#eldritch blast fanfic

[tlakative]

The Journal of Wizardry

The search for the secret of eldritch blast (1/2)

Written by ███████ ██ ██████████

I still remember the times, I was fresh out of the Academy of Arcane Arts or rather the Akademie Arkaner Künste since I studied in Germany to avoid student loans, I had graduated with a major in journalism and a minor in combat magic because instead of a long dissertation you could just win some fight, I was still young and knew nothing of the world, but I thought I knew everything, one thing that bugged me throughout all the one and a half lectures in combat magic I attended though was that only one spell seemed to matter, the only one I ever seemed to need if I mastered it, everything else was kind of irrelevant, every magic battle I ever engaged in, I won with it, Eldritch Blast a simple beam evaporating your opponent in an instant, any shield gets crushed, every reflector or trap ignored. I did not understand, why was this even a class then? In any case, when you're young and have neither authority nor money you can't worry about those things, I worked at numerous news agencies and slowly climbed to the top, now that I am a highly renowned investigative reporter, I can finally lift this mystery.

At first I attempted the easy way out, I read all literature I could find, I even hired an Eldritch translator to not go insane reading this much ancient tongue. Most trails went cold quickly, the most promising one suggested the ancient sources and the spirit force might connect to the Blast in multiple interlocked locations on certain rune areas called miasma pulsors that were one of the main techniques used in spell crafting before more sophisticated force binders were invented, this may lead to an accidental hyper-efficient purification-system, but modern spells have higher degrees of purification in them, which made this theory improbable. After a few days of feeble attempts, two translators gone mad, another one well on the way, I gave up, the knowledge I was seeking was not in books the public has access to, which is understandable considering the power of the ancient blast spell, if ██████ could just learn everything about the spell, riots would soon rise again in the civilised colonies of ████. So I had to consult other sources.

The University of Casters in ███ ████ let me consult their Ancient Libraries of Darkness (thank you very much Professor Feebleknot de Hyrmnal for your active support and keeping the gate-seals away even when it got hot and gooey ;) ) but even in this highly impressive collection of dark knowledge I found only breadcrumb trails that led nowhere, only a mention of an ancient spirit somewhere in Scotland seemed promising. Before I went there and risked wasting much time and effort, I wanted to take a step back and just ask one of the faculties professors of combat magic.

Yolschmirtz Ohh-Zk-EE-hein, told me he might know more about the topic and invited me into his home to talk, it was a cold rainy day, perfect for talking inside, as I entered his house, a cute cabin in the woods of █████, I was greeted by a cozy warmth, the walls, the same logs visible on the outside, decorated with many trinkets and knick-knacks I could have spent hours exploring, but I was here for a reason. Mr. Ohh-Zk-EE-hein or as he invited me to call him, Yollee, a short, nimble man with black hair and a friendly face contrasted by his numerous scars on the left side of his face, led my past a large wooden table bending under the weight of candles, books and other arcane instruments I had never seen before, to a fireplace in the conservatory on the other side of his house. Next to it, prepared were two camping chairs, a tiny glass table and two wooden cups of steaming tea, all on a white fluffy rug.

After we had settled down and I explained my question and previous attempts at answering it, he explained to me that it was obvious I wouldn't find anything with those methods. "It is clear you have little expertise in this field, ancient arts like the Eldritch Blast, however well documented they may appear to be, are not fully explainable through the medium of human speech, even less so in any human invented written form like the Eldritch Script or ancient tongue, at-least not by humans." "You could only get very surface level like this." I asked him how else I was supposed to finally understand this strange phenomenon that has plagued me since the very beginning of my career, at this point I did not even care about the article anymore, I simply wanted to know. After thinking for a long time, the rain playing it's steady beat on the round glass walls of the conservatory, he concluded: "Without years of training in all the combat, arcane, dark, and seal arts, this is impossible." The fact I even for a split second considered this idea shows my commitment to this, I obviously would not spend years training. And so but one idea remained, the ancient spirit in Scotland. ⬧

Part 2 soon, now: sleep

[naranjapetrificada]

Time for Fanfic Friday!

First, a WIP update: it appears that the much lamented Izzy POV section of Chapter 3 was important scaffolding for the chapter as a whole, and finally tackling it clarified most of the rest of the structure I needed. I order to gauge my progress over the last several weeks, I moved everything to a new doc and it looks like I'm about halfway to my self-imposed upper word count limit of ~8000. That's not a goal, it can be shorter, but it will certain grow on revision.

All of which is to say that the weeks I've spent whining about my slow progress weren't necessary, because I have been making progress, even if it wasn't visible to me at the time. TLDR Chapter 3 will be here sooner than you think, although idk exactly when. My progress over the next couple days will determine whether it takes one week or two (or three) for me to have a beta-ready draft. I think. I hope.

Anyway, time for recs! I seem to have fallen into a rhythm of a few OFMD recs and one from GO, and if it ain't broke I won't try to fix it! Here's some things I've been reading:

Maybe it's just time to give @piratecaptainscaptainpirates a permanent Fanfic Friday slot, because no matter what he seems to end up on here. And this time I've got TWO recs! There's Moth to a Flame, a sweet funny modern one-shot where Ed pretends to share Stede's enthusiasm for bugs early in their relationship, with predictable consequences; and their newest multi-chapter WIP On a Bright Day, Next Week, which is (sort of?) a Portal/Portal 2 AU? Or at least inspired by it? In any case, I've never hit the subscribe button faster.

fuck ’em, only we know by @medievill, which is more of the inevitable Zaddy fallout, something I cherish every possible iteration of.

In "older fics I'm finally circling back around to" we've got Here's to the Night by @xoxoemynn, a Y2K NYE AU because who doesn't love acronyms? But for real, it's sweet and funny and full of wonderful 1999 flavor that made me smile a lot.

As an Astrology Gay you know I was gonna love Connecting the Dots by @theyellowestmustard! It's so good I can even ignore my personal headcanon that Ed is a Pisces, whereas in this fic he's a Cancer. At least we agree on his undeniable watery nature, and that even though astrology is fake, he's too sweet to ever be a Scorpio. Anyway what really matters here is Ed getting pampered on his special day by Stede "The Most Romantic Motherfucker Alive" Bonnet, as is right and proper.

Last but not least there's Waddle Together by @sylwritesstuff, a weird wonderful GO fic that I genuinely can't explain how I found, but I have to assume it was fate because I had such a blast reading it. This may be the first and only time I've finished a fic where Crowley and Aziraphale aren't their eldritch selves. They're uh, not human either. Just roll with it.

As always, happy Friday and happy reading!

[sinorim-pisani]

tl;dr GHOST CORES ARE COOL YO (danny phantom word blast)

ok but like the idea of ghost cores is so fascinating to me???? idk if it’s the lore obsessed eldritch creature in my brain or what but PLEASE fanfic writers, take the helm of the danny phantom ship and steer us towards more ghost core lore!!

There’s so much exploration to be found there, in the connection between ghost cores and the Infinite Realms, and cores and d*ath circumstances, and cores and how powers or abilities manifest! 

How many different kinds of cores are there? Is it just a simple divide based on temperature i.e. cold v hot? I feel like there’s too much variation between people of the “ghost zone” and people who can form in the zone to simply leave it at a temp divide! Would it then be based on the common elements of water, earth, air, fire, and their many derivatives? In that case, where do Ancients like Clockwork and Pandora come in? ‘Time’ and ‘Space’ (in the physical, spatial sense, not the galactic sense) don’t seem to be ability types that are just thrown around willy nilly, so does that mean these two (and other Ancients) aren’t truly ghosts? and that they don’t have a real “ghost” core?

I find it so very interesting that the writers chose to give Danny frost-based abilities, and therefore a cold core. Does that decision alone technically indicate there isn’t any kind of link between core formation circumstance and resulting core type? Since Danny formed his core during an electricity-based event, would it not have made more sense to give him a heat core?? 

And then there’s Vlad! His core was technically formed during the accident with the miniature ghost portal , which didn’t seem to involve anything other then drastic exposure to ectoplasmic radiation, and then we as the fandom have taken to saying he has a heat-based core (I can’t remember if this is actually mentioned in the show). Which heat and “radiation” are sorta connected so that one actually makes sense??

I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS AHH my brain just wants to throw them all at the screen rn!

Shortened List:

What actually determines the type of core a ghost forms? 

How many types of cores are there, and what are those types? How are they categorized?

What is the connection between a ghost’s core and the ghost zone? Do cores come into existence spontaneously, and tie a ghost to the zone, or is there already a core created for every creature capable of becoming a ghost, based on a yet-to-be-experienced life? 

How can a ghost’s powers/abilities manifest based on their core type? 

Does a ghost form around a core, or does the core form inside the ghost? Is a core the source of a ghost’s capital O Obsession?

Is a ghost core really equivalent to a heart? Or is it something entirely new, different?

I could definitely go on. All this to say I greatly enjoy fic writers exploring what it really means for Danny to have a “cold-type” ghost core! He’s cold all the time but he doesn’t notice, or he needs to exist in cool environments to be comfortable, or when it comes to medical aid he needs a very specifically cold physical and material environment to be treated well. He finds Frostbite to be a comforting figure and the Far Frozen feels like a second home (the first being Clockwork’s Lair) because his very core is telling him that this is what he needs, that he will be embraced best by the arms of the ice.

[opheliajupiter99]

PLAY Pt. 7 (OUAW Horror Fanfic)

*Kremy held Hootsie tightly as the lumbering form of the monstrosity before them, which mimicked not just Torbek, but Torbek's Other specifically, chuckled sadistically, moving onto all fours and moving closer, ever so slowly, savoring the fear and panic on their faces*

*Kremy's eyes darted around the room, trying to think of some kind of way to escape this situation. His mind briefly thought to offering himself to them; but he couldn't offer his soul when it was already promised to the Baron - not to mention that he doubted creatures that went to -this- length to get Hootsie would be interested in someone completely different*

*He took a deep breath, staring the copy down with a fiery resolve* "You ain't gettin' her, no way. I'd rather die than let ya get her!" *He said, venom spat from his words. The beast's already wide grin only widened further, showing row upon row of jagged, sharp teeth, chuckling darkly* "Well mate...if you insist." *Hootsie whimpered, as the beast stood to his full height, touching the ceiling of the basement as he did so, drooling falling from his fangs. Kremy hushed Hootsie, softly whispering to her* "Don't look, okay? Just run."

*Just before the creature could strike a blow however, the snap of finger's was heard. The beast grunted, turning around to look at the entrance of the basement, in which stood Hootsie's false papa, partially shrouded in shadows as light spilled out from the gap* "No need to be playin' rough now, big brown." *'Papa' said, his tone as mocking as it was condescending. The beast's magenta button eyes glared daggers at 'papa' as he rumbled a deep growl* "Then stop fuckin' around. Just kill her already. We're gettin' real fuckin' impatient."

*'Papa' shook his head* "Tut tut. Ya know that's not how this works. Take our lil' unwelcomed guest inside, but -don't- harm him. Leave the lil' one to me." *While the pair were busy talking, Kremy made a quick motion with his cane, attempting to fire an Eldritch Blast at the false Torbek's back. 'Papa' saw this out of the corner of his eyes, and what should've been a burst of voodoo magic was instead replaced with a puff of purple and black confetti bursting out of his cane with a soft 'pop', the confetti landing pathetically upon the ground before him*

*Kremy stared down at the confetti for a long moment, eyes wide and mouth agape, truly beginning to realize just how damned they were. 'Papa' merely chuckled* "Ya don't need to be playin' rough neither. Ya just don't get it, do ya? Ya in -my- world now, not ya world." *He said, smirking devilishly as he mocked the Shadowman with his own words. Hootsie still clung to Kremy desperately as he stood there in shock, tears beginning to fall from the corners of his eyes. Finally, the hand that held his cane hung limply at his head, and he hung his head. All he could hope for now was that the Baron could pull some kind of loophole with their deal; perhaps when he died, the Baron would be able to save Hootsie himself - or perhaps he could send one of the others in his stead*

*All he could do for now though is hope, as the immense beast that was the false Torbek grabbed onto him with a hulking strength, easily pulling him away from Hootsie despite his attempts to hold onto her. Hoostie hooted and flailed her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched her uncle be pulled away until he was out of sight, leaving her alone with the terrible creature that claimed to be her father*

-

*After briefly falling unconscious, Kremy awoke. He found himself in a small sewing room of some kind, with odd tools and needles hung up open the walls, pitch black in color and seeming to be made from some kind of combination of enchanted metal and wood, as well as a large desk with numerous drawers, a loom sat upon its surface, and numerous wicker baskets containing scraps of cloth and leather. He quickly found that he was unable to move, despite the fact that he wasn't tied up or otherwise bound, he simply couldn't move*

*He sat there in silence for what felt like hours, but in reality, was just a few moments, everything he'd done wrong in the past day or so alone replaying over and over again in his head. He imagined his friends, sat back at the campsite, waiting for them to return, waiting hours, even days, hoping in vain they'd come back. He hadn't even had time to explain to them what he was doing or what this creature even was before the Baron pulled him into his realm; if they didn't come back, they'd not only be without them, but left wondering for the rest of their lives what even happened to them*

*Eventually, he was pulled out of this bout of self-loathing by the sound of the door creaking open. His eyes, which were the only thing he could currently move, darted towards the door, waiting with bated breath to see who it was. The sounds of metal dragging across wood echoed as the large figure entered, looming over him, and his gaze locked with the button eyes of yet another of these creatures; this one mimicking the form of his very own husband*

[ainadelothwen]

I came to the Shadow and Bone fandom rather late. I was watching Season 1 and was completely captivated by Jesper, especially the scene where he lies about bouncing for the Clipper and shoots the signs. I had been looking for inspiration for my next D&D character and my bard-warlock Arlan was born in that moment, who fakes shooting with his Eldritch Blasts, lying because his brand of magic isn't exactly approved by those in power. At the time, I didn't know that Jesper was Grisha; Arlan was more like Jesper than I had originally anticipated. I've been playing Arlan now for two years and during that time I've dug more and more into Jesper's character and it's just made me love him all the more.

One of the things bards can do is give Bardic Inspirations to other players - so it was incredibly special to have Kit Young sign the Arlan/Jesper art I had commissioned from @cilyra and give me my own Bardic Inspiration from him.

Shadow and Bone brought me to tumblr because I was looking for artists who could draw Arlan/Jesper and I found so much more. I wasn't expecting to find a welcoming and thoughtful fandom community. I've dug into the books. I've gotten spectacular art from several artists via tumblr and IG.

I've loved reading the fanfics and the thoughtful analysis (@she-posts-nerdy-stuff has some great think pieces) which have made the source material so much richer, seeing uploads from the gif makers (shout out to @thewalkingbucky) to help me get through my days, and just interacting with other fans. I was fortunate enough to meet some of them in Germany at MagicCon (and share in a group hug with Kit).

(Photo by A. Jansen)

The Grishaverse is the first fandom in years and years that I've let myself really grasp, unabashedly, whole-heartedly, openly. I've always felt a little embarrassed with my little blorbo hyperfixations but something about Shadow and Bone community has made me say who cares what other people think? I love what I love and I want to fully experience it all; it's made my life that much fuller. It's made me realize that I should just embrace my interests and what gives me joy, and fuck the haters and fuck the cynics.

So while it is disappointing that Netflix has cancelled not just Season 3 but also the Six of Crows spinoff, I hope we'll still maintain the thriving community and have future cons to meet the cast and each other!

[film-score-simp]

OKAY FOOLS HOW YALL DOING IM BACK AFTER BEING DEAD FOR LIKE MONTHS-

See, I had a Thought which the Merlin fandom might be interested in. Especially the fanfic writers.

I was browsing Pinterest, as you do, and stumbled across a few tumblr posts instead of actually looking on the site… again, as you do.

And I came to a fun idea.

So y’know how with some pieces of fantasy media they go ‘oh with the amount of stupidity here this is totally a D&D game’?

Well… that, but Merlin.

Like we already have scenes that would totally fit the bill of a D&D game. The whole scene with old Merlin and the knights with the stepping stool onto the horse is just so unbelievably D&D, and I can imagine the scene with the “..reading poetry.” as just real bad persuasion/deception rolls from both Merlin AND Arthur.

Just imagine the chaos.

Here are my personal headcanons for their classes, but feel free to debate about it:

Merlin: Sorcerer. This man is too much of an idiot to be a wizard (though he DOES get hurt enough to be one), and I reckon being a wild magic sorcerer would totally fit the bill. He’s powerful, but hijinks must ensue- thus, the wild magic. Or perhaps not. People might assume it’s wild magic and turns out it’s just Merlin thinking he’s funny.

Arthur: Bard. Immediately. He’s got paladin energy as in like the ‘Chosen One’ and also he’s a knight, but he’s so stupid and also charismatic that he just gives bard to me. Like he’s so stupid and charismatic with literally everything, that Merlin ended up liking him. Like this man is a himbo that dresses brightly.

Morgana: Absolutely a warlock. She would have so much fun with eldritch blast, and being weird and spooky totally fits her vibe later in the series. She would probably be the one to sometimes have the braincell in the party and use her magic responsibly… but also eldritch blast. You gotta use eldritch blast-

Mordred: I don’t think he has chill enough vibes for the druid stereotype, but he definitely could be a druid. Giving funky nature powers to this kid would really be a hilarious idea. Like imagine Mordred with wild shape. I also think he has the possibility of being the Dionysus kind of druid… y’know, the greek god who turned people into dolphins just because? Yeah, him.

Gwaine: Barbarian. Or fighter. He may be a knight, sure, but with the amount of bar brawls he gets into? Absolutely. The fool definitely would fist fight someone in a dark alleyway at 2AM, it’s just what he’s like. He likes to hit people and drink alcohol- it just fits his whole MO.

Percival: Also a barbarian. His entire thing is strength, and the ‘little man’ comment just screams of a man with high intimidation. He may be a gentle giant and not going for the whole stereotype of angry rage beast, but this guy can totally scare without it.

Lancelot: Lancelot is a paladin. He’s the very epitome of ‘Good Boy.’ This guy is such a Righteous knight and just a generally cool person that I think that a god straight up WOULD get in contact to have him fight for the forces of good. I love this man so much. I also love paladins. Perfect combo.

Elyan: Elyan’s a cleric. He’s caring and loyal, as well as not bullying Merlin regularly. He’s also pretty cunning so possibly rogue there as well? I’d be more inclined to lean towards cleric the most though, cause he’s one of the most chill knights and also balances out the chaos of Gwaine and Percival as a duo… they’re nuts-

Leon: Also a paladin. Less of a ‘pure and true soul’ guy like Lancelot, but more of a ‘stands for what’s right and upholds the law’ kind of paladin. Like he’s totally a follower of chivalry with all the traditional ways of doing things- always respectful and polite but just kinda a little at arms length.

Guinevere: Stereotypical druid. Totally a tree-hugger and loves plants. Also she gets to be a Disney princess now and talk to animals in forests. Living out her best life in the forest with her whole cottagecore aesthetic. Even with her becoming queen, she’s totally still a druid. Albeit a royal one now.

Gaius: Oh he’s so gonna be an artificer. But specifically an alchemist artificer. He can make healing potions and mix weird medicines together, sure, but jesus christ the old man gets into just as many shenanigans as the main group. I mean, the whole possession fiasco with the goblin is enough proof for that-

(And before anyone tells me a character’s missing, it’s been a while since I watched the series, I’m trying my best hhhh-)

[naevethewizard]

BG3 Tag Game ✨

Thank you for tagging me, @floehie! :)

Favorite romance: Astarion. I met him in early access, thirsted after him and imagined our tragic chaotic evil romance until the full game release... after which I saw his vulnerable wet-cat face during his confession scene, instantly buckled, and gave him the softest, most loving ending I could manage. I'm not often surprised by video game characters, but Astarion's character and story are so unique and beautiful that I'm still recovering. And just look at his dumb lil face looking at Naeve, oml:

Favorite class to play: Warlock. Eldritch blast with a knockback effect is the most fun a girl can have, plus high charisma to get in or out of any trouble I want? I adore it.

Favorite NPC: Look. I'm not saying that it's healthy to get all excited whenever Raphael shows up to call me a little mouse, while still looking forward to killing him later... Moving on.

Favorite song off the soundtrack: Forging the Fate, with the Harpy Song is a close second. I love a spooky lady singing.

Tell us a little about your Tav: Well, since Naeve is teeeeeechnically a Durge, I'll go with my first ever BG3 character, Fessigan. She's based on a D&D rogue I played: an unrepentantly manipulative, power-hungry charlatan. At least she was -- until she fell in love with one of her marks (a noblewoman who saw through the roguish facade).

Since Fessigan is happily married and retired in the D&D world, I used the BG3 as an alternate universe where her wife had been killed. Fessigan blamed herself for her wife's death, so she badly regressed and was using every possible method to hurt herself -- including taking a warlock pact and letting herself be used by Astarion. Thankfully, she and Astarion slowly healed together, even if they had no intentions of doing so at the start of the game. :)

Something you wish was in the game: More dynamic companion action in camps. I love talking with everyone, but wish I could see our companions moving around camp and talking more amongst themselves, similar to Red Dead Redemption 2. Particularly in Act 3, I barely got any party banter -- it would have been nice to witness it at the Elfsong instead. Can you imagine if we'd gotten something like this instead of everyone standing next to their tent/bed?

Do you create fanworks? Share something with us: BG3 inspired me to get back into fanfiction after a 15 year gap. I've done a fair amount of original creative writing and read a ton of fanfic in the meantime, but writing fanfic is uniquely rewarding (and uniquely stressful lmao). My ao3 is here, as well as the link to my smutty Astarion character study two-shot and my post-game, unascended Astarion-finds-the-spawn multichapter fic.

Sending no-pressure tags to a couple artists whose creations have inspired the last few chapters of the 7,007: @sevrinve, @sermna, and @abigailsins.

[kmenkea]

Bloodlust - Part 1

A/N: This is the first chapter of my Astarion Fanfic. It will mostly follow actual in game conversation, but I will expand on them greatly. The main reason I'm writing it is because I felt like there was a gap in all these stories: none of them had an explicitly evil or morally grey Tav. I like my anti-heros and I want to share this love to everyone.

Leeith is the character I'm playing (first run, still at act 2). I made up a whole backstory for her, so excuse me while I also try to develop her.

I have a plan of where things will go and I might keep writing even after the events of the game.

Other than that, feedback is very much appreciated. I tried to stay true to the companions personality, but it is hard to write characters which aren't my own. Hopefully it won't ruin your experience.

I will also try to add a quick doodle to each chapter.

The smut will come in like 2 chapters, but I did leave some breadcrumbs around.

There's lots of Gale hate because he insulted me and I never forgave him.

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: Leeith is quick to mistrust. Astarion seemed extremely suspicious that night. Fortunately, he was just thinking about their companions blood. The pair decides to take some time to themselves, away from the party.

Read on AO3

Leeith’s eyes were transfixed in the fire, chin resting on her knees to relax. The moon was high up in the sky, casting its light on the camp. They had set it up in a clearing, where a large rock stood in the middle, overseeing all the tents that had been put up around it. The place was quiet and green, covered on most sides by the mountains, except that for a little lake, which sang its song: calm waves caressing the shore. Some bedrolls were laying around the fire, for whoever preferred to sleep near the pit, rather than alone. 

The drow was one of them: being in the centre of camp meant that it was going to be a lot harder for any threat to sneak up during the night and slit her throat without anyone noticing. Plus, she didn’t know how to put up a tent. It just looked horrible, barely able to ward off the wind and rain, giving free reign to the cold to bother her all night long. The underdark was much better, full of caves and alcoves to hide, with little rain to worry about. The only thing she would miss if she returned back home was the gentle light of the moon and all the stars.

The drow extended her hand out, testing the flexibility of her wrist: she had slipped in a puddle of mud and down a small cliff the day prior. In the fall the clothes had got torn apart, too damaged to repair even with magic, so Shadowheart had to part with one of her suits. It wasn’t too bad, and the drow was actually happy with the change: the dark cloth suited her better, bringing out the colour from her pale grey skin. Her hair was a black, grey and red mess, as if she was hit by one of her own eldritch blasts, but that was the norm for her. It was much easier to just take a dagger and shorten it whenever it was needed, than having to deal with braids and coils, just for it to look like a bird nest right after any fight.

The stinging pain returned when she flicked her wrist too fast: the bone wasn't broken, but the flesh still swelled up. That was her casting hand and the recoil from her blasts wasn't helping the recovery. Alas, she couldn't take the time to rest. Everyone relied on her planning and she certainly didn't trust anyone enough to go out without her present to keep track of everything. 

Many of her companions were reliable fighters, above all Lae’zel, strong and able to perform all tasks with extraordinary efficiency. She respected her, even if she was hard to deal with at times: her arrogance came from mastery of her abilities, so it was righteous. Shadowheart was quiet, but didn’t seem the type to backstab anyone. The cleric had two motives: she wanted her mission to be over and the tadpole out of her brain, the best way to get both was to travel together. Then there was Wyll and Gale: the first seemed too much like an honourable hero with a heart of gold. The drow didn’t trust him one bit. Her methods were ruthless and often involved cruelty, so she would rather keep him occupied with other errands, than take the chance of him making a scene during a crucial moment. Gale, well, he was just an asshole and not the funny kind. His ego was inflated like that of a beholder, always spewing some bullshit about how great he was compared to everyone else. She didn’t feel like that at first, but his comment on her being just a lowly warlock, rather than a learned and mighty wizard like him, had hit just the wrong nerve. He was relegated to cannon fodder for now. 

Which left her with one last person, reliable for sure, but something always felt off. More off than him being a blood-sucker spawn. Too nice, too perfect, too flirty. Just enough mistakes to make her believe that maybe that was his true self. Enough said about his past for her to know what she was dealing with and what his motives were: control the tadpole, kill Cazador, gain freedom. Commendable. And useful. Just as a spawn, Astarion already had an edge, a natural talent that only required a few drops of blood to kick in; a full vampire would have proved a most formidable ally. But only if it was governable. 

As she laid there, analysing and planning, Astarion's eyes were darting around, pensively. He was trying to hide his face with the large book in his hands, staring at the words, before gazing back up again; in all this time the page had been turned maybe once or twice, so either he was reading a very difficult passage or, more likely, was just trying to conceal some plot that was forming in his head. A good few times Leeith caught him staring at her, but their eyes never met. She wanted to lull him in a sense of false security, so that the drow could learn what his intentions were and why he was checking everyone out.

Her patience though was wearing thin and Astarion seemed pretty content to stand there still. The elf’s sanguine gaze fell on her again, but this time, it was met. She could almost see her reflection in it: they shared the same eye colour, though for her kind it wasn't unheard of to have red irises. The vampire didn’t flinch, appearing nonchalant even after having been discovered with his hands right in the pie.

Leeith stood up, dusting some ash away from her bottom and walked over to him with a smirk. 

"Astarion!" she started. "How are you doing this fine night? Is that book any fun? You seem extremely absorbed by it." Her arms followed her words theatrically, to end up crossing in front of her chest. Astarion closed the book, holding it below the armpit.

"There you are. Quite a fine and serene night, made all the better by your presence." He put the book on a nearby table.

"You're too gracious. I didn't know surface elves were still taught courtesy… or discretely ploying." He seemed unfazed, still observing her from under his brow. Leeith walked past him, to sit in one of the many pillows which adorned his tent, giving it a pretty cosy atmosphere. The bit of blood splatter around, she did not mind. The elf soon followed, remaining at arms distance.

"I was just thinking about you." He sighed and shook his head with grace, the curls falling barely out of place. "And about that delicious moment we shared the other night." Leeith didn't even need the gestures towards her neck to understand what he was talking about. This had yet to explain why he was studying everyone, but she was starting to get a hitch of the reason. 

"The moment when you bit me?" She decided to still play along. 

"The very same." He nodded with a smile that looked genuine. For just a moment, his gaze fell down at the ground, absorbed in thought. His expression changed and though it still held a smile, it was also a lot more serious. For a moment more, no words were uttered, so that the only thing they heard was the lake and the crackling fire. His hands fiddled together for a split second, in search of the right words 

"I've had this… condition for two hundred years. But, truth be told? You were my first." Those last few words were quiet, almost a whisper, but a smirk still lingered on his lips. The drow raised an eyebrow, harbouring disbelief and a slight weird sense of pride, if what he said was true. She didn’t get to rebut with anything, that his face returned jolly and his eyes skimmed over everyone once again, studying them and thinking gods-know-what in that wretched mind. 

"In all these years I've only fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely." The vampire leaned closer, barely able to contain his hunger. "You were delectable." He purred, gently tracing Leeith’s neck, where two dark punctures were still more than visible. Leeith flinched at the unexpected touch, suddenly aware of how close they were laying. Astarion moved back, amused and excited, happy almost. "And now, I can't help but wonder how the others taste!" He laughed, gesturing towards the camp. Leeith holstered the imaginary dagger she was holding, grateful she didn't have to deal with a traitor. The smile returned to her lips, as she dropped her defences. 

"Are you looking at other necks? I'm hurt!" Every word was filled with fake indignation. "I really thought we had something special, instead here you are, traitor, after I took your bit-rginity… that sounded better in my head." Astarion chuckled, if at her or at her pun she couldn't tell. 

“Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around. I’m a man of tremendous appetites!” He placed a finger over his lip in thought. “Not that I think they’d volunteer, of course, but it doesn’t make me any less curious” He rested his weight on his elbow  stretching his legs out. She did the same, propping her head up with one hand. Most men and women here on the surface looked so plain, with their brown hair and brown eyes. Even those with some special characteristics, like the devils, had little that interested her. But the vampire was different, skin and hair so fair they glimmered in the light and eyes red like her own, that spoke of subtle blood and violence. It was the charm of bloodlust that made him so attractive in her eyes, of stopping at nothing to survive and thrive, but revelling in the chaos caused, not be ashamed of the cruelty. More than once Leeith needed to defend the vampire from their travelling companions, especially the morning after being bitten. Truth be told, Astarion seemed more than ready to suck her dry that night. It made sense now: after two hundred years of wandering in the desert, thirsty and with rocks and knives thrown at him, the pale elf had found a source of clear water.

"Take Gale for example," the voice shook her awake from the vision of them laughing from high atop a mountain of corpses. "He strikes me as someone whose blood is rich, refined, like a well aged brandy.” Astarion twirled an imaginary glass. “But the Gith? What in the hell would she taste like?” The elf looked up, catching the drow’s eyes.

“Surely something exotic, like an Amnan liqueur.” Discussing the taste of blood wasn’t in tonight’s plan, but they were both having fun.

“Ohh! That sounds very appealing. I’m almost convinced.” She didn’t know if the other’s could listen and, frankly, she didn’t care. For the first time since leaving the underdark, the drow had met someone that did understand her. Being labelled as a mindless monster, just because he had been cursed to be a spawn, isolated him. Leeith too was always labelled as a low-life murderer because of her lineage, but she enjoyed the fear she’d strike in those below her.

“Could I convince you to kill someone less useful?” She raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“No one is getting killed, I swear. We’re just- two friends talking.” He waved his hands between them. “So - in the spirit of theoretical questions - if you had to take a bite from one of them, who would it be?” He got closer, raising his eyebrow. For once he sounded actually happy, not just cheeky and overconfident. Leeith pondered, staring up at the stars. She glanced at him, noticing how his hair captured the colour of the moon and the light of the fire.

“You, of course.” His eyes opened up and he couldn’t hide a grin.

“Oh! I’m flattered. Who knew you had such taste.” His ego kicked in again.

“That… and the fact my blood doesn’t come free. It’s only fair I get a taste of you, after I shared my own.” Leeith reached up for his neck and, like he had done previously, caressed his scars. The feeling of cold skin was strange, even if she had lingered only an instant.

“Of course. It was a gift. One I do intend to repay.” His voice was much lower now, returning to his flirtatious attitude.

“All this talk made me realise I would love to get treated to a bottle of fine wine.” Leeith sighed. “You surface dwellers really do have much sweeter wines than the sour water we get downstairs.” Her gaze returned to Astarion, but wasn’t met. He was sitting back up again.

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait. All this talk is getting me hungry. I’d better find something I can actually sink my teeth into.” The vampire looked ready to be back on his feet.

A thought crossed her mind. Should she act upon it? It seemed like the perfect time and, truth be told, she was starting to get a soft spot for the elf. Laying there on those pillows, she moved her hair away from the neck, freeing her scars.

“And where would you go? Am I not delectable anymore?” She grinned, raising her arms above her head. “Unless of course you have acquired a taste for goblin.”

“Oh- well.” He fumbled, surprised by the offer. “Of course. I didn’t expect you enjoyed it enough to offer yourself again.” His cocky tone would have almost sounded perfect, if it wasn’t for the fact he didn’t move. He was stuck sitting there, waiting for something; a question still lingered on his tongue. Yet still, he couldn't help lick his teeth and lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much.” Leeith was tense, but still tried to keep a calm demeanour. “As you said in the past, I need you strong. If a bit of my blood is enough, then you can have it. I trust you won’t go overboard this time.” Astarion looked around camp. A few too many glances were being thrown in their direction, even the dog seemed to stop sniffing around just to focus on them. Leeith noticed too.

“Should we wait ‘till after dark?” His tone was hushed, but it didn’t mask his excitement.

“If it’s more comfortable for you not to have eyes on you, sure. In my opinion, it’s their fault for not looking away.” She giggled and stood up, stretching her back. “Well, I’ll go eat something more myself. Have a fun time with your book.” 

Leeith returned to the fire, calling Scratch to her.

Not much time passed before everyone said their good nights to one another. Leeith spent the time studying a map of the region, thinking of ways to best ration their food during the following days of travel. The light kept getting dimmer in the fire, so she'd just chuck another log in. Scratch was sleeping beside her, shaking his paws at times. She glanced at Astarion's tent: the elf had the flap pulled down, but she could sense movement inside. They were the only two souls awake in the camp. He didn't need much sleep; she didn't feel the need to either, but her body was still weary and hurt in places. She wanted the day to be over and finally rest. The map was folded and put back in the backpack, then she walked to Astarion. The drow knocked on the floor and whispered his name. It didn't take long for him to appear.

"Yes, darling?" He was shirtless. Leeith took her time to respond, not really knowing how to ask. "Did the cat get your tongue?" Something metallic caught a ray of light. A moment later it was gone from his hands. 

"I- well, are you still hungry? I am pretty tired, I kind of want to be done with today." She motioned at her bandaged wrist. 

"Mh, I didn't think you were this impatient." Astarion made his voice deep, glancing at her with a seductive grin. "Well if you can't wait I'll find a boar or rabbit to snack on. Don't need to miss your beauty sleep for me." He disappeared back into the tent, but Leeith followed him. 

"I can wait, just need an estimate." Sprawled on the floor there were a few bottles of blood, some empty, some full. At least the drow didn't have to ration the food for him, since he could provide for himself. More weirdly though, she also saw a pair of scissors, some thread and a small metal box full of pins. His white shirt was laying on the ground, the collar ripped off. 

"I know you aren't a vampire, but you could have still asked before entering." He barked, annoyed at this invasion. The elf picked up the shirt and began to pin and sew the collar back on. 

"Well, it's not like you're doing anything weird here. I didn't know you liked sewing… you could have fixed up my clothes instead of forcing me to borrow Shadowheart's!"

"I'm afraid your clothing was beyond repair even before it got torn apart. If anything that might have helped make it look better." 

"Tks, I'll show you what true luxurious clothing is like; the underdark has the best spider silks imaginable, they feel like water around your body. You surface dwellers know nothing." 

"And yet none of your ancestral fashion knowledge got to you, did it?" Replayed him. Leeith crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. If he was any other person, he would have already been made into a fine mist of gore, but his tone was too sarcastic for her to take it seriously. 

"I'm done." he said at last, donning his shirt back on. "After you, darling." He pointed to the outside. The drow crawled away, soon followed by tonight's companion. Astarion stepped in front of her and, after making certain no one was around, directed her through a small hidden path. He was more than excited: she could see it in the way his hands trembled, his eyes flickered eagerly towards her, to make sure she was still following. Leeith caught him licking his lips once, the phantom sweetness of her blood still lingered on them. 

Finally they got to a small river, with little flowers growing everywhere. It wasn't any random spot, the elf had put thought on where to lead her. Did he think a cute flower bed would have made her more trusting? Or was he just a romantic, wanting the moment to feel special for him? Not that it mattered. He didn't even need to set up a trap since the drow had offered herself. 

"So?" She sat down, crossing her legs and looking up at the man. He soon followed, landing at her side, closer that he had ever been. She expected warmth to come from him, but again, nothing but cold dead flesh. 

"So? Want to admire the stars before I go?" He teased, brushing her hair away from her neck. His hand fell on it, caressing it. His skin was soft and cared for, unlikely for a warrior. It smelled of fancy cologne and fabric soap. 

"Maybe I will, Astarion. You don't seem that hungry after all." Leeith stretched her legs out, then lowered her head to the ground. Her eyes did search for the moon, but it was hidden among the clouds and leaves above her. Finally she shut them, bracing herself for the bite.

"What do you gain out of this? Why are you doing it?" He blurted out, not having moved an inch. His eyes were still bloodshot, but he was controlling himself. Leeith was puzzled. 

"Nothing really. Why are you asking?" She lifted one of her eyebrows and rested her weight back in her elbows.

"You said it yourself, I'm borrowing your blood and you want something in return. What is that?" 

"Well, I suppose it's true I never do anything for free, but I don't know. I wasn't actually expecting anything back. Again, you can treat me to a bottle of wine if you want, but otherwise, I'll be fine. It's just some blood, a good night's rest will take care of it." 

"So, is this just… out of the goodness of your heart?" The way his voice got higher, it almost made him sound offended.

"Oh yes, Astarion. When the gods were handing out goodness, I skipped everything regarding not murdering people or threatening them, and grabbed bucketfuls of selfless vampire feeding acts. My soul aches for all the poor little starving vampires of this world." She placed a hand over her heart. His expression was undecipherable, a mix between confusion and indignation. 

"Relax, Astarion." Leeith sighed and dropped the act, understanding his displeasure. "I don't know why I'm doing it, but it does help you, doesn't it? I see the way you fight and act after being able to eat something proper. It's a completely different you. A better you. I need that." 

"Is this it?" He was still unsure. Was this it? Not even Leeith could tell. There wasn't a reason to give herself out like that. He was a perfectly good assassin even when hungry. The only ulterior motive was gaining his favour, so he’d still be on her side once killing and drinking Cazador. Not that she was going to tell him that. She scrolled her shoulders.

"Guess so." At that answer, he smirked again, returning to his old bastard self. 

"Shall we make ourselves comfortable?" The vampire guided her down, supporting her head all the way. His body shifted over hers, putting his weight on his knees. For a moment, Leeith hoped his fingers would caress her stomach and move upwards to her ribs or down to her thighs. That didn't happen. Astarion just used his other hand to keep himself hovering above her. The drow closed her eyes and exposed her neck. A sharp pain followed. She whimpered and gripped his shoulders tight, clenching her jaw almost enough to break some teeth. Then the pain faded, substituted by a dull humming above her shoulder, in rhythm with her heartbeat. Astarion's tongue lapped at her skin. 

"Easy now." He murmured, still with his lips on her. Was it just a thought he had? Leeith swore she could sense herself in his mind and him inside her. A similar feeling to the tadpole, but more fuzzy, deep into the recesses of their soul. The drow smiled, feeling his bliss as hers, the excitement of blood awakening something in them. For the first time, his body felt warm, alive, as he kept clinging to her sweet, sweet life. The elf was on edge. He didn't want this to finish, it felt better than any sex or drug or wine he's ever had. Just a moment more, just one more drop. Leeith’s mind was well and alive, shaking in shared joy. He needed this more than gold; he needed her to stay, to defend him from others. He couldn’t let the drow grow bored of him. As long as she trusted him, he wouldn’t have had to worry about monster hunters or Cazador’s goons; the warlock would have scared them off and, failing that, she was more than capable of crushing their bones. Her body was warm like the sun under him; He was going to cling to it for as long as he could.

The cold arrived too soon. The connection broke for an instant, as the drow below him got weaker. A wake up call.

He lifted his head up and almost felt like he needed to catch his breath, but his lungs were still dead. The vampire admired the wound on her neck: he had done a perfect job, with very little blood running off. They shared a glance as he went down on it again, just licking the few droplets on her shoulder. 

Leeith tested the wound with one hand once he sat up. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't bleeding a lot. She undid the bandage on her wrist and used that to pat her neck dry. Astarion, by her side still, was brimming. His eyes were alive and shining like rubies, a faint smile was on his lips and he seemed not to have noticed that a drop of blood was about to fall down from his chin to his prized shirt. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The drow was the first to break it. 

"So your hobby is sewing." She noted. 

"I would call it less a hobby and more a useful skill. It's not like Cazador would give me his hand-me-downs." He spat, bile raising from inside of him.

"You're free now. You could buy anything you want." 

"I quite like my clothes. And besides, where should I get anything? Maybe if we were in Baldur's gate I’d think about it, but here I could at best cover myself with twigs like those druids." 

"Uhh… you wouldn't look too bad covered in fig leaves. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work." 

"Just because you want to see me nude, doesn't mean I'll concede myself to you so easily." 

"Alright then, no more blood until I see you dressed with just one leaf." She wanted to sound serious, but the look on his face was worrying. Did he actually understand sarcasm? 

"Hey, I'm still joking. No need to look at me like that." 

"That reassures me. The thought of bedding a drow wasn't a pleasant one."

"Hey what?!" For once she was actually offended.

"Canings, ties, gags, whatever spiked torture device you have in your caves to get you off. Are you sure you are having sex down there, or just trying to eviscerate each other?" 

"Well first and foremost, the "device" is called a spike cross and you aren't actually supposed to get off on that. Second, not my fault you surface elves are more sensitive than a babe. And third," she moved her lips close to his ear, whispering seductively. "I'll be gentle your first time, you'll still be able to sit the next day." She smirked, but couldn't hold in a chuckle. 

"Is it true your men are slaves?" He asked all of a sudden. 

"It depends. Most commoners, like me, have left the practice behind. Not that I wouldn't enjoy having a slave or two, but you know, either they consent or I buy one. Now, the matriarchs, they still cling to the old ways. In any case, most say it's not as bad as it was a few centuries ago. This doesn’t change the fact all men are unworthy and unclean in the Spider’s Queen eyes and her followers… like me, but I won’t chain you up unless you request me." She shrugged. Astarion was lost. His face was turned towards her, but his eyes were looking somewhere far. In that moment, Leeith remembered all that he had to go through, between the torture and the servitude.

"Hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "That won't happen anymore, alright. You're free now. Nothing can take that away and if they try, you aren't alone. I'll personally go into Cazador's lair and open all of his curtains, while you stand above his ashes. The sun will burn him, while you will be free." He shook his head.

"A naïve and puerile fantasy… but thank you. Shall we go? You said you were tired and don't think blood loss made you any stronger." He offered his hand and she took it. Even with that, standing up was not an easy task when her world kept spinning and going dark at the edges, but she managed. 

"Lolth be graced, no one tells you the downsides of being a blood bag when you pick up this job." She joked, as they both walked back to camp.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

A Peaceful Elf

Part VII

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

It was all one moment. A moment made of a hundred motions.

“Halsin could see the entire camp. The gnolls running down the hill into our little sanctuary. He whipped his left arm behind him, grabbing the table. Like a windmill, he hurled it at the gnoll’s chest while his other arm pulled me into the space where the table had been. I had turned in his arm and now faced the center of camp. I came face to face with a raging druid at the precipice of transformation. As another gnoll ran at him from his right, an eldritch blast propelled it through part of the tent, away from the growing mass of fur. I changed into my Rothe form and started heaving gnolls left and right. Karlach had lifted you up onto her shoulder and cleaved at least three of them in half as she tried to find a safe place to put you. One came up right behind her, but Astarion bit him, and then just kept hacking away. Lae’zel covered Karlach, absolutely annihilating three more, and they both moved to the edge of the camp when two gnolls overpowered me, and I turned back into, well, this…That’s when I got—,” you pointed to your thigh, now wrapped and splinted. A small pang shot through your skull as a headache began. Maybe less enthusiasm, yeah?

Shadowheart listened, pensively, from the adjacent cot. She was sitting up and processing now that she was awake. With two-thirds of the possible healers down, recuperation was slow going. 

“And you’re telling me I was incapacitated from the beginning. That they threw something at me?” She frowned.

“Quite. It almost puts all of our practice these past few mornings to shame,” chastised Lae’zel as she placed a bowl of food near the cleric. “Eat. You will need it.” A hesitation, as if assessing Shadowheart, and then she turned on her heels and left. 

“How are you feeling?” Halsin now made his way into the makeshift healer’s tent, stooping down to see us both. 

“Better than I was last night, apparently. Tav was catching me up.”

“I heard,” he crouched down onto one knee. “You may have lost an opportunity as a bard, little leader,” he grinned. “I’m glad to see you both awake. What do you need?” 

While Halsin tended to you and Shadowheart, outside the tent, you could hear tense conversation. Peering around the wide shoulders, you saw the rest of the group huddled together. Lae’zel and Wyll stood opposite from Astarion, Karlach and Gale. From their strained body language, there was clearly a disagreement. “Do you know what they’re on about?” Looking back at Halsin.

“Hm? Oh, the others. They seem to be at an impasse on whether to journey to the crèche or wait for you to heal. With that leg, limited healing potions, and this one,” he pointed his chin with a faint smile, “acting as our only functional healer, reasonable options are limited.”

“What about you? Or…did you meet your magic healing quota on us already?” You asked, realizing you hadn’t stuttered once in his presence this time. Perhaps it was the throbbing pain in your leg that kept you steady.

He pointed a finger at you as he inspected Shadowheart’s forehead. “Precisely. I believe some of them do not like the idea of leaving you here, while Lae’zel is quite determined to waste no more time with that worm in her head.” The cleric’s injury seemed to meet his standards.

All three of you looked back at the group. “They’ll listen to you, you know.” He turned back to you. “Would you like me to bring them over?”

Shadowheart adjusted her self and slid her legs off the cot, still gripping the side for balance. “I feel just about ready to make my way to the crèche or to search for a place with healing supplies. It’s unwise to go far without them, given what we face.”

“Mmm, this is true,” Halsin agreed.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, and thought about your options. “If we’re limited on anything medicinal, I’m in no state to move. If the pack does move forward to the crèche, perhaps they can find supplies AND a way to rid us of these little buggers. Hmm.” You paused, making up your mind, then told Halsin, “Alright, call them over.”

A quirked eyebrow, “yes, m’lady,” with a smile.

Okay, yeah that was a little bossy. They’re your allies not your dogs. Tone it down.

They all gathered around the entrance to the tent. 

“Tav,” Lae’zel started, “it is folly waiting here another minute when our salvation lies at the foot of this mountain! Tell them so, for they will not listen to reason,” she hissed and shot a glare at Astarion, Gale and Karlach, who began to glow a bit brighter. Your head began to throb. Halsin knelt down near your cot again, searching for more bandages in one of the bags below a table.

“We’re not leavin’ her here to get eaten by any gnolls that want to come by. Are you actually daft, ‘Zel, or do you just want to be the one calling the shots that badly?” The tiefling fumed.

Astarion and Gale took a step back. Gale, obviously concerned; Astarion, seeming to place bets in his own mind.

“How DARE you insinua—”

“HOLD ON! Hold on—no one is trying to keep these critters any longer than necessary or put our Tav in any danger. Please,” Wyll walked in between the two fierce forces, his hands raised to both. Braver than me. “Perhaps Tav has a take on this.” They looked to you.

You took a deep breath, “The way I see it, with this leg, I’m no good traveling anywhere. We’ve gone on long enough with the tadpoles doing gods-knows-what in our skulls, and the crèche is a day’s walk. They may also have supplies. IF they don’t, or if things go south, we should probably send another group to reach the last farm or bit of civilization we passed. See what they can scrounge up. Shadowheart?” You had her attention. “I think you should go with Lae’zel to the crèche. That party will need someone to patch them up.” She scowled a bit at the simplistic characterization.

“Karlach,” She started to protest, but you raised a hand, “I’ll be fine, both parties will need help on their missions. Do you want to kick ass or go on scavenger duty?”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t believe a word you’re saying, you’re NOT fine, and you lie that you are all of the time, so why is this any different?” She stood, hulking arms crossed with a concerned frown. Everyone else found somewhere else to look, clearly agreeing with her assessment of your self-preservation skills.

When she cared, she cared fiercely. It was part of why everyone trusted her.

But she was stubborn. “Halsin, you’ve taken a look at this, am I fine?” You meant to say it as a patient to a caretaker. You immediately saw the problem with the statement. He looked back to you, curiously, then down at your leg. 

“Ahem, uh, well, it—it’s not ready for travel, yet it seems to be stable. It just needs time.” He glanced back up at you, a bit flushed, and then turned back to the group.

“There, you see? I’m fine. The healer says so,” you gestured to Halsin, who’s back was now turned to you, still able to see the rosiness peaking at the edges of his cheek.

“UGH, fine, whatever. But if you die out here, so help me, I’ll find a scroll to bring you back and kill you myself. Got it?”

You grinned. “Got it. Now, where do you want to go?”

Karlach thought for a moment. “My back does still ache…the best way to loosen it up is to bash a few heads in.” She eyed Lae’zel, who frowned back. “Eh, I’ll take the crèche. Let’s see if they’re all as perky as you, ‘Zel.”

“Alright, that’s three. One more should do it.” Astarion, Gale, Wyll and Halsin were left.

“Maybe I can find that literature you’ve been recommending down there,” Gale said to Lae’zel. She almost smiled in approval; a rare sight. The four of them began walking back to their tents to gather armor and the like.

“Good, that leaves Astarion, Wyll and you to find supplies,” you told the druid. They all stopped and frowned at you. 

“What, and leave you alone? You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with Fangs on this one,” Karlach strode back to the tent you occupied. 

“I’m stable, and I have company!” They all looked at Scratch and the owlbear. “Just leave me some food and I’ll be completely fine. If you’re truly concerned, we can move the camp a bit. To some where more defendable.” They all looked at you disapprovingly. “By the gods, I am fine!”

“Halsin,” Wyll looked down to the druid, ignoring you, “Two should be fine for the journey. How about you stay here, given that the patient seems to be suffering from delusions?”

“Oh, well that’s not new,” crooned the vampire, “all the same, I do think you should stay. She needs company and tending; just look at her, so frail.” A mournful look to you.

You were dumbstruck. 

“So be it,” Halsin nodded to them. “If, she’ll have me.” He turned to you, still at eye level.

You were furious. “Fine,” you grated your teeth. Your headache now consumed most of your attention.

“Wonderful! Now that everyone’s happy, let’s get going. The sooner we can be done with all of this, the better.” Astarion gave you a meaningful glance, then sauntered to his tent. 

Unfuckingbelievable. You weren’t frail, you didn’t need a caretaker, you could do well enough. All you needed was a crutch. Maybe something for your head. They were blowing this out of proportion, Astarion probably did it just to needle you about how time at camp with him went, the nosy little twit. I’m going to learn how to grow poison ivy JUST to wrap him in it overnight, you fumed.

Halsin, the only one now present, covered your revealed foot with the blanket. “I—I’ll start our meal. Do you need anything in the meantime?”

Through your frustration, you could feel your stomach flip. Your frown slackened and you found your voice had lost its edge. “A crutch would be a good start, if you have a moment.”

“Certainly,” he beamed, patting the cot as if the gesture was a form of punctuation.

You grimaced from the jostle it caused.

“Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine! It’s fine. See? I’m good,” you turned your grimace into a close-lipped grin.

“…Right. Uh, I’ll go find something for you. Apologies.” He rose up, careful to not touch the cot again, and strode out.

—

Hells, they’re cracked, thought Karlach as she shook her head, witnessing the moment from outside her tent. 

—

How many days would it be? One day to the crèche, probably a day there, then a day back. You watched him leave, assessed your leg, then bit your lip at the sharp pain that followed. Lying across your frame was the blanket he had wrapped around your shoulders the night before.

You pulled it slowly up closer to your chest, knit your fingers into the weave. Maybe just a quick nap. You dozed off with the scent of sage and thyme wafting through your dreams. 

[stickthisbig]

For the fanfic word guessing game - eldritch :')

You know we got that:

On instinct she readies an eldritch blast in both palms, and she unleashes both of them at once. They are somehow not eldritch at all, fueled by [something else].

[energeticknight1993]

Guess who got back to their Baldur’s Gate 3 nonsense? Me…

Playing through as a Bard (Collage of Lore)/Warlock (The Fiend) hybrid combo and so far it’s been going well. Frighten my foes and running away to heal the team. Or shot out either with his crossbows or Fire spells/Eldritch Blasts if you hurt his friends. (Or throw insults to make you miss (Cutting Words) or mock you to death)

Also, he wears the Dark Justicer’s mask when he’s not talking to someone so I got the whole “Phantom of the Opera” thing going on with him

Small snippet Bio

Name: Ayre

Race: High Elf (Mage Hand for cantrip)

Background: Noble (Lives near the city but his name is only realized by his voice)

Prior to becoming an adventurer: Originally the singer of the opera in Baldur’s Gate and beloved by his fans and stalkers until the Mind Flyers kidnapped him (Probably will write a fanfic about him returning to the abandoned opera house)

Go to team: Karlach, Astarion and Gale/Shadowheart

Love Interest: Astarion

[neonscandal]

Manga With Me: JJK Crackpot Theories (But Maybe Not) Rapid Fire Edition

I have had a lot of thoughts lately without any time to properly articulate them so let’s start the new year off with a shotgun blast of my least founded hot takes because, why not? Some of them might have some context clues but others might just be ideas I know I’ll never use for fanfics so, now, we all have to suffer. Enjoy my “What Ifs” and weigh in with your own. 👇🏾

⚠️ Spoiler warning: as these are rapid fire takes, covers info through current chapter of 209 and JJK0.

Nobara isn’t dead, Megumi was just paying Yuji back with his vagueness.

I just think it would be such an unhinged turn of events for Nobara to be largely okay but Megumi played the long game because how dare Yuji go along with Gojo’s half baked plan and force him to feel things for a sustained period of time?? Like, no real benefit to the plot in concealing her status except as a prank. I feel like Akutami would totally pull something like that too just for the sake of trolling. But if she came back as a critical plot point!? Even better, she deserved more shine. We also haven't seen a satisfying end to Nobara's need to reunite with Saori so I won't confirm her death until it's conveyed explicitly.

We haven't seen the best side of Miwa

I maintain the Akutami has been pretty good about tying in even the slightest of details (okay bit of dickriding here, I know). I've written about the fact that Miwa may not have such humble origins but I believe the last time we saw Miwa sets her up for a big awakening as well. The Tokyo and Kyoto schools differ in many ways as the latter tends to toe the more traditional line in agreement with the reigning jujutsu elders. Yaga, an indicator of the Tokyo school's tendency toward progressiveness, was considered odd with his cursed puppets and this eccentricity is foundational to those who work and attend the Tokyo school.

During Yuta's introduction, Maki makes it a point to mention that the weak always gather in packs, sorcerers and curses. We see countless times that Kyoto school executes as a pack, whether that is during the Goodwill Event or even when going after Kenjaku!Geto. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Gojo presses his students to go on missions appropriate for sorcerers of his caliber unsupervised. Where the elders and Kyoto seem to be intent on pacification and predictable power scaling, Tokyo is home to those the established order would consider abominations and would rather see gone. Those too weird (Yuji, Panda, Maki, the third years, I believe even Inumaki is a bit of an outcast) or those too powerful to control (Gojo, Yuta). So, the last time we saw little old Miwa... why was she alone? Because her powered up debut is loading. ✨

Megumi will be the one to exorcise Sukuna.

This is perhaps the rawest of theories considering. But Megumi’s technique requires him to summon and effectively exorcise a different animal curse in order to successfully wield it. We saw the eldritch horror he summoned as a final “fuck you” before Sukuna intervened and saved him (seriously, what was that?). So what if Megumi, in the end has the power to exorcise and wield Sukuna (a la Rika to Yuta)? Like... is this the best case scenario to save our sunshine boy, Yuji? This theory is held together by silly string but I am going to stake it on the fact that we were given the hopeless backstory of Gojo and Geto as how things had gone wrong. As the reader, should we not expect that that new iteration of this dynamic would prove to be more victorious? I'm just holding out hope. *weeps in Itafushi*

Megumi is an integral piece of the future of jujutsu and emotional damage is in the forecast

In many ways, this is already apparent. Gojo, following Toji's last directive, plucked Megumi and Tsumiki from their lives alone knowing the value of Megumi's technique and birthright. In cultivating Megumi's talent, we find out that centuries ago their ancestors were powerful enough to fight one another and we already know Gojo is OP. Megumi, unsure of himself and still developing will be a force to be reckoned with. We've seen it in glimpses already. This potential is something that Sukuna also covets which speaks volumes. We've seen with Gojo’s origin story (and Spider-Man) that great power leads to great responsibility. End game, I believe Megumi will be tasked with exorcising or killing Yuji out of necessity. But, if things in the box go horrendously wrong, I also think he'll be responsible for putting Gojo down. Hell, it might simply come down to a painful choice between Yuji and Gojo and we’ve already seen that Megumi trends toward Yuji’s preservation. I won’t say current events put a decision between Yuji or Tsumiki but 👀

Worse, I fear there will be a reckoning when he realizes he didn't have the full story behind what went down between Gojo and Toji. Either way, Gojo has cast Megumi as his equal and so has Akutami. Historically, this has ended tragically and Gojo's heart would simply be torn asunder to be undone by his own beloved protege.

Toji isn’t actually as much of a piece of shit.

This isn’t actually a plot development. I think we, as the readers, are meant to contextualize a few things to comprehend what may come to light about him. 1. He named Megumi “blessing” which leads me to believe that, while he was demonstrably awful, Megumi’s birth could have been a turning point. Tbh I think something happened to Megumi’s mom (well before Toji met Tsumiki’s mom) which sent him back down the spiral of being a degenerate and ultimately selling off his kid. I wonder how much the elders may have had to do with her death. Whether those be the Zenin or Jujutsu elders is really up in the air. 2. Akutami, in interviews, implied that Gojo wasn’t really a monogamous person in that they couldn’t see him settling down with one woman. Mind you, they then slowly reveal the deeper connection to Geto which fills in some gaps to what I'm considering a deliberate misdirection. So I’m wondering if the implication about Toji being a broke ass bum, while valid, has additional context yet to be seen.

Yuji hasn't seen the last of Yuko Ozawa

Again, this is a raw ass theory considering, I can't even lie and call it half baked. But wouldn't it be crazy if Yuko makes it to the end fight, perhaps similarly motivated as Kurusu with some cursed entity within her seeking Sukuna's head but she'll retain an affinity toward Yuji or something? Like why introduce her and that precious history with Yuji if she's not going to boomerang back into the story? Even if all she'll be is sentimental cannon fodder (I'm looking at you Junpei).

[cat-appreciator]

More thoughts about my oc: she doesn’t seem to actually *do* anything. Insert person-poking-bird-with-stick meme here. This is the problem with coming up with a character from the vibes up as opposed to plot up. This is a very similar problem to “my character is from outside the known universe and has no connection to the characters or plot”, which she also has.

I said in an earlier post that she could just as easily be slotted into a variety of settings, not just BnHA, which is true. She might actually fit *better* in a setting like Buffy the Vampire Slayer because “eldritch horror from beyond the stars who is also a high school student” is a concept that fits right into BTVS. In BnHA her origin doesn’t really *matter*, she’s just another student with a weird quirk.

I’ll keep poking her with a stick, I guess, in the hopes that she vomits up a hyperdimensional plot bunny.

In the past I’ve been a bit down on (my own) BnHA fanfic plot ideas where the OC (and it’s mostly OCs, I just can’t stop making them!) is someone’s sibling or child or otherwise has some connection to the cast because that connection feels a bit … melodramatic? (and also because part of my personal neuroses hiss like a wet cat when confronted with human connections). Todoroki doesn’t need any more siblings with mental health issues, even if Endeavour getting blast shadowed by one who has the power of the Sun is a pleasant idea. The Todoroki family drama in particular often feels overwrought.

But then without that connection to the cast a stranger just … doesn’t do much? BnHA has more than enough characters already, replacing one of them with a fresh face doesn’t really change anything.

Maybe I just need to be playing TTRPGs instead.

[xerxestexastoast]

wow gamers long time no see

Lots of info I've posted to my age-old headcanon tag is terribly out of date as I've continued to develop it. Amongst the developments are:

The Master's history and relationship to canon has been hammered out a bit more, but I actually REMOVED some details (namely the "internal world override" and associated corruption of the seraphim and multiversal blast), mostly because I just forgot about it and kept soldiering on with new developments.

I think it's the right choice though, since I don't really need to have a coherent motivation for something so insanely eldritch. I also introduced a time loop to its influence, where its ultimate annihilation at the end of one of my major planned fics plants the seeds of its arrival on the mortal plane in the first place. I don't think I NEED it to be that cosmically sweeping for the seraphim to care about it anyway.

Seraphim don't have mortal protectorates as a rule anymore, nor are there legends like that. The Sanctuary Wardens are just terribly fond of the universe their nest is hooked up to. Humanity is their blorbo. The Wardens also live in the angelic equivalent of bumfuck nowhere so how would they even hear about something like that?

The seraph corruption bit was an off-the-cuff idea to reintroduce more popular fandom interpretations of Zero and Dark Matter to my Kirby headcanon in hypothetical scenarios, but once again, I Forgor. I've been cooking up multiverse headcanons that allow for the same kind of hypotheticals. In the wake of the Magologue I had a lot of thoughts about alternate universes and timelines and that has given me a lot of ammo for Fic Ideas to add on to my existing ones, what fun what fun

I have completely flipped the script on Morpho and instead of "Gala's pet butterfly" I've gone whole hog on their cosmic significance. They're the first seraph and the bridge between the ether and the void. Their nest, Hell's Blossom, sits right at the center of the Cloudrealms.

Likewise, this is evidence of literally all of my Galacta headcanons going in the trash. I've finally accepted that he's been GBJ'd from the main timeline, which has been a hard pill to swallow because I had him survive and recover on Ripple Star the instant I saw him in KSSU.

Nothing about my Gala headcanons was contradicted until Knightmare Returns in Robobot, where I couldn't cram the scenario into the timeline coherently in a way that was satisfying. It meant making the entire final part of the main story an illusion while Kirby was in stasis and trapped in a simulation. Meta had to break him out, and I just couldn't accept Star Dream Soul OS's exact copy of NOVA's design as their genuine design because I REALLY wanted the Clockwork Stars to have some diversity. Soul OS's Access Ark looking so much like Galactic Nova was a banger reference for sure, but it fucked with my vision for my Kirbyverse. Now with the power of AUs I can shunt that entire concept off into an altverse!

But also Galacta coming back in Robobot and subsequently Star Allies meant that my whole "he is unsealed as of Knightmare Ultra and plays an active role in major fanfic plans" was bunk. Took me ages to salvage Major Arc Fic #1 (RtDLDX gave me the necessary extra RtDL brainrot to get back into thinking about it). I still haven't salvaged my Galacta thoughts. Don't even get me started on Aeon Hero and the implication that Galacta is one of the Four Heroes of the Heart. Holy fuck I am still reeling. I thought I would get to keep his ancient supersoldier bioweapon backstory but NOOOO I GUESS I CAN'T.

I've considered making Aeon and Galacta separate people, with Aeon being the real Hero of the Heart and the genetic base for Galacta's creation, and that adds a fun detail where his Halcandran elements (eyes, horns, and natural levitation) can come from ANOTHER of the heroes! But this doesn't fucking explain why Galacta can summon the Heart Spears in Clash if he indeed is the same Galacta. If Galacta is sealed out in Another Dimension where time don't work right, then it doesn't make sense for etheric resonance (topic for another post) to copy Galacta into the AUs. Aeon himself is sealed inside his own Heart Spear as part of the seal on the Jamba Heart.

It's POSSIBLE that etheric resonance could conflate Aeon and Galacta into the same guy and put him in the Clashverse but that means we have TWO GALACTAS sealed in AD and I hope you all understand why I don't exactly want to go there. Once shit starts happening out in AD, it's outside the jurisdiction of any one universe. Etheric resonance involves information being passed from one universe to another VIA the ether (the intercosmic medium that we know in canon as Another Dimension). If you're imprisoned IN the ether, that information doesn't get the chance to travel.

While I'm less weirded out by more regular characters having altselves in the altverses, Galacta's character is DEFINED by his imprisonment. It feels markedly less weird when I cook up ideas for Magolor to meet other Magolors than, say, multiple different Galacta crystals just being out there. And THAT'S because the same Galacta being summoned to so many different timelines for the same purpose is itself compelling! It feels foundational to his Vibe, especially when I focus on what's actually canon. This poor fucker gets yoinked around constantly and has no say in it. I want to give him his freedom like I do with virtually every other Kirby character but I feel like he'd suffer from an eternity of madness only curable by death on the battlefield. How the fuck does a mortal mind withstand that? No wonder Morpho took him in Guest Star

[croik]

You were the first person who I read Malevolent fanfics from and my god did you not disappoint. I literally can’t even describe it. How are you so good at writing? The description, pacing, and dialogues are so ✨✨🫣✨✨

m'Aww thank you so much!! Malevolent's bodyshare and eldritch gods unlocked something my brain and I've been having a blast, so glad you've enjoyed the output! 8D

[marsmarvel02]

"What Manny Can't Fix" Review: Chapters 20 and 21

Welcome back and welcome again to my review of "What Manny Can't Fix" a Handy Manny fanfic that- well, if I'm reviewing it, you know it's got to be bad.

Last time, we kicked off Part 2 with a bang, a poorly-named villain, and the promise of a fight scene. Today, we discover... that the fight scene doesn't actually happen. Boo.

(And as always, if you'd like to start this review series from the beginning, Chapter 1 is here.)

Chapter 20

Wisp was looming over Carrie. “You’re making us look bad!”

“Wisp! Stop it!” Carrie whined, however he didn’t seem like was going to back down this time.

The part starting with “however” should be A. a separate sentence, B. completely rewritten.

“No!” He spat. 

Well, if the tools can spit it means that matter does in fact have a chance of returning from the eldritch void their mouths link to, so that’s good news for the universe of Handy Manny.

“Wisp!” Anne warned. “That’s enough!”

She tried to grab him, but Wisp sprayed a blast of air in Anne’s face causing her to stumble back.

Why does Anne keep Wisp around? She could easily “fire” him and just get an inanimate pneumatic wrench, and it would save a lot of trouble.

“She’s an embarrassment to battery carriers everywhere!” Wisp said. “I’m sick of her foolishness!”

Or maybe Anne is too afraid of what Wisp would do if he found out he was fired… yeah, that seems to be the likely answer.

Iron Grip slowly made his way onto the workshop table. While Anne was trying to compose herself, Wisp kept his sights on Carrie.

“You pathetic little piece of scrap metal!” He hissed. “You don’t belong in this garage, you-”

“H...hey! Leave her alone!” Iron Grip managed to spit out. 

Wisp turned around slowly, looking slightly surprised, until a grin of malice spread across his face.

“Oh? The Monkey Wrench is actually deciding to step up for once?” He asked, getting closer. 

Why is “Monkey Wrench” capitalized?

Iron Grip started shaking, and was scared he’d lose his balance. 

“Isn’t this great?” Wisp laughed. “Little Iron Grip wants to fight me.”

“F...fight!?” Iron Grip whimpered out.

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Wisp asked.

“N...no!” Iron Grip gulped, trying to find his braveness again. “I want you to leave Carrie alone!”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

“Well I uh...uh…”

“Wisp!” Anne grabbed him in her hand.

Yeah, that bunch of yelling and Wisp hitting Anne with a blast of not-very-strong wind was the entire extent of this chapter’s “fight scene”. How disappointing.

“By distracting you until Anne was better!” Carrie chimed in.

“Better”? Seriously?!

At worst, being blasted by air from a pneumatic tool would be like being hit by a big gust of wind. It shouldn’t be an attack strong enough that someone would be stunned for several lines of dialogue before recovering.

How do I know? Well, in the Wood Shop class I took last year, we had an air compressor with a hose attached. It got used for its intended purpose, powering a nail gun, all of once, but the rest of the year kids treated it like a toy and blasted themselves with it for fun or to blow sawdust off themselves.

Anne glared at Wisp slightly.  “You’re in big trouble…”

Wisp twisted in Anne’s hand, trying in vain to get free. He looked over at Iron Grip and sneered slightly. “I’ll get you for this, Monkey Wrench….”

Wow, only 27 lines of text (not counting spaces and my insertions)? That’s got to be a new record for the shortest chapter in this fic.

Chapter 21

A silence fell over the garage and Iron Grip could taste the staleness of the air.

Hey Anne, I think your ventilation system’s broken down!

Anne had left the room with Wisp, so now it was him, Carrie, and a few other tools just sitting on the counter in a stunned silence. Carrie still seemed shaken up as Iron Grip approached her.

She sniffled as she looked up.

“Are...are you okay?”” Iron Grip frowned.

Carrie let out a small sigh and nuzzled against him. “Oh Iron Grip, thank you.”

“Aw it was nothing.” He said, trying to fight the blush forming on his cheeks. 

“Nothing?” She scoffed. “You stood up to Wisp! I’m so proud of you!”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Iron Grip didn’t even try to stop the blushing anymore, letting his whole face go red.

“Well uh...he was uh….yelling at you.” He managed to stammer out. “And I...I didn’t like that…”

Carrie nuzzled closer to him. “I love you, Iron Grip.”

“I...I love you too…” He sputtered out. 

He’d told her he’d loved her before, but now he realized how much he did love her, and how much she meant to him.

Carrie made his heart soar and made him feel bliss. She was his everything, and in that moment he realized how much he truly was in love with her.

Gosh, author, your attempts at purple prose aren’t nearly florid enough. Come back and try again once you’ve gotten yourself a decent vocabulary.

Iron Grip slowly went over to the pile of scrap metal in the back of the garage, looking for the perfect piece of metal. Nothing too rusted or dirty, but something bright and shiny.

Sun light from the upper windows shined inside, reflecting on a small piece of metal in the pile.

This is perfect!

Iron Grip gripped the piece of metal tightly in his jaw and bent the metal into a circle. She’s going to love this!

Oh boy, I can tell the next few paragraphs are going to be thrilling.

Iron Grip carefully held the bent metal and hopped onto the table Carrie was on. She was still pretty stressed out about the situation with Wisp, and was trying to calm herself.

Her eyes were shut tight until she heard the clinging of metal hitting the table. The circular piece of metal laid in front of her.

“Iron Grip?” She asked, slightly confused.

“Carrie.” He said, gently. “Will….will you marry me?”

PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Her eyes lit up and she nuzzled against him. “Yes! Of course Iron Grip!”

Oh man, this is great!

“I love you…” Iron Grip breathed out gently.

And they say jokes that you can see coming aren’t funny!

“I love you too.” Carrie said, tearing up slightly. 

I love the direction this story has taken. So much potential for mocke-

A sudden sense of trepidation has crept into my mind, along with the notion that the reason for my trepidation has to do with that one Plunker chapter I can’t remember.

Eh, I don’t feel like going back and reading it.

The two sat there embracing each other before Carrie pulled back. “Oh my gosh! We’ve got so much to do before the wedding!”

She started pacing around. “A wedding dress….Maid of Honor...Oh! And guests!”

How would a “battery carrier” wear a dress?

Iron Grip laughed a bit. “We’ll have plenty of time for planning.”

Carrie kissed his cheek again and snuggled him closer. “I’m just so happy….”

“I am too.” Iron Grip said, gently.

“Why don’t we go outside for a bit?” Carrie asked. “It’s very nice outside.”

“Okay!” Iron Grip said, excitedly.

The two of them hopped off the counter and headed out the garage door. When they were gone, Wisp popped his head out from a nearby toolbox.

Oh, so the two sweet bolts are getting married, huh? Well….I might as well make it a wedding they’ll never forget…..

Aaand CHAPTER!

(The next part of my review has now been posted!)