#expansion shield with bolt

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 2 - Frozen Lake || Cold hands, Scarves, and Snow

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Short and Sweet

The frozen lake stretched out in front of you, an expansive canvas of crystal blue and pearl white, its glassy surface reflecting the pale, grey sky that loomed overhead like a heavy shroud. Flurries of snow fell softly, delicate flakes swirling around you, catching in your hair and settling on the oversized, knitted scarf that Katsuki had wrapped around your neck earlier. It was snug—perhaps a bit too snug—tight enough that it felt like a leash, a tether binding you to him. You absently tugged at the fabric, attempting to loosen the knot, but the moment his sharp, piercing gaze landed on you, a jolt of hesitation shot through you, rendering your hands still.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder, carrying an edge that hinted at danger.

You flinched at the intensity of his tone, but words eluded you, trapped in the coil of apprehension tightening in your chest. Your breath formed small clouds in the frigid air as you stood hesitant at the lake's edge, the icy wind biting at your cheeks. Suddenly, Katsuki's hand found yours, enveloping it in his warm palm, a striking contrast to the bitter cold surrounding you. His grip was firm, possessive, unyielding, as if he feared that the moment he let go, you might bolt, disappearing into the snow-drenched landscape.

“Let’s go,” he commanded, and without waiting for a reply, he began dragging you onto the ice.

You stumbled, the soles of your shoes skidding across the slick surface, struggling to find your footing. But Katsuki didn't relent; if anything, he tightened his hold on you, his determination seeming to bind you to him as he forced you to keep pace.

“Can’t even stay on your feet,” he sneered, amusement dancing in his eyes, though the undertone of his words bore a darker edge that made your heart race. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you steady.”

As the two of you ventured deeper onto the lake, the world around you fell eerily silent, the snow absorbing all sounds, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of your labored breathing in its wake. Katsuki suddenly stopped, pulling you close until your faces were mere inches apart, the warmth of his breath mingling with the cold air between you.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, but the weight of his words hit you like a thunderclap, resonating deeper than any shout could convey. “Don’t forget that, no matter how cold it gets out here. No one else gets to hold you. No one else gets to keep you warm.”

As he spoke, his hand reached up to tug your scarf tighter around your neck, a teasing smirk curving his lips as you gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze and the possessiveness that underpinned his words. The icy air around you seemed to thicken, almost crackling with an electricity that made your heart race. All at once, the chilled atmosphere transformed into something raw and electrifying, much like the connection swirling between you, creating a warmth that melted away the frost threatening to seep into your bones. In that moment, you felt the undeniable truth of his claim wrap around you, as suffocating as the scarf but yet as comforting as the embrace of someone who would shield you from the world, a fragile line drawn in the snow that only he could step across.

[fili-urzudel]

Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜

13. Sitting together

14. Handholding

15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)

31. Stargazing

This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.

Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.

BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader

The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.

"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.

"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."

"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.

You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."

You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.

His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."

You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"

"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you." Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"

"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.

"Of course I will."

Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.

The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.

"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.

"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.

"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."

"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.

There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."

Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.

You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.

"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.

The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.

"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"

"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.

"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."

The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.

This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.

Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.

"We did it," you whispered.

"Yeah, we did."

The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.

The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.

Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.

You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.

"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.

"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.

He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.

Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"

It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."

"Then it's alright, I suppose."

"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."

"Sly fox."

"Coin pincher."

"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.

Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."

You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"

"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."

"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."

"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.

"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.

"Good."

The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.

"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."

"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."

"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.

The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.

You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."

"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.

He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.

You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.

You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.

"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.

"What?"

He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."

"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.

"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.

"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."

It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."

[the-fiction-witch]

Yes My Lords

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon & Cregan Stark Couple - Jacaerys X Reader + Cregan X Reader Reader - Y/n (Winterfell Maid) Rating - 17+ (Playful flirting/ playful spanking/ lap sitting) Word Count - 1114

The summer snow swirled fiercely across the expansive hills of the north. The ancient castle of Winterfell loomed majestically over the pristine, snow-covered fields, its weathered stone walls reflecting centuries of history and resilience from the onslaught of winter. From every window of the castle, flickering flames casted a warm, golden glow.

The hearths crackled with life, their heat radiating through the thick walls, creating a comforting sanctuary from the bitter cold. Heavy wooden doors were bolted tight, ensuring that the howling winds and the biting chill could not invade the warm embrace of the castle.

Within the sturdy stone walls of the ancient castle, there lay an intimate chamber nestled high in the south tower. The room was steeped in a shadowy gloom, illuminated only by the flickering light of a handful of carefully placed candles. Above, an iron chandelier hung ominously, its numerous arms dark and cold, neglected in their duty to bring brightness to the room.

The faint crackle and pop of a fire danced in the fireplace, sending occasional bursts of sparks into the air as it consumed the dry wood. The warm flames flickered across the stark stone walls, creating shadows that leapt and swirled in a chaotic ballet. In the centre of the room, were two sturdy chairs, draped with soft, worn furs. Between them lay a thick, luxurious rug, shielding the floor from the chill that seeped through the castle’s ancient stones.

Despite the harsh winter storm raging outside, the air was filled with the joyful sounds of boisterous laughter and lively conversation, harmonizing in cheerful defiance against the howling wind and the crackling fire.

In one chair sat Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Stripped down of his cloak and armour to only his leathers.

On the other sat Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon, Heir to Queen Rhaynera Targaryen. Having also removed his snow-covered cloak now only in his fine black and red clothes.

Both held in their hands goblets of winter mead, bringing them to their lips often.

Jacaerys had arrived just a week prior, to propose an alliance and suppose of House Stark for his mother’s claim to the Iron Throne. The two had found a fondness for one another, the two cut from the same cloth, a mutual like and desire to be taken seriously and seen as men when the world around them saw them only as boys, even in the brief time they had together the two had felt like brothers. They had travelled to the wall together, trained in Winterfell's courtyard together, dined and drank together.

Now they sat beside the hearth, deep in their drink. Joking back and forth, telling tales and drunken jokes.

The only other soul in the room, was a young maid girl. Who was working late into the night as the two’s cup bearer coming with her large jug of wine to refill their cups whenever they demanded her. Which was often.

“…So then he says, well how was I to know the frog would jump out!” Jacaerys finished,

The two then burst into a rush of laughter,

“You are too much my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You must relax every so often my lord,” Jacaerys laughed in return tapping his goblet to summon the maid,

She nodded and headed over to refill his goblet,

“Some of us have not had such pleasure to relax,” Cregan reminded,

“I suppose you’re right,” Jacaerys nodded his eyes falling from the goblet to the maid who filled it, he looked her over a little glancing at her well-braided hair pinned up on her head, her simple northern clothes and the body that lay beneath them, his eyes trailed over her and he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes took their time over her stopping at her arse, “You’re very pretty,”

The maid was taken back surprised he spoke to her, “Oh- M-Me My prince?”

“Yes, you.” He nodded, “I hardly meant Lord Stark now did I?” He laughed,

“I feel somewhat offended my prince,” Cregan laughed,

“You’re very pretty too, Cregan” Jacaerys told him,

“Thank you,” He agreed sipping his goblet,

“But, you are very beautiful.” Jacaerys smiled to her, “A very very, pretty girl.”

“T-Thank you, My prince,” She nodded sheepishly,

Jacaerys gave her a soft stroke down her back and pushed her over to Cregan, “Isn’t she lovely,”

Cregan happily held his goblet for her, so she began to fill it for him, his eyes trailed over her more aggressively than Jacaerys had, and far less covertly,

Her eyes remained on the floor very aware of how the two were looking at her,

“She is isn’t she,” Cregan smirked, “Hello little thing,” he cooed giving her a firm smack on her backside,

“Ohh! My lord-” She gasped standing up straight and tall in her panic,

“It’s alright little maid, we won’t hurt you.” Jacaerys cooed leaning forward in his chair, “What’s your name?

“Y/n, My - My prince,” She blushed,

“Y/n… a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” Cregan smirked giving her arse another smack,

“Ooh!” she gasped almost falling forward from the strength of the slap, fighting the urge to rub her skin to soothe it from the slap,

“She’s a bit jumpy,” Jacaerys laughed,

“She is, isn’t she?” Cregan laughed, “Sweet little Y/n, our guest is not used to these northern snow storms. Go and keep him warm now.”

“Y- yes my lord,” she nodded setting the wine jug down and going over to Jacaery’s chair, she stood sheepishly unsure what she was to do but he smiled up at her,

“Do not worry sweet thing, This dragon does not bite.” he cooed, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her onto his lap,

Y/n softly squealed at the shock of being so suddenly pulled, her body slightly trembling as she felt herself over him, “My- My prince I-”

Jacaery’s smirk only grew, he guided her hands to his shoulders and smiled up at her, “There we go, that’s more secure isn’t it, don’t worry sweet thing, you won’t fall. I’ll make sure of it.” he growled leaning back as far as he could in the chair, his fingers digging into her hips,

“That better my prince? Warmer for you?” Cregan laughed leaning his elbow on his knee watching with a sly grin,

“Much better my lord, much better.” he nodded slowly guiding her hips on him forcing her to shift against him,

“You’ll stay a while longer, won’t you y/n?” Cregan asked but spoke like an order,

Y/n glanced back and forth between them, and gulped,

“Please sweet thing, it would be so much more fun if you stay.” Jacaerys pleaded,

“Y-Yes my Lords.” She nodded,

“Good girl.” Cregan Growled,

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 14: Peril

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faer��n in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.3K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Time itself moves sluggishly as the spawn descend upon the petrified, screaming miscreants that share your cell. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, fighting your ribs like striking bolts of lightning. You steel yourself against the rising panic, wrapping yourself in unflappable poise and watch for your opening.

As soon as the wave of spawn crashes and parts, you squeeze Hecat’s hand to signal her it’s time to move and bound through the gap. The corridor is a catastrophe, the stones painted in fresh crimson, bodies of guards ripped open, with their raw innards spilling out like gruesome garlands wreathing the walls. Hecat pales at the sight, dry heaving, but you’ve long become acquainted with such nightmarish affairs.

You tug Hecat along behind you, bare feet smacking the stone with such force it sends jolts of pain charging up your legs as your bones shudder with the impact of every step. That is nothing compared to the acute, explosive pain stabbing your chest with every inhalation.

Hecat stops, acquiring a shield and sword from a fallen guard. The blood makes the stone slick, and every step must be taken carefully. You cannot afford to fall. A stumble will almost surely mean death. Spawn that have finished their meals are starting to take notice. Hecat deflects them with her shield, stabbing with her sword when she has an opening and keeping you safely behind her.

The passageways are labyrinthine, confused tangles of convoluted twists and turns that sometimes double back or arrive at dead ends unexpectedly. Tears are creeping out of the corners of your eyes, dallying down your grimy, red cheeks from the agony radiating from your ribs with every expansion of your lungs. Panic starts to crumble the blanket of calm, surging through you as you frantically dart through the shadowy, disorienting hallways. The angry army of thudding footfalls of the spawn in pursuit echoes through the corridors.

Bounding up a dim stairway, the hilt of a dagger peeks out from between the joints of armour, nestled into the corpse of a guard. You yank it out with a quick tug, but time is not on your side this night. A spawn grasps your ankle, its clawed fingers sinking into your flesh and jerks you off your feet. Your head bounces off the stone slab stair, peppering your vision with black sparks of dazing pain. The only thing you can see through your muddled sight is those glowing eyes. You lash out with the dagger and sink it deeply into the socket. As soon as you’re released, Hecat is already towing you back to your feet, pulling you up the stairs and into the next room.

The milky eyes and pallor of bloodless bodies greet you. The undead in this part of the prison seem to roam, unsure of their orders, but as soon as the thudding of your heart is heard, their heads snap in your direction. They swarm around you like enraged bees. Despite Hecat’s exhaustion, she is unwavering. Her sword slashes through the air, shield deflecting the snapping fangs and shredding claws.

You feel the pangs of irritation at your uselessness. Your magic, once your greatest weapon, is now a prison in its own right. The vampires press in closer, surrounding you like a pack of ravenous wolves, their movements orchestrated by an unseen hand, but they don’t move to attack further as they corral you.

“What are they doing?” Hecat pants with wild eyes, frantically searching for an escape.

“I don’t know.”

A red aura shifts around the spawn, the same one Cazador used to control Astarion’s sibling during their midnight visit to your camp. They part for a tall, pallid figure that appears seemingly from the shadows.

“Nice to see you again, Sorceress,” it speaks. You recognize that voice, and your heart arrests in your chest, sinking into your stomach.

Aldous.

Your mind reels, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. No. He is dead. You watched the life be abducted from his eyes yourself. Yet, he stands before you, pale as death with glowing crimson eyes. His face splits into that repellent smile, and his cackling resounds off the walls.

“That one.” He points at you, “She is to be taken alive. The Tiefling matters not.”

“What the fuck,” Hecat breathes.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Sorceress,” Aldous laughs, hysterical and bone-chilling. “And your fanged friend. I cannot wait to drain you dry in front of him.”

A harrowing scream tears from your throat, a melody of rage and sorrow as Aldous disappears in a burst of red, drawn home by his unknown master. Grabbing Hecat’s hand, you eye a door and dash toward it with renewed vigour. The vampire’s claws and fangs pierce your skin as you burst through the legion. You stab and slash with reckless abandon, sinking the dagger into anything that attempts to halt you.

Hecat and you stumble into the room and try to close the door on writhing arms and legs. Hecat lashes out with her sword, severing limbs from bodies obstructing it until it slams shut and locks.

“Help me!” Hecat yells as she throws a table over. You help barricade the door with whatever is available.

“They want you?” Hecat snaps, levelling the sword at you, “Who the fuck are you, dragon girl, and why the fuck do they want you alive?”

You’re doubled over, hands on your thighs, trying to inhale as much air as your lungs can possibly take, but the splitting pain in your side hampers your ability to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” you retort venomously, eyeing the sword and Tiefling.

“That one knows you,” she hisses, shifting her stance and getting ready to strike. “Who the fuck is he?”

“A dead man,” you sigh, pushing your hair from your eyes. “I killed him. Apparently, it didn’t stick.”

“You’re a murderer?!” She gasps, bringing the steel blade to your neck.

“Yes,” you growl, unbothered by the threat.

Hecat laughs, withdrawing her blade, “I would not have thought you possible of such a heinous crime.” She winks, “I like you even more now.”

You cannot help but choke out a pained laugh, but it’s more of a groan than anything. You look around. Waxy moonlight floods the room from a small window. It’s the first window you’ve seen, but bars in a crisscross pattern make escape impossible, and the wood door is starting to splinter and crack under the barrage rattling it on its hinges.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere makes your skin prickle as the dam of suppression is released, and the Weave returns to you in an overwhelming deluge. You don’t have time to wonder why or how, and you don’t much care. The Weave causes the air to crackle, abuzz with powerful energy, and you fill yourself with it. You grip the iron and allow the potency of your draconic fire to spill out of you with a daunting laugh you cannot stifle. The bars heat, whine and wail, glowing white-hot and oozing, and Hecat thrusts her sword into the gooey mess of molten metal to clear your path.

The moon hangs high in the sky, casting an eerie glow upon the building, and the air is brisk as you clamber onto the roof. You cast Shatter, crumbling the stone around the window to block the pursuing spawn.

“That’s some potent magic you have there,” Hecat grins. “I’ve never seen anyone melt metal with their hands before.”

Her words of praise float over you as you eye the raging war of the courtyard below. Some guards remain alive, fighting another horde of spawn descending on the grounds. From the height, you can see beyond the solid walls surrounding the compound, and your feet move unconsciously, eyes skipping over the landscape - searching, searching, searching…

There.

“We could jump,” Hecat says hesitantly, peering over the edge.

“No,” you bark with a smile. “We fly. Follow me.”

You cast Fly, taking her hand and soar into the air. Hecat yelps at the suddenness of your movement and clings to you. You cannot quite reach your target before your feet hit the soft, muddied terrain. Spawn trample the ground, careening toward you like a blight on the land. Hecat stands in front of you, but you are muzzled no longer.

“Detono!” You howl, and the wave of crackling energy bowls the spawn over.

You cast Fireball and rain blazing death, warping the fire into flames that burn blue, bending it to your will. Your fingers dance in the moonlight, under stars that envy how bright you burn. Hecat stands at the ready, prepared and reinvigorated, but with unfathomable rage, you don’t miss. With every step, every twitch of your fingers, every syllable that brushes off your tongue, you are violence, you are slaughter, you are death incarnate.

It feels magnificent. Exhilarating. You are so wonderfully, splendidly fucking alive.

Whatever spawn remain have begun to retreat, much to your displeasure, disappearing in puffs of red mist, back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

“Kamena!” Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground, and pressing you tightly to firm, sculpted muscles. You would do anything to stay in this embrace but the pain in your ribs forces a pained cry from your lips, and Astarion jerks away from you.

Hecat screams, charging forward with her blade levelled at Astarion before you have time to explain. Astarion dodges swiftly and has one blade to Hecat’s throat and the other pressed firmly to her stomach before you can blink.

“Astarion, don’t,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “She helped me escape. Hecat, this is my friend.”

“Friend?” Hecat barks as Astarion releases her with a skeptical frown, and she reels back. “You failed to mention that your friend is also a fucking vampire.”

“Astarion is a person,” you growl. Without the adrenaline rocketing through your veins, your injuries and weariness have begun to take their toll on your body, and you stumble.

Astarion catches you, “You’re injured?”

“Her ribs are broken, I think,” Hecat replies for you. “The guards did not treat her well.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion bellows and slightly lifts the hem of your shirt, revealing the edges of mottled blue, black and yellowing bruise expanding up your side. “Good Gods, my love.”

“I’m fine.” You bring Astarion’s eyes to yours, gazing into the scarlet sea you have longed to swim in. It almost makes it past you, but your brows furrow, “Did you just call for Shadowheart?”

A hand lays on your shoulder, and blue magic laves away the cutting pain in your side, “This was supposed to be a nice, boring vacation,” Shadowheart tuts, nose rising into the air with a snort. “I should have known better than to think you might be able to keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Shadowheart!” You pivot, wrapping your arms around her. “Gods. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She drawls, returning the hug gently.

“Where is the wizard?” Astarion asks, “We should get her home. She smells terrible.”

Shadowheart chuckles with Astarion as you frown at them. “She really does. If I can smell her, I can’t imagine how bad she smells to you, vampire.”

“Be glad you can’t,” Astarion wrinkles his nose at you but sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“Take her home,” Shadowheart instructs. “I’ll wait for Gale.”

The conversation between them starts to sound far away as lethargy drags at your mind.

“What do we do about this one?” Astarion gestures to Hecat.

“Leave her with me,” Shadowheart concludes with a tinge of threat. “She can bring me up to speed on exactly what in the Hells is going on around here while we wait for Gale.”

“She helped me,” you murmur. “Be nice, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart smirks, “Aren’t I always nice?”

“Wake up.”

“No,” you grumble, forcing your eyes open.

“Yes.” Astarion purrs with cold breath on the shell of your ear that sends delightful shivers down your spine. “You are not crawling into our bed smelling like a flophouse latrine.”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body tightly to him. He tries to tug you away half-heartedly between his grunting protests, but there’s no real force behind his playful pulling.

“Now, you smell, too!” You chime as he sets you back on your feet and starts drawing a bath.

“Naughty girl,” Astarion smirks, chuckling.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the gilded mirror. Your hair is matted and dingy with grime. Filth streaks your face, dulling your complexion. Your shirt, once a pale blue, has been rendered brown, stained with dirt and blood that’s both new and long dried.

Movement behind you catches your eyes, whisking them away from your reflection. Bottles of oils float through the air, appearing to move on their own as Astarion pours oils into the water, and notes of lavender, sandalwood, and vanilla arise with the steam. This is something you’ve never gotten used to. Objects seemingly floating, as if picked up by a breeze and carried aloft of their own free will.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Astarion says, moving your hair and bringing you back from your contemplations.

“What?”

“No reflection.” Astarion’s cool fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, allowing him to peel the disgusting garment from your body, “Objects moving on their own, a ghost underdressing you.”

“A little,” you admit. “I just don’t understand how you always look so fucking perfect all the time.”

“Oh,” he giggles, turning you around, hooking his fingers in your waistband, and crouching. “Do go on.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning some of your weight into him while he strips you, lifting one leg at a time, “I missed you."

“I missed you, too. Very much.” He says, taking your hand in his, “Come. Into the bath with you before it gets cold, and you chastise me.”

Climbing into the steaming water is like climbing into a sun-soaked dream. How very odd is it you can forget how your skin feels when it’s clean. As you slough off the dirt, blood and filth, the pads of your fingers do not recognize the buttery softness of your skin without the grainy texture.

“Tilt your head back,” Astarion instructs. He pours hot water over your head, fingers gently detangling your matted hair, lathering it with soap.

The bruise extending up your side is still faintly visible, staining your skin in hues of blue and yellow, and your fingers skate up, poking and prodding.

“What happened in there?” Astarion brushes the backs of his fingers gently down the marbled skin.

“The guards had a bone to pick with me,” you shrug, trying to cover the solemnity of the conversation with a pleasant smile. “I don’t wish to talk about it right now, Astarion.”

“Kamena…” Astarion sighs with a sullen shake of his head.

You press your fingers gently under his chin, bringing his eyes to yours. Gods. When he looks at you, it is not a glance. It is a song, a message, a constellation of promises wrapped in scarlet, and you never want to look away.

“I’m not running, Astarion.” You assure him, “I will tell you all about it, but tonight, can we just be us?”

Astarion smiles, nodding his understanding, “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Astarion’s fingers massage your scalp as he washes the soap from your hair, rinsing it until the water finally runs clear.

“Do we have wine?” You ask on a whim.

“Gale does,” Astarion grins momentarily, but his lips press into a thin line. “Is this celebratory drinking or “it’s better to forget” drinking?”

You wince at the question. You know it’s not exactly the healthiest way to deal with your problems. You are tempted to lie to him but force the truth from your lips, “A little of both?”

“I can live with that, I suppose,” Astarion nods, helping you stand and wrapping a plush towel around you, patting you dry. You smile as he dotes on you, “I know where the wizard hides the good stuff. I will go raid his cellar.”

Slipping into one of Astarion’s shirts, you light the fire with naught but a thought. It feels good to have your magic back after being deprived of it for so long. You grip the Weave, pulling the mystical essence from your blood and bones, and it feels like taking a deep breath after you didn’t realize you were holding it. Fire spurts out of your palm, and you fashion it into a ring, forcing the flames to move unnaturally as they chase each other around in a never-ending loop.

You lift the flaming ring above your head, hovering between your palms like a fiery halo, and force it to expand and contract simply because you can.

“Did no one ever teach you it’s dangerous to play with fire, Sorceress?”

“Perhaps for the untrained, Rogue,” you smirk, snap your fingers, and the halo bursts like a firework, pinpricks of fire whirling around you.

You let the fire ebb and die out slowly, relinquishing your magic with a sorrowful sigh. The Weave fills you with life, comfort and peace. Without it, you’re thrust back into a stark reality. Astarion hands you a glass, and you grab the bottle and wink as you drink deeply. The wine is a crisp white wine, buttery with hints of vanilla. It sparkles on your tongue and fizzes down your throat, and you cannot help but close your eyes at the pleasure of it all after drinking brown-tinged water for a week.

“Shall we sit, or would you prefer to keep standing in the middle of the room?”

“Gods,” you smirk, handing the bottle to Astarion and trotting over to the bed. You flop onto it gracelessly. “Let’s drink in bed! I’ve been sleeping on stone for a week, and this is lovely, but it’s missing something.”

“And what’s that, my dear?” Astarion cocks his head handsomely with a boyish smile that tells you he knows exactly what you think it’s missing.

“You!”

“In that case,” Astarion giggles and removes his shirt. He thrusts the wine bottle into your hands. Your fingers fumble to catch it, senses entirely possessed by him, “We might as well get comfortable, yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe, swallowing thickly.

Astarion saunters around the bed, discarding pieces of clothing along the way. He makes it look casual, unpremeditated, but it’s maddeningly slow.

“You’re a tease,” you mutter under your breath, sipping the wine and slipping out of your shirt.

“I am not!” He chuckles, “You’re just exceptionally impatient. Good things come to do who wait, sweetheart.”

“Do they?” You quirk a brow at him, “I’m not so sure about that. Do you have proof of this notion?”

“I waited two hundred years for you.” Astarion purrs as the bed dips under his weight, and he presses his body against your back, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you,” you murmur, craning your head to look at him, slipping your fingers into his hair.

“I love you, too. I should not have let the wizard talk to me into leaving you in there so long. I—“

“Not tonight, Astarion.” It sounds like a whimpering plea, “Please."

“Right. Apologies,” he rasps, lips against your neck.

“Have you been eating?”

“Always so worried about me,” his lips twitch into a smile. “I’m fine.”

Perhaps he is fine, but you are most certainly not. Suddenly, you’re impacted with a deep-seated need to feel that intimacy, that descent through the branches of his veins. You want to bleed into him, your soul and his, intertwined as one. The intensity of the emotion catches you off guard.

Are you chasing the bloodless daze that his feedings provide? Are you hoping it will lay a shroud over the dread sinking your stomach? Is this another way to run?

Maybe.

But you are so good at running.

“Would you like a nibble?” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep the hint of anticipation from your voice.

Astarion jerks his head up, pushing your shoulder until you’re lying on your back and looking up at him with an arched brow. He regards you thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea tonight.”

“Why?”

Astarion rifles his fingers through his hair, “You are well aware of the effect you have on me when I feed on you. I cannot promise that once your blood dawns on my tongue, your skin under my fingertips, I won’t lose myself in the need to make every inch of you mine.”

You wrap an arm around Astarion’s neck carefully, kissing along his jaw. You whisper in his ear, “So make me yours.”

Astarion shudders amorously as you ghost your lips over the ridge of his ear to the tapered tip. He grabs your waist with a low, rumbling growl, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. His desire for you pressed firmly against your already slick sex. Astarion looks deeply into your eyes, holding you still as if trying to figure out if you’re in your right mind.

You’re trying to figure out the same thing.

He catches your lips in his, gentle at first but with progressively more ferocity. He groans into your mouth. It radiates down your spine, stealing your breath, and a chill rushes through you, settling in your core. Your heart flutters with desire, the increasing drumbeat of it making its way between your thighs.

Astarion’s hand grips your hips, undulating them, his cock sliding between your folds, brushing up against your swollen flesh. You have been so fundamentally deprived of his affection that every touch sends shivers over your skin, every slide of his tongue against yours makes you want to sigh, and every groan steals the air from your lungs.

His fingers tease the peaks of your nipples, and you throw your head back and gasp. Astarion kisses up the column of your throat, his free hand cradling the back of your head, fingers twisted in your hair.

There’s but a moment of clarity. You are running headfirst, barrelling into anything that might hope to make you numb - him, pleasure, alcohol, bloodlessness.

Astarion’s fingers glide between your lips and sweep over your sensitive pearl, and coherence is lost in a white-hot rush of pleasure. You melt, draping your arms over him and biting his shoulder to hush your cries. His lips trace along your neck, and you roll your head to the side. His fangs sink into your flesh, and he growls, deeply and lofty, his chest rumbling against yours as if thunder was rolling through it. Your essence trickles through his veins like a gentle rain as he draws in methodical sips, savouring every drop.

Your hips buck as he continues his ministrations. You yearn to feel that decedent stretch of your walls as they envelop his cock, and he knows it. Astarion encourages you to lift your hips, pressing the swollen, blunt head of his cock to your entrance, and you sink down his length as he rubs against all your ridges so exquisitely that it makes your vision blur.

You don’t even notice his fangs retreat from your neck as his lips mould to yours to dampen your unadulterated breathy moans. You close your eyes and fade in and out as your head spins around with pleasure so intense you cannot think straight. The woozy fog of blood loss only adds to your dwindling reason and logic. With every pump of his hips and every roll of yours, you are walking on the fine edge of paradise.

But there’s something not quite right in his movements. They are tactical, methodical, and too perfect. You drive your eyes open, blinking away that haze of ecstasy. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, he’s not looking back at you. He’s looking past you as if through you, but his body knows this dance well enough, and he continues to go through the motions even when he’s a million miles away.

You go rigid, halting all movement in a split second, and your heart seizes, bound by the flash freeze in your chest. It jolts him back to himself, and he blinks rapidly, almost confused.

“Astarion,” you purr, concealing the hurt in your voice. Why didn’t he tell you? Why didn’t he say something as he promised he would? “Let's stop.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, my love.” You cradle his cheek, trying very hard not to move a muscle until he tells you, “Tell me when I can move.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks away from you, brows downturned, rubbing his eyes. “I want this. You. I was there, and then I just… wasn’t. I don’t know what happened.”

“Healing is messy. Isn’t it?”

“You are a gift,” Astarion folds his arms around you, hugging you close to him, and you try to hug him back, but it’s admittedly awkward when he’s still inside you, and you’re trying your best to keep yourself still. He laughs, “You can move, Kamena. I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re still inside me,” you retort, almost as if to alert him to this fact.

“Yes, that’s considerably obvious, but thank you for pointing it out,” he chuckles as you relax slightly. “Do you think we could stay like this? Just for a little bit? I find it… strangely helpful.”

This is new. Not unwelcome, but definitely new, “You want to sit here with your cock inside me, and what, chat?”

“Precisely!” He chimes happily, leaning back with a grin, “I’m so glad you understand, darling. Hells. Do I have some stories for you! Do you know how hard it is to break into the government buildings here? They are locked up tighter than a patriar’s purse, but I do love a good challenge.”

You can’t help but burst laughing at his carefree attitude, the way he’s still rock hard inside you, talking about committing crimes as if you were sitting at a table sharing stories over dinner and drinks. This is not typically how you remember him reacting, but this… this is progress, and you will take it.

You groan, “Why were you breaking into the civil buildings, Astarion?”

“How do you think Gale knew where to find and nullify the device suppressing magic at the prison?” Astarion drawls, pleased with himself. “That man is terrible at stealth. Even worse than you. He complained about his knees the entire time! Gods. I am centuries older than him, and you don’t see me bellyaching.”

“How utterly annoying! I’m surprised you didn’t kill him,” you giggle at how he smirks with a wily glint in his crimson eyes. He definitely considered it. “In that case, you’re going to have to take me on a date where we break into this government building that gave you a hard time. This is something I must see.”

“You cheeky little minx,” he laughs. “I would love nothing more.”

The murmur of voices, clinking of cutlery on the tableware, and smell of what is surely Gale’s cooking drift down the hallway as you approach. Astarion follows closely behind, his hand at the small of your back. He has not stopped touching you in some fashion since you returned, as if he’s worried that you might disappear.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see the back of Hecat’s head, sitting at the table, shovelling whatever gruel Gale provided into her mouth and nodding as he recounts tales of your grand adventure in the Underdark. It takes substantial effort not to tell Gale to shut his trap. He does realize that you met this person in prison, right?

Shadowheart sees you first, leaping from her chair and dashing over, sweeping you into a tight hug, “Gods. You smell much better,” she giggles when you groan and squeeze her hard enough to expel some air from her lungs, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you nod, but you haven’t been able to take your gaze, etched with skepticism off Hecat.

Shadowheart whispers, “She had nowhere else to go. Gale invited her.”

You snort, “Of course he did.”

“I’ve been watching her closely,” Shadowheart sniffs. “And I will continue to do so.”

You suppose the woman was instrumental in your escape, and perhaps, for now, you should give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Sit,” Astarion instructs, pulling a chair out for you. “I will get you some food.”

You arch a brow at him and give him an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Although anything will be better than the stale bread and dried meat the prison served, whatever Gale has fashioned resembles wet dog food, and your stomach, as hungry as it is, flops in your belly.

Astarion kisses your temple, “Trust me.”

You sit, and Astarion gathers fresh fruit from the fridge, cutting it up in deft, precise movements. He glares at the knife spitefully, assessing the edge and rolling his eyes. You would giggle, knowing he’s judging Gale for the state of his knives, if you were not so flabbergasted that Astarion is preparing your food.

Hecat’s voice breaks you from your astoundment, “You clean up nicely! I almost forgot what colour your hair was under all that crud.”

She, too, looks substantially different without dirt smudged on her face, “I could say the same about you,” you retort a little too sourly.

Hecat smiles, not catching the venom in your voice, “Your friends are very nice.”

“Yes,” you give Gale a sideways glance, and he looks bashful. “Gale is very generous and trusting.”

Gale’s face flushes red, and he clears his throat, putting a finger in the collar of his robe, and pulling it away from his neck like the garment is restricting his breath.

Astarion places a bowl of perfectly diced fruit before you. He sits, dragging his chair close to yours so he can keep a hand resting on your thigh. You don’t miss the way Shadowheart glares at him with unspoken bitterness.

“Dear Shadowheart already gave me quite the berating,” he shimmies his shoulders as if he enjoyed it.

He actually might have.

“Not enough of one if you ask me.” Shadowheart scoffs, her eyes narrowed and blazing with acidity.

Hecat arches a brow, confused at what is going on, and you’re not about to lay out your life story for some stranger you met in prison, so you push the conversation forward.

“Aldous is a vampire,” you say far too casually and are met with looks of shock and silence.

Gale and Shadowheart eye Astarion.

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my bloody doing. I am a mere spawn. I do not have the power to turn anyone. Gods,” he shakes his head. “I don’t believe it possible. I disposed of him. Thoroughly.”

“Did you destroy his body?” You ask. Gale almost chokes on his tea at the indifference in your voice.

Astarion nods, “Entirely. There was nothing left.”

“Is that the man who was after you?” Hecat asks, but her eyes are not on you.

They are moored to Astarion, like a shipwreck lying on the ocean floor, irretrievably bound. Astarion doesn’t seem to notice as he typically does not, but these dew-eyed ogles always make jealously flare to life. You place your hand on Astarion, stop yourself from growling “mine,” and instead, settle on scowling.

Astarion is alerted to your discontentment by the heat radiated from your palm. He makes a show of kissing each of your fingers, slow and lingering, trying very hard not to snicker. He finds your jealousy endearing but equally foolish, and perhaps it is.

Hecat does not seem to care or notice. It drives you mad, so you crawl into his lap, placing yourself between him and her gawking orange eyes. You can hear Shadowheart chuckling under her breath. She knows your protectiveness of Astarion all too well.

Astarion remains casual about it as if it’s not unusual for you to sit in his lap during breakfast. He grabs the bowl of fruit you have yet to finish and shoves it into your hands, “Eat.”

You grumble curses under your breath only he can hear, at him and his bossiness, at Hecat, and shovel fruit into your mouth.

Astarion chuckles, kissing your cheek, and purrs reassuringly, “I only have eyes for you, thiramin.”

You know this, but it’s not his eyes you’re concerned about.

A knock on the door breaks you from your brewing hostility, and you nearly answer it as a reflex, but he holds you and shakes his head, “No. Not this time.”

“I’ll get it,” Shadowheart chimes.

Gale accompanies Shadowheart. All three of you are holding the Weave, ready to cast at a moment’s notice. There is an undertone of mumbling, and Astarion’s face transforms into a formidable scowl. His grip on you tightens, and he brandishes a dagger.

“Blackwell,” he growls.

Flames immediately jump to life across your skin, licking up your forearms and through your hair. Hecat is on her feet, her fists balled, stirred by your unease.

Gale returns, looking contrite, wracking his hand over his face, “I’m sorry, my friend, but we must hear him out.”

Astarion is the first to answer, his voice rough and grated in warning, “Absolutely fucking not! I don’t care what information he has or what he has to say, Gale. If you let him into this house, I will kill him. I promise you that. You would not want to get blood all over these lovely floors. Would you?”

“Information?” You ask, placing a hand on Astarion’s as he grips the dagger so tightly his fist shakes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Kamena,” Astarion snarls.

“My son,” you hear Mr. Blackwell’s voice as he sidles up behind Gale as if using him as a shield. Shadowheart has a tight clutch on his shoulder, bristling with fury, “I’ve made a grave mistake. I know I have no right to ask, but I don’t know where else to turn. I... I need your help.”

“Help?” You seethe, fingernails digging into the table to keep yourself from burning him where he stands, shoulders slumped, wringing his hat in his hands. “You want our help?! That’s laughable.”

“You killed him.” Mr. Blackwell mewls, “Didn’t you?”

You do not answer. No one does. Instead, you level him with a glower sharp enough to cut through mountains.

It is answer enough.

“I made a deal,” he continues. “No one would listen to me. No one cared. I was out of options, and then I was approached by a woman while I was at a tavern. She told me she could bring him back. She told me there was a spell that would return him to me. She said the only payment she would ask was that he would be in her service. I... I did not ask questions. I did not know what she was!”

“You godsdamned idiot,” you hiss, clenching your teeth so hard the nerves trill. “You made a deal with a vampire?”

“Nobles,” Hecat scoffs with a disgusted twist of her lips. “All wealth, zero intelligence.”

“I didn’t know!” Mr. Blackwell cries, slipping to the floor into a puddle of sorrow. “She said he would return to me the next night, and he did, but he was not the same. His mother let him in. She was so happy to see him she did not notice or care. She hugged him. He… He bit her! I could not get him to stop. He looks like you,” Mr. Blackwell says sullenly, nodding toward Astarion. “Red eyes, pale as a sheet.”

“I am sure he does,” Astarion beams a fanged, threatening grin at him, making Mr. Blackwell squeak like a mouse caught in a trap.

Questions are whirling through your mind. Why would a Vampire Lord take notice of you? Why would they waste resources – spawn, scrolls or otherwise? Why bother having you imprisoned, beaten, and weakened? There is always a purpose to their madness, but what could you have that they want?

“What could a Vampire Lord possibly want with you?” Gale echos your thoughts, fingers on his chin. “And why bring Aldous back? How did they bring him back?”

“Aldous is easy. Most likely a scroll of True Resurrection. I imagine they turned him because they knew his thirst for revenge would make him easy to manipulate. Vengeance is a powerful motivator.” Your brows furrow, tapping the table with your finger rapidly, “What I don’t understand is what use they would have for any of us. I can’t think of a single relic in our possession that would do a Vampire Lord any good.”

Hecat looks between all of you with a puzzled look. She knows too much now, adding yet another complication.

“Astarion,” Shadowheart prompts him, “You’re the resident expert on vampires. Care to speculate as to why they would go through all this trouble?”

Astarion’s brows furrow and he shrugs, “I don’t have the slightest clue. Vampires are territorial beasts, but I do not think they would go to such lengths when they could have simply attacked me while I was hunting if their concern was territory.”

You give the worn noble on the floor a once over, and you feel nothing but hatred for the pathetically snivelling man. Should you feel merciful? Gods. When did you become so callous? “Did Aldous say anything else?”

“He muttered things here and there.” Mr. Blackwell sighs letting his head drop into his hands, “Something about ruins being the key and a contract, but none of it made any sense. He seemed like he was in a haze, drunk-like.”

Ruins being a key and a contract? It's not much to go on at this point, but you suppose, it’s a start.

“Whoever this Vampire Lord is,” Shadowheart crosses her arms, “They will know exactly who we are. They will not underestimate us.”

“Indeed,” Gale agrees with a curt nod. “We must take precautions, prepare and plan for the worst.”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Hecat asks, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Adventurers,” you trample over Gale who is about to spill your entire story, looking him in the eyes with a warning. His mouth snaps shut. “Nothing more.”

It seems your adventure in Waterdeep is just beginning.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Shadowheart ❤️

I'm dying to hear all your theories on why a Vampire Lord has taken an interest! 😁

Are we trusting Hecat?

Fucking Aldous 🤬 Hopefully we get the chance to kill him... again.

[usafphantom2]

To help reduce the radar cross-section the pie shaped and rectangular shapes were used around the outer edges of the SR 71. This is one of many reasons why they did not allow photographs. The SR -71 was made of 93% aged titanium and 7% composites. The fins and triangle wedges that framed the outer edge of the aircraft were composite constructionsmade from a mixture of asbestos and epoxy. They provided high-temperature radar absorbent characteristics to reduce the aircraft radar cross-section. They found that to attach thin, titanium skin to heavier wing structures, simple standoff clips were developed. These gave structural integrity while providing a heat shield between components with different expansion rates.

According to Wisconsin Metal Tech, the engineers of the SR-71 were among the first people in history to make real use of the material. In that process, they ended up throwing away a lot of material, some through necessity, some through error. At times the engineers were perplexed as to what was causing problems, but thankfully they documented and cataloged everything, which helped find trends in their failures. They discovered that spot welded parts made in the summer were failing very early in their life, but those welded in winter were fine. They eventually tracked the problem to the fact that the Burbank water treatment facility was adding chlorine to the water they used to clean the parts to prevent algae blooms in summer, but took it out in winter. Chlorine reacts with titanium, so they began using distilled water from this point on.

They discovered that their cadmium plated tools were leaving trace amounts of cadmium on bolts, which would cause galvanic corrosion and cause the bolts to fail. This discovery led to all cadmium tools to be removed from the workshop.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[cerastes]

any expectations/predictions about the DLC you might like to share, Mr Dreamo?

(This is about the Elden Ring DLC)

My expectations are very high, because FromSoft has always done their very best on DLCs to their games, due to a strong internal culture of taking in criticisms of their base games and trying to rectify them while elevating their base, solid formula. It's why they tend to take a while with DLC: They don't immediately go into DLC development as soon as their base game ends, at least not in full (they likely do conceptual groundwork and all the sundry parts you don't really need a lot of feedback for, like world assets and such), they always take their sweet time cranking out those bad boys, and it always feels like they address the weaknesses of their base games in their DLC.

So to hear that this is the biggest expansion they've ever produced as a company is not surprising at all: Elden Ring is, by far, their biggest game. And not only that, they managed to make an open world game that actually feels full. Miyazaki mentioned in an interview that the DLC map will be as big, if not bigger, than Limgrave, and Limgrave in terms of size alone is like a fourth of the base game, so That's Pretty Impressive (though... Is he counting the Weeping Peninsula in there? WP is part of Limgrave so I assume he is but there was no specificity). There's also apparently 8 new equipment categories, which is kind of insane to me? Likely they'll have 1-3 weapons each obviously but making 8 new equipment types is also pretty ambitious. We saw Dueling Shields, and we've heard rumors of odachi as well (Walmart Mortal Blade real?), and I will be cautious in my enthusiasm and assume it won't be 8 new weapon types specifically (probably some kooky meme items there like the double door shields or some gimmick torch with attacks from DS3, wouldn't be Fromsoft without clown nose equipment) but new weapon types outright is in fact a perfect way to revitalize a game further. All I want is for the new weapons to be relatively easily accessed for new characters instead of necessarily an endgame or NG+ deal unless you're willing to kill endgame bosses with a very low level character so we can do full NG runs with these new toys (see: Moonlight Greatsword runs or Rakuyo runs in Bloodborne. Have fun REALLY learning Ludwig and Maria on no-hit formats! Hope you brought plenty Fire and Bolt Paper, respectively!)

And my biggest hope, perhaps even cope, is that the triple flying kicks we saw in the trailer are Martial Arts weapons and not just an Ash of War. If the Bone Fist from DS2 finally returns in spirit, you will catch me dropkicking player and god alike until the end of time.

[quirkwizard]

Could you do an expansion on the quirk Thunder Bolt?

Training "Thunder Bolt" is difficult because there is a lot of different aspects for the user to cover between the electricity and the electromagnetism aspects. For example, they could have a couple of light bulbs on their tail, carefully making each one float and light up without having them explode. They could go with the with the Ojiro route, learning how to use their tail as a weapon for close quarters combat. They could try to better apply the magnetism aspect, like practicing surfing around on their tail and trying to move metal objects with it.

As for evolutions, it'd mostly be skilled based ones. It's be the user refining and mastering their tail and it's various electrical applications. For example, they could expand their surfing ability to be able to grind around on electricity wiring and bounce between metal surfaces. They could send their electrical bolts out through surfaces to touch to get around their range issue. They could become more precise with their magnetism, like using it to unlock a door by turning the locking mechanism or being able to accurately catch and throw metal objects around them.

Equipment would be pretty versatile. The user could have a suit that uses their tail as a power source, either to charge their equipment or to channel their electricity through it as to not rely on the tail exclusively. They could have some metal on hand to launch around via the tail's natural electromagnetism. A really fun option would be a shield the user can move around with their tail to block attacks. You could combine the two of these together, having a series of metal rings or wires around the tail that both protect the tail and being able to fire them off of the tail as projectiles.

[tashacee]

You said you’d made aspect of grace to be a lot whumpier at first

*Looks right*

*Looks left*

You uh, you still got that whumpier version?/j

Genuinely though, what was it originally like?

Let me look through my drive, see if i can find the rough draft lmao

Okay, turns out i still have the entire original chapter and DAMN it is whump. OOFT.

Also originally the lizalfos that killed Wild was straight up Dink. I forgot about that.

Anyway, I'll put it under the cut if you're interested :)

Wind knelt beside wild, numb, his mind refusing to process, refusing to accept the terrible truth in front of him. Around him he could see movement, hear his brothers shouting, feel someone grab his arm and try to jolt him out of his stupor, but he didn’t pay them any heed.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The world had stopped turning and all the colour had been drained from the world around him

Because wild was dead. 

It had been a normal day, like any other. No, scratch that, it had been better than that. It had been a great day. The sun had been shining and despite the cool autumn morning they had all relished in it, stripping cloaks and coats and enjoying the rare day of quiet sunlight. They were crossing a wide expanse of wetlands, the sunlight reflecting off of the water as all of their boots and socks were soaked through, but despite a few token complaints, no one much minded. 

It was a good day. They were all happy and high spirited, cracking jokes and grinning and messing about, Wind most of all.

Any other day he wouldn’t have grabbed the slate from wild’s hip. Any other day he wouldn’t have cackled and dashed off, waving it in the air in the world’s most childish game of ‘keep away’ he could manage.

Wild had yowled in protest and dashed after him, but fast as the cat man was, wind had a head start and was determined to mess about in the way that only a little brother could. 

The others had joined in. When wild had been about to catch him, wind tossed the slate to wars, who nimbly caught it and took over running away, laughing all the time. Wild had been laughing too, yipping in amusement as well as giving the rumble that Wind was pretty sure was his version of swearing.

If he had really been mad, wind would have stopped. None of them would have gone on. But he was laughing. He was having fun. 

Wars three the slate to Hyrule, who threw it to Twilight, who wind feared for a moment would give it back to Wild. But the Rancher just threw it back to Wind, sticking his tongue out at his brother while the others crowed in laughter, and wind bolted off again.

It was a good day. 

And then it wasn’t. 

The lizalfos had seemed to come from nowhere. It must have been hiding in the space between some rocks, waiting for them to approach. That was the thing about black blooded monsters, they were so much more clever, so much more intelligent, and this one seemed so much more than most.

It sprang out, teeth bared, jagged blade drawn. Its eyes glowed red against the oily black of its scales, and it radiated a dark magic so thick that wind could taste it in the air. He shouted in surprise and tried to leap out of the way, but his foot caught on a submerged root and he stumbled.

He went sprawling, dropping the slate in the mud as he fell and landing face first in the water. He barely rolled over in time to miss the next blow from the lizalfos’ blade. He tried to scramble to his feet, to get his bearings. He needed to move, to defend himself - he reached for his sword but he was of kilter, his hands were shaking and he fumbled. The lizalfos swung-

And it’s bland was blocked, parried away as a massive shape dove in front of him. Wild, his sword drawn as he repelled back the creature’s blade, teeth bared and growling.

Where were the others? Where they really that far behind?

There was no time to stop, no time to think. Wind finally got his grip on his sword and shield, ready to dove in and help his brother, but it was too late.

The lizalfos swung again. Wild blocked him again with his sword, but it was an old, worn thing from his own era, and it couldn’t take the strain. The blade shattered, and seeing the opportunity, the lizalfos lunged again.

And it’s blade met fur and flesh and bone. And wild made a sound, small and breathy and pained, his eyes widening in shock.

Wind surged forwards, kicking the lizalfos backwards and swinging at it wildly as the others finally reached their position. Wars, legend, and time leapt into battle with him, pressing on the beast as behind them Hyrule rushed to wild’s side.

It was only one lizalfos. Even black blooded, it shouldn’t have been as fierce, as intelligent as it was. It shouldn’t have looked like it was smiling. It shouldn’t have cackled when time finally ran it through, and rather than dissolving to dust like a normal monster, fading away like a shadow in the sunlight. 

Something told wind that it wasn’t gone for good, but it was gone for now and that was good enough for him. Shuddering, he dropped his sword and spun around, running to where he had left Wild. He would be fine, they’d all been stabbed before, but wild was strong! He was hardy, he would be fine-

He was lying in the water, limp and unmoving. Twilight has pulled his head and shoulders onto his knees and was bent double over him, his face screwed up and sobbing. Beside him, Hyrule sat pale faced and horrified, his hands at his side. Why wasn’t he doing something? Why wasn’t he healing him? 

The fur on wild’s torso was matted with blood, the water around him stained a horrible red. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing 

“Wild!” Wind ran forwards, grabbing his hand. “Hyrule help him! Do something!”

Hyrule just shook his head, tears beginning to slip over his cheeks. Wind knew why. He could see it plain as day, could see the gaping wound through Wild’s chest, knew that it was not an injury anyone could survive. Still, even as all of his brothers knelt around them, saw the terrible sight and understood the horrible truth, Wind could not accept it. Would not accept it. 

So he knelt there, staring at his unmoving brother, holding his hand and not caring as the frigid water soaked into his trousers.

Wild was dead, and he just couldn’t accept it.

-

After Wild’s first adventure, the gifts given to him by his fellow champions had faded. His old friends had moved on, after all, their spirits finally getting to rest after so long in limbo, and one by one their gifts left the space where they had rested in his soul.

Wild was okay with this. Much as he missed them, much as he missed the powers they gave him, he was glad that they were finally at peace. 

Mipha was the last to linger, and he wasn’t really that surprised. Her caring instinct had always been strong and she had always wanted to help. 

Then the weeks turned into months. And the months turned into years. And somehow, although he couldn’t quite feel her presence, there was still a sense of… something. Something that felt like gentle healing and and glowed a soft blue. Not the presence of a spirit, but the tender touch of a blessing.

know this: that no matter how difficult this battle might get... if you—if anyone ever tries to do you harm... Then I will heal you.

Zelda theorised that it was the final gift of the Zora princess. That even though she herself had moved on, the healing power of her Grace had remained, in one form or other. Even with the scant few memories of Mipha that Wild had, he was inclined to agree.

This said, he had never been particularlykeen to try it out. Mipha’s Grace had only ever activated when he had been injured badly enough to be at the point of death, and funnily enough he wasn’t overly eager to get to that point. It was enough to feel her blessing, however strong it may be, and to know that she had found peace.

Now, though, Wild floated in a limbo.

He wasn’t entirely clear on how he had ended up in this foggy, dark place. Someone had been in danger, someone important to him, and he had acted on impulse to save them. He had saved them, this important person, he was certain of that, but in the process he had gotten himself badly hurt.

He was dying. He knew that. And something about that was familiar.

He floated there, in that dark limbo, neither warm nor cold, neither feeling pain nor comfort, neither seeing nor blind, and he wondered vaguely why he was still here. He was no longer in his body, of that he was certain, but neither was he moving on.

Why was he not moving on?

Maybe something else had to happen first.

He waited, and inside of him something soft and blue began to pulse and itch. Around his chest, he felt something begin to come together.

This was also familiar, but he was sure that whatever it was used to be faster, stronger.

Huh.

He waited, patient in the darkness, and then all of a sudden hhis awareness came back to him with a terrible clarity. He was Link - wild! - and he had been trying to save Wind. He had taken a sword to the chest to save his brother and he was dying, should be dead already - 

But swirling around him, in the soft darkness of death, was a ribbon of blue energy, oh so softly knitting his wounds together. Mipha. Her grace, her final blessing, still saving his life so long after she had left hers behind. It would take longer, without the strength of her spirit to guide the healing, and it would not be as complete as it had been in the past. It would, he knew now, save him from death.

He couldn’t believe that he had been given such a gift. If such a thing was possible in this strange, limbo space, he would have wept.

Instead he waited for an indeterminate amount of time for the healing to be done.

And then he opened his eyes.

-

Every ounce of him hurt.

It wasn’t really the nicest feeling to wake up to, but given that he was waking up at all, he didn’t really feel as if he had the right to complain. In the past when Mipha had healed him he had come around almost instantly, his wounds fully healed and his energy restored, but it didn’t look like that would be happening any more. He was saved from the brink of death, but he still had plenty of wounds that needed healed.

And damnit, they hurt.

He wanted to groan but he wasn’t quite there yet, wasn’t quite ready to fully control his body. Everything felt so heavy. Instead he focused on grounding himself, on figuring out his surroundings, on what was happening around him.

He was lying on his back, on the ground. No not quite on the ground, someone had laid out a blanket underneath him. One of his softest blankets, if he was feeling it right. Aw, guys! He couldn’t help but feel touched that they had done that for him even when-

Oh. Oh right. They probably all thought he was dead. There was no telling how long he had been out while Mipha healed him. Shit.

Well, at least he hadn’t been buried yet. He really didn’t fancy climbing out of his own grave.

Again.

He focused on more of his surroundings. He could feel someone clutching his hand, their head pressed against his knuckles as they sobbed silently. Against his other side a small figure was curled up and also crying, less silently. WInd? And maybe Twilight?

This wasn’t good. He needed to move, to tell them that he was okay. He tried to put some strength into his aching muscles but he was still too groggy, his mind felt like he was swimming through a haze, his body not obeying his orders.

In the background, he could hear the crackle of a fire, but no one was speaking. He thought that he could hear a few more people crying, and someone moving something metal, was that a ladle on a cookpot? They weren’t trying to cook, were they? It was bad enough that Wild had died, now they wanted to give themselves food poisoning?

Wild tried to move again and was not successful, but did manage to push a low whine out of his throat.

THe hand holding Wild’s tightened and the sobbing stopped abruptly. To his side, the small figure that he was certain was wind sat up, moving close to his face.

“Wild?” Wind’s voice asked, horribly rough and choked with tears.

Wild was still too weak to move, but he whined again and managed to get his eyelids to flutter, his vision blurry but just about focusing on the tear stained faces of Twilight and Wind. Hylia they looked awful, their faces pale and drawn, their hair a mess. They were both covered in blood, both red and black, and looked like it had never occurred to them to clean off.

WIld whined again, and Wind shot to his feet.

“HYRULE!” He all but screamed. “Hyrule hurry up! He’s alive! Wild’s alive!”

There was a commotion at the other side of the camp as several of the chain shouted in disbelief. Wild focused on Twilight as the rest of his brothers rushed over, managing to tilt his head to butt at his brother’s knee and rumbling softly.

Twilight’s face crumpled into a smile and he began to cry again, throwing his arms around Wild’s shoulders and burying himself into a hug. Wild couldn’t lie, it hurt, but he didn’t mind and leaned into it as best he could. On his other side, Hyrule had all but thrown himself on the ground beside him, tear-streaked and breathless, his eyes wide with hope and amazement.

Wild looked around and met his eyes, purring weakly in greeting. Hyrule gasped and covered his mouth and then set about looking over Wild’s wounds.

“Twilight.” came Warriors’ voice, thich with emotion, “Come on, you can still hold his hand but you need to sit up so Rulie can look over him.” the Captain appeared in the periphery of Wild’s vision, gently peeling the Rancher back and helping him sit up.

Twi sniffed in an extremely undignified manner and knuckled the tears from his face, laughing weakly as he took Wild’s hand again. He squeezed it, and Wild squeezed back, rumbling softly.

He could see the rest of the chain hovering around the edges of his vision, watching and waiting with baited breath as Hyrule looked over his injuries. The slash across his chest was still there, though no longer so deep, and the myriad smaller cuts and bruises across his body were still open and burning.

The familiar pulse of Hyrule’s magic began to wash across his chest, slowly closing the wound and easing the worst of the pain. While no longer life threatening, it was still deep, and clearly too much for Hyrule to heal all at once, and with the main injury more or less closed he sighed heavily and flopped down next to Wild, exhausted. He turned to look at him, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and buried himself into his side, sobbing.

Wild purred and carefully lifted his arm to stroke Hyrules hair as the Traveller burrowed in closer to his side.

“I think.” Came legend’s voice from beside Hyrule. Wild looked around and was surprised to see that even the bitter, caustic Veteran had tear tracks down his cheeks. “I think that means that Wild is well enough for us all to give him hell for that shock.”

Wild whined softly - the slash in his chest may have closed, but he still felt sore and exhausted. But Legend was smiling as he spoke and reached down to ruffle Wild’s hair. “Glaad to have you back. Don’t know how we would have broken the news to the citizens of cat island.”

Wild snorted and shook him off. Legend cleared his throat and looked away, looking suspiciously like he was blinking back tears.

“Come on, guys, give the idiot space. He’s just come back from the dead, he doesn’t need us climbing all over him.” Legend smiled and moved away, cheeks flushed with emotion. He pulled some of the others with him, Warriors and Four and Sky all pausing to squeeze Wild’s arm, shoulder, to tell him how glad they were to have him back before retreating to the campfire. At Legend’s urging, Hyrule stumbled up too and let the Veteran guide him over to his own bedroll where he could rest properly.

Almost immediately, Wind threw himself back into Wild’s side. Wild squealed as he jostled his wounds and Time, still in his full armour, still dishevelled and battle-worn, put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Sailor, go easy on him.”

Wind squirmed and pulled back a little, his face tearful as he looked at Wild. “I’m so sorry.” he whispered, gently setting a slightly muddy sheikah slate next to Wild. “If I hadn’t stolen it I wouldn’t have tun on ahead and you wouldn’t have - you wouldn’t have gotten hurt-”

Wild whined and turned slightly out of Twilight’s grip to nuzzle at the sailor, ignoring the pain that flared up through his chest as he moved. Rumbling softly, he disentangled his arms from his brothers’ grips to try a shaky sign.

“All good. Not you. Me. My-” dammit, he didn’t know the word for ‘choice’. Ugh, whatever. Moving on. “Wind. Brother. Family. Safe.” that would have to do, he didn’t know any more sign and he was getting exhausted.

“The only person at fault was that damn lizard.” Time repeated soothingly. “Go and get some water, will you, Wind? WIld probably needs a drink.”

Wild nodded and gave a thumbs up, and glad to be useful, Wind dashed off.

Now alone with just Time and Twi, Wild exhaled heavily.  He understood why his brothers were so emotional, he was feeling pretty emotional himself, but he was really too tired to taake it all in.

Time sat down beside him. “You really were dead, weren’t you cub?” he asked. On wild’s other side, Twilight shuddered. Wild nodded. “But you came back. Did you know you would? Or do you know how?”

Wild shrugged weakly and then nodded. He didn’t know for sure it would happen, hadn’t even thought about it when he dove in front of the lizalfos, just acted. But he knew exactly what it was. Who it was.

Time’s face softened and he squeezed Wild’s hand. “Well I’m looking forward to you being able to explain, but for now let’s just get you comfortable. Okay?”

Wild mewled as Time began to pull out and set up his bedroll and myriad blankets next to him. Wild shuffled as Twi helped him to sit up, scratching at his scars. They itched like hell, and he had never been more relieved at how easy it was to unclasp his prosthetic and dump it on the ground beside him. Ah, sweet relief.

He let Twilight help him into his newly made up bed and happily collapsed into it, barely able to draw up the energy to knead with his free hand. Twi curled up beside him, unwilling and unable to leave him alone after the day they both had had. As they settled down, Wind came  trotting back over with a cup of water and wide, anxious eyes.

Wild sipped at the drink and then seeing that Wind was still shifting nervously from foot to foot, held out an arm in invitation. Well. He tried. It was his right arm, which he had recently discarded, so he was actually just wiggling his stump. Still, Wind understood the invitation and immediately dove in beside him.

“I’m really glad you’re not dead.” he whispered, and both Time and Twilight snorted.

“I think we can all agree on that one.” Time replied. “Get some sleep, Wild. Boys, go easy on him, yeah? Hyrule wouldn’t appreciate you wearing him out. Nor would Wild, i’m sure, for that matter.”

Wild chuffed and burrowed down into his blankets. Wind curled in tighter, curling his legs around his brother’s.  Wild wanted nothing more than to sleep, to get some rest, but there was one last thing to do.

He rumbled and leaned into twilight, nuzzling at his hair.

Brother he was saying brother. Okay. safe. Brother.

Twilight sniffed and looked up at him, smiling. He gently butted back. Idiot brother. Scared! Sad! He burrowed in closer, digging his hands into his fur.

Wild rumbled and pulled him in. Safe brother safe. Safe nowSafe. Twilight repeated, safe. Brother. Family. Safe.

[marroniere]

fic: strength of heart (tenderness of the soul), thranto, E, WIP, almost finished

Word count: 201,308 words so far (5000-word chapters are posted twice a week, 39 chapters overall)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, mpreg, Thrawn dealing with his traumatic past

Excerpt:

The return to the Springhawk does not feel real. The only sensation that Eli can find remotely grounding is the pain from the blaster burn; the bolt only grazed his shoulder when he shielded Thrawn, but he can barely move his arm now.

The chip with the data thief program and all the ship records is in Eli’s pocket; he can tell he will have a lot of fun deciphering that.

The warriors carry the tied, unconscious Grysk prisoners to the brig. In the medbay, the medics clean Eli’s wound, and then he gets bacta and painkillers. Thrawn goes to the bridge for a quick conversation with Kharill but promises to return.

As Eli watches the medbay ceiling, his heart is still pounding. Reality comes back to him in small increments. Short, simple thoughts. They have won this battle. They have a chance of locating the Grysk homeworld and bases as well, and it might mean no battles with the Grysk invasions anymore.

Tonight, he, Eli Vanto, is going home with his husband and his crew.

He tries to send messages to everyone on Naporar, but all he gets is a pale grey dot on the screen that means no connection. No matter. He will do it again when the Springhawk is closer to the nearest triad transmitter.

“We’re going home,” Eli mutters when Thrawn comes back. “In the end. Can you believe it?”

Thrawn plants a light kiss on his temple.

“There was a moment, I will admit, when I started to doubt that. Not for long, however.”

He reaches for the painkillers left by the medic on the stand by Eli’s bed.

“Not this again,” Eli hisses. “You can’t have them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, y’know.”

Thrawn’s response is a deadpan stare.

“Your suggestions are most welcome, Eli Vanto.”

Eli glances at his shoulder, a blistering red expanse of skin under the bacta patch. He contemplates his situation, but not for long. The shoulder hurts, all right. But the idea of potentially conceiving a child with Thrawn on the Springhawk…Eli finds it too good an opportunity to miss. This would have been quite the story. It’s not as if he has a lot of people to tell it to, so it’s purely for his own sake, but it’s quite the story nonetheless.

“Ah,” he decides, “fuck that. How much time do we have?”

“Pellaeon and Faro wish to meet us,” Thrawn says. “So does Ar’alani. Uingali and the Garwians, as well. They all need an hour to assess the damage.”

“Your quarters, then.”

“I have a better suggestion,” Thrawn says.

“I’m not—” Eli suspects his face must be all flushed red at this point. “We’re not doing it here. ”

“I was not suggesting to do it here,” Thrawn says, his voice innocent. “I would prefer a modicum of privacy.”

Eli studies his face for a few seconds. Then he realizes.

“If you say ‘supply closet,’ I’ll shoot you. I still have one healthy arm, mind you—”

“The supply closet, like my quarters, can easily be locked from the inside with the captain’s code cylinder,” Thrawn says. “But unlike my quarters, one of the supply closets is situated on this deck, which will leave us more chances to stay unnoticed.”

Before Eli has a chance to answer anything, Thrawn adds, “Besides, it makes for an entertaining story.”

“Supply closet, kark’s sake,” Eli mutters. “Promise you’ll never tell this to our children.”

Instead of an answer, Thrawn gives him one of those enigmatic stares that say all too many things at once—and kisses him again.

[luminashdawnwing]

August 2023 DWC Day 3: Ominous / Possibility CW: Death; some blood

The crystal clear water in the basin ripped as Luminash dropped his fallen son’s – someone else’s fallen son’s, perhaps better to think – necklace, letting it slip through the glassy surface and settle on the bottom.

Scrying had never been his strongest skill, let alone focusing on something behind a veil woven from time’s threads, but he had to try. Theras had excused himself, and had only returned to retrieve his effects before heading to Valdrakken. To clear his head, the young man had said with a strained smile. He’d be back soon enough, he promised. Luminash believed him. At least, that this Theras would return.

A surge of Arcane power sprung from the magister’s palms as he lay them upon the basin’s edge. The glow, bright violet-white, flowed into the water, setting it into motion, swirling with bands of temporal gold. The other Theras was too far gone, but what possibilities lay beyond the expanse of time and space? An infinity, to be certain. In the water, nonetheless, a hazy image began to form.

* * * * * * *

A spray of ichor flew free as the ghoul’s chest collapsed under the force of Theras’ spear. Others around it fell, too, courtesy of other defenders, a mixture of magisters, his father among them, and their apprentices, Farstriders, Blood Knights, and mercenaries. More always came, clambering over their dead. The Scourge force knew no end, and with the Crown of Domination shattered, some began to fear it never would.

“Loose!” A command from behind the front lines, followed by a hail of arrows driving into the heart of the Scourge mass.

The Blood Knights were pulling back towards the Farstrider ranks, a few skirmishers like Theras, lightly armored, swift, and relentless, harassing the Scourge’s flanks to keep them channeled into the archers’ range. 

Truly, he was more comfortable on his own here than relying on the Blood Knights’ shields to protect him. A sweep of his bladed spear towards the knees of a few shambling skeletons and their brittle bones split, sending them toppling to the ground blackened with death and drying blood.

“Loose!” Another volley of arrows came, interspersed with flame, frost, and whirling bolts of pure energy. A scan of the battle, and a pang of concern. Amidst the shouts of the elves and the gurgling of the Scourge, sounds of panicked disorder. The left flank, across the Scar from the Theras, was buckling. Did the others not see it?

The younger Dawnwing hefted his spear as he began to stride, and threw the weapon, driving it through another ghoul and into the ground behind it. At a dash now, he pulled the spear from its resting place, sweeping blows clearing a path before him, dry and brittle Scourge crumbling.

“Loose!” Another rain of barbs, now striking in the thick of the Scourge overrunning the left flank, clearing enough of the rotting, shambling bodies for Theras to make out, in their midst, a circle of the Cult of the Damned. The men, wreathed in necromantic magic, drew their broken, fallen chaff back from their second resting places and threw them anew against the Thalassian defenders!

How many of his countrymen were dying in this field right now because of them? How cowardly that no one was striking at their heart, cutting off the enemy’s reinforcements at their source. Flickers in his mind of Silver Covenant cutting down Sunreavers. How cowardly they had been to run. How cowardly he had been to hide. How–

Theras’ foot caught, at first he thought on a stone, but he saw the truth too late, bony fingers curling around his ankle. A fallen skeleton still scrabbling in the dirt for prey. He kicked, shaking one grasping hand free, only to feel another from behind, new dark magic swirling around inanimate bones. Then another, clawing its way from under a layer of loose soil.

The ranger brought his spear down, piercing the skull of one assailant, but before he could pull back for another blow, he felt a grip on the haft, dragging the weapon to the ground, the rotten fingers of a newly-rising ghoul wrapped around the wood. Panic began to set in with the dull, distant realization that he was alone. The rest were pulling back. He saw, on the high ground where the archers were stationed, his father shoving through the retreating Blood Knights, curses on his lips.

There came the creaking of bones from behind, and before Theras could try again to shake free, he felt the tip of the spear. Then more as the Scourge soldier, rusted and dented armor rattling over long-dead bones, pressed the weapon home, breaking through Theras’ leathers and sliding between his ribs.

As he faltered, knees sinking to the ground, cold, clammy flesh and dry bone clawing him down, he saw his father again, closer. It must have been delirium that gave him this vision, but his father blazed in the Arcane, less an elf and more a raw force, any Scourge soldier coming close nearly evaporating from wild bolts whirling from the magister, their rotted bodies shredded until little remained.

“Theras!” The voice was distant, but familiar. It was his father, but it sounded like…

“My son!” Yes, his father was speaking, but somewhere else was…mother? The realization struck as light faded from his eyes, blood pooling on the ground as Scourge began to tear at his still-living flesh.

This must be…

* * * * * * *

The magister, like the vision in the pool, slumped and fell to his knees, grasping vainly at the edge of the basin and sending it toppling to the floor, water pouring forth, blessedly empty of any bitter, vile sights. His stomach was in knots; he could taste bile in his throat; his head swam, and he felt faint.

As he recovered his senses, the sleeves of his robe clinging to his arms, wet with the spilled scrying water, he recalled that day. It had been among the final pushes by the Scourge before mortals had ventured into the Shadowlands, but that day, Theras had come back. The left flank had collapsed, and the Scourge fell under a counterattack after reinforcements arrived. He had not run off to play the hero. He came home.

But for Luminash’s echo, that other possibility, he hadn’t.

@daily-writing-challenge

[kalevalakryze]

The Darksaber: Pre Vizsla

"What do you know of this blade?" "I am told it is the Darksaber." "Indeed. Do you understand its significance?" "Whoever wields it can rule all of Mandalore."

The darksaber had passed many hands in a few short years, Bo Katan has watched and, in true Mandalorian fashion, has followed each wielder to some degree.

Pre Vizsla was Mandalorian, true to their traditions and heritage, unlike the pacifists that now sat in their homes capital, dishonoring their ancestors. Pre Vizsla, by all rights, the true Mand'alor was the only one who had truly seen Bo-Katan Kryze's truth. Could see past the clan and her sister's rule, and see what she was meant to be. Joining Death Watch had been the best thing for the young warrior, aligning herself with like-minded warriors who would see their home returned to True Mandalorians, and Pre would be the one to unite all, except those weak willed enough to bend the knee at the mere thought of conflict. He wielded the darksaber, and with it, the power to rally and lead, to strike down all who would demand a change to their warrior traditions, so long as he had his loyal lieutenants at his side.

Bo had risen through the ranks with blood, sweat, and anger. Her ferocity made her a force to be reckoned with, and it didn't take long for him to acknowledge the fire that burned so deeply inside of her. She had just needed some guidance, a helping hand to guide her along the creed, to help direct the destruction that Bo brought with her. So Pre started to mentor him, in his own way. He needed to make sure his lieutenants were properly motivated and knew what was expected to stay at his side.

"again," his voice cut through the air, his helmet tilted down to stare at Bo Katan, kneeling on the ground and clutching at her abdomen. It was never easy, to get her down in a fight, but he'd always won, and would continue to push her, to punish when required, to build her into a proper mandalorian. like him, lest she get too weak and turn to her sister's ideology.

The teenager pushed herself to her feet, muscles aching as she gathered her blaster from where it had been knocked from her grip in their last spat. In his hands, the darksaber reignited, held off to his side as she prepared herself to defend, the shield in her vambrace sparking to life as their jetpacks started to release fumes, ignition coils warmed and ready to be called upon for flight. Bo took to the air quickly, feet pushing herself from the dirt and using the pack to propel herself over Pre's head. Her blaster rained yellow bolts of laser down upon the man, batted away by the saber before they could breach his personal bubble.

The darksaber swung, the acrid smell of fire seemingly burning away the air around it as it swiped in an arc towards her abdomen. A quick twist in the air and a firing of her thrusters got her away from the blade with just a second to spare, the force of her impact on the ground sending her to one knee. Her arm raised in just enough time for the black blade to glance across her shield, though Pre had rolled with the deflection and twirled the blade, moving behind him in a fluid motion that gave her time to stand and release her blade from her gauntlet.

A duck of her upper body and the propulsion from her jetpack had her close in Pre's personal space, arm, extended with a polished blade set to aim for the sliver of exposed flight suit around his abdomen. When his left arm dropped down hard onto the unarmored part of her elbow, she'd forced her leg up, boot smacking into his shin, the metal toecap of her boot getting the room it needed to smash directly into the unarmored piece at the back of his knee.

The darksaber swiped as he started to go down, narrowly avoiding her bicep as she rolled out of the way. He was on her in the next moment, propelling himself to smack them both into the ground. With the added propulsion of jetpacks, he was able to drag her across the snowy expanse of ground, sending freezing cold snow into her armor and chilling her to the bone. Her leg swung around his wait, and a shove of her palms against the ground gave her the force she needed to switch their positions, sending him to the ground as her hand came drown to slam into his helmeted face. The ring of beskar echoed into the bones of her hand, keeping her fingers curled even after her arm reeled back.

Her actions followed to the letter however, his helmet knocked from it's position locked on his head, and obscuring Pre's sight for a brief moment. His leg moved up as she was scrambling to stand, planting firmly into the unarmoed joint between her legs and hips, forcing her back and a hand to drop to her leg at the feeling of his force damn near trying to kick her leg from it's home in the socket. Vizsla took her stumble in strides, rolling to his feet and sending a fist into her gut. The darksaber was disengaged and returned to his belt as he lifted his leg, catching her across the chest and reeling back from a kick.

Still not willing to go down yet, not willing to show weakness when it got tough, Bo's arm lifted, her grapple shooting out and cuffing his waist, yanking him forward hard and jamming her helmet into his face. The force of it all had him dazed, even as he cut the line and sent the spool reeling back into her armor with a snap, his hand had raised to his head, fingers pressing into the visor.

When she moved on the offensive again, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her throat as he caught her, forcing her head up as both of her hands moved to his one, unable to see the way his unoccupied hand was holding the unlit hilt of his sword, or the anger that burned in his eyes. "that's enough," A squeeze at her throat had her hands tearing at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers from the bruising grip. She was released just as her vision started to black out, crumpling to the ground and sucking in harsh breaths, fingers buried into the dirt beneath the snow to steady herself.

"you have done well, but remember, a True Mandalorian never stops honing their skills," He called down to her haughtily, and she felt a spark of resentment flare to life, wise words from a man who wouldn't change his ways, who jumped the gun and lost each time. Her mouth stayed shut, however, he was the True Son of Mandalore, he would return them to glory, and she would still be his second in command, the warrior he turned to for council, even if it was seldom taken. It was her place, to be by his side, united as True Mandalorians.

▬▬ι═══════>

"It's like you said. . . only the strongest shall rule."

Bo Katan's eyes widened in shock and horror as the dar'jetti wielded the blade of their people, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the ice cold fingers of fear digging into the pits of her stomach. The intention was clear, Maul defeated Death Watch's leader in fair combat, according to their traditions, he would be the one to rule. But Pre... She forced her gaze to remain on the dark blade that emanated shadows, tried her best to block the sound of his dismembered head rolling across the throne platform, focused more on the sounds of whispers and blasters being lowered. Focused on the must of Pre's aftershave that still hung in the air, the air that seemed too thick with the sickly smell of singed blood.

"I claim this sword and my rightful place as leader of Death Watch." Maul declared, holding the ancient weapon above his head for all to see, daring anyone to dismiss his honorable accomplishment against Pre.

Her shoulders shook of their own accord as she tried to control her breathing, the Nite Owls at her side were still prepped to fight, they knew her distrust of the dar'jetti from the start, and like the loyal family they were, had read her intentions clear as day. "never," no outsider will ever rule Mandalore!" She challenged as her spark turned into a fire, face twisted with anger, with loss, and with certainty that her next moves would be right, this time.

Bo Katan and her niteowls would escape Sundari, and she would throw herself into battle plans and scenarios. She had an Ori'vod to save from the dar'jetti, after all.

[servadock]

Seasonal Dock Removal: How to Protect Your Investment During Winter

A dock is a significant investment that provides countless benefits for waterfront property owners. However, as winter approaches, freezing temperatures, ice formation, and seasonal storms can jeopardize your dock's structure and longevity. Properly removing your dock for the winter is a crucial step in ensuring its protection and extending its lifespan.

What is the Importance of Seasonal Dock Removal

Preventing Ice Damage

Ice is one of the most significant threats to docks during winter. Expanding ice can exert tremendous pressure on dock structures, causing warping, cracking, or complete failure. Removing your dock before freezing temperatures arrive helps avoid costly damage.

Protecting Against Storms

Winter storms bring high winds, rough waters, and floating debris, which can destabilize or damage your dock. Seasonal removal ensures your dock is safely stored away from these elements.

Preserving Dock Longevity

Seasonal removal minimizes wear and tear caused by harsh winter conditions. By protecting your dock during this period, you can extend its usability and reduce maintenance costs.

Preparing for Dock Removal

Choose the Right Time

Timing is crucial for dock removal. Ideally, remove your dock before freezing temperatures set in and ice begins to form.

Monitor weather forecasts to identify the first signs of winter.

Avoid removing the dock during high winds or rough water conditions.

Gather Necessary Tools

Having the right equipment makes the removal process safer and more efficient.

Tools like wrenches, screwdrivers, and pliers for disassembling parts.

Safety gear such as gloves, boots, and a life jacket.

A winch or dolly for moving heavy dock sections.

Inspect the Dock

Before removal, inspect your dock for damage or wear.

Check for loose bolts, cracks, or structural instability.

Note areas needing repairs before reinstallation in spring.

Step-by-Step Guide to Dock Removal

Remove Accessories and Equipment

Begin by detaching all accessories and equipment to prevent damage during the process.

Remove ladders, benches, cleats, and other add-ons.

Disconnect utilities like electricity and water supply.

Store accessories in a safe, dry place for winter.

Disconnect the Dock from the Shoreline

Carefully detach the dock from the shoreline or mounting points.

Loosen and remove anchoring mechanisms such as chains or ropes.

Ensure the dock is free from any fixed structures like pilings or retaining walls.

Disassemble Dock Sections

For modular docks, dismantle the structure into manageable sections.

Start with outer sections and work toward the shoreline.

Label parts to simplify reassembly in the spring.

Avoid dragging sections over rough surfaces to prevent damage.

Transport and Store Dock Sections

Move dock sections to a safe storage location, ideally away from moisture and direct sunlight.

Use a winch, dolly, or team effort for heavy sections.

Store sections on a flat surface, elevated from the ground to prevent contact with snow or pooling water.

Tips for Winterizing Floating and Fixed Docks

Floating Docks

Drain water - Remove water from floats to prevent freezing and expansion.

Anchor securely - If removal isn’t an option, anchor the dock in a deep area where ice is less likely to form.

Fixed Docks

Protect with skirting - Install protective skirting to shield pilings and supports from ice.

Consider partial removal - Detach vulnerable parts, such as railings or decking, while leaving pilings intact.

Storing your Dock for Winter

Proper storage is key to ensuring your dock remains in good condition during the off-season.

Choose a Safe Location

Store dock sections in a secure area away from heavy snowfall, moisture, and debris.

Opt for an indoor facility, such as a garage or shed.

If outdoor storage is necessary, use tarps or covers to protect against weather.

Clean and Maintain

Thoroughly clean your dock sections before storage.

Remove algae, dirt, and debris to prevent staining or deterioration.

Apply protective coatings to wood or metal surfaces for added durability.

Organize Accessories

Keep all dock accessories and hardware organized for easy reassembly.

Store bolts, screws, and brackets in labeled containers.

Keep accessories like ladders and cleats in one area to avoid misplacement.

Hiring Professional Dock Removal Services

For many property owners, hiring professionals is the best option for seasonal dock removal. Experienced technicians ensure the process is safe and efficient.

Benefits of Professional Services

Expertise - Professionals have the tools and knowledge to handle complex docks.

Time-saving - Save yourself the physical effort and time investment.

Safety - Minimize risks associated with heavy lifting and cold weather.

Choosing a Reliable Service

Research local dock removal companies with positive reviews and recommendations.

Confirm that the service includes disassembly, transportation, and storage.

Ask about additional options like inspection or maintenance during removal.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Waiting Too Long

Delaying dock removal increases the risk of damage from sudden weather changes. Schedule removal early to avoid rushing.

Neglecting Accessories

Failing to remove or secure accessories can lead to unnecessary damage or loss during winter.

Improper Storage

Storing dock sections in unsuitable locations exposes them to moisture, pests, and other hazards.

Skipping Maintenance

Ignoring maintenance needs during removal can lead to costly repairs in the future. Seasonal dock removal is a vital step in protecting your waterfront investment from winter’s harsh elements. Serv-a-Dock is the best option if you are looking for dock removal service in Lake Minnetonka. Contact them via email or by calling 952-443-2811.

[gfs-tanks]

Epoxy Bolted Steel Tanks: The Ideal Solution for Soft Water Storage

In soft water storage applications, ensuring reliability and durability is paramount. For industries and facilities that require consistent access to softened water, epoxy bolted steel tanks provide an optimal storage solution. These tanks combine structural strength with a protective epoxy coating that guarantees long-lasting performance. Center Enamel, a global leader in bolted tank solutions, offers epoxy bolted steel tanks specifically designed for soft water storage, ensuring quality, durability, and cost-efficiency across diverse applications.

Why Choose Epoxy Bolted Steel Tanks for Soft Water Storage?

Epoxy bolted steel tanks have become a preferred choice in industrial, agricultural, and commercial sectors for soft water storage. Compared to traditional storage solutions, these tanks offer numerous advantages, making them ideal for applications where water purity, tank integrity, and long-term performance are top priorities.

Exceptional Corrosion Resistance Epoxy-coated steel tanks are highly resistant to corrosion, a critical feature when storing soft water, which can often leach from unprotected materials. The protective epoxy coating shields the steel panels, ensuring that the tank endures over time without compromising water quality. Center Enamel’s epoxy bolted steel tanks are specially coated to prevent corrosion, making them a reliable option for long-term soft water storage needs.

Strength and Flexibility The bolted steel construction of these tanks provides remarkable strength and adaptability. Manufactured in panels that are bolted together on-site, epoxy bolted steel tanks are easy to transport and install, even in challenging locations. This modular design also allows for easy expansion or modification to meet changing storage demands, making them ideal for industries with fluctuating soft water requirements.

Safe and Hygienic Storage In sectors where water quality is critical—such as food processing, pharmaceuticals, or specialized manufacturing—epoxy bolted steel tanks offer a safe and hygienic storage solution. The epoxy coating serves as a protective barrier, ensuring that contaminants do not affect the stored water. This layer not only protects the steel from corrosion but also maintains a clean, safe environment inside the tank. Center Enamel’s tanks undergo rigorous quality checks to meet the highest standards of hygiene and safety, making them a trusted choice for soft water storage.

Cost-Effective and Environmentally Sustainable Epoxy bolted steel tanks are more cost-effective than concrete or welded steel tanks in both construction and maintenance. The bolted design reduces installation time and labor costs, while the epoxy coating lowers long-term maintenance expenses by reducing the need for frequent repairs. Additionally, since these tanks can be dismantled and relocated, they offer environmental benefits, minimizing waste and allowing for reuse in other projects.

Applications of Epoxy Bolted Steel Tanks for Soft Water Storage

The versatility of epoxy bolted steel tanks makes them suitable for various soft water storage applications, such as:

Industrial Use: Softened water is crucial in industrial processes to prevent scale buildup in machinery and equipment. These tanks ensure that water remains uncontaminated, reducing the need for costly maintenance on equipment.

Agricultural Irrigation: Softened water benefits crops by preventing mineral accumulation in irrigation systems. Epoxy bolted steel tanks provide farmers with reliable, high-quality water storage for irrigation purposes.

Commercial Use: Softened water is commonly used in commercial establishments like hotels, resorts, and office buildings to maintain appliances and fixtures. These tanks offer a dependable solution for on-site soft water storage in commercial facilities.

Why Choose Center Enamel for Soft Water Storage Solutions?

With over 10 years of expertise and thousands of successful projects worldwide, Center Enamel is a leading provider of epoxy bolted steel tanks. Known for its quality engineering and innovative tank solutions, Center Enamel designs epoxy bolted steel tanks that are tailored to meet the unique needs of various industries, from industrial and agricultural to commercial applications.

When it comes to soft water storage, Center Enamel stands out for its commitment to durability, safety, and customer satisfaction. Their epoxy bolted steel tanks are built to the highest standards of reliability, ensuring long-lasting performance with minimal maintenance. Whether for industrial, agricultural, or commercial use, Center Enamel provides reliable and cost-effective solutions to optimize your soft water storage needs.

Get in Touch with Center Enamel Today

If you're looking for epoxy bolted steel tanks for soft water storage, Center Enamel has the expertise and experience to deliver high-quality, durable solutions. Reach out today for a quote or consultation to discover how our innovative storage solutions can help you maximize efficiency and minimize maintenance costs in your soft water storage system.

[usafphantom2]

To help reduce the radar cross-section the pie shaped and rectangular shapes were used around the outer edges of the SR 71. This is one of many reasons why they did not allow photographs. The SR -71 was made of 93% aged titanium and 7% composites. The fins and triangle wedges that framed the outer edge of the aircraft were composite constructionsmade from a mixture of asbestos and epoxy. They provided high-temperature radar absorbent characteristics to reduce the aircraft radar cross-section. They found that to attach thin, titanium skin to heavier wing structures, simple standoff clips were developed. These gave structural integrity while providing a heat shield between components with different expansion rates.

According to Wisconsin Metal Tech, the engineers of the SR-71 were among the first people in history to make real use of the material. In that process, they ended up throwing away a lot of material, some through necessity, some through error. At times the engineers were perplexed as to what was causing problems, but thankfully they documented and cataloged everything, which helped find trends in their failures. They discovered that spot welded parts made in the summer were failing very early in their life, but those welded in winter were fine. They eventually tracked the problem to the fact that the Burbank water treatment facility was adding chlorine to the water they used to clean the parts to prevent algae blooms in summer, but took it out in winter. Chlorine reacts with titanium, so they began using distilled water from this point on.

They discovered that their cadmium plated tools were leaving trace amounts of cadmium on bolts, which would cause galvanic corrosion and cause the bolts to fail. This discovery led to all cadmium tools to be removed from the workshop.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[priyasinghi]

Why Stainless Steel Shims Are Key for High-Temperature Applications | U Bolt Manufacturers

This article helps Stainless steel is renowned for its exceptional performance in extreme environments. Here’s why it stands out in high-temperature applications:

Heat Resistance: Stainless steel maintains its strength and structural integrity even when exposed to temperatures exceeding 500°C, making it ideal for heat-sensitive environments.

Corrosion Resistance: It is resistant to oxidation and corrosion, especially in environments where moisture, chemicals, or other harsh elements are present.

Durability and Strength: Stainless steel is known for its toughness and ability to withstand both mechanical stress and thermal expansion.

Low Maintenance: Once installed, stainless steel components, like shims and U-bolts, require minimal upkeep, reducing downtime and repair costs.

These benefits make stainless steel shims a critical component in high-temperature settings where both performance and longevity are essential. U-bolts manufacturers recommend stainless steel fasteners and shims for applications exposed to extreme heat due to their durability and resistance.

If you’re wondering where you might encounter stainless steel shims and U-bolts, here are some common high-temperature applications:

Power Generation

In power plants, particularly in turbines and boilers, stainless steel shims are used to maintain precise alignments under extreme heat. Paired with stainless steel U-bolts, these components ensure the stability and longevity of critical systems.

Automotive Industry

High-performance engines generate significant heat, making stainless steel shims ideal for use in exhaust systems, heat shields, and turbochargers. U-bolts manufacturers recommend stainless steel fasteners and shims for high-heat automotive components to ensure durability and performance.

Aerospace

In the aerospace industry, materials are exposed to extreme temperatures and pressure. Stainless steel shims are used in aircraft engines and structural components to maintain precise alignment and performance under high stress.

Petrochemical Industry

Pipelines and reactors in the petrochemical industry often experience high temperatures and corrosive environments. Stainless steel shims paired with U-bolts provide the necessary support to ensure long-lasting performance in these harsh conditions.

Marine Applications

In marine environments, both high temperatures and corrosive saltwater can affect fasteners. Stainless steel U-bolts and shims are used in boat engines, docks, and other equipment to ensure reliable performance. U-clamp manufacturers often recommend stainless steel U-clamps and shims for high-moisture environments to prevent corrosion and increase lifespan.

In high-temperature applications, precision and durability are non-negotiable. Stainless steel shims offer the thermal stability, corrosion resistance, and strength required to keep your components aligned and performing optimally. When paired with stainless steel U-bolts, they provide a robust fastening solution that can withstand the toughest conditions.

Whether you're in power generation, aerospace, or the petrochemical industry, understanding the importance of stainless steel shims and choosing the right U-bolt manufacturer can help you achieve better performance, reduced downtime, and longer-lasting equipment.

If you're sourcing materials for high-temperature environments, consider reaching out to a stainless steel U-bolt manufacturer or U-bolts manufacturer who can guide you through the best options for your specific application. Additionally, working with a trusted U-clamp manufacturer can ensure you get the right components to complement your fastening systems.

This guide will equip you with the knowledge to take your garment construction skills to the next level and create clothes that look and feel truly professional.

Link

Why Stainless Steel Shims Are Key for High-Temperature Applications | U Bolt Manufacturers

[quirkwizard]

What are some modifications and changes you would make to Poltergeist in order to make it more interesting and fleshed out (Regardless of screen time)? Can I send out more of these questions in the future?

What are some expansions you would make for Mushroom to be make it more interesting and fleshed out?

First off, I'm a little confused by the phrasing. Do you mean changing the Quirk itself or expanding on it? Because going by your second question, which I already covered, it seems to be the latter. Second, if that is what you mean, you are more then welcome to send in questions like this. While I usually do stuff like this for my Original Quirks, I'm more then willing to expand on ideas for canon Quirks.

I don't think "Poltergeist" itself needs to be changed, it just needed better showings. Because telekinesis can be one of the most interesting powers around. The most we see Reiko using it for is throwing objects to set up for "Twin Impact" and "Size" and using it to catch a falling Denki. There are plenty of ways for you to make it more interesting, like with some Support Equipment. Reiko could carry around literally anything hand-held, and it would be useful for her, like knives. Some metal orbs would be a fun addition, letting her move and shape them in a variety of ways. Everything from firing them off as projectiles, placing them onto allies to move them, or bunching them together to protect themselves. Bandages would be great as well. Not only would they add to her ghostly look, but they would be so easy to move around and manipulate. It'd be like everything Aizawa and Izuku are able to do. Then there are Super Moves, like throwing everything around in a massive telekinetic storm, bombarding someone with a burst of random objects, or pushing her power to the limits to lift far larger objects. If you really want to expand on the power, it would mostly be with a greater diversity of applications.

-Subtlety move objects to simulate bad luck -Carefully remove debris in a disaster zone -Use it on her own clothes to fly around -Redirect solid attacks to avoid or hit someone -Fling objects around form multiple angles -Move harder object to use as shields -Pull away enemy items, like weapons -Manipulating locks to open them up -Throw objects to block an escape -Float cameras around to spy on villains -Telekinetically mess with people via their clothes -Mentally take something apart, like bolts on a pipe -Fly her allies around via moving their clothes -Air lift hurt people without moving them to much