific god attached. For a character who’s going to channel the raw forces of nature through their own flesh, that feels rather appropriate. A tengu sailor who has the sea so very literally in their blood. Bones. Body in general. Heh.

Again, because of the storm thing … I’m torn between either the Skyborn or the Wavediver tengu heritages, depending on whether we want to focus on the water or the wind. Actually, Stormtossed could be an option too. (See what I mean about Tengu being very thematic here?). But I’m me, so I want Skyborn, so we can get racial flight options later. That’ll eat two of our ancestry feats, so dealer’s choice for the others. I kind of like Mariner’s Fire, despite the fact that fire is not one of our tengu’s elements, just because of the St Elmo’s fire sort of feeling it gives.

Which brings us back to Kineticist and elements. And I’m going full theme here, this is going to be a Dual Gate Kineticist of Air and Water. Yes, I could focus Single Gate on either one of them, but I want the feel of the storm, of the high seas, of the raw power of the ocean. But because of those two elements, they also get some nice support type options, which I think works for the highly communal tengu, and the feeling of a sailor that’s part of a crew.

So I think I want some things like Air Cushion, feather fall, which works well on a deckhand up in the rigging. Ocean’s Balm and later Torrent in the Blood for some watery, oceanic healing. For offensive impulses, Tidal Hands and later Storm Spiral and Crowned in Tempest’s Fury. For some area control, Winter Sleet, Glacial Prison and Barrier of Boreal Frost. For flight, even though we’ll have racial flight as well, I think I still want Cyclonic Ascent, partly because it feeds into Crowned in Tempest’s Fury, and I’ll also be able to share the flight later that way. And then, a couple of other really pretty little things that I’d love. Sea Glass Guardians, for an ‘eerily beautiful’ protective aura that looks like elemental sea creatures, for example icy jellyfish or watery eels floating around you, because that’s just gorgeous. And I also enjoy Wiles on the Wind for a more tricky, pirating, nautical mirage sort of a feat.

I really, really like the oceanic feel you can get with a kineticist? Druid also works for me, I love druids, but kineticists have a much more tactile, immersive feel in some ways. The ocean’s power poured through your body. I do love Con-based classes, I really do. Heh.