#fanfiction keeps me alive

[miss-meichu]

Ok lovely people of Tumblr help me out here.

I love fics where Stiles gets fed up with all the shit and leaves, just takes off without telling anyone and they all have to get back in his good graces in some way.

Preferably Sterek or no ship. Only fics with happy endings, however that may be.

Thank y'all

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 28

Thomas stared down at Bruce-no- Danny as he led him by the hand toward what he had dubbed as his "Secret Lair" which was just an old fall out shelter in the woods that had been well hidden and forgotten about. The door to it was old and still buried under years of dirt and plant growth, requiring Danny to phase them into it which made Thomas wonder how his grandson had found it in the first place.

Inside was surprisingly high tech. "You have a secret lair filled with all this equipment but don't have any weapons or armor?" Thomas asked, making mental preparations to fix that.

Danny sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and explained his only allies were two other 14 year olds who were also untrained, unarmed, unarmored, and unsuper-powered which would explain why Danny was so excited to be working with an adult vigilante who at least knew what they were doing.

The kid didn't even mind when some of his more evil or harmful rogues "stopped showing up" thankfully no one would really question the reclusive Vlad Masters "going back to Wisconsin" only to never be seen again. No one saw much of him before coming to Amity Park, it made since he would become a hermit again once he had his fill of human interaction.

And if hes later found dead in his cheese castle? Well, the body had decomposed too much to really say what killed him. His will left everything to a Daniel James Fenton/Daniel James Masters which visibly infuriated Danny. Thomas mentally patted himself on the back. It was a good call to get rid of that one. The will was a surprise, though one that can only benefit Thomas in his crusade of protecting his grandson. Its not like he can return to a timeline that no longer exists anyway.

Unfortunately this doesn't stop the bats from hearing about "Batman" operating in a city in Illinois for the past few months...

[insane-hag]

fanfic so good i have to pull up tumblr and shitpost about the character

[kitswag]

A little art about a headcanon of mine for Dragon and Sabo, and a little fanfic about it under the cut

"Dragon-san," a familiar voice, Sabo's voice came knocking from the door of the cluttered office. Dragon perked up, putting down the pen he's writing with- just a follow up rough plan for the revolutionary's next strike.

The door was opened and there was Sabo with a bleeding arm. Instinctively, Dragon reached for the cabinet on his desk, pulling it open to grab for a roll of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic.

Sabo sat in front of Dragon, reaching out his roughed-up arm, his face not showing a trace of pain. (Dragon always knew the surges beneath his mask anyways.)

Dragon sighed as he saw the gnarly wound on Sabo's arm. The boy had a knack on being risky, sometimes even too keen on self sacrifice. Even though being a revolutionary always costed a price, Dragon couldn't help but worry about Sabo's knacks.

"I got a little reckless with my plans, " Sabo offered a little charming smile to Dragon (cut out the reprimands just this time?)

"I always told you to be careful. You're too good to lose, " Dragon said (again, Sabo?).

Sabo offered another cheeky smile, "Next time," he said, as if Dragon never feared for his name written on the list of fallen revolutionaries in a mission report.

When Sabo first arrived in Baltigo, still wrapped with bandages all over, not even able to move his wounded limbs freely, he would only turn to Dragon to replace his bandages, any nurses who tried to replace it would only make him flinch violently.

Dragon tapped a cotton smeared with antiseptic liquid on his arm, following it up with the roll of bandages. Soon, after falling into the familiar act of wrapping Sabo's wounds, Dragon couldn't resist the nostalgia that went flying right to his head.

But of course, they understood (despite being concerned) , that Sabo was a child, a child that had no one familiar except for Dragon in an unfamiliar, new building far far away from his home island.

When his burns healed, and when he finally got to trust the nurses, it still became a habit. He would knock on Dragon's door or tug at his coat, show his wounds, and Dragon would pull out his cabinet and fish out a bottle of antiseptic liquid and some bandages. And there it was, a repeating pattern of tapping a cotton smeared with the antiseptic against Sabo's wounds and wrapping it up with soft bandages.

Dragon always thought of it as a comforting habit.

It was not rare that he would receive reports about his fallen men, people that had died for his own cause. And being here, bandaging Sabo, feeling the warmth of his skin, reminded Dragon that his Chief of Staff, his son, was still here, still alive. Still able to go knock on Dragon's office and offer a smile and a wound.

Sabo's small hiss of pain suddenly brought Dragon abruptly out of his daze. He softened his pace and grip, finishing wrapping Sabo's arm with tying the end, cutting the excess bandage with a small pair of scissors.

"Thank you, Dragon-san, " Sabo smiled, softly.

Dragon couldn't resist reaching his hand out and ruffling Sabo's hair, "Be careful next time," he warned.

Sabo's smile turned into a grin, "This time is just a slip up. "

Dragon couldn't help but smile back. Thin, but soft with fondness for his son sitting in front of him. He pulled his hand out of Sabo's locks of blonde and hope that tomorrow, his name wouldn't be written on the list of the fallen.

[onceuponaneverafter]

no bc i‘m obsessed with how the jacks from caraval who was literally plotting to take the throne and didn’t care about anyone or anything is the same person who spends almost two books in the ouabh trilogy just trying to keep evangeline safe because he loves her

✨character development✨

[missriyochuchi]

Our love is here to stay

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer take a walk along the Seine, skipping stones before entertaining the late-night crowd with an intimate dance number from a classical Hollywood musical.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF. Implied sexual content. Established relationship. References to An American in Paris (1951).

Notes: I didn't intend to write another fic for these two, but this scene from An American in Paris (1951) has been haunting me since the Opening Ceremony. I couldn’t figure out how to write them dancing until I remembered the song that accompanied the scene, and then I couldn't stop writing! The lyrics fit them perfectly! This follows The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer. I strongly recommend reading it first, but if not (it's your time), only a few details carry over: the two exist only during the Olympic Games, so they die and are reborn every two years; interaction between them and humans is strictly limited; and the Flagbearer's horse is named Zeus. As with the aforementioned fic, I use gendered pronouns only to distinguish between the two; physical descriptions are not gendered. For now, I have no plans to write another fic for them, but the Olympics are just beginning, and who knows if the Muses will blow in my direction again lol

Read on AO3

Darkness floats above the Seine like mist, its shroud kept at bay by the namesake luminescence of the City of Lights. Boats bobbing on the river and open restaurants on the bank animate the otherwise dreary waterway. Beneath bulbs of varying hues, businesses bustle with the chorus of tinkling tableware, multilingual conversations, and idle music of Paris past and present. 

Sunrise approaches in an hour, but beneath one of the city’s many bridges, the Torchbearer and the Flagbearer find a sliver of solitude. 

Splash, splash, splash, splash.

“See?” The Torchbearer spins on his heel at the river’s edge, a few flat stones left in hand, to face the Flagbearer leaning against the wall. “There is nothing to it.” He extends an upturned palm in her direction, but she shakes her head.

“I do not possess the skill,” she announces to her echoes.

He cocks his head to the side and closes the distance between them. “Skills can be taught, ma chère.” He takes her hand and pulls her to the riverside, her cape billowing lightly in the breeze. He places a stone in her glove and positions her index finger along its jagged edge. “You must give it a little spin so that it does not sink upon impact on the surface of the water.”

The Torchbearer turns to face his rippling reflection. He flicks his wrist and sends a stone skipping once, twice, three, four times across the river before sinking below the surface with a light plop.

The Flagbearer mimics his motions, swinging her arm and sending her stone on a long arc to a wide splash into the water’s darkness. The Torchbearer stifles a giggle.

She shakes her head and grumbles, “Oh! I do not understand why you find this activity so amusing.”

He releases his chuckles and grabs her wrist before she can walk away with a huff. “Practice makes perfect, non? Give it one more try.”

The Flagbearer runs her hands along her partner’s biceps and strokes his ego. “You are the one gifted with physical prowess,” she says fondly, “a lightness of touch and dexterity.” She steps closer to ghost her breath over his. “If ever I need to raise an army of stone throwers, you shall be my first in command.”

The Torchbearer tilts his head back and sends his laughs to the underside of the bridge. His voice reverberates across the masonry. “Your flattery will not excuse you from this lesson, général.”

“Then I shall receive a failing grade, professeur,” she teases. “Or do you have some other, more favored form of punishment?” She sneaks a knee between his legs and presses up.

He groans and chuckles low at the contact. “Have I not satisfied your appetite for tonight, my love? I am sure the few players who heard us at the Olympic Village would—”

She silences him with a swift squeeze of his buttocks. Her gloved hands slip slowly up to the back of his waist. “Several lifetimes of nights could never quell my hunger for you and your prowess.” She presses her front to his and guides them away from the river’s edge and into the shadows.

The stones in the Torchbearer’s hand land on the pavement, their echoes filling the underpass. His hands smooth over the cool expanse of the Flagbearer’s backplate underneath her cape. “Not here, my sweet,” he whispers into the darkness beneath her hood.

“I know.”

Giggles from an approaching group of tourists break the moment. The lovers’ hands fall to each other’s elbows, their gazes fixed downward. The group grows silent as they pass the hooded figures. A woman bringing up the rear stops to turn around and hold up a smartphone.

“Excuse me, can we— oh!”

A man grabs her elbow and roughly turns her back around towards their group. “Je suis désolé,” he offers quickly. “Elle ne savait pas.” He bows low at the hip in consternation.

The Torchbearer nods in his direction. He watches and waits for the group’s footsteps to fade before turning back to the Flagbearer. Flush with embarrassment beneath her metallic hood, she looks up and crashes her chest to his, tightening her arms around his shoulders for a long embrace. His hands find the opposite sides of her waist, and his chin rests on her tiered spaulder. For a moment, the movement of their chests with every inhalation and exhalation is one and the same.

Displays of affection are not uncommon on the streets of the City of Love, and neither the gods nor any event organizers in the past expressly forbade their affair, but for the Olympic guardians damned to the global spotlight every two years, privacy is a luxury they steal at every opportunity. To be caught alone in each other’s arms felt like an insult to the few precious moments they shared outside their eternal duties.

“Come,” the Flagbearer says softly as she pushes her palms against the Torchbearer’s biceps for enough breathing room to speak. “I do not wish to spend the remainder of the night adding debris to the Seine.” She curls her hand beneath his upper arm and guides him along the riverbank.

The low sounds of whispers and camera shutters accompany the two as they gain distance from their secluded underpass. They keep their gaze forward, accustomed to the attention after years of technological advancements in photography. The few who begin to approach the hooded figures are quickly pulled back by fellow onlookers.

“Why not?”

“They’ll just ignore you and won’t say a word.”

“They were fine during the Opening Ceremony.”

“It’s forbidden.”

The crowd grows in size and sound. They congregate parallel to the riverbank, giving the mysterious duo a wide berth. Over the rising cacophony, the Torchbearer catches a familiar tune floating from somewhere above the embankment. He slows their walk and listens for the words. 

It’s very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

“They are playing our song, chérie.”

“Darling, not now. Daylight approaches. We must be on our way.”

The Torchbearer stops their progress and presses his palm to the Flagbearer’s fingers nestled lightly in the crook of his arm. “When was the last time we danced?” He takes her hands in both of his and swings her in a circle before positioning her left hand on his right shoulder and her right hand in his left. Their hips and foreheads meet as they start a slow circle on the open pathway.

In time, the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They’re only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

“Do you remember the film?” The Torchbearer keeps his voice low enough for only the Flagbearer to hear.

She follows suit, though her breath is clipped. “I know exactly which you speak.”

“Shall we give them a show?” He squeezes her hand and quickens their turns.

“Only if you remember the steps as well as I.”

He huffs, mildly offended. “Do you doubt your partner?”

She smiles and giggles. “Never.”

They drop their arms and sway to the music, mirroring each other’s movements as they widen the space between them. The crowd on the riverbank backs away towards the wall and opens a space large enough for the two to continue. The closest onlookers move to accommodate the Flagbearer’s cape as it soars and intermittently kisses the border between performer and audience.

The dance is both timid and intimate. Their touches are perfunctory, punctuating passing sweeps across the pavement. Yet they lean their hands and heads on the other without hesitation, as if years of muscle memory and not conscious decisions dictate their proximity. Their movements tell the story of two lovers beginning to blossom in a romance they know will last for “ever and a day.” Slow and distanced steps give way to increasingly closer encounters.

“Despite this cumbersome armor, my dove,” the Torchbearer whispers during a moment when they resume the closed position and their faces are centimeters apart, “you dance beautifully. You have not lost your touch.”

“Nor you, my sweetest.”

They continue with their hands folded behind their lower backs, stepping like disparate planets inextricably circling the same center of gravity, and finish with an approximation of a kiss. They lean forward over an arm’s length of distance and bring the shadows beneath their hoods to meet for a breath of eternity. Their shoulders turn to bring an arm each around the other’s waist. They walk intertwined in their original direction as the orchestral music from above the embankment gives way to silence.

Applause and cheers chase after the duo. After a few steps, they turn around and bow to the crowd silhouetted by the embankments’ lights. They resume their promenade hand in hand.

When the murmur of surprise and adoration disappears and the Flagbearer spies no nosy onlookers within earshot, she brings the Torchbearer’s hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you, my love,” she breathes softly into his rough skin. She brushes the corners of her mouth across the backs of his exposed fingertips.

He turns his hand to rub her chin and catches her smile. “For what am I owed your gratitude, mon ange?”

“This world has weighed heavy on my mind since we were summoned,” she folds his hand in both of hers, “and I have forgotten what it means to remain light in such dark times. Thank you for reminding me of the power of simple pleasures.”

The Torchbearer hums to convey his contentment and, for a moment, ponders the gods’ plans in pairing them together. They had discovered, very early in their tenure, the opposing duality of their natures. He carried the torch, and she carried the flag, symbols of an event meant to unite humanity in friendly competition. While the object of his guardianship is most visible during the night, hers is most visible during the day. Together, they provide and protect constant reminders of the Olympic Spirit. Now, he realizes that such duties benefit not just the players and the spectators, but each other. He is her light, and she is his standard. He keeps them afloat, and she keeps them rooted to the Earth.

From the shadows of the bridge fast approaching their path, Zeus appears, both his coat and hoofbeat as light as snow. He advances towards his rider and nudges her cuirass with his muzzle.

The Flagbearer sighs and glides a gloved hand along the horse’s nose. “These nights pass far too quickly.”

The Torchbearer finds his opening to remain true to his duty and nature. “Tempus fugit when you are having fun — is that not what the humans say?” He takes her free hand and bows deeply, bringing his head to the level of her hips and swinging his other arm out to the side. “A testament to the quality of your company. I thank you for the compliment.” He straightens back up and presses her palm to the center of his chest, her gentle warmth meeting his steady heartbeat — his version of a kiss.

She shakes her head and laughs low in her chest, careful not to attract more attention as she hears hushed voices lingering on the embankment above them. He releases her hand and shares a knowing nod. He helps her mount Zeus, his hand trailing after the lower edge of her cape.

“Until tonight,” the Flagbearer whispers as she reaches for one more squeeze of her eternal flame’s hand.

The Torchbearer cradles her hand in both of his and tightens his grasp on her being. “Until tonight.”

Footnotes:

Translations: ma chère/chérie - my dear général - general professer - professor Je suis désolé. Elle ne savait pas. - I am sorry. She did not know. mon ange - my angel Tempus fugit (Latin) - Time flies

Is it corny af to have them reenact a scene from a movie? Sure. But are they not performers? Would they not perform to a love song in the City of Love? We've seen the Torchbearer sort of dance on that drag show catwalk - would they not be an amazing dancer!? And do the distances in the choreography not reflect the distances the two need to keep in the performance of their duties? Are you not entertained!? lolol

[annakwashere]

I really wish brawl stars would make an animated series, longer comics or some kind of spin-off game with a story, there’s so much stuff they could do!

They could explore Starr park lore like in the cctv animations or perhaps the focus could just go on the brawlers’s everyday life.

Like they made such good characters it’s not fair they’re confined in a p2w, 3v3 mobile fighting game

[mossycereustea]

do y’all ever just read a super amazing heart wrenching wonderful show-stopping breathtaking fantastic unbelievable soul shattering fanfic that is so horribly under-appreciated? (I’m sure the answer will probably be yes for many people)

because I found this fanfic that made me physically hurt- (honestly that might be because I’m a sucker for slow-burn and love watching the characters ache for one another as the anticipation tears apart my soul) and I’ve tried giving kudos at least ten times per chapter.

PLEASE AO3 TELEPATHICALLY SEND MY KUDOS

THIS FIC IS NOW MY LIFE TAKE MY KUDOS

TAKE MY SOUL

CAN THAT LITTLE SMILEY FACE FEEL MY PAIN

if there was a function that let the author see how many times i tried to give kudos to this fic after the first time they would be flooded with re-kudos

i need this fic injected into my veins

i’ll pay you

anyways we should have a re-kudos function

(i understand that spamming is likely a reason why this function does not exist along with the fact that usually that is now how “likes” and such on these type of platforms work, but this is just me expressing my love for this fic and devotion to the author- don’t take my proposal too seriously)

thank you fanfic authors you are doing the work of god.

[whywoulditho]

has anyone ever written a no capes DC AU where Jason's pit rages are switched into OCD/intrusive thoughts?? because that's a concept i literally can't get out of my mind. i tried to write a pit rage once and i noticed the way i'm describing it is a literal projection of my intrusive thoughts back when my ocd was that awful. so i thought i might try to write something like an OCD!Jason fic but if anyone's read something like that before please let me know!!

[ellijg]

I lovee getting into a new fictional character and having pages of new fanfiction to read about them. THE BEST feeling <3

[miss-meichu]

I need to read tags, I need to read tags, I need to read tags. 😭😭😭

[acry-4-help]

tiktok removing “view between villages” by noah kahan from my favorite edits is foul.

WHAT ABOUT REMUS LUPIN!!!

[newtmasficlist]

oh hi i'm back

i'm pondering the idea of possibly recruiting help with this blog as i believe it is only me (@ssangster) back again attempting to keep this up n running! if you think this is something you'd be interesting in send me a message (@ssangster) for details :) happy reading!

[domtheforestgnome]

Wilmon fics that keep me alive these days p5

If you want to see previous parts of my recommendations just click the tag "wilmon fics that keep me alive" down below.

"And we don't know what happened after the book ended." "Well, she commited suicide." Or, Sara's comment about Karin Boye makes Simon worry. He spirals and starts overanalysing everything.

Go read it! Imediately!

[havealotonmymind]

Girls' Night

Summary: Finally free from Zariel’s rule, Karlach is determined to live the remainder of her life to the fullest. The first thing she wants to do? Hold a girls’ night with her fellow companions.

Rating: Teen and Up

Category: Astarion & Gale & Karlach & Lae'zel & Shadowheart & Tav & Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Karlach & Tav (Baldur's Gate), Karlach & Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Karlach & Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate), Minor Astarion/Named!Tav

Additional Tags:

Developing Friendships, Minor Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate), Party Banter, Girls' Night, Act 1 (Baldur's Gate 3), Act 1 Astarion Being Act 1 Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Named Tav (Baldur's Gate), Tiefling Tav (Baldur's Gate), Fighter Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Also available on AO3!

I’ll probably say this about every one-shot I write for this series, but this is by far the most self-indulgent thing I’ve written. The whole fic is just unending party banter. The girls need more friendship moments together and I'm willing to provide lol.

Being really, truly free of the Hells was intoxicating. No lingering scent of sulfur on what little she owned? No demons? No Zariel? Gods, even the sight of weeds poking through the grass was enough to make her cry.

And to have a new group of friends to share that all with, too? Man, she had never felt luckier. They were an odd group that argued more than got along, but Karlach wouldn’t trade them for anything. All pretty decent people across the board. Even Astarion had his moments.

After a few days of traveling with them all, Karlach felt she had grown to know her companions pretty well. That called for some kind of celebration. One of the most sacred and cherished traditions in all of Faerûn.

“Hey, soldier, should we have a Girls’ Night?” Karlach asked, unable to contain her excitement mid-adventure. Well, adventure in the loosest sense of the word. Leviathala frowned down at their map trying to navigate while Astarion supplied unhelpfully vague directions over her shoulder. The two had been arguing back and forth for the better part of an hour.

Shadowheart latched onto Karlach’s suggestion with all the vigor of a drowning person clinging to a lifeboat. “Please. Anything to get them to stop talking.”

“Excuse me? I was helping!” Astarion said.

“Saying ‘let’s go over there’ and pointing at a random spot on the map is not helping, Astarion. And by the time I figure out where there even is, you change your mind anyway,” Leviathala snapped.

“You’re an adventurer, aren’t you? Have a little sense of, well, adventure.”

Leviathala’s bright blue eyes—brighter still against the stark black of her sclera—burned holes into him. She looked two seconds away from snapping his neck.

Karlach stepped in between them. “Hey now, come on! Lev, when was the last time you had a girls’ night, eh? A proper girls’ night! Shootin’ the shit, maybe a drink or two.”

“Yes, because there are such excellent taverns nearby,” Astarion scoffed. “Of course, there’s always Waukeen’s Rest! I hear the staff are all fired up to serve new customers.”

Lev coughed to hide a laugh. “Gods above, you’re terrible.”

“Morally yes, but you still laughed.”

“It was incredibly tasteless. Of course I laughed. At you, not with you, mind.”

“Charming as this banter is, the sun is going to set soon and I’d much rather have a full girls’ night instead of half of one,” Shadowheart butt in. “So let’s reconvene at camp, hm?”

Lev stashed her map away. “Fine. Lead on, then.”

Once they made their way back, Gale looked up from the cauldron where he was cooking their dinner. “Ah, you’ve all made it back in one piece, I see. Find any good herbs out there?”

Lev pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course we forgot to get the one thing we set out for in the first place.”

His smile fell. “Well, at least I have some salt and pepper left.”

“Oh wait, I did grab some leafy things from a barrel. Stole it from the Zhentarim after we wiped ‘em out in their hideout. They smelled nice. Dunno if these are herbs, though,” Karlach said as she handed over a fistful of leafy stalks.

“Basil! Oh, thank Mystra. At least our food will taste halfway decent.” As he plucked and scattered the leaves into the stew, he added, “Might I also hope for some spices to go along with that basil?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep hoping. The spiciest thing we found today was smokepowder,” Lev said as she sat heavily on a log across from him. Karlach planted the smokepowder barrels next to their other supplies for emphasis.

“Ah. Still valuable, of course, but not exactly good for digestion.”

Even without all the usual spices at his disposal, Gale managed to make a fine meal indeed. None of their leftover food went to waste. Even the bones of last night’s boar helped to create a rich stock.

“Gale, you do astound me,” Wyll said. “How you manage to make a feast from scraps is a rare talent indeed.”

“Thank you. But I must ask, what did you eat in your time as the Blade of Frontiers?”

“Oh, mostly cured meats from game I hunted myself. When I have a quarry in my sights, I rarely have the time to sup as I would like.”

“Well, I’m glad my meager fare is to your liking, your grace.” Gale bowed his head and the others smirked over their bowls. Their recent run-in with Counsellor Florrick garnered a lot of teasing about his duke status that poor Wyll had yet to live down.

“Please, out here, I’m just Wyll.”

“For what it’s worth, you’ve more than earned the Blade of Frontiers title. A set of horns isn’t going to change that.” Karlach moved as if to nudge his shoulder, then thought better of it at the last second. “And if anyone gives you any trouble about it, I’ll always stick by you, Wyll.”

His smile was a bright point in the dark. “Thank you, Karlach. That truly means a lot.”

They finished dinner not long after. Karlach took a few deep breaths to make sure she wouldn’t get too excited for the night ahead. The few girls’ nights she’d seen other clusters of friends host in the Gate always seemed like a good time. Of course, those were held in lively taverns or restaurants, but surely their group could make do out here.

“Yeah, well, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time you guys pop off. It’s girls’ night tonight.”

“What happened to ‘I’ll always stick by you, Wyll’?”

“You’ll be nearby. Us girls just need a bit of time to ourselves, though, so go on.” Karlach shooed the men away like one would an unruly pet caught chewing something it wasn’t supposed to.

Gale turned to Wyll as the two trailed off. “What are we gentlemen to do? Have our own boys’ night perhaps?”

“I doubt Astarion would be inclined to join any more group activities than are required of him.”

“Probably for the best.”

Without a common thread to keep them tethered, they simply drifted to their own tents for the night.

“Damn, it’s good to be alive!” Karlach fell against one of the bedrolls she set up by the campfire. It was a lovely night out. All the nights so far had been pretty damn lovely. The faint scent of damp earth, the rustling trees—all of it fresh and healthy and alive.

How had she never noticed how much life there was on the surface before now? Even the wind flowing through her hair felt like a living thing, winding soft fingers through and around the strands like it was trying to weave an intricate braid.

Shadowheart smiled briefly. “So you’ve said. Many times, I might add.”

“And it’s true every time!” Karlach sat right back up again. “When people tell you to stop and smell the flowers every now and then, they aren’t joking.”

Leviathala curled her legs and tail in towards her. “You’re telling me. It’s been so long since I’ve been outside the city. I’d forgotten how big the world truly is.”

“Right? There’s so much up top. I want to see it all!”

“I’ve been trying to keep an eye out for this gith crèche Lae’zel keeps mentioning,” Leviathala said. “So far, no luck.”

“Where is Lae’zel, anyway? I haven’t seen her since we came back.”

The sound of metal steadily clanking closer drew their attention. Lae’zel marched up to them in full plate-armor, helmet and all. “I am ready.”

Karlach raised an eyebrow. “Uh, what’s all that for?”

“Astarion informed me of the long-honored Faerûnian custom of Girls’ Night. I am merely prepared to undertake the trials ahead.” She scanned over the other women in their casual nightwear and frowned. “Why are you all so woefully unprepared?”

It was only when Leviathala failed to hide her laughter did it finally hit her.

Lae'zel lowered her longsword. “So, I assume Astarion has lied to me, then.”

“You can take all that off. Relax! Let your hair down!” Karlach patted the spare bedroll next to her.

Lae’zel scowled but shed her armor and sat all the same. “Chk! I will keep my hair as it is lest it get in my way. Perhaps Leviathala had the right idea in trimming away the excess.”

“Oh, I cut my hair myself.” Lev fluffed out the choppy dark strands with a proud smile.

Shadowheart threw her a pitying look. “It shows.”

At Lev’s frown, Karlach gave an uneasy laugh. “Hey, come on now! I think it looks great. A lot softer than my hair, anyway. Can’t do a thing with it when my hands are constantly on fire.”

Shadowheart made a face. “So it didn’t used to be that…crunchy?”

“I’m gonna ignore you calling it crunchy so my engine doesn’t explode on you.”

“Sorry, brittle. Is that better?”

“It was a lot curlier when I was younger,” Karlach said, ignoring her. “My mum almost drove herself to tears trying to get it together for parties. Didn’t help that I always wanted to go roughhouse instead of sit still. I was a right menace as a kid.”

“Sounds about right. I imagine curly hair looks nice on you, actually,” Shadowheart relented.

“What about you, Shadowheart? I’ve never seen your hair out of that neat braid. I bet you’ve got really gorgeous hair.” Karlach scooted as close as she dared.

Shadowheart flipped the braid back over her shoulder, preening. “Naturally. And as dark as the night, too.”

“Is this all a Girls’ Night entails?” Lae’zel snapped. “Encouraging each other’s vanity?”

“I mean, sometimes, but right now, we’re just talking. Warming up, getting to know each other.” Karlach rolled her shoulders like she was gearing for a fight. “Gotta stretch out the ol’ social skills again if we’re gonna be traveling together, right?”

“This is a waste of my time. I’m leaving.”

Before she could stalk back to her tent, Karlach yelled, “Boooo! Give it a chance, Lae’zel! We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet!”

Lev and Shadowheart exchanged a glance before looking expectantly at Lae’zel. Much as the gith tried to play stoic and untouchable, her desire to know more about this Plane far outshone that stubborn streak of hers.

“Very well. This had better be worth it.” She knelt on the bedroll Karlach had laid out for her, strategically placed furthest away from Shadowheart.

“So, of everyone in our camp…” Karlach held up three fingers. “Who would you snog, marry, or kill?”

Both Lev and Shadowheart groaned while Lae’zel merely blinked.

“Gods, I haven’t played that since I was twelve,” Lev said, barely holding back a chuckle.

“Ah, ah! Answer the question, Lev!”

“Me? Why me first?”

“Because you’re the first one to talk! Why else?” Karlach said.

When Lev waved her away, she only leaned in closer. “Come on, Lev! Just pick three of us! Could even be one of us three.”

“Oh? In that case, I would kill Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said without hesitation.

Shadowheart scowled. “The feeling is mutual, gith. You’re lucky Lev stepped in the last time I tried to kill you or I would have slaughtered you in your sleep.”

Lae’zel immediately drew a dagger. “Try your luck and see where such talk will lead, istik. I will not hesitate to put you in your place this time.”

“Girls, girls, come on! Can you stop antagonizing each other for like two minutes?” Karlach sighed. “I just wanna have a little fun with my new mates. Is it really so much to ask for you two to calm down for a night?”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart glared at one another for a moment longer before settling back in their respective bedrolls.

“I will honor this Girls’ Night by quelling my fury. Do not expect it to last into the morning,” Lae’zel sniffed.

An awkward smile crept along Karlach’s lips. She had to get this girls’ night going properly or it’d all fall apart. “R-Right, so kiss, marry, kill. Who wants to go first?”

Lev took a long sip of water, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Shadowheart and Lae’zel both refused to look at the other, instead glaring off into different points in the distance.

“Fine. I’ll go then!” Karlach grumbled. Better to lead by example and all that. “Snog Astarion. Marry either Wyll or Shadowheart. Probably Wyll. My heart fluttered when he went against Mizora for me. I’ll never forget that. Kill…wait, hold on…”

“No, you started it. Now finish it,” Shadowheart said. “Go on. Tell us which one of us you’d kill given the choice.”

“Aw, that’s not fair! I just met you all like a tenday ago!”

“And yet here you are potentially offering me your arm in marriage.” Shadowheart shook her head. “And you haven’t even taken me out for dinner. I haven’t met your parents yet, either. Surely, we’d want their blessing first.”

Ah man. She really was someone to take home to the folks. If they were still alive, no doubt they’d find Shadowheart just as endearing as Karlach did.

Still, that wasn’t really something you told a tentative friend. She scooted just a little closer to her githyanki companion. “Lae’zel? What about you?”

Lae’zel scowled and she almost backed away. Maybe she thought this all too childish. Giths were pretty vicious from what little she knew about them. What if she thought all this was beneath her or something?

“Snogging is…sex, yes?” she began uneasily.

“Er, no, it’s more just…kissing. Y’know, making out?”

Lev almost spat out her water trying not to laugh. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a gith equivalent to making out, Karlach.”

Lae’zel frowned. “This ‘making out’ is equivalent to snogging, then? Another word for a kiss?”

Bless her for trying, at least.

“Well, deeper kissing,” Lev offered.

“Sometimes with tongue,” Karlach supplied with a cheeky grin.

This time, Lev did spit out her water.

“Very well. I have made my choice.” Lae’zel’s eyes swept over their camp. “If you forced me under threat of death to snog any of our companions, I would choose you, Karlach. I believe you are best suited for the type of kissing I desire.”

Karlach’s grin only grew. “I’m flattered, thanks!”

“As for marriage, Wyll is the best choice by far. He is the most accustomed to this adventuring lifestyle and has more important political ties to this Baldur’s Gate than any of you. He is a worthy ally to have at my side.”

“Hey now, this isn’t something to take that seriously—”

“As for killing, well, if Shadowheart were no longer an option, then there is always Astarion.”

Karlach laughed. Even in silly games like this, Lae’zel gave it her all. “Wyll’s pretty popular, huh?”

“He was my choice for marry, too,” Lev piped up. “As for kill, I’d also choose Astarion. He wanted to kill me the first time we met, so it seems fair.”

“And who’re you snogging? Is it any of us?” Karlach gasped. “Is it Gale?”

“No, that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“Come on! That’s boring!”

“You never chose who you’d kill! Don’t come after me for not picking someone to kiss!”

“Why? Is the person you’d kiss someone embarrassing?” Shadowheart asked. The tiny glint in her eyes spelled mischief.

“No! I just…” Lev rolled her wrist uselessly. “Well, I’m not generally interested in that sort of thing until I get to know someone a lot more first.”

“But you do have someone in mind. I can sense it. That’s why you’re being so dodgy.” Shadowheart’s eyes roamed over the camp. Gale was preoccupied with organizing spell scrolls into everyone’s packs. Wyll fenced against a wooden dummy. Astarion stood farther off than the rest, engrossed in some book he’d pilfered from an old temple they raided not long ago.

“Being a cleric of Lady Shar has granted me far more wisdom into the darkness in others’ hearts than most,” she said. “In your heart of hearts, I know who lies at the center.”

Lev’s jaw tightened, her shoulders bunched together like she was about to bolt.

“It’s Withers, isn’t it?”

Lev blinked at her owlishly then both she and Karlach burst out laughing. The sound rang clear throughout the forest, a chorus that sent a few nearby birds flying.

“I never knew you were this funny, Shadowheart. You always seem so serious all the time!” Karlach said as she leaned back on her hands.

“I’m hilarious. Once you get to know me, that is.”

“Yes, well, once you get some alcohol into me, I might be more inclined to tell you all the truth,” Lev said. All three women immediately shoved the nearest bottles of wine they could towards her.

“Wow, okay, give me a minute to recover. Gods…”

“So, Shadowheart? Snog, marry, kill?” Karlach asked before she slung back a few gulps of Amnian Dessert Wine. The sweeter stuff wasn’t really to her taste, but being picky never got anyone anywhere good. Better to try all the new things she could while she had the chance.

“Hm, well, you all know I’d kill Lae’zel. Kiss…maybe Lev or Gale. They have very…soft-looking lips.” She gave Lev a quick once-over. “As for marriage, if any of you wish to open your hearts to Lady Shar—”

“Erm, hard pass,” Karlach said.

“Sorry, but no,” Lev replied.

“I serve but one deathless goddess: Vlaakith and Vlaakith alone.”

“Right, so, barring the usual religious factors, I’d probably marry Karlach. You look like you could take care of me properly. More so than any other person I’ve met so far.” Her eyes slid slyly to Lev. “No offense.”

“I wasn’t offended until you said that. But thanks, I guess.”

Karlach felt the engine in her chest burn just a tad hotter. “Fuck yes, I could take care of you! Trust Mama K to handle everything from here on out!”

“Of course. So long as you don’t expect me to call you Mama K. Karlach suits you just fine.” Shadowheart smiled from over her bottle of wine. “Now, who would you kill? Go on.”

“I’ll tell only if Lev says who she wants to kiss.”

“Er, we can’t both go at the same time. Which would you rather hear first?” Lev tilted her head towards Karlach, clearly indicating who she preferred.

“Snog, obviously!” Karlach said.

Shadowheart smirked. “Oh, yes, kiss first, please. This is the far more interesting option.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lev said and downed the rest of her wine.

“Come on, Lev! Tell us!” Karlach said.

“Do tell. Then we can finally move on from this inane game and onto the best part Karlach has planned,” Lae’zel pointed out.

Karlach tried not to betray the fact that all she had planned next was several rounds of Truth or Dare or Strip Talis until they all passed out for the night. Whatever Lae’zel’s idea of a good time was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Lev sighed and waved them all closer at last. They all leaned in, straining to hear as she cupped both hands around her mouth.

“Astarion.”

Karlach blinked. “What? But you said you wanted to kill him!”

“Kill, snog…same thing at the end of the day.” Lev shrugged. “They both teach you how to empty yourself for someone. Love and hate ride a fine line or…something.”

“Wait, you can’t choose the same person for two different answers. That hardly seems fair,” Shadowheart said.

“Fine. Snog Gale then. Happy?”

“Nah, nah, hold on, soldier. I wanna know why you were so dodgy about answering. You got a crush on him, right?”

“Gods, we really are reverting back to teenagers, aren’t we?” Lev sighed. “Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. I already slept with him.”

Their collective gasps and screams of scandalized delight echoed for miles.

“No fucking way! Lev, you sly minx!” Karlach smacked the ground hard as she laughed. Blackened scorch marks in the shape of her hand torched the soil she touched.

Shadowheart covered her mouth with a hand. “You didn’t! Oh, Lev…”

“To think, you chose some malnourished parasite over me,” Lae’zel sniffed. “I don’t know if your refusal should be my shame or yours.”

“Wait, when? Were you drunk? Is that why?” Karlach asked, engine still pounding away to keep up with her excitement. Who knew quiet Lev had it in her?

“Er…”

“Whoa, you did him sober? On purpose?”

Lev covered her face with her hands. “Karlach, not so loud…”

“I was just teasing before, but damn, you really do like him, don’t you?”

Shadowheart smirked. “I never had any doubt. You two are always pushing one another’s buttons. It’s painful watching you sometimes.”

“It’s not as if I’m slinging horrid lines at him like he does with everyone else.”

“No, but what was it you said earlier? There’s a fine line between love and hate? Underneath all your insults and arguing, I’d wager you might be a little in love with him.”

“How presumptuous of you.” Lev stared off into the distance. “He asked me, by the way. It was a mutual agreement. He was probably just bored. It won’t happen again.”

A breezy sigh from behind them made Karlach sit straighter. They all glanced back to see Astarion hovering just a couple feet away. “Look, as charming as it is to hear you all gossip away within earshot of my tent, it is getting to be rather late.”

“Wait, what could you hear?” Lev asked, sounding a touch panicked.

“Nothing specific. Just noise. So I suggest you keep it down.” The edges of their silence caught his attention. “Why? Are you gossiping about the other two? Because if so, I want to join in.”

“Well, Karlach wanted a Girls’ Night, so I don’t think—”

Karlach felt the edges of her mind being nudged by Shadowheart. She tried to repress a shudder. All this tadpole-sharing business still took some getting used to.

Let him stay. I want to see where this goes, Shadowheart thought, throwing them all a sly smile. We can all make fun of him if he ends up crossing a line.

“No, no, he can stay for a bit,” Karlach said out loud. “Say, Astarion. If you could kiss anyone in camp right now, who would it be?”

He snorted. “Is this what your drunken rabble has been reduced to? Gods, that’s something ten year olds dabble in.”

Shadowheart smirked. “Funny, that’s almost exactly what Lev said.”

“And she’s right. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“So you have kissed someone at camp then?” she pressed. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Astarion faltered. “I was talking about kissing in general. I wouldn’t kiss any of you if you paid me.”

“Wow, that’s cold. I think quite a few of us are pretty kissable,” Karlach said. “Take Lev, for instance. She’s real cute, isn’t she?”

She tried not to laugh as Lev threw her an absolutely murderous look.

Much to her surprise, Astarion crooned, “Oh, dear Karlach. Does someone have a crush?”

“What? Not me! I was, er, I mean, Lev is cute! But I…or rather, you…”

“Because I’d advise against pursuing it,” he cut in impatiently. “Best take care that damned infernal engine of yours doesn’t explode under the pressure.”

“Hey! I’ve kept it intact for near-on ten years now. I can handle hanging around a cute girl or three.”

Astarion merely scoffed. “Yes, well, better to assuage your excitement now so we can all get our beauty rest. Gods know you need it.”

Lev flushed and stared at the dirt.

Okay, that was enough.

“Put a cork in it, Fancy Boy,” Karlach snapped. “If anything, you need it most. Those frown lines are really unbecoming, darling.”

“What? I don’t have…” He ran quick fingertips between his furrowed eyebrows. “I need to go.”

Astarion swept back to his tent, distraught in the wake of their laughter.

“Yeah, I can see what you like about him. He’s such a catch.” Karlach smiled conspiratorially at Lev. “Honestly, though, I can’t blame you. I’d ride that elf all night if I could.”

“Karlach!”

“He’s arrogant, a liar, and a pretty idiot,” Shadowheart added. “So yes, I’d imagine that’s why most people would fall in love with someone like him.”

Lae’zel made a face. “Beauty in itself is hardly a valuable trait. Especially when it so commonly fades with time.”

“Well, he is a vampire. At least his only redeeming quality will remain preserved.” Shadowheart shrugged. “Can’t say much about the rest of him, though.”

Lev sputtered, “I just like looking at him, is all.”

“Oh no, soldier, that’s how it starts, you know,” Karlach said. “Those longing looks are just the beginning. Next, it’s daydreaming about him and finding more excuses to talk to him—”

“Believe me, holding a conversation with him is the last thing I—”

“And trying desperately to get his attention,” Shadowheart said. “Don’t forget that one.”

“I don’t want his attention!”

“Ah, that’s all part of step one. Denial. You got it bad.” Karlach grinned. It’d been a while since she could grill someone like this without having to worry about being punished for it.

“There’s nothing to have. Besides, you want to snog him, too. Why am I the only one being made fun of?”

“I don’t know. You were the one who slept with him. You tell us.”

Shadowheart grimaced. “Actually, don’t tell us. I really don’t care to know.”

“How dull of you,” Lae’zel said. “I didn’t realize followers of Shar were so prudish considering the many depraved things that can happen in darkness.”

Leviathala choked back a laugh. “She has a point.”

“Huh. That’s the last time I defend you, then,” Shadowheart joked as she downed her cup of wine.

They spent the rest of the night falling into more drunk antics. “Never Have I Ever” devolved into a drinking competition of sorts between Karlach and Lae’zel that teetered on the dangerous as they both downed shot after shot, all while confessing horrible acts they committed in war. It was Shadowheart, of all people, who knocked back the least amount of shots purely due to her memory issues.

Then, as all childish sleepovers are wont to do, came “Truth or Dare”. That was quickly cut short the moment Lae’zel dared Shadowheart to a duel to the death. An all-out brawl was imminent. That was, until Lev stepped up to bat the sword of Lae’zel’s hand. “Enough! All of you stop it and go to bed!”

When they all simply stared at her, she added, “Now! What would your goddesses have to say about you engaging in such petty squabbles?”

Lae’zel scowled but conceded the point. Shadowheart merely sniffed and headed back to her tent to isolate herself from the riffraff. Girls’ night was officially over, but Karlach couldn’t complain. Her party was a riot, and all of them at the very least took the games seriously. Her comrades in the Hells (all of whom barely warranted the name) would often ignore her attempts at camaraderie or friendship. The only times she ever got along with any of them was when they were killing demons or ragging on each other.

Leviathala sat on one of the bedrolls Karlach had set up by the campfire, staring into the flames.

“You’re not heading back to your tent?” Karlach asked, taking a seat on the bedroll next to hers.

Lev offered her a small smile. “And leave you all alone? That’d be a sad way to end girls’ night, don’t you think?”

Karlach chuckled to herself. “I’d hug you if I wasn’t afraid of burning your…everything off.”

“I’m sure you could get a quick one in without doing too much damage. I’m not naturally fire-resistant for nothing, you know,” Lev teased. “Besides, you’ll be able to hug and touch people again soon. Whenever we run into Dammon, I’m sure he’ll have some good news for you.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something? But for now, I don’t wanna think about it,” she sighed. “No good to get my hopes up when we don’t even know if it’s possible yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Karlach tossed another two logs onto the crackling embers of the dying fire.

“Do you need this?” Leviathala asked suddenly, holding out a thin vial of some clear liquid.

“What’s that?”

“Seed oil. For my horns. I bought a lot from that halfling druid in the Grove a while ago. I’ve been lending some of my stash to Wyll and showing him how to apply it, but I don’t think I ever asked you if you wanted some.”

Karlach glanced up at Leviathala’s own light blue horns curling up towards the sky like spiring towers. They were very carefully maintained, the tips dulled to more rounded points.

By contrast, her own were rough and worn. One of them had been broken off in a particularly nasty battle against a cambion that had casually insulted Zariel offhand. The archdevil sent Karlach to deal with it alone. By the time she returned, bruised and battered after slaying it and all its minions, Zariel tossed her right back onto the frontlines without so much as a short rest to heal up. Complaining about it after only earned her a dozen lashings and yet another sleepless night.

Karlach took the seed oil vial carefully in between forefinger and thumb, hoping whatever heat residing in her hands wouldn’t cause the cool glass to burst.

She knew she had lost quite a bit of her old life under Zariel’s service, but this was not something she even realized she missed. Karlach had grown too used to the ache of her horns growing out without anything to ease the pain. Just another misery to tack onto a long list serving under an archdevil.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

“No problem. Let me know if you need any more. I have it all covered.”

“Right.”

It had been a long time since anyone had been so kind to her without expecting anything in return. Karlach found a lump growing in her throat and she blinked. Did being up on the surface really make her this soft already?

“Hey, soldier?” she said just to shake it off.

Lev shifted on her bedroll. “Hm?”

“Thanks for tonight. Really. It means a lot to me that you all tried to make it work.”

“Of course. I just hope next girls’ night won’t end in violence.”

“Next girls’ night?” A spark of hope lit in her chest.

“I don’t know when that would be, though,” Lev continued. “Hopefully Lae’zel and Shadowheart will have calmed down by the time we do get around to it. This was really fun before they got into it. Again.”

Karlach stared down at the vial in her hand, trying her hardest not to tear up. Gods, could she really afford to hope for a future? Was it okay for her to do that again?

A couple tears stubbornly spilled over and she swatted them away impatiently.

She glanced over at where Leviathala laid. “Soldier, you still awake?”

“Hm?” Lev’s eyes almost glowed in the dark. “Yeah, you okay?”

“Fine, just…” Karlach took a deep breath, clutching onto the seed oil vial tight. “Love you.”

The silence that followed ate at her. True, they hardly knew each other well enough to say stuff like that, but surely Leviathala understood where the urgency came from.

“Love you too, soldier,” Leviathala said, something like a smile in her voice. “Good night.”

“Yeah, night.”

Karlach stared up at the canopy of stars above her. A streak of bright light shot across and she closed her eyes, wishing with everything within her that this party of hers would never break apart. A childish, vain hope perhaps. But how long had it been since anyone fought tooth and nail for her? It would’ve been so easy to just let Wyll kill her upon first meeting, but they’d advocated for her—a tiefling they didn’t even know.

She laid on her side, staring at the little seed oil vial like it held all the most precious secrets in the world. Up here, with these people at her side, she could dare to hope. She could dream again, breathe free again.

Karlach took a deep breath and popped the cork.

[temsiik]

I haven't actually written any sort of story before, but I'm strongly considering starting to dip my toes into creating fanfiction. My current idea is, for some reason, a character introspection on Pinako Rockbell.

Don't know why I was inspired to write about a relatively minor character, and not the characters or pairing I'm actually obsessed with, but it is what it is.

(Ed x Winry will be mentioned though, as this story is after they marry, but it's about Pinako not them. But if this goes well I do want to try writing EdWin eventually, and really hoping to make something for 503 week next year too).