#how to hold your halfling

[cassafrasscr]

I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOREVER, OMG. I kinda shaded, like, 2 of these and just left the rest in flat colours, lol. 😅

How to Hold your Halfling: an Illustrated Guide. Featuring my most favoritest bois, Orym and Ashton, with a bonus appearance by FCG and Chetney.

AKA: Draw Orym’s Tattoos and Ashton’s Scars Consistently Challenge. Impossible. 😂

(I actually almost forgot to draw Orym’s tattoos altogether. That would've been embarrassing.)

Drawn and coloured in Clip Studio Paint, for those who are wondering. 🙂

[prokopetz]

In recent posts I've complained that a lot of tabletop RPGs which toss around the term "fiction first" don't actually understand what it means, and I've been asked to expand on that complaint. So:

In my experience, there are two ways that game texts which want to position themselves as "fiction first" trip themselves up, one obvious and one subtle.

The first and more obvious pitfall is treating "fiction first" as an abstract ideology. They're using "fiction first" as a synonym for "story over rules" in a way that calls back to the role-playing-versus-roll-playing discourse of the early 2000s. The trouble is, now as then, nobody can usefully explain what "story over rules" actually entails. At best, they land on a definition of "fiction first" that talks about the GM's right to ignore the rules to better serve the story, which is no kind of definition at all – it's just putting a funny hat on the Rule Zero fallacy and trying to pass it off as some sort of totalising ideology of play.

A more useful way of defining "fiction first" play is to think of it not in terms of whether you engage with the rules at all, but in terms of when they're invoked: specifically, as a question of order of operations.

Suppose, for example, that you're playing Dungeons & Dragons, and you pick up the dice and say "I attack the dragon". Some critics would claim that no actual narrative has been established – that this is simply a bare invocation of game mechanics – but in fact we can infer a great deal: your character is going to approach the dragon, navigating any inclement terrain which lies between them, and attempt to kill the dragon using the weapon they're holding in their hand. The rules are so tightly bound to a particular set of narrative circumstances that simply invoking those rules lets us work backwards to determine what the context and stakes must be for that invocation of the rules to be sensical; this, broadly speaking, is what "rules first" looks like.

Conversely, let's say that your game of Dungeons & Dragons has confronted you with a pit blocking your path, and you want to make an Athletics check to cross it. At this point the GM is probably going to stop you and say, hold up, tell us what that looks like. Are you trying to jump across it? Are you trying to climb down one wall of the pit and up the other? Are you trying to tie a rope to the halfling and toss them to the other side? In other words, before you can pick up the dice, you need to have a little sidebar with the GM to hash out what the narrative context is, and to negotiate what can be achieved and what's at stake if you mess it up; this, broadly, is what "fiction first" looks like.

At this point I know some people are thinking "wait, hold on – both of those examples were from Dungeons & Dragons; are you saying that Dungeons & Dragons is both a rules-first game and a fiction-first game?" And yeah, I am. That's the second, more subtle place where game texts that talk about "fiction first" go astray: they talk about it as though being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which is inherent to game systems as a whole.

This is not in fact true: being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which describes particular invocations of the rules. In practice, only very simple games spend all of their time in one mode or the other; most will switch back and forth at need. Generally, most "traditional" RPGs (i.e., the direct descendants of Dungeons & Dragons and its various imitators) tend to operate in rules-first mode in combat and fiction-first mode out of it, though this is a simplification – when and how such mode-switching occurs can be quite complex.

Like any other design pattern, "fiction first" mechanics are a tool that's well suited for some jobs, and ill suited for others. Sometimes your rules are fine-grained enough that having an explicit negotiation and stakes-setting phase would just be adding extra steps. Sometimes you're using the outputs of the rules a narrative prompt, and having to pin the context down ahead of time would defeat the purpose. Fortunately, you don't have to commit yourself to one approach or the other; as long as your text is clear about how you're assuming a given set of rules toys will be used, you can switch modes as need dictates. However, you're not going to be capable of that kind of transparency if you're thinking in terms of "this a Fiction First™ game".

(Incidentally, this is why it can be hard to talk about "fiction first" with OSR fans if you're being dogmatic about fiction-first framing being an immutable feature of particular games. Since traditional RPGs tend to observe the above-described rules-first-in-combat, fiction-first-out-of-combat division, and OSR games tend to treat actually getting into a fight as a strategic failure state, a lot of OSR games spend most of their time in fiction-first mode. If you go up to an OSR fan and insist that D&D-style games can never be fiction-first, then attempt to define "fiction first" for them and proceed to describe how they usually play, they'll quite justifiably conclude that you have your head up your ass!)

[merrinla]

Portrait spamming

Recent discovery. If you click on the portraits of the characters like crazy, they will react to it. And the developers had a lot of fun coding these reactions xD

Tav / Dark Urge

normal - I'm awake! Mostly. - I'm starting to get a headache. - Must be the tadpole. - Quit knocking around in there! - A thousand needlepricks in my rotten skull.

combat -Ahhhhhhhh! Okay, I feel better. - I have an itch in the worst place. - Is being a mind flayer so bad? - Just waiting to venture forth here. - I'm maiming as fast as I can!

stealth - What's that ticking? - Is it me? Am I ticking? - Bomb in my head about to go off. Great. - Ah, well. I had a good run.

Astarion

normal - Why do beautiful people taste better? It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities. - Ugh. Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit. - More like Drizzt Don't'Urden - no. No that's not funny. - Villains! Dissemble no more, I admit the deed! Tear up the floor - here, here! It is the beating of his hideous hea- oh, no, that's his brain. Where did I leave that heart?

combat: - I'm trying to focus on murder. - *Humming.* - I shot a svirfneblin in Menzoberranzan just to watch him die. - I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.

stealth - Shhh. Just think sneaky thoughts. - Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. - Be very, very quiet - I'm hunting idiots. - I've got a brand new torture chamber, so come and play with me.

Karlach

normal - NOTE TO ACTOR/DIRECTOR: Blow a raspberry at the player. - Don't. Poke. The Karlach. - Who am I? - My eye!

combat - Eyes on the prize - we need to win this! - Not every soldier should've made it out of training. - Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner. - I ought to just burn this whole thing down.

stealth - My back can't take much more of this. - Not now, I'm being a sneak! - I'm getting too old for this nonsense. - I'm not built to crouch.

Gale

normal - I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away. - Sembian wine; Cormyrian boar; Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Oh, what a tangled Weave we web! - All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.

combat - Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails. - Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you. - Get. Out. Of. My. Head. - I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.

stealth - You made me hide, don't make me come seek you. - Gods, it's like trying to sleep with a mosquito in the room. - A little privacy please. - Stop it - that tickles.

Wyll

normal - Could do for a brew. - Where there's a 'Wyll', there's a 'y'. - Ever get the sense that someone's watching? - So two halflings walk under a bar...

combat - Can't hear myself think! - Wear your scars proudly. - As my father once told me: 'Can we get on with it?' - I find moderation is key.

stealth - Bad time for an itch. - Could do for a brew. - So two halflings walk under a bar... - Shush. No, really. Shush.

Lae'zel

normal - Must everyone be so exhausting? - Weapons high. Standards higher. - Is perfection too much to ask? - Pride is a virtue.

combat - I will know my queen! - There is no right or wrong, only truth. - What is the point, if not victory? - You are right to fear me.

stealth - Hush already. - There is no wisdom in madness. - Is perfection too much to ask? - There is but one way. Vlaakith.

Shadowheart

all modes - I wonder how I'll feel when I remember everything. - Strange. I've had more freedom this past while than my whole life... - Have to keep focused. Can't afford to get attached - to anyone. - If I succeed, maybe I'll be allowed a pet... ugh, stop being silly.

Halsin / his voice is currently bugged :(

normal - What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb... - Such attention... I never realised I was so popular. - Are you feeling lonely, perhaps? - Unwise, perhaps, to poke a bear this much...

сombat - Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe. - Perhaps try attacking the enemy? - Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities. - You are insistent, are you not?

stealth - Most consider it unwise to poke a bear. - My, you are eager, are you not? - Please. I am trying to be stealthy. - Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.

Jaheira

normal - Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too. - I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want. - My, such strong wrists. - Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you? - Please go poke the ranger instead.

combat - You have my attention - now do something with it. - What? What do you want!? - Do you know, I begin to wish they had never brought me back. - Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.

stealth - Dry those sweaty palms and let us try this again, shall we? - Argh, my knees! Oh. It was a twig. - Would that I could hide from you, too. - Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.

Minsc

normal - ARGH! My EYE, Boo! They went for my EYE! - Know that if you poke Boo, no higher dimension will keep you safe! - Heehee. Heeheeheehee. - Well, Boo? How do you want to do this?

сombat - Are you perchance a squeaky wheel in need of a kick? - I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness. - I begin to grow annoyed. It is well for you that Boo does not let me learn the bad words! - Ignore them, Boo. Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.

stealth - A little to the left? But not so hard you make me giggle. - Boo...? Are you dancing down there, or...? - Hush! I am surprising Boo for his birthday! He is... uh... eh... how old do hamsters get...? - I am the night. A pity, then, that it is so bright out.

Minthara

all modes - You had my attention, now you have my fury. - Phlar Lolth ssinssrickla. - Your suffering will be spectacular. - Stop, or die.

[jazeswhbhaven]

He Can Match Your Freak | Asmodeus Selfie Spoilers

OKAY sooo FINALLY I'm posting this lol it's probably going to be like two parts maybe??? Let's see how this goes because I'm learning to not post thousands of screenshots unless it's relevant.

First. I'm skipping the prologue because most have seen it, and I'm doing a different thing with that anyway.

SOOO it's gonna be a crash course ya'll with jumping right in when MC is in his room about to get them cheeks clapped.

He wants to know more about MC because of what he's heard and well he wouldn't be wrong here. MC apparently is quite the deviant. And you can tell the writers tried to describe him as majestic and breathtaking as possible because the way MC sees him is similar to how they see Leviathan.

Until they said this mess.

G I R L WH A T

Even Asmo was like ???? But he has a sense of humor so he just laughed it off which I mean okay yes as if he would care about that phrase being weird.

But MC out here actin' up once a g a i n. lol

But also they mention his body odor keeps wafting over in MC's nose clearly yeah because not only them pheromones' but uh anyways we'll get to that part later

And MC was just like covering their nose and is like "this is dangerous" and for me ya'll?

I'd be afraid to offend him by saying he smells ripe which I'm sure he wouldn't be offended because I'm not sure what would offend him at this point in time.

So big boi puts a sigil on MC's body similar to a womb tattoo which is why he said "be surprised you aren't pregnant" but this symbol makes you into his "female" no matter the gender. He goes to say it nicely that you're his "virgin" though.

And with that, most of what's happening is that MC is feeling the effects of Asmo without him even doing much of anything just yet. The feelings of having climaxed multiple times over, hazy, losing your goddamn mind.

That sort of thing.

Baby I would have cried on the spot. What do you mean be your companion?

Yup he asked MC to not only be his one night stand but to basically be his and that he thinks he could fall in love with them.

He says that he can fall in love at first sight despite his reputation. And also he mentions MC is his third love. First was Solomon (rejected him and wouldn't tell him who it is he was in love with) and two his late wife who was a witch and it's their children/descendants who are the Unholyc that inhabit Earth.

I'mma be honest with ya'll I didn't finish Lovely Unholyc because I was mostly interested in William, there was no route for him at that time so I just kinda dipped, tried again and then dipped lol

oh btw he apparently just straight up wanted to yap about him clapping Solomon's cheeks and getting his cheeks clapped back and how many damn positions they did and I'm trying to wrap my head around what the fuck they did because at one point surely they were on the ceiling or floating mid-air, like I don't even know

But his wife who chose to live on Earth and grow old and die normally put a curse on his soul. He can love and fuck whoever he wants and should never be lonely but he can't have any more children. If he does, they die, and he dies along with the partner he made them with. (the fall of the house of usher vibes)

AND let me just say? That woman did the world a favor because he has a breeding kink. We'd have a whole universe full of little Asmo halflings running around. So either it was her being possessive or just her sparing the world of that burden then yeah thank you for that because phew.

i don't need no babies anyways

And he says the same thing like "Oh we can leave other things other than babies, like photos of us in a mess" meaning he really meant when he said he wanted to participate in the contest.

I mean he would have won so I think it's fair to give the others a chance. Lol

So things are getting hot and heavy now and he's wondering why MC is holding back. Honestly I'm like huh he did say that he turns you into a virgin and not everyone is confident when being presented with the chance of a lifetime to fuck the embodiment of lust.

But at the same time I mean...MC this is your element and you are pretty much striking out. (not to him but to me you are)

SO I complied all of these because this is important. Asmodeus is literally combining all of their philias and using them on MC and he's quite good at it. And well, why wouldn't he be?

And he even goes to strangle and lick up MCs tears?

Yeah we know what he's about.

His tongue did what now?

his tongue did what now

his tongooooooooooooo

Anyways I short circuited there because everything about him is just driving me nuts.

MC even said they were coming by him just kissing them and I'm like hold up??????

I fucking bet.

Okay ya'll picked the nastiest ass stuff for him to mention but I get it. Congrats if ya'll have things you're self conscious about during sex Asmo's your demon because he literally won't care and will still be turned on.

Ayo.

Moving on....LMAO

And uh...Asmo was licking MC's snot and spit off their face and they came again.

I'm drowning in a sensory nightmare why is he so h o t but this is nastttyyyyyy

"I can always go hard whenever I feel like fucking the opponent"

Sir what? He just be sayin' anything

But he does ask MC what do they want...and they just smack the fuck out of him so there's that. Lol

I would tell him I'd very much like that mouth on the kewchie. I don't even need anything else just his mouth. His jaw probably can go for days.

Now MC is making deduction here that Asmo is the king of lust and seduction and can pass this feeling on to others. He's dangerous this way.

Now Asmo how do you know that.

Tell me sir HOW (I think I know the answer....but I'd be hella surprised that Belphie would let him hit unless he was watching him...)

But mostly what's happening is that MC is feeling what Asmo feels basically the same spiel as the other kings except with him it's intense to the point where they are quite literally about to pass the fuck out. And Asmo ain't about to stop momentum so you better stay awake MC.

NOW YA'LL.

Bullet point times:

MC has climaxed pretty much several times and they haven't even fucked properly yet

But wait, their clothes are off and....

Bam they notice that Asmo's cock is pretty much halfway in their hole and they haven't even noticed

All he did was push himself to the hilt and MC squirted ya'll

So there's that.

But the womb tattoo is doing it's job because now the climaxes are back to back, and I'm just wondering how the hell MC is still mentally there because I'd be a babbling mess.

Yes daddy.

he makes me SICK (lovingly)

But also they mention the liquid he was feeding MC had a horrible smell and I'm just like oh fucking gawd please get rid of my sense of smell before sleeping with him because I would not make it. Why is everything having to do with him smell so much? LOL

LMAO

MC was begging for his dick and Asmo is like, baby it's already in are you okay?

I'm crying

Yeah remember those memes about people getting high and saying they were vacuuming the dishes?

I imagine that's what it's like having sex with him. One minute you're on the bed next you're in another dimension, floating, transcending, melting, legs bent in impossible shapes. Indeed I am mopping the lawn.

He even mentioned they've done it like six times already and he's just getting started.

with a face like that? phew.

Oh so he does have a good pull out game.

btw the visual for that???? GAWDDDDDDD -> look here

So let me back up a bit and mention that MC was feeling insecure that since they have been doing it for quite some time (2 days I think?) they thought he wasn't satisfied. Nah he was just savoring the moment. He could come at any time. ANd when he does? It's alot and from his horn and everything. Cum fountain.

And best part? No refractory period. He's already hard and slamming that thang back in.

Also he mentions here that there's a smell, and he's getting really worked up.

Yeah he's tearing that up. Like it's overtime ya'll.

There's purple smoke and a erotic aura in the air, he's grabbing and biting down on the back of MC's neck to claim them? Oh he's going in.

Alright here we go.

And just so ya'll know...sorry male MC players....the same line is used in ya'lls version too. No change.

This is the point where I would of preferred perhaps something else be said entirely instead. I know the majority of players are women/non-men but...I can see someone playing and getting side swept like?????

But anyways let's move on past this point

Until the room stank is an understatement.

But anyways, while MC is trying to somewhat calm down, Asmo is still trying to keep the momentum. And MC starts trying to have a normal conversation and figuring out why devil's fear him the most.

But also mentioned they wanted to shove his nasty, greasy, bodily fluid covered hair up their hole. E x c u s e the fuck outta me?

AN Y W AY S

Mc figures that the reason the devils fear him is because of this. Imagine falling for someone like this? Who is nothing but the sole reason existence of lust and temptation where you could fuck for hours and reach pleasure centers unknown and yet have that all be taken away when he leaves? There's no love? No sweet nothings? Just being used up and tossed without any direction and you're just in the dark?

welp.

But Asmo does offer MC some comfort

He tells them that he's back in Hell so he will be around more often. It won't be painful, that it's okay to start slow and that MC would wait for him when he's ready to fully accept his feelings. He could fall in love with them not that he was already in love with them. But with how he's considering him as a companion, how he's biting and claiming them, the amount of time he's spending with MC.

mind you he left Phenomenon on the floor the moment he entered the meeting room so I imagine they weren't fucking for very long at all. I imagine all of his sessions with others are "quick" and for those he really likes they last longggg like days.

Not mention he on that yandere vibes....telling MC he'd lock them up in a cage but he'll deal with it for now.

And apparently when he gives a sincere command, it must be followed. So MC basically ends up getting dressed, not whining about leaving, and all that good stuff. A true dom in that sense.

Also he mentions that when he's nearby MC will just get turned on automatically. "Your body will scream that your man is here"

why is that so hot?

So MC is back in Gehenna and this is when Asmo starts reminiscing about Solomon who predicted that he'd see MC in the future and that he would know that he feels at the moment for Solomon is not 'love'.

I wonder if Asmodeus was just helplessly losing himself for Solomon, and pepaw clocked that and was just telling him to chill on it for a bit. Although it is fucking WI L D to me that he is going to try this again with his friend's descendant..."hey I'm a friend of your grandpa...soooo yeah let's fuck and fall in love"

Sounds weird when I put that way huh? lol

Also since we're at the end I'd like to highlight some personality things about him!

He plays too much: Taking a photo of himself and MC sleeping and sending it to Satan knowing he'd storm immediately to the room

He doesn't have self doubt, he is very much full of himself but is considerate of his partner given the circumstances

He is not into aftercare, he claims that part is included during the sex, if sex is over then it's over

He doesn't shower ya'll. Like at all. But he oddly keeps his nails clean and that's about it? He seems to be obsessed with sex funk

He really likes Mammon. Like a lot. But he does that thing where he's like "Nah I want him to want me so I won't give him what he wants" lol okay

He fucks pillows, pretty much inanimate objects if he feels like it

He has a sense of humor

Romance is not absent, it's just tricky for him since all that's all his brain is "breed breed breed breed sex sex sex breed breed breed oh lets pause for a break sex sex sex kissing sex sex breeding biting"

He loves his children though. He really is a fatherly devil. He beams about his kids and this is a moment where you can catch him not being sexual

It comes to no surprise that he doesn't like the idea of sharing his favorite person but it has me think that his style of relationship is that he's monogamous but if you want to occasionally bring someone to "play" with he won't mind as long as it's discussed and he gets to fuck them too

He's got a one track mind, but it's not like he can't carry on a conversation

Now for my

T H E O R I E S

Asmo is older than all of the kings, but younger than Lucifer

I am reaching in the dark but it seems the only King he's had sex with or has watched have sex is Belphie

He's only in love with MC because he's taking a opportunity that wasn't given to him with Solomon

There's most likely a loophole to his curse that his late wife left on him but he simply chooses not to break it

If the Kings fight together along with Asmodeus, the war would be over, and if we ever get a final battle chapter it's going to be MC who is the missing "key" and the one who figures that out is Asmo because he spent so much time with Solomon

We may get a cameo from one of his children in the story

Asmodeus is possibly capable of lying and just hasn't revealed that to anyone. I say this because if he was one of the very early devils created he is the exception to the rule. So there could be some secret he knows.

BUT wow it seems that I have compiled ALL of this into one post. YAY FOR ME. Now there may be more little blurbs popping up as I remember them but for nowwwwww~ Thank you for reading, hopefully you grabbed some snacks, and ya'll are amazing. Feel free to let me know ya'lls thoughts if you haven't said already on our stinky hot devil man <3 lol

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Ending One: Queen of the Jungle

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

I am no longer doing tags. Tumblr hates me and I’d rather not waste my time when there are so many! You can keep up to date on Twisted Zoo on Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, or AO3.

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Note: For Tumblr, the mature version of the endings (the afterendings) will begin sometime after I finish all the normal endings.

Note 2: Sorry this is short, I wasn't sure how to write this one lol.

In each hand you carried a bucket, filled to the brim with steaks. It was kind of nostalgic of your first time in the exhibit. It was hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago.

You hummed to yourself as you approached the lions’ area. You furrowed your brow- the rocks had been rearranged in nearly a complete circle, with just enough room for you to walk inside and approach the king of the jungle’s sunning rock.

“Hey, Leona!” you called out to the lion halfling lazily regarding you from his perch, “Dinner time!”

The pride’s leader leapt down from his resting spot and casually approached you, his movements lazy yet filled with grace. His eyes, intelligent and painfully sharp, never left you as you entered the circle of rocks.

The other lions were nowhere to be found. Confused, you searched for them in the shade of the rocks, but there was no one there.

As you reached the middle of the circle, something occurred to you. The usually-cackling hyenas were unusually quiet. The hairs on your arms stood on end. Something’s wrong.

You turned to face the circle’s exit and, within an instant, strong arms had wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back against a solid chest. You gasped and dropped both buckets as you struggled to break free. The grip did not budge no matter how hard you fought.

“Shhh, easy there, herbivore,” a voice murmured in your ear, low and gravely and filled with amusement.

Your heart jumped out of your chest. It was Leona who had spoken, but it wasn’t the Leona you knew. It was the Leona whose gaze had started to linger too long for your liking. The Leona who had always seemed too much like a predator than a human.

But he wasn’t alone. 

Now facing the circle’s gap, you saw Ruggie, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he blocked your only exit.

“Gotcha!” Ruggie snickered, “Took you long enough.”

“What… what are you doing?!” you cried, trying to twist out of Leona’s grasp, making no progress whatsoever on escaping.

Leona’s breath was hot against your neck, “You spend too much time with those other exhibits,” he spat out the word like it was a slur, “You must pay more attention to us.”

Ruggie snickered again and leaned casually against the towering rocks, his eyes tracking every movement you made, “You ignore us. Not fair, y’know? You must remember your real favorites.”

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay calm, “This isn’t funny- let me go.”

Leona chuckled, the sound vibrating through your back, “We’re not joking, herbivore. You play with fire, you get burnt. We don’t like to share.”

“Share?” you echoed, voice shaky with fear and confusion, “What do you-”

“You’re ours,” Leona interrupted sternly, “You have always been ours.”

Ruggie pushed off the rock and sauntered over, his sharp-canined grin widening as he got closer, “You should have seen this coming. We dropped hints. You’re just too silly to notice.”

Leona’s nose brushed against your hair, inhaling deeply, “We’re tired of waiting around. You stay here now.”

You began to thrash desperately in his hold, but he held you effortlessly, like a mouse in a cat’s jaws.

“You’ll love it here!” Ruggie cooed, “No more zoo. No more stress. Just you, us, and the savannah. We will keep you cool. It’s perfect.”

The reality of the situation hit you all at once. They weren’t going to let you leave. They were deadly serious. The playful smile Ruggie wore was just a mask for the possession lurking beneath.

It was too much for you, and as hopelessness began to sink in, you began to cry, “Please just let me go, we can forget this ever happ-”

“You will not leave,” Leona growled, “You are our mate. And if anyone tries to take you away…”

You gulped at the insinuation. 

Ruggie moved closer and brushed a stray tear from your cheek, “Don’t cry. We take good care of you, promise. You won’t worry ever again.”

The vast savannah, once one of your favorite parts of the zoo, now felt like a huge, hot cage.

You were no longer a researcher to them. That much was clear.

And there was no escape from the lion’s den.

[lqveharrington]

Feelings Mutual | C.G.

summary: Your forced to hangout with Cardan at the High King’s birthday celebration. Turns out, you both make stupid decisions when drunk. And what’s the fine line between hatred and love between two being who can’t lie anyway?

pairing: Cardan Greenbriar x half fae!fem!reader

includes: drunk Cardan, drunk reader, cursing, making out, suggestiveness, no use of Y/N, barely proofread (i think that’s it)

a/n: i’m on a reading spree, and working on my projects, so this should help get me out of a huge writing slump.

In Faerie, it was uncommon for a half fae, half human being to be a princess in the court. Your father — the King of one of the many lands — wed a human woman, causing you to become the land’s princess. Of course many of the court thought that you were lesser than them; For such a creation should never hold that high of a status.

Ever since you were younger, you often attended lessons with the High King’s youngest child. At first, you sought out to befriend him and his group of friends. But you soon found out that they loathed you. Because how could a halfling ever be a worthy princess?

So you gave up trying to befriend them. You let the group taunt you for not being full fae, but what was the worst thing they could do? You still were a daughter of a very powerful king. The very king that was the closest with the High King himself.

You and your family were constantly invited to all their gatherings, and this one wasn’t an exception. It was the High King’s birthday, which meant all of Faerie was invited to Elfhame palace to celebrate such a day. The only issue with that meant your father and mother urged you to talk to Cardan and his group.

“Mother, they don’t like me.” You wring your hands together, fidgeting with your silver jewelry.

She clicked her tongue, “Nonsense. Prince Balekin spoke of how much Cardan talks about you when he comes home from your lessons.”

“Wait what?” Your eyes widen at her in disbelief. “Mother, I’m sure they’re words of hate.”

“Is it because you don’t like your dress? Are you afraid they’ll hate it?” She tugged you to stand in front of herself. “You look gorgeous, angel.”

You purse your lips at her compliment. You truly loved the dress. It was a beautiful sage color that complimented your skin tone completely, and the corset really did wonders. There were gorgeous lace details of butterflies that were a shade darker, with a slit running down one side of the dress. It was beautiful, but you feared that it was much too modern for Faerie, causing your thoughts to wander to how Cardan’s friends would insult it.

“No, I love the dress, mother.” You give her a tight lipped smile, squeeze her hands. “If you truly wish for me to find Cardan, I’ll go and be friendly so you and father can enjoy your time here.”

“Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and a real smile etched its way onto your face.

“Be safe, alright?” Your father squeezed your shoulder before leaning down to whisper words your mother couldn’t hear. “If trouble comes, you know what I’ve taught you. You have your dagger?”

Your lips twitch in excitement, “Of course.”

“Then you’re all set then, kiddo.” He gave you one last look before resting an arm around your mother’s waist. “I’ll come find you when it’s time for us to depart.”

You nod before taking a small bow. You watched them leave and make their way to the throne, immediately engaging with the High King and Queen. They seemed happy, which made you glad that they accepted your mother as their own. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath and blew out the air in one go. Carefully, you made your way over to Cardan. Luckily, he was on his own for once.

“Cardan.” You nod in his direction, watching his dark eyes with flecks of gold suddenly gazing into yours. Without fail, his eyes roam over your body, tail whipping behind himself after gaining someone’s attention.

“Princess! Don’t you look absolutely captivating tonight.” He slurred, red wine dripping out of his glass. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

You raised a brow at the prince. From what you could recall, he didn’t live inside the palace walls. And there wasn’t a chance he could lie either. “You don’t live here.”

“I used to.” He tipped his glass up to his wine stained lips, taking in the drink whilst taking in the sight of you.

“Where are your—“ You use your hand to gesture in the air as you grab your own glass of wine from a server passing buy. Unsure of how to word your question, you sip on the wine, immediately hit by its strength. “Where are your friends, I should say.”

“Off to bother some mortal or do something stupid.” He smiles in your direction as you down your drink and reach for another. “What’s upsetting you, princess?”

“Nothing.” You tilt your head toward him, eyes flicking down from his strange stare to his stained lips. “Just want time to move faster.”

“How drunk do you want to get?” He leans closer to you, fingers itching to pull you into him.

You place a hand to his mouth and push him further away from yourself. He hums as he traces his finger over his empty wine glass.

“How many glasses have you had, Cardan?” You tip back your third drink, missing his smirk while he watches.

“Enough.”

“Enough to forget?” You turn toward the table and grab the strongest drink, carefully downing the drink.

His shadow towers over you as his breath tickles your neck, “Forget what exactly, love?”

“I hate you.” You say against Cardan’s lips, arms loosely hanging around his neck. “I hate you so much.”

He continues to push you backwards as he slams the door behind him, hands finding their place around your waist. “Feelings mutual, princess.”

Letting your hand thread through his hair, you pull him in for a more heated kiss, tugging ever so slightly at his roots. Cardan groans against your lips, pulling your body closer to his.

“This is such a stupid idea.” You unwillingly part as he drops you down on a bed — hopefully one that used to be his. You let out a small gasp as he litters soft kisses on your throat and down to your exposed collar bone. Your hands find his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. “Cardan—“

“Yes, love?” He slowly makes his way back up to your lips, pressing short kisses as you try to make sense of the situation. He stops attacking you with his lips, staring and waiting for you to continue.

You shake your head, eyes glassy with drunkenness as you meet his gaze. “Kiss me.”

“You’re too perfect for me.” He groans again, tasting the red wine from your lips as he kisses you harder. “God, I hate you.” Cardan mumbles as he lets his hands wander over your body, refraining from the more private areas at the moment.

Cardan allows you to wander over his own body, feeling you fidget with the hem of his shirt. Letting your hands slip underneath his shirt, you let out a small sigh before flipping the both of you over. You quickly toss your dagger onto the floor before meeting his lips again, the kiss heightening all your profound feelings.

As minutes turned into an hour more, you both fell into a pit of no return. The shared kisses were intensified, and without either party having a clear mind or being sober, neither could stop the motions that lulled them both to sleep very late into night.

It wasn’t until early afternoon that the pair awoke to the sounds of pounding at the door and a splitting headache.

“Your highness, your father is looking for you.” The voice called from outside the wooden doors, causing you to groan and bury your head into the warmth emitting from your bed.

A beat passed before the pounding occurred once more.

“Your highness—!”

“In a minute!” Cardan shouted, eyes shut from the dizziness and hangover. “For fucks sake…”

Your eyes widen at the voice, head rushing up before falling back down at the impact of a jaw. “Shit, that hurt.” You mutter, wincing when you felt the hangover hit you. Slowly, you remove yourself from Cardan’s arm, slightly frowning when you saw him rubbing his jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to slam into you…”

“I think that’s the least of our concerns.” He grumbled, glaring at the door again.

He pushed himself up from the bed, eyes raking over your appearance. He smirked over at you before leaning against the headboard. You crease your brows before looking down and realizing whose clothes you were in — crossing your arms over the loose shirt.

“Princess, I think your father will be a little disappointed in you.”

“Why is that?” You roll your eyes at him, keeping one arm over Cardan’s shirt while running your free hand through your hair.

Your bored gaze meet his amused one, watching him tilt his head. You look away as you weren’t necessarily hiding the fact that you were eyeing his bare chest either.

He pulled you into his chest, despite your halfhearted protests. “Because you have hickeys all over your skin.” Cardan presses a kiss to your cheek, causing your breath to hitch.

All the memories from last name came rushing in, warmth filling your body at the thoughts. Your eyes flit to your dress and dagger scattered across his floor, still thinking of the punishment to come.

However, you did not regret him.

“I don’t think we drank enough last night.” You twist in his arms, lips barely touching his.

“I don’t think so.” He lands a soft kiss to your lips. “I still hate you, love.”

“Feelings mutual.” You straddle over his hips and rest your forehead on his, both your heads still pounding from last night’s activities.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 1

Part 2, Part 3; AO3 Link

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Flirting, Light Angst, Longing

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It's easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can't pretend anymore?

A/N: This turned into a monstrosity. For my own sanity I need to break it up into three parts. I also apologize in advanced, the stuff in the preview won’t pop up until part 2. And please, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 4.8K

The day really couldn’t decide whether it was going to be terrible or tolerable. 

On the one hand, it had been pouring rain for hours, leaving you and your party drenched as you searched for some place dry to sleep. On the other hand, you were able to find an inn with more than enough rooms to accommodate all of you. On the other, other hand, rooms cost money, something that was in short supply. 

“How much does that make?” Karlach asked, placing her share into the pile. 

Gale counted out the coins. “Enough for our own rooms, but not much in the way of food.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Hold on, this can’t be right. Who forgot to pitch in?”

All eyes turned suspiciously to Astarion. 

He raised his hands in surrender. “I put down enough for the room. Food is something…you all have to deal with.”

Lae’zel gave him a hard look, the threat obvious on her features. 

“We could always share a room or two,” Shadowheart cut in. “That will at least hold us over until we can find a way to make more coin.”

A devilish smirk formed on the vampire’s lips as his eyes turned to you. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Certainly would make it easier for me to get a little midnight snack.” 

You gave a theatrical sigh. “Not tonight dear. I have a headache.” 

“Teasing minx.” 

“Can the pair of you not for ten seconds?” Wyll complained. 

You bit back a laugh, turning your gaze to the dining area of the tavern. Gods you could smell something delicious cooking over the fireplace. When was the last time you had a proper hot meal? 

It was then you turned your eyes to one of the empty corners. The solution to the issue of food suddenly became obvious. 

“Not to worry everyone,” you announced, swiping the coins from Gale’s hand. “Dinner is on me.” 

Before anyone could speak, you stepped towards the bar, making a point to put on your best smile. 

A elderly halfling woman regarded you as you approached. “What can I get you deary?”

“Actually it’s a matter of what I can do for you,” you said. “I see you have some instruments sitting much too idly.”

The old lady shrugged. “Not really. Night like this you don’t need music to bring people in.”

Your smile faltered a moment, but you pushed on. “That may be, but nothing keeps people drinking longer and deeper than a good song.”

She gave you a disparaging look. “Don’t tell me, bard right?”

“Guilty.”

“If you don’t have money for the rooms, we don’t comp that.”

You waved the comment away. “The rooms aren’t the issue. However, if you’re willing to part with a cauldron of stew, I’ll consider it payment enough.” 

Her eyes remained wary, but you knew you had her as a twitch came to her lips. “That’ll do.  Thirty minute set. You eat after.” 

She held out a hand which you took, striking the bargain. 

It didn’t take long after to secure the rooms. They were nothing fancy, but a mattress was a mattress and with the guarantee of true privacy for the first time in weeks, none of you were complaining. 

“How’s this about food then?” Karlach asked, taking a seat at one of the few tables large enough to accommodate all seven of you. 

“All taken care of,” you assured. “Just need to pluck out a quick set and we can eat.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Astarion said. “I don’t mind it myself, but your songs have a tendency to be a bit, well…destructive. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t use that cutting mouth of yours to simply insult the woman into feeding you.” 

“As it turns out, I have a little thing called restraint. Unlike some people,” you countered. 

“Oh trust me my dear, I’m well aware of that.” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore the slight twist of guilt in your stomach. 

He couldn’t seem to help making those kinds of jabs ever since you had declined his offer for a midnight tryst; always alluding to the theme of “untapped passions” or “delayed gratification”. It was starting to wear on you. 

Gods knew you liked him. He had so many qualities you admired; insight, intelligence, charm, the way he could make you laugh. The more you learned, the more you wanted to know and the more you were willing to give for answers. The trouble was his idea of a night of passion and yours were so very, very different.

A part of you knew the honest thing to do would be to spell it out for him.  You understood him well enough to know he’d respect those boundaries. At the same time, you didn’t want to lose this, whatever this was, between you. If suddenly that night of passion was off the table, all those moments, all his attentions would be lost. He’d be a friend, certainly, but nothing more. 

It was selfish. You knew it was. You couldn’t imagine finding the words to explain it to him. It would leave you too exposed, too vulnerable to that insistent burning want that had a way of tearing you apart from the inside out. It was better to leave him to his assumptions of suppression and prudishness. You’d keep your dignity at least. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you took your place in the unobtrusive corner and the spare violin waiting for you. 

A smile spread across your face as you tucked the familiar instrument under your chin. Since this whole adventure of yours began, you had little opportunity to apply your skills. Music had always been a source of comfort to you. It felt right to indulge in it now, some place safe and filled with warm firelight. 

With a flick of your wrist you began, the resonating tone of the strings filling the room. 

You allowed your eyes to close as you slipped into the melody. The sounds of conversation and laughter fell to an idle murmur. It was a simple tune, something easy to match the atmosphere, but one you loved all the same. You always found it best to start with something familiar. If the patrons could see you get lost in the music, they inevitably followed. 

As the first song came to an end, you chanced a quick glance at your audience. 

Most of the patrons still prattled on, but enough turned your direction to encourage you to try something a little more daring. 

Your fingers flew, igniting a livelier rhythm. More eyes found their way to you. A pleasant bubbling sensation filled you. They were falling right into your hands.  

Rising to your feet, you glided across the floor, moving with the music towards the center of the room. 

Patrons shuffled out of the way, transfixed by your performance. Even your companions had stopped their chatter. 

Karlach and Shadowheart’s faces lit up in delight. A smile touched the corner of Gale’s mouth. Even Lae’zel and Wyll looked on with admiration at your skills. As for Astarion…Astarion just stared. 

You couldn’t quite read what was going on behind those scarlet eyes. It was a look you had caught him wearing more than once, always blinked away before you could fully comprehend its meaning. All you knew was how it made that dangerous hope spark in your chest. 

He caught you looking and quickly morphed his expression to its familiar smirk. The bastard even had the audacity to wink. 

You rolled your eyes pretending not to have seen. It was all part of the game after all. He pretended to care, you pretended not to fall for it. 

A lute suddenly joined you from one of the corners, strumming its way into a new song. 

You turned as a cheer rose, encouraging the intrusive lutist forward. He was human by the look of him and certainly skilled in his own right. He took a moment to embellish your solo before taking over with one of his own. Soon enough you joined the conversation again with a counter melody. It wasn’t as clean as you would have liked it. The lad clearly had meant to upstage you, but you made sure to put him in line, allowing the impromptu duet to end in some kind of harmony. 

You transitioned easily to a new song as he took a seat, bowing to you as he did.

Remembering your showmanship, you made a point to bow in return, schooling your expression into a flirtatious grin before pulling away. That earned the man a round of cheers from his friends and a few obvious oohs from the crowd; exactly as you intended. 

You continued on with the remainder of your set. Requests were shouted from the audience, all the pieces of music moving to and from your fingers with practiced grace.  By the end of it, your arms were exhausted, but your face hurt from smiling. Gods you had missed this. 

As you took your bow, applause followed you back to your table as well as a handful of extra coin. 

“That was amazing!” Karlach said, beaming at you. “How’d you learn to play like that?”

“Years of practice,” you said, with pride. “Had to find an honest living somehow.”

“Well, it was beautifully done,” Gale added. “Maybe next time we make camp you could grace us with another performance. Provided we’re not all about to die of course.”

You shot him a grin. “I could be persuaded.” 

The wizard turned his gaze away, his lips turning into a knowing smirk. “You’ve been unnaturally quiet Astarion. Been bewitched have you?”

The vampire blinked as if coming out of deep thought. It was only in those last moments did you realize just how intently he had been looking in your direction.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly, “you were quite…good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Be careful there. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm me with praise.”

He regarded you a moment before a sly smile turned at his lips. 

You were almost relieved. That look you understood at least. 

“If it’s praise you crave, you need only ask,” he purred. “You, my dear, are an unparalleled talent. Your beauty and grace alone should have brought you into the presence of kings. A true diamond in the rough.”

You snorted out a laugh.

“No good?” he continued. “How about this one; if I die tomorrow and the gods grant me mercy it will be your song that brings me into the beyond.”

You gave him a slow clap. “Brava.” 

He inclined his head in a little bow. “But seriously, you were good and you didn’t even destroy the furniture. Admittedly though, I wouldn’t have minded if he had met with a little accident.” 

You followed Astarion’s eye line to the lute player chatting with his friends. He perked up as he felt eyes on him. Without the distraction of playing, you could easily tell he was handsome in that sun kissed farmer’s son kind of way. Probably had most of the girls in the village swooning. 

He raised a tankard to you in toast.

You met the gesture in acknowledgment. 

“He wasn’t that bad,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“He was the worst part of your performance,” Astarion insisted. 

You knew he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t help but have your fun. 

“Oh my darling, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Certainly I am,” he said, clutching his own chest in turn. “He’s the only person I’ve seen you willing to make sweet music with. And judging from his looks, he would have much preferred it to be a private performance.” 

You didn’t bother looking over to the other table to see if he was telling the truth. It didn’t matter either way. It never did. Your answer was always the same. 

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” You shrugged. “Not my type.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is?”

You didn’t answer, deciding instead to take a long sip of your ale.

He continued to eye you, his lips pursed as if trying to solve a puzzle. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine, keep your secrets, but I will figure it out eventually.”

Your lip twitched up into a half smile. “You may certainly try.” 

It was then one of the staff brought out a truly enormous cauldron of the most delicious smelling stew you had smelled in your life. 

You didn’t think to wait as you greedily poured a ladle full into your empty bowl. Two full days on the road with nothing but a handful of nuts and berries to sustain you had taken its toll. The rest of the group soon followed, each taking their share. You ate yours so quickly that by the time the ladle had made the circle, you were grabbing for seconds.  

“Hungry are we?” Astarion observed. 

You paused mid bite, heat rising in your cheeks. You took a quick look at everyone else. Nobody seemed to have noticed how you inhaled your food. They were content enough in their own bowls and conversation. Carefully you swallowed before self consciously setting down the spoon in your hand.  

           “I am the one who worked for this,” you said, more defensively than you intended. 

Astarion regarded you with a raised eyebrow. “Even so, it’s not going to disappear the second you look away.” 

“Says you.” 

“Clever,” he said, dryly. “Devastating really. What’s next? Are you going to hit me with an “oh yeah” or Gods forbid a “your mother”?”

“I was actually leaning towards, “leave me to eat in peace you pompous jackass”.”

“Oh yes, that’s much better.”

You breathed out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully it would distract from your obvious embarrassment. You had thought you’d tucked those bad habits away. 

Years of living on your own had left you going to bed hungry more times than you cared to remember. There was a time food had disappeared from your plate if you didn’t eat it fast enough. Of course, things got better. You found music and people willing to listen. It gave you fire and shelter and a contented stomach on good nights. Still, there were the bad ones and old instincts took over. It took practice not to be as ravenous as you knew your nature to be. 

“Do I need to worry about your hunger?” you asked, deciding to change the subject. 

“Oh you of all people should know by now. I’m insatiable,” he crooned. 

Your eyes narrowed, unamused. “I’m being serious, when’s the last time you ate?”

He shrugged. “Few days. Last time I fed on you I imagine.” 

Your stomach gave a sudden guilt ridden twist. If that were the case, it had to have been at least three days ago. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because as much as the image of you swooning in my arms is appealing, I’d rather it be over my charms rather than blood loss.” He nodded his head towards the bowl. “From my own experience hunger and restraint don’t mix.” 

You tried to fight it. You really did. Years of instinct and reason told you not to fall for the softness in his eyes and voice. He simply didn’t want to explain a dead body to the rest of the party. It wasn’t out of some concern for your well being. And you absolutely could not allow yourself to believe he recognized the desperation in your actions and not pass judgment. If you believed that, you’d be in much more danger than you already were. 

“Excuse me deary,” an elderly voice asked. “I was wondering if I could have another moment of your time.”

You turned to see the barkeeper at your shoulder. 

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Of course.” 

You moved to stand, but she gestured you down. It was then you noticed she was carrying a case. It was worn with age, but clearly lovingly maintained as the edges shone with intricate gold inlay. 

“I know you already paid for your meal,” she said. “But I was hoping I could ask for one more performance tonight.”

She opened the case to reveal the most beautiful violin you’d ever laid eyes on. The wood was a carefully polished chestnut interrupted with carvings which matched those on the case. The strings shone like gold and the pegs carved marble. You may not be a trained wizard, but could feel the magic pulsing from every square inch of it. 

“What is this?”

“It was my father’s,” the woman explained. “He was a bard you see, best in these parts from what people told. He had so many stories and songs. Built it himself to help tell them. Try as I might though, I could never get it to play as sweetly. I was hoping you might.”

You looked to your companions. The obvious curiosity played on all their faces. 

With a cautious hand, you plucked one of the strings. 

It was perfectly in tune. The sound echoed, rich and vibrant even with so light a touch. The instrument itself seemed to glow as if happy to be played once again.

Slowly, you lifted it from the case, taking the bow in hand. You placed it on the strings and with an exhale drew the first notes. 

It was the loveliest sound you’d ever heard.  

The vibrations resinated in your fingers, moving through your arm and into your chest. 

You decided to start simple, a handful of scales to get the intonations just right. 

Color danced across the strings, rippling from your fingers like raindrops in a pond. 

“Woah,” Karlach said, her eyes widening in awe. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” you said, pausing your motions, as you let it fall slack in your hands. 

The elderly halfing smiled. “My father always said an artist puts their truth into every stroke of the bow. This here helps one’s heart shine. I saw the way you performed earlier, you’re not afraid to play what’s true.”

Color rose in your cheeks, unsure how to take such praise. “Thank you.”

She just smiled, nodding towards the instrument. “Keep playing. See what happens.”

You were suddenly aware of the rest of the party’s eyes turning expectantly towards you. Some with caution, some with anticipation, and one pair of red eyes with unreadable intentions. 

Knowing there was no way you were getting out of this now, you rose from your seat, placing the violin securely beneath your chin. 

You started slow, picking a tune every beginner memorized in their first lessons. 

The music sparkled in front of your eyes, twirling outward in melodic waves.

The hum of conversation began to die down as you spotted the barkeeper beckon for silence. 

You continued on, moving to something a little more complex, allowing yourself to let the rest of the room blur in the peripheries. 

The sound of boots on cobblestones met your ears. Glancing down you saw stone where hardwood floors had been. 

You took another step. 

The stones followed. 

Around you the room fluctuated between firelight and the brightness of morning. Looking up you could see a clear sky had replaced the hatched ceiling. 

A smile spread across your face as you stepped away from your bench. 

As if waiting for your queue the rest of the bar quickly moved tables and chairs out of the way, clearing the center floor. 

The sun followed as the cobblestones spread out in front of you like a stream. With every flourish, finer details were added. You changed the direction allowing a building to form beside you, then another and another. Images of people faded in and out like memories, coming and going with the flow of the music. 

You never felt anything like this before. The strings sang inside you, drawing out a melody you knew was there, but had always managed to slip from your grasp. 

You surrendered to its current, following it deeper and deeper until all you could see, all you could touch was the music. 

Behind your eyes the streets began to turn and change. Buildings loomed large overhead. You could hardly see the stars. A cold swept through your clothes, the chords of the melody vibrating with the shivers in your hands. The world was so much bigger and you were so much smaller. 

No instrument laid in your hands, but still the music played on as if you had slipped into a dream. 

You continued to walk unsure of where your feet were carrying you until something warm pressed against your back. Light reflected behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. A melody played, soft and soothing against your own. You turned towards it as the voices of long forgotten conversation and laughter accompanied the strings of a quartet.

Your chords and theirs brushed up against each other, a new light shining in the darkness, but just as soon as it began, it moved away, leaving you on your own once again. 

You continued on, brushing against others. Sparks would fly, fire would ignite only for them it fade in front of your eyes. 

Your own melody grew more desperate, moving and shaping itself to match whoever you found next only just able to cling onto the barest sense of itself. 

An ache grew in your chest as you wandered, always searching, never finding. Something warm trailed down your cheeks. You let it flow, unable to stop. You wouldn’t end the story here, even as swirls of blues and blacks surrounded you. They wrapped around your body, filling your vision and squeezing tight around you until you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs. There was nothing else.  Even the music had gone dead. 

For what felt like a moment and eternity you sat there, alone in the dark. 

A voice came to you then, but it didn’t come from the instrument tucked somewhere under your chin.  No melody accompanied it. It was so far away. Something about it was so familiar. It spoke your name like a desperate prayer. You reached out for it.

The air itself moved around you as if you had plucked the very strings of the universe. 

A low hum came next bringing with it two pin pricks of light. A red fire glowed in the darkened space, growing until they sat as two eyes burning in the air. 

You cocked your head to the side. Your own song started again, cautious as it curled around the eyes, examining them from different angles. 

The eyes crinkled at the edges, amused by your persistence. 

With a blur of motion, it turned to the side allowing a profile to form and beginning an enticing melody of its own. 

You and the face took turns, calling and answering in playful antagonism. 

The lines of light continued downward as its counter melody grew in strength against your own, forming the outline of a man.

He stepped towards you, his own head turning to the side as yours had done before, examining you from every angle. 

After a moment, he bowed. You curtseyed. And then you did what only felt natural. You danced.

The heat of his touch burned your skin, but you didn’t dare pull away. You had been cold for so long you hadn’t even known you were cold. Even when it became too much, the fear of the darkness kept you in his light. 

The man in turn held you close, his song teasing against your own. So unlike the duet from before, this was a true conversation, the pair of you giving and taking in equal measure. You didn’t want it to stop, holding the feeling tighter and tighter until you felt the pulse of his fire inside you. 

You looked up to find the embers of his eyes pouring into you.  He moved your hand to his chest. A heart pumped beneath and you knew then it wasn’t his own. Just as you had taken from him, he had taken from you in equal measure. 

His face came into focus, forming a familiar knowing smirk and playful scarlet eyes.

He stepped back from you, his hand holding yours as he bowed, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. 

The song faded away and you were once again in your own body, a violin tucked carefully beneath your chin. 

You blinked your eyes open to find the tavern standing as it had been moments ago.  Patrons surrounded you, their eyes wide and mouths open. You glanced around the room, quickly finding your companions. Horror struck you as you read their expression. 

They’d seen it. All of it. 

Before you could register what was happening a wave of applause erupted from the crowd. People began to cheer. You heard awed whoops and hollers. The adoration was overwhelming and completely miss timed. You needed to lie down. You needed to think. 

Numbly you bowed before making your way to the side of the room where the barkeeper stood. 

You held the instrument out to her, unable to look her directly in the eye. 

“Thank you for letting me play this,” you said. 

To your surprise she didn’t take it, instead pushing your hands away with a shake of her head. 

“Keep it love,” she said. “After seeing all that, feels wrong to take it away from you. You’ve more than earned the right to it.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to scream. You wanted to curse her for ever asking you to touch the damned thing. Somehow you managed to swallow all of that down, mumbling another thank you before slowly turning towards your party. 

There was still a chance to salvage this. Astarion hadn’t seen his own reflection in centuries. He didn’t know what he looked like. You could play this whole thing up to artistic license. You just carried a general feeling of desperate longing. No need for you to clarify its direction. 

Making a point to keep your head down, you put the violin away and slid it over to Gale. 

“Feel free to eat this one if you want,” you said. It was meant to be a joke, but even you could feel it fall flat. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gale said, his tone holding nothing but sympathy. 

“It really was lovely,” Wyll said, gently. 

“Beautiful really,” Shadowheart added. 

Your jaw tightened, caught between the urge to scream or weep. Why couldn’t everybody do you the favor of the lifetime and forget they saw anything. 

“Personally I don’t understand your choice in the spawn, but–” Lae’zel started only to be hit hard in the arm by Karlach.

“What?” she snapped. 

Your whole body cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next. 

“That was…me?” 

You were in hell. This was hell. You didn’t have to look up to see Astarion’s self satisfied expression. His tone made it clear enough.

In a flash you stepped back from the table, putting as much distance between you and the party as possible. 

“I need to go,” you managed. “Goodnight.” 

You sprinted out of the tavern, taking two steps of the time to the upper rooms. You didn’t stop until your door was firmly slapped behind you. 

Your breaths came hard as your heart pounded in your chest. Honestly you didn’t know how you locked the door. Your hands were shaking so badly as tears blurred your vision. All the emotions the violin had pulled from you returned, overwhelming you in their intensity. 

The instrument had done as advertised. It had shown the truth of your heart, putting it on display for the whole world to see. Gods you were an idiot. Why did you even pick up that damned thing? 

You kept your ears open, listening as everyone made their way to their rooms. Their murmurs never made it past the walls, but the way they paused as they passed your door made it clear enough they were discussing you. Thankfully they were kind enough to leave you be. 

Counting, you waited until all six doors shut before rising to your feet. 

As you did, you felt a small pull at the back of your mind. A vision of a door number and the feeling of anticipation sat on your tongue. The invitation was clear enough; Astarion was waiting for you. 

You wanted to ignore it, but you knew you couldn’t. There was no use in pretending any longer. The game was over and you would have to face the consequences.

With a steeling breath, you walked out the door. You could only hope Astarion wouldn’t hate you when it was all over.

[kiyo-cant-write]

Heyya, sorry for coming back to request the same guy again, Silver. Probably I've been reading it and saw you write "down bad" and remember I have requested but no update if it has been written, and would like to see your writing again. If I remember, something goes like Yuu very open about their PDA, while Silver is close and not open about the PDA. Sometimes they got called "to get a room". Then in some way got a little suggestive, probably some implications they did "the deeds". I'm not into nsfw but suggestive and implications is okay

silver w/ a very affectionate s/o (yuu) ✧･ﾟ

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Thank you for requesting again! I normally don't write this much for these requests but I got an idea nd had to see it through. That said... Please enjoy!

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Summary: Silver's s/o is very affectionate and open with their feelings. Silver is the opposite. However, this man also dislikes the comments his peers are making. He takes matters into his own hands in ways that seem just a tad unlike him.

TW/CW: very mild/implied suggestive content

Notes: established relationship, gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns for the reader, the reader is Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect

Guest Stars: Ace Trappola, Sebek Zigvolt

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Silver

Silver has never been good at being affectionate.

He's both a private person and an awkward one.

His s/o has told him that he looks like a prince, but he has a lot of trouble acting the part of one the way he thinks they want.

[Name] seems to want him to be a doting partner, but it's hard.

He can protect and defend all they need... but affection is different.

How do you hold someone? What is appropriate?

These are all things that Lillia did not teach him.

In the end, Silver remains avoidant of affection in public and clumsy about it behind closed doors. He does mean well, though.

Contrary to him, [Name] is a radiant force of pure affection.

They liked to hang on his arm or run and give him a hug,

While his expression remains serious, he doesn't mind. It's nice.

Silver dislikes comments from others, especially Sebek, about his relationship. Sebek's comments are just the loudest.

When in private, Silver can try to be more affectionate, but he's still learning how to be a good boyfriend to his s/o.

They were having some kind of party. Silver wasn't sure what it was all for but [Name]'s merry band of first-year friends were all there alongside himself, Sebek, his father, and Malleus. Things were... fine, he thought. They were eating food that [Name] had prepared for them with the help of the Ramshackle Ghosts and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. It wasn't until about an hour into the event that something decided to test Silver's patience.

That something... was Sebek Zigvolt.

"Sebek, must you be next to me right now?" Silver asked him, earning a scoff in return from the prideful halfling.

"NONSENSE. SILVER. YOU ARE DISRESPECTING OUR MASTER BY SITTING AWAY FROM HIM AT THIS EVENT."

Sebek was firm in his accusation.

"Sebek..." Silver began, trying to ease the tension, "You have—"

He was cut off by the feeling of arms wrapping around his shoulder and a kiss pressed to his cheek softly. It was [Name].

"Silver, do you want any more food?" they asked him, seemingly eager to help get him some if he wanted any.

"No, I am fine, thank you," he told them, "I ate enough."

Sebek reeled back as if he had been struck.

"HOW INDECENT!" Sebek cried out, causing at least two people at the gathering to turn in the direction of the three of them.

"Sebek—" Silver tried again, sounding a bit more annoyed this time.

[Name] leaned closer to Silver instinctively when Sebek yelled, the sudden sound startling them out of their own thoughts.

"You two are so in love, stop taunting us singles!" Ace called from across the way, trying to balance a plate of food that seemed just about ready to splatter onto the floor, "Get a room already!"

Silver sighed, unsure he had the patience for this crowd. Sebek wasn't helping either as he appeared to agree (at least in some form) with Ace's statement. It was irritating to deal with the whole lot of them.

"[Name]..." he whispered, knowing they could hear from their proximity, "Do you want to head upstairs? I doubt Father will let anything happen to damage Ramshackle."

"Hmmm...." [Name] hummed, thinking on it, "Sure...? I am kind of tired after all that cooking."

He nodded, moving to stand. [Name] let go of his shoulders in favor of holding onto Silver's hand, something he returned after a moment of deliberation, loosely holding onto the hand grasping his own.

"Even with the ghosts' help it was a lot of work," [Name] continued to tell him as he nodded along with what they were saying.

"I am sure it was. You made a lot for today."

Walking up the stairs, they soon entered the bedroom that [Name] shared with Grim. It was a simple room but it was not nearly as run-down as it had been, or so [Name] said. Walking across the room, they sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to them, urging Silver to join them.

"Alright," he agreed, sitting down on the bed with perfect posture.

He was tense from earlier, [Name] could see it in his shoulders.

"Silver, are you alright? Did Ace bother you?" [Name] asked him, worried.

Silver shrugged it off, not intrigued by the offer.

"Your friend always seems to be that way," he told them, plainly, stating the facts of his own experience.

"He can be energetic but I can talk to them if you want me—"

[Name] stopped mid-sentence when Silver looked at them with a certain gleam in his eyes. They knew he wanted to say something.

"Huh...? Sil?"

"[Name]..." Silver replied, seemingly piercing his sentence together,

"Yes..?"

[Name] wondered what Silver needed to say to them.

"May I... kiss you?" he asked them after a moment, face tinged red in a way so slight it was barely noticeable.

[Name] paused to process the request before nodding, as eager for this as they were to get him food, hang on his arm, or nuzzle up to him during these events with their friends. They were always like that.

Silver was not. Taciturn and even a bit gloomy at times, he was not the radiant and affectionate type as his partner was. Still, they loved him. They accepted this side of him that refused public displays of affection, that was clumsy behind closed doors, unsure of where to put his hands or what to say in a moment of closeness.

He pulled them closer to him, a gentle tug that [Name] followed with anticipation as Silver pressed his lips to theirs in a soft kiss. It was something gentle and light that [Name] felt was fitting for someone like him, a royal knight if there ever was one.

[Name] was not yet used to moments like these when Silver wanted to be affectionate. But they welcomed it.

In a brief moment between kisses, they say those words to him.

"I love you, you know, Sil."

"I..." Silver spoke, "Those words make me want to do something more than just a simple kiss, you know..."

He had never once given in, but now he had admitted it.

[Name] looked at him in surprise.

"Ah. Don't make me repeat it... please."

"I mean..." they tried again, "If you want to..."

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...Imagine the rest yourself~ <3

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[welcomethefears]

Part One

(Oops I slipped and wrote more :) )

As he heard the sound of clashing swords behind him, Legolas once again felt his mind drifting to (Y/N), not for the first time since the fellowship had left Rivendell. As Boromir, a rather bawdy human as Legolas regarded, clashed playfully with the Hobbits, Legolas found himself tracing another memory of the (H/C) haired she-elf. Seeing the clashing of sword and dagger, well swords for the halflings, Legolas saw his young friend.

It was one of the trips soon after the one he initially met (Y/N), during a time in which they always fought. That day was no different. In trying to prove herself, or as he thought at the time, embarrass him, Legolas had approached his regiment of guards only to find them fighting the young noble born girl. He remembered how taken aback he had been, seeing what he thought a prissy princess to be tussling with warrior elves. She was holding her own only due to her vigour, as undoubtedly her movements were sloppy and unrefined. Although to any other race of Middle Earth she would seem as graceful as a trained dancer, Legolas’ keen eyes picked apart each mistake she had made. Upon seeing their prince, the Mirkwood elves had dispersed, and the guard attacking (Y/N) had disengaged much to her frustration.

“What do you want pretty boy?” (Y/N) had asked him in an annoyed tone, causing Legolas to blush lightly, both now upon reliving the memory and in the memory. At the time however, Legolas was also angered by her words. During those years of rivalry, she loved to call him names, always enjoyed seeing him seethe with indignation. Perhaps it had been because of how flawless his father was that she wanted to crack his uptight shell, or perhaps when she called him pretty boy, she had really meant it. Legolas now believed the latter but chuckled slightly remembering what had happened next.

“I have a patrol in the forests I need to take this lot on. If you’ll return to your father’s side then perhaps, we can continue with our work unimpeded,” He had asserted, wanting to pinch a nerve. He had done so successfully, as he watched her face flush in embarrassment at his words, however the outcome was completely different from what he had desired.

“I believe you’ll need an extra pair of hands, led the way, Prince Legolas,” She replied angrily, grabbing at a nearby short sword and shoving it into the leather belt she wore around her tunic. She had not been bluffing when she asserted, she’d join the patrol, and Legolas now thought that had been her ploy all along, after all, she hadn’t worn one of her flowing gowns that day. He recalls how she stuck annoyingly close to his side that patrol, taking a lead jokingly over him in a way that he had felt undermined his leadership. In reality she had just been trying to amuse him and help him where she could. He remembers now how her braided (H/C) shone in the rare pockets of sunshine that Mirkwood forest would sometimes get, and how his arrow was trained towards the unknown that may threaten her. He cannot recall how the two separated from the regiment, but he can picture what they encountered next. It was a nest of the large spiders that threatened the peace of the Mirkwood forest, and Legolas had been swift to decimate as many fledgling arachnids as possible. Before he could finish them off however she had launched herself to stand between the remaining spiderlings and him.

“Stand aside, Princess,” He had hissed at her, already frustrated with her presence, anger growing even further with her current actions.

“This is foolish Legolas. If you kill all these spiderlings the fully grown ones will grow agitated. You’re putting future patrols in danger. Besides, killing every single one will disrupt the natural order. We must leave at leave some alive, so the earth is stable,” She had asserted, drawing her sword from her side to defend the creatures further. Legolas was beyond furious at the time, but now he could see her strength in that moment. (Y/N) had always been more connected with the land and her creatures than he ever had, and she was easily more knowledgeable as well. He admired that about her now, but during this incident he hated it fiercely. At the time he drew him own short sword, and the two clashed as best they could. Despite her best attempts, Legolas was, and always had been, the greater fighter of the two.

Legolas had pinned her the forest floor, her braid picking up twigs and green grass from the forest floor as she grit her teeth at his proximity. In a flush of anger and annoyance he had pressed the blade in her neck, yet she stared back at him defiantly. They had eventually been broken apart when a more senior guard had found and dragged the two back to the citadel as they threw insults at each other. The nest had been left, and although Legolas had to fight off those spiders later, he acknowledged that the order of the forest remained for another cycle.

He shook his head as he returned to the current moment, glancing at the play fight in front of him. It was much less aggressive than his had been with (Y/N) all those decades ago, and so he shook his head softly. He felt someone bump his shoulder, and Aragorn looked almost knowingly into his eyes.

“Keep a look out, will you?” Aragorn instructed, directly Legolas’ gaze to the horizon with his own grey eyes. Legolas rolled his eyes in response, before turning to dutifully keep look out for the group. As he kept watch, hearing the clashing of swords still, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw something on the horizon.

“What is that?” Sam asked with concern.

“Nothing… it’s just a whisp of cloud,” Gimli dismissed, causing Legolas to grow agitated, just as he had once done with (Y/N).

“It’s moving fast… against the wind,” Boromir observed worriedly, immediately halting the fight which had cause Legolas to reminisce. Legolas raised his own brows in worry now, before yelling to group in a panicked warning.

“Crebain from Dunland!”

“Hide!” Instructed Aragorn as Legolas hid as quickly as he could. As he found cover, his thought flashed quickly to (Y/N), wondering what she would have done in this situation.

~*~

Legolas looked on carefully as Bill the pony retreated from the Fellowship, the small, stout and reliable creature that was now unburdened from the supplies trotted away with little care. Aragorn had said he knew the way home, but Legolas couldn’t help but worry slightly about the poor creature. Perhaps that was a lingering effect from (Y/N)’s companionship, his worries and valuing of the creatures of Middle Earth. That time he had found her with an eagle was not exceptional, and he found his lips upturning slightly while thinking of her nurturing approach to creatures. Sam seemed fairly upset and quietly unsettled at having to say his goodbyes to Bill, but Legolas knew it was for the better. The quest ahead was going to be rough to put it lightly, and it was no place for such a kind soul as a pony. Although they had not spoken at length so far on this journey, Legolas found himself wandering towards the round halfling. Upon closer inspection, this was hitting Sam harder than Legolas first assumed. Likely Bill’s departure was an indication that this journey was going to be so much harder than Sam had ever imagined, for if a pony could not accompany them, it was surely going to be a challenge.

“It is better he does not accompany us. I was told once that equine’s will follow their companions through the worst dangers possible, without a care for their own wellbeing. It is a kind mercy that you spare Bill from facing what is ahead,” Legolas told Sam, trying his best to comfort him. He had placed a hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him, but in truth Legolas had little experience physically comforting people. Even when he had broken (Y/N)’s heart, he had awkwardly hovered over her sobbing form, unable to find it in himself to reach out and embrace her.

“I am grateful for your words. The person who told you that is as wise as they are kind Mr Legolas,” Sam replied, patting Legolas’ hand to acknowledge his attempts to comfort him. Legolas nodded, his smile from before at remembering (Y/N) growing more.

“She is indeed,” Legolas confirmed with a nod, pulling his hand away to give Sam a little space to process his feelings.

“Tell me about this elleth, perhaps it will distract me from the sadness I feel over Bill,” Sam instructed, although his tone was incredibly soft and melancholic. Legolas smiled but was quietly surprised that Sam did not know he was talking about (Y/N). From how close Frodo and Sam were, he had assumed that Frodo had relayed all the information he knew. As Legolas recalled, Hobbits had a penchant for gossip, but nonetheless he felt lighter at the prospect of talking about someone he valued so dearly.

“I recall this one memory in particular of her, from when we used to despise each other, though I promise now she is valued companion. I had been visiting her family in Rivendell to participate in negotiations of some description, I no longer remember the specifics. I had been tending to my horse a day or so after my arrival, brushing his coat in an attempt to escape the politics of my father.  This elleth, her name is (Y/N), had approached me in the stables. Her (h/c) hair was braided neatly, and she was dressed in riding clothes. It was clear that she was there for similar reasons. She approached her own horse, a dappled grey mare, who whinnied softly at seeing her rider. (Y/N) has always been in tune with the creatures of Middle Earth, as was evident with the way all the horses in the stable had turned their attention to her, including my own stallion. In those days I was jealous of her abilities, and I was immature enough to let a competitive spirit sour our encounters.

She approached me kindly while holding the mare’s reins and informed me that the way I was tending to my horse could be better, and that he preferred a wooden comb for his mane. She has this innate ability to read all those around her, including the creatures she wandered through life with. Before I learnt to appreciate this, it angered me greatly. I challenged her to a ride around the outskirts of Rivendell, intending to demonstrate my own prowess with horses. (Y/N) is stubborn, always has been, and so she angered slightly at my own attitude. I know now that challenging her, questioning her about her knowledge of creatures was foolish, she had always been insecure of her abilities. I should not have pushed her to race, and yet she responded with a fire I have rarely seen in any companion I have known.

She was quick, a strong rider with an even stronger bond to her mare which she tended to like a mother would a child. This was her only weakness in the race against me, she cared too greatly for the creature. I purposely chose a path which would push our horses, and I knew no fear in placing my horse in danger. She lost the race and was furious at me. She could not care less about the race by the end of it, for she was more concerned for the wellbeing of my stallion. She would be terrible on a battlefield, but I could tell this care was why Rivendell had such loyal horses. I was astounded by her accusation, that I cared little for my stallion, and stormed away to calm myself in a nearby forest.

She had found us later, the horse and I, approaching in a calmer manner. She apologized for outburst towards me, before explaining herself. It was then I understood her perspective, and little by little I have been working towards viewing all of Middle Earth’s creatures with the reverence she has for them. She would be proud we are caring for Bill in such a way, since he is a loyal pony who would do anything for you,” Legolas finished, smiling down at Sam as he finished recounting the tale. He purposefully left out the part where he had truly started to admire her after this encounter, and that he had apologized greatly for placing his horse in danger over a simple rivalry.

Upon reflection now, he had challenged (Y/N) to the race so he could watch her ride. When he had watched her ride into Mirkwood she had always been rigid and proper, so seeing a more relaxed version of her race him was tantalizing. Her husbandry of horses was incredible, that he could now admit. She was an incredible rider and even better carer, and Legolas was in quiet awe each time he rode with her. Perhaps it was his own insecurity about his connection to the lands, feeling that as an elf, a prince at that, his knowledge should be strong. Now though, he knew simply that her knowledge filled his gaps, rather than challenged his.

“She sounds very kind indeed. You seem incredibly fond of this elleth,” Sam replied after fully absorbing Legolas’ story. Legolas blinked himself back into the moment, tearing his mind away from the image of (Y/N) riding her mare with incredible skill.

“I am fond of her. She is one of my closest companions,” Legolas replied with a smile.

“A companion? Forgive me for my forwardness Mr Legolas but you speak of (Y/N) the way I speak of Rosie Cotton. She is the most amazing lass I have ever seen, and I intend to marry her one day,” Sam announced confidently to Legolas, which took him a back slightly. He spoke of (Y/N) the way Sam spoke of the woman he wanted to marry? Legolas was shocked, he could not form his thoughts, let alone words for the thoughts. Married? To (Y/N)? His stomach churned and his heart felt heavy as he thought about the gorgeous elleth who’s heart he had shattered in a million pieces.

“I wish you luck in wooing your love,” Legolas replied in a way which was certainly kind, but also indicated that he did not wish to address the conversation further. Sam nodded in response, picking up on the subtle hint that Legolas was struggling to understand how he felt.

Legolas departed from Sam’s side, sitting himself on a rock nearby to gaze at the water. He watched with narrowed eyes as Merry and Pippin threw rocks into the water, trying his best to attune himself to the present rather than become preoccupied with more, overwhelming thoughts of (Y/N).

[qwimblenorrisstan]

The Clandestine Culinarian | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel requires a deadly poison, and the only place he can get acquire it is through a bakery in Hewn City, and in the process grows closer to you, the owner of the shop, and is there for you when tragedy strikes.

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, mentions of blood, weapons, family death, nudity (taking bath), poisons, nothing explicit.

A/N: Got a little carried away with this, but I had a dream abt it so I think it’s the chosen one, hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist | Next

Requests are open!

Azriel found himself all ready for his newest mission, leathers on, Truth-Teller sharpened, siphons gleaming, however, there was just one thing he needed…

In truth, he hadn’t been surprised when Rhys asked him to take care of a group of Halflings that were lurking in what had been Hybern’s lands, attempting to create even a shadow of the power the fallen King had once possessed. Though Azriel could easily just slip in and slaughter all of them, Rhys advised him to exercise caution with this. Azriel was always cautious, silent as a mouse, moving in and out of the shadows at will.

Rhys didn’t want to have the blood of those Fae on his hands, and would rather have it seem like someone took them out quickly and quietly. And the way he wanted his Spymaster to carry this out? With volucrae, one of the deadliest poisons that had been discovered, and hidden.

“A single vial would cost a fortune, Rhys.”

He said, watching his High Lord closely. The poison cost a fortune for many reasons, as it had no scent, no taste, and didn’t cause any discoloration or effects to what you planted it in. It worked quickly, as well. Within minutes of consuming it, your body would start to shut down, and you would slip into death before you could even register what was happening. The only reason it was so rare was because the way to attain it was deadly.

“I’ve already done the math, you need one and a half vials to thoroughly poison their food supply.”

Rhys replied, his expression holding a look that said Azriel was not getting out of this, no matter what happened.

“Where would that even sell in this Court?”

He asked, though a part of him already knew the answer. The most wicked things were sold within the most hateful and wicked environment, which in this Court, was most likely..

“Hewn City.”

That didn’t surprise him, but what Rhys then said next had him very skeptical about anyone wielding the poison, let alone willing to sell it.

“There’s a bakery not too far from that brothel we visited once, a bit up the street and to the left. You’ll know it when you see it. When you get inside, tell the woman at the counter that you’re looking for a mulberry pie, but you’d like to adjust the flavoring.”

Rhys said, that annoying smirk on his face that said he knew he was right, that this would work, and that he could already see Az’s begrudgingly thankful look.

“Fine.”

Azriel said with a huff. Before he could even mention how he would pay for it, Rhys handed him a pouch of gold coins.

“Our secret.”

He said, before going back to the paperwork that sat in stacks in his office.

The shadowsinger stalked off, gathering his things before he went off to the balcony, and took off, headed to one of the places he’d prefer never having to look at again. Hewn City.

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It was business as usual for you; baking up the pies and assisting your coworkers, who were only family if not the closest of family friends, as they worked the shop alongside you.

Not too many customers today, which wasn’t unusual, as Hewn City wasn’t exactly the most profitable place to put a bakery. The citizens here were exactly how they’d been her entire life, harsh, bitter, and hateful to the very end, and their taste in pastries reflected that so clearly it was almost funny.

However, a face she recognized walked in while she had taken a break from kneading dough to work the register. She could easily spot the shadows that shrouded his being and trailed behind and onto him in the shop. The shadowsinger, otherwise known as the Spymaster of Night Court.

She’d heard plenty of rumors about him, most, if not all being terrible awful things, but a customer was a customer, and judging by the fact that she assumed he wasn’t here for baked goods, a potential client was a potential client, no matter who they were.

“Welcome to Baked Goods, how can I help you today?”

You asked the man, with your customer voice and smile being worn. He seemed to scan over you for a moment, his gaze sharp and piercing, and intimidating, before he spoke.

“I’d like a mulberry pie, but I would like to adjust the flavoring.”

His dark, smooth voice replied. He hadn’t even glanced at the menu. We didn’t serve mulberry pie. That was your confirmation that he knew what he wanted and for the right price, he could get it.

“Sure, I can get that for you. What kind of flavoring are you looking for? Weaker tasting, smelling, we could even adjust how it looks if you’d like it.” Do you want it to be noticeable?

“The weakest flavoring you can find.” No.

This Spymaster caught onto the game fast, you’d admit. Then again, the High Lord had probably told him of it, as he occasionally came by for his favorite mulberry pie, just to keep you in order, as some of the local females looking to break free of their forced marriages also happened to like mulberry pie.

“I can take you back for you to see our selection if you’d like?” Do you want to see our collection and pick one out?

“Yes.” I’ll pick it.

And so, you led him around the counter and to the back of the bakery, and as you opened one of the cabinets that was empty, with remnants of flour in it. Reaching in, and using your hands to unlock a mechanism in the back of the wooden cabinet, the back of it came off and swung open like a door.

You walked inside, and he followed. It was an old stone passageway, stairs leading down, down, down, thick with humidity, their every sound echoing due to the cave system at the bottom of it.

After minutes of walking, they reached the bottom. It had shelves full of vials and bottles of all sorts of poisons, all undiluted and in any sort of form. He studied the wall a minute and then gestured to one of them. It was a bottle you hadn’t dared to sell in all the years you’d owned it. Hell, you had almost grown attached to the thing, like a little friend, always there, lurking and waiting inside the dark tunnels of this place.

“Volucrae?”

You asked him, studying him with suspicion and intrigue in your gaze. What could he possibly need that poison for? Sure, he was a Spymaster and a honed killer, but she wouldn’t give that away easily.

He gave a little nod, holding out a heavy pouch of pure gold coins. You took it, opened it, and counted the amount. It was more than enough, you would admit. Not looking too happy about it, you gave him the amount for his money, one full vial, and about one half.

And then you both walked out, gave him a cookie as a parting gift, and he was gone, just like that.

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

Azriel walked out of that ‘bakery’, wondering how Rhys knew about it, and why the hell he hadn’t shut it down yet. They were illegally selling poisons, possibly even trafficking them and buying them from someone. Problems for later, he reminded himself as he took a bite of the cookie he’d been given by the girl as he walked out.

The vials of valucrae were safely secured within a pocket, the glass was reinforced. Whoever had bottled it must’ve known exactly how deadly it was.

He had no idea how that girl or her shop had gotten her hands on that. To even make the poison was incredibly dangerous, first having to take down one of the ancient, cunning beasts that lived in the darkness of the Illyrian Steppes, using their blood and drying it, turning it into a fine powder, and storing it.

Nonetheless, he had a mission to get done.

And so, with a flap of his wings, his shadows trailing behind him, he set off for what had been Hybern’s lands. The mission was simple.

The lands were still scorched and covered in a certain heavy feeling, the remnants of the war and the mass destruction and carnage that had followed. The halflings were gathered in the center of the lands. They seemed to have congregated together in a group of around 25, having tents and temporary homes, a large campfire in the center, and one tent that his shadows whispered to him that held the food.

He crept up, opening the vials with a silent pop, and slipped into the tent. They all seemed to be asleep at this point. And with a flick and movement of his wrist, the poison was sprinkled into their daily rations, and after smoothing it into the wet meat. The flakes turned transparent as they got wet and just like that, they weren’t even noticeable anymore.

Cleaning his hands off religiously, and scrubbing it off of his hands, he then took off silently into the night, his large, leathery wings flapping as he went back home, to Velaris.

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

The shadowsinger had been visiting more than usual over the past few months, you realized, as you saw him coming into the shop again, another order of mulberry pie with adjusted flavoring, and you led him down to the ‘basement’ again.

The air of the stone passageway felt different this time, tense and dripping with something other than humidity.

The little drips that echoed through the stairway and the sounds of their feet hitting the stone were the only ones. Neither spoke. They reached the bottom eventually, where the familiar shelves with vials and bottles waited.

“What’ll it be this time, Azriel?”

You asked, one brow raised as you watched him. He was undeniably attractive, pretty, almost. His lean and muscular body, his golden hazel eyes, or his short, almost boyish style of black hair. His large, powerful wings, or the scarred hands that you had wondered many times what had happened, but never dared to ask.

He opened his mouth to speak, and that was when the entire world exploded.

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

Fire licking up his face and body was the first thing he processed, the second was Kier’s men at the top of the stairway, blood already dripping from their blades, the wooden cabinet’s secret door splintered into pieces and shoved open. His shadows writhed in agony.

With a glance towards the girl, he quickly realized that she didn’t seem surprised, or particularly shocked, but looked like a little bit of her died with every drip of the blood from the men’s swords onto the ground. She was very close with her coworkers, he had observed that immediately. They had been a team and some legitimate family that were just bakers working here.

“Follow me.”

She said, and before he could even draw Truth-Teller, she grabbed his arm and began running, dragging him at first, then leading him through the convoluted cave tunnels that were behind the bottom of the stairwell. She ran with a practiced ease through these caves, as if she’d done it many times before. As if she’d practiced running as if she’d known that Kier’s soldiers had been lurking around the corners of her shop and watching every customer a little too closely to just be a coincidence.

He didn’t have time to think about it as he heard some of the soldiers close behind. Some had gotten lost in the tunnels due to her winding through them.

Her voice didn’t waver, it was firm. Sad, but recognizing that this wasn’t the moment to grieve.

The tunnels winded down and up until even he could barely keep track of them, despite his centuries of practice memorizing the layouts of the most complicated structures. They soon surfaced on the edge of Hewn City, and without even thinking of the potential consequences of his actions, the political repercussions that they could cause, he grabbed her, scooped her up, and took off.

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

At least the adrenaline had kept her from thinking of the loss when you’d been running. Here, during this terrifying flight, you got plenty of time to think all about your family members who had been in that shop.

Your cousins, both willing to help just to have a job and get paid in the awful economy of Hewn City. Your uncle, just happy to be involved in the family, and also a male who hadn’t ever been able to explore his passion for baking, always told it wasn’t masculine. Or your sweet little niece, who had absolutely no idea what was happening at all, but was generally just happy to be there and spend time. Not to mention how many pastries the girl had snuck off of the shelves.

All gone.

You had seen the blood dripping off of that steel. You knew that Kier had been watching your shop a little while more than usual, and you’d practiced escape routes and alarm systems with the family and workers, but it had all fallen apart. They had been waiting for Azriel to arrive, you were sure of it.

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up and fell as you were curled up against the shadowsinger’s chest while he flew, making her stomach churn. His shadows, cool and soothing against your skin, seemed to almost wipe your tears away, attempting to comfort you the best they could.

The colorful city of light came into view, Velaris, the city of starlight, she’d been told. It was beautiful, she’d admit. It felt like it was spitting in her face, taunting and mocking her for what her family hadn’t had the chance to see, and now wouldn’t ever get the chance to see. Azriel went to a specific house overlooking a large river, The Sidra, his shadows whispered to you, their voices thin and quiet, barely more than a whisper. It seemed to be a townhouse, a beautiful one at that, he arrived at.

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

Azriel landed, and slowly set you on your feet. You looked very unsteady and probably about to throw up. That was a common reaction from someone’s first time flying, assuming it was your first flight ever. He couldn’t imagine any other male flying you around, knowing it would never happen, but even the thought of it sent a little pang of jealousy that he knew wasn’t appropriate through his mind.

“Rhys’ and Feyre’s home. You’ll be staying here.”

He said simply, his voice firm but not empathetic. The tears had mostly stopped, but as soon as he guided the female inside, only to meet a concerned and curious Rhys sitting on the couch with Feyre, who looked equally confused, it started back up again.

She managed to give a basic explanation between tears, and he filled in any details Rhys asked for that she couldn’t or wouldn’t provide.

“You can stay here until we find a solution, and definitely until things calm down. I’ll…talk to Kier.”

Rhys reassured her, eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed Azriel’s hand around the female’s waist. He shared a glance with Feyre, a little too long for his comfort, before giving Azriel a nod. He was to take the poor thing to a room, and most likely console her. He wasn’t too great at the latter, he thought.

His mission was complete, but at what cost?

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

You had met the High Lord before, but never his Inner Circle other than Azriel. He led her to a spare bedroom in the townhouse, leading her inside and closing the door behind her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He asked. His voice was calm and deep as it had always been, but filled with a sort of sorrow that told you he’d lost many people close to him as well. He knew your pain.

“I don’t know, I just…they’d still be here if I hadn’t..”

You stammered out, before words turned into choked sobs, and choked sobs turned into him sitting beside her on the bed as you wept into his chest. His warm, scarred hands rubbing your back soothingly as you cried.

You cried until you couldn’t anymore until the loss consumed her so wholly that it was a black pit you couldn’t crawl out of.

“It’s not your fault. Kier gave the order to murder them, not you.”

An order he would make Kier pay for, even if he got himself killed in the process.

“Take a bath. It’ll help.”

He said, and you knew he was right. A bath might help. You managed to get up and stumble over to the bathroom, starting a warm bath, and peeling off your clothing before settling into the water. You barely managed to rub some shampoo into your hair before scrubbing it back out.

You sat in that tub for a while, sitting and thinking, reminiscing about your family, grieving all you could for them. Maybe a little too long. Before you knew it, you had slipped into unconsciousness.

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

Azriel had waited for almost two hours for you to come out of the tub now. He would admit that he felt more than a little creepy just waiting, but he felt it was necessary, as something deeply instilled in him told him to stay, and to wait to make sure you were okay.

He didn’t know when he’d suddenly become so protective over you, it had crept up on him until he hadn’t even realized how much he wanted to shred Kier’s men to pieces for upsetting you and threatening you.

When you hadn’t come out and almost two hours and thirty minutes had passed, he cracked open the bathroom door, only to find you fully asleep and naked in the bathtub. It felt wrong, looking at you while vulnerable, and so he closed his eyes and let his shadows guide him as they helped pick you up.

The shadows, doing what he willed, dried you off, before slipping some clothes on you that were fresh spares. He laid you in the bed, tucking you in.

He stayed there longer than he’d like to admit, watching you peacefully sleep, and for some odd reason, his shadows wouldn’t let him leave the room. They tugged him to a nearby armchair, and using the shadows as an excuse, he fell asleep a few hours later while watching over you.

The shadows seemed to not want to leave your side.

Almost as if they knew something he didn’t.

Part 2

[parvulous-writings]

It may come to absolutely no surprise to you but.......I have a preference to Halsin in BG3.

If you have any desire to write some fluff......If I could gift this man some honey comb in a jar with a handkerchief wrapped around the top, and there is a duck stitched on the corner of the cloth. I would. Cuz I really wanna. 💕

Words: 2.06K

Notes: Honestly, I do not blame you! Who couldn't love this big bear of a man? He's amazing! Takes place after the main game plot <3 My requests are currently open, though limited! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Halsin Silverbough - Archdruid and friend to many - was an absolute sweetheart, through and through. It was no secret that this strong hulk of a man was not only reasonable when it came to conflict, but actively sought the betterment of those around him. He sought it so actively, in fact, that he rarely ever left time for himself. He was always so ingrained or focused on what he thought needed to be done to right what wrong he could, that he gave little thought to when he may need to just take a step back, and relax. So, you took it upon yourself to give him the opportunity to.

Of course, being the lover of the Archdruid comes with some perks; one of those being that you knew everyone within the Grove. One of the younger druids, a young halfling named Barnan, had taken up beekeeping once the druids had re-settled, and that gave you the perfect idea for Halsin's little treat. "Good morning, Barnan!" You greet the shorter figure as you approach, glass jar in hand. Barnan jumps, startled by your somewhat sudden appearance. "I was wondering if you could lend me a hand.." You chuckle lightly, as Barnan recovers. "Oh, but of course-" He says quickly, patting down the apron that he so often wore over his normal plain clothes. "What is it that you need?" He asks you, a smile starting to spread over his face.

"I was hoping to get Halsin a little something... He's been practically run off of his feet again recently, and I think he deserves a treat..." You explain, not getting too into all the details, but giving the Halfling enough to know that it was important to you. He nods enthusiastically, turning to the shelves he had pitched up outside his little shack; "Let me see if I have anything that might take his fancy..." He muses, tapping gently at his chin. "Actually, I had something in mind already..." You gently tell him, and as he turns, you hold up the glass jar you had brought with you. "Halsin likes honey - I was wondering if one of your hives could spare some honeycomb for him?" Barnan blinks, then begins to nod, reaching for the jar. "Oh, but of course, of course! Let me take that for you..." He then pauses, looking at the jar for a moment, almost... Concerned. "Are you quite sure this will be enough..?" He turns his gaze back to you for a moment. You seem almost shocked - that was one of the larger jars you had found. Though, looking at it now... You supposed Barnan had a point - Halsin naturally had a large appetite. "Do you have a larger jar?" You ask after a moment's pause, and Barnan grins. "I wouldn't be a very good beekeeper if I didn't, now, would I?" He replied, making you laugh. "I'll grab one for you," He tells you as he hands you your jar back. "Wait here, I shan't be long.." You nod and move to take a seat on a stool Barnan often sits on in the morning - he loves his spot here, with a perfect view of the morning sun.

The breeze is lovely; warm and inviting, and carrying the many scents of the various wildflowers that are nearby, that grow all over the grove in fact. Branan really knew how to pick a good spot for himself to stay - and an even better for his beehives. There wasn't much that you considered 'perfect', but this place? A place so gorgeous, and the home of those you held so dear? This was perfect, without a doubt. Lost in your thoughts, you're unsure of how much time actually passes whilst Barnan retrieves some honeycomb for you. When he returns, he's carrying in incredibly large jar in his arms. "You're in luck," He pants to you, as he places the filled jar on the grass by your legs, "There was a fair deal of surplus comb in all the hives - I really should be keeping on top of them more, this far into summer... Ah well, I just suppose the days have been getting away from me!" He laughs. You chuckle along with him. "Thank you, Barnan... I really appreciate this..." You get to your feet, leaning down to pick up the jar with both hands. "Oh it's no trouble, no trouble at all... Give Master Halsin my regards!" "Of course - I wouldn't dream of neglecting to mention your help," You muse. "Have a good day, friend." You smile at him, and Barnan gives a nod, still smiling warmly. "And to you, my friend."

And with that, you start the short walk back to yours and Halsin's shared quarters, deeper in the Grove. It's always a pleasant walk - whether it's in the middle of the day, or the dead of night. During the day, you're greeted with polite 'hellos' and 'how are you's', and at night, you get to bask in the blissful sounds of nature as the world sleeps. By the time you manage to get back to your shared space, Halsin is already awake, half dressed, and lumbering out into the near midday sun. He stretches, basking in the warmth the light blesses him with, as you quickly try to hide the jar behind your back, not quite ready to give him the gift. "Good morning, my heart.." He greets you, smiling lovingly down at you. "I see you did not wake me..." He muses as he moves a bit closer. "May I ask why?" "I just thought that you deserved a bit of a rest... You haven't given much time for yourself recently, and I think you should." You reply, nodding as you spoke. Halsin starts to nod with you, humming quietly in agreement. He could find no fault in your answer. He starts to chuckle lightly; "Sometimes I feel like you know me better than even I know myself," He tells you, opening his arms and stepping forward for a hug. You quickly duck under his arm, spinning round before he can see the honey pot you're concealing with your torso. Halsin's head turns, trying to catch up with where you've flitted to, his expression portraying his almost comical bafflement. "My love..?" He starts, trailing off mid-sentence. "No you haven't done anything." You quickly clear up for him, giving him a smile of reassurance. "Then why do you dodge my embrace, hm?" "I have a surprise for you," You divulge, your tone almost cheeky. "And it'd be an awful shame to ruin it." Halsin can't help but laugh a little bit at this - he thinks himself almost foolish for so quickly jumping to the idea that you would recoil from his embrace, and your audacious tone did also amuse him so. "Alright, I shall... Let it go, this time." He teases. "I hope that the surprise will be ready before this evening, so I may embrace you at least once today..." "It will, it will... So long as you actually let me go continue preparing it.." You tease, and Halsin bows his head a bit in laughter. "As you wish, my love..." He murmurs. "I shall leave you to whatever antics you've managed to entrench yourself in today... Just don't get into trouble." He warns, only half joking. You roll your eyes playfully at him, before ducking inside, and out of his sight.

You're quick to rummage through what belongings you have to find the sewing kit you keep, mainly for clothing repairs, picking out a larger needle than normal, alongside some yellow thread. You set to work carefully, threading the needle carefully through the corner of the cloth that covers the honey jar, keeping it safe from bugs and other wandering hands. The little image comes together rather quickly and with a splash of other colours - a dash of black, and orange - you've finished your little project, and before you sits a embroidered duck chick. You admire it for a moment, proud of it. You know for a fact, that Halsin will love this - even if you weren't as proud of it as you were now, he'd still love it. You push yourself to your feet after a moment or so of making sure that you're satisfied, making your way out into the sun again. You shield your eyes with one hand, cradling the jar in your arm much like a baby. It doesn't take you long to find Halsin, knife and woodblock in hand, carefully chipping away at the carving he's started. You stroll towards him, smile growing on your face as you wait for him to notice you. "Ah, my heart..." Halsin starts, his gaze still focused on the block of wood as he carves. "I thought today may be a good opportunity to finally set about making us some new utensils.." He tells you, before finally glancing up. His jaw goes a bit slack, before he starts to laugh. "This was your surprise?" He asks you, as you present the honeycomb to him. "It is indeed... Do you like it?" "Like it? My love, I'm not quite sure how to express my thanks... You really did mean it when you thought I deserved time for myself, hm?" "Oh, I wouldn't say something I don't mean... I know better than that.." You muse quietly. "Barnan also sends his regards..." You grunt softly as you move to sit beside him. He leans over to you and presses a kiss to your cheek, and you can feel the smile still on his lips. "I shall thank him when I see him next..." He tells you as he moves to take the cloth-lid off of the jar, pausing to chuckle at the embroidered duck. "And I presume this is your handiwork?" He asks you, turning the corner of the cloth slightly towards you to show you. You nod at him. "Such a small detail..." The elf muses, smiling as he ran his thumb over the stitches. "Thank you, my love. Truly." He takes off the cloth, placing it on his lap for later, and before you can say anything else to him, his hand is in the jar, grasping for some of the sweet comb inside. You can't help but laugh at the sight - but you knew there was nothing you'd be able to do to stop him. He ignores you, choosing to focus instead on crunching down on the sweet treat you'd procured for him. He practically groans as the taste hits his tongue, and your grin stretches ever wider. "Enjoying yourself, my love?" You ask him, and he nods hurriedly as he takes another mouthful of honeycomb; you start to wonder if it's even touching the sides at this point. "Slow down, you don't want to eat it all in one sitting, do you?" You tease, and at this, he does slow down a little bit. He pauses for a moment, honey dripping off of his hand and into the jar as he finishes his mouthful. He then brings his hand towards your mouth. "Open," He prompts gently, and you comply, soon tasting the same sweet honey you had gifted to your partner.

As he pulls his hand away to eat the rest of the honey stuck to it himself, you give another quiet chuckle. "I didn't think you'd want to share this treat - I wasn't expecting you to." You tell him, and he picks up another chunk of comb, handing it to you. "I know you didn't expect me to. But with you, my love, I would share all of nature's bounty... It is not for one person to hoard it to themselves, it is to be shared and revelled in.." He says, rather sagely, as you bite into the crunchy snack he had bestowed upon you. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about honeycomb." You teased him, smirking as you did. "Of course I do. And don't talk with your mouth full." He playfully chides, gently bumping his shoulder into yours. You both lapse into a comfortable silence after that, sharing the honey and gazing out on the landscape that you call home. It's a peaceful moment, and one that both you and Halsin will certainly treasure for a very, very long time.

[iphoenixrising]

Something God/Messanger of the Gods/WhattheFuckEvenIsThis, HowIsThisMyLife au

I refuse to lie about it. This? Totally got the idea from a yaoi. 

**

From the Heavens, the Father of the Gods looks into the seeing waters at the realm of mortals. The young man with a soft smile, raven black hair, and shockingly violet eyes draws Bruce’s sighs, his son long denied him.

A promise to the boy’s mother while she carried their halfling child, that he would allow their son twenty-one years on Earth to live among other mortals. Once he came of age in their world, then he could be told about the Gods and brought into his power.

The more his three other sons clashed nowadays, it’s become obvious the boy is sorely needed.

Alfred, his second-in-command of their heavenly armies, stands by his right hand, watches the boy smile at a customer and hand over warm beverages humans seem to enjoy.

“He is certainly your blood, Sire,” Alfred comments idly, wondering how the mortals could be so dense as to not see the blatant appeal of the boy behind the counter. His face, while handsome with his father’s strong jawline, is pale with otherworldly beauty. His eyes shine with peace at every person that steps up to speak with him.

“Indeed. It is finally time for him to come home and take part in his birthright, old friend.”

Alfred turns away from the half-God they’re observing, “it has been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Sire?”

For a moment, the Father of the Gods, the former Titan, Bruce, looks sadly at the boy, hands fisting on the edge of the seeing water’s cradle. Even stone here in the Heavens would crumble under his fists.

“It is beyond time, my old friend. It is time he comes home.”

**

He is back to sitting on the throne when his three sons answer his call.

Dick, his firstborn, the God of Rebirth and Renewal.

Jason, his second born, the God of the Underworld.

Damian, his youngest, the God of War.

When the three appear before the massive door to his throne room, their voices echoing, the surge of pride in them fills his chest to near overflowing. His sons all grown into Gods of valor and might.

“Damn, Goldie,” Jason teases, a salacious grin at his brother’s normal tight body suit perfectly outlining every salacious inch. He pinches the material between two fingers, a contrast to his sharp, black, three-piece suit and the Demon’s intricate armor. “Betcha get all hot n’ bothered when it’s time ta hunt, ya feel me?”

Dick just snorts at his younger brother, knocking his hand away to sweep the taller God up in both arms and hold him off the ground.

“I know that just means you missed me, Jay. We haven’t seen each other since that last fight in the Underworld, when those underlings tried to overthrow you. We made a great pair, remember?”

Damian removes his helm, rolling his eyes at the antics of his older siblings, tries to remember he is the bright one of the family. (Even though he would obviously say Barbara is the smartest and Cassandra the most fearsome.)

“Yeah, yeah. Good ta see ya, too. Now pum’me down.”

“Aw, you’re no fun anymore. Where’s the snarky little hellion I used to give noogies?”

“See, that’s what policin’ damned souls does ta ya, yeah?”

Grinning behind his hand at their bickering, the Father of the Gods stands from his throne, strides down the white and gold steps, waves a hand to open the massive gold doors to his throne room to take in each of his sons into his arms, warm to his core at how well each still fits into his embrace even all grown up.

“Not to worry,” Bruce interrupts their banter. “Your sisters will see to everything while you are gone.”

He has their attention, and sighs, palming the side of Dick’s face, ruffling the white streak in Jason’s hair, and finally rests a hand on the back of Damian’s neck.

“Gone?” Damian’s immediate reaction is suspicion because Father gives the utterly worst tasks. 

“Barbara can handle being the Goddess of the Elements. Cassandra will make a formidable Goddess of War, and Helena will… enjoy taking on Goddess of the Underworld.”

“Not likin’ th’ sound’a this,” Jay straightens, slides his fingers over the lapels of his suit, smoothes out the lines. 

“If this is anything like the last few adventures, Bruce, you can just send someone else–“ Because, yeah, Dick has other things to do than run all over the place on another crazy God hunt. 

No thanks.

But rather than use the usual methods to gain their agreement, their great Father instead… sighs.

“The truth, my sons, is that I have called you all here because this undertaking is of the utmost importance. I can trust only you three, no others.  But, more to the point, I don’t think any but all of you together can accomplish it in time.” And it’s jarring to see the Father of the Gods look sad, tired, worn in the way of mortals. “In many ways, I am…torn that you will learn the truth in this manner, but come! Let me show you instead.” He leads them to the viewing pool where Alfred stands idly watching. 

The younger Gods crowd around the delicate bowl seemingly grown from the floor, full of the prophetic waters, a gift from Barbara.

For Father to need them like this, a task only his first sons could accomplish, they’re all a bit breathless wondering what this could possibly be. 

“A mortal?” Dami sounds less insulted than surprised, staring into the image in the waters. “A mere mortal, Father? It takes thousands to wage a decent battle.”

A second glance when Jason’s eyes narrow, when Richard leans further over the waters, licking his lips, and Damian pauses, tilts his head to be certain he is not imagining it.

A blink, a glance at his enraptured brothers, and the gentle glow about the mortal man, the curve of his pink mouth in a welcoming smile, the vibrant blue-violet of his eyes, the curve of biceps and shoulders, the way he merely moves is –

Mesmerizing.

“He ain’t a mortal. Can’t be. N’ I’d know if he was one a’ mine masquaradin’ on Earth,” Jay leans his forearms down on the water’s vessel.  “I can letta demon be beautiful, don’t geddit wrong. But that sweet lil’ innocent is something else entirely, ya feel me?”

“But he’s in the mortal world,” Dick reasons, looking back at what he assumes is their next prey. “He functions like he belongs there,” he gestures to the man taking money from customers, talking with a soft grace, a kindness they can feel through the waters without hearing a word.

“He should not be,” Damian’s hands tighten on the vessel, delicate gold and white creaking with the strength of it. “Mortals cannot see what he is as we can. They could–“ cause him harm, take him, own him, almost leaves the God of War’s lips. He balks at that line of reasoning, but still, his mouth waters in anticipation, his eyes cannot look away.

The Father of the Gods nods sagely, a worn sigh raising his chest, “unfortunately, he has borne many burdens from living in the mortal world. Some that would have broken a lesser creature. But, as you can see, my sons, he remains steadfast.”

Dick hums, still watching as the mortal is now apparently taking a large stack of cups from a plastic sleeve and putting them back down on some kind of holder. Seemingly ordinary as they come, but if this is the subject of their father’s attention, there must be more than meets the eye. As the eldest, he’s very well aware of their Father’s tendencies for a good, dramatic quest.  

“As much as I enjoy watching him,” and that is no false statement, not with how beautiful and soft and sweet this mortal absolutely is, “what does he have to do with us?”

Their Father breathes in sharply, “the matter is…complicated. What I want you to do is bring him here before me. I wish to finally see him with my own eyes.”

All three of his sons straighten, yell out denials of such a thing.

“It would kill him!” Damian raises a fist.

“Ya know a mortal can’t take alla this,” Jay waves a hand in B’s general direction.

“It would be kinder to end him with one shot,” Dick’s tone is flat, but he unconsciously positions his body between the viewing vessel and his great, powerful Father.

And Bruce, under the angry eyes of his sons, looks away. “It’s true he is mortal, but… he is only half.“

And now the boy’s ethereal beauty, softly glowing aura, the very subtle allure is answered when his sons look back, and their want for him doubles.

(A halfling. A mixture of man and God that could be a spectrum of delectable creatures. Most were brought to the Amazons for safe keeping, as the eventual maturation into their power as a divine event would surely give them away to mortals and other less ethical Gods. In a word, a truly earth-shattering awakening.) 

“This is why I can only entrust what must be done to the three of you.” Bruce looks between them at his long-missing son, long separated from him, and back to his beautiful Godlings. He pulls at the strings he knows are connected, “Only another God can bring him into his power so he is strong enough to stand before me. But, he is…unique. A single God cannot do it alone, but the three of you together. You, my sons, may be strong enough to awaken him. As it is, I fear another could come upon him first…and possibly takes him for themselves.”

As he predicted, Jason’s eyes narrow, a deceptively casual flip of his fine suit coat. Damian’s mouth raises in an over my bleeding corpse sneer, hand hovering over his sheathed weapon. And Dick arches a brow at their Father, arms crossed over his bare chest. While he absolutely sees through his Father’s ploy, he can’t help the throb in his veins to hunt, catch, keep when he thinks about any of his fellow Gods or Goddesses coming upon this apparent halfling before they do.  

“All right, all right,” Jay flips a half-assed salute, “we getcha, B. Ain’t gotta be a manipulative asshole ‘bout it.”

Dick snickers because well, it isn’t a lie.

Their great Father shrugs a shoulder, “I’m giving you the evidence you need to understand how important this is, Jason. This halfling is…special. Even I do not know what power he may bring forth once it is his time to awaken. The water itself will show no further future for him,” and an arm gestures to the view of the mortal. 

All three of his sons noticeably perk. Nothing like a good mystery to reel them in.

**

It’s a totally normal, sane day. 

And you know what? That’s nice once and a while.

With the tips he got yesterday, he’s going to be able to make his rent on time and being, you know, not homeless really is a thing worth celebrating.

Steph hands him the next order, and the two of them move around one another behind the counter in that comfortable way when you work so well with someone, it’s like the two of you share a brain. 

When it gets busy in the evening close to closing time, they get a nice little rush of people to close out the night.

They’ve got ten minutes, but most the machines at καφές (or ka-feys) are already cleaned and ready for tomorrow morning’s shift. Steph is whistling behind the counter while she counts out the tip jar, smoothing out wrinkled bills and cashing out the change for more dollars.

“It never fails,” she bemoans while he wipes down the back counters, “we make bank any time you are front and center, Timmers.”

His face gets pink where she can’t see and he scoffs for appearances, “people like seeing you more than they like seeing me, you know.”

“The bouncy, energetic vibe doesn’t always do the trick. Apparently the boy-next-door Hallmark type really does.”

He turns, clearly offended here because he works out when he can, was a gymnast in high school and everything!

He’s not a Hallmark throwback, fuck you very much.

“This is why I hate you.”

“Lies. You love me,” she makes kissy noises while he rings out the bleach rag and carries the bucket back to empty in the kitchen sink. 

Toss of the day rag in the dirty bin, wash up a few remaining dishes while he hums to himself, stoked about having enough in tips to splurge for a pizza with some left to go into savings for the someday when he can go back and finish college.

He thinks about his lonely little apartment buried in a tenement building a few blocks away in the infamous big city. Just one more sad story in a building of sad stories trying to make the next day count. 

If anyone had asked him five years ago where he’d be on his twenty-first birthday, this probably wouldn’t have been the answer.

The bell chimes with incoming, and he groans to himself as he’s on way through the swinging door, wondering which machine he’s going to have to dirty up to make whatever this asshole–

(The three men at his counter immediately zoom in on him, three sets of incredible eyes make him pause a moment, and luckily not melt into a proverbial puddle on the floor because this trio of man sandwich? Are the most breathtaking men he’s ever seen outside of a magazine, movie, or tasteful porn. He finds his heart picking up, beating harder in his chest, his face getting warm, his mouth watering when a quick mental flash of clothes on his bedroom floor is just the birthday gift he’s been waiting for.)

-wants.

Tim puts on his best how can I help you smile with his pulse thudding dully in the back of his mouth.

“Welcome to καφές,” and Steph totally appears magically by his side, like her inner wingwoman instincts called, staring at the buffet in front of them. “What can we make for you?”

**

Jason, Damian, and Dick.

This feels like a joke somehow.

It’s a joke because all three of these god-tier hotties seem to be…flirty? Kind of super obviously?

Steph sighs as she makes the Americano, watches Tim over her shoulder as he rings up the customers, and the one with the smooth accent literally puts a $100 bill in the tip jar.

In the tip jar

Without looking away from Tim.

The younger one has attitude for days, but he’s putting on the charm when he asks for Tim’s name (c’mon, we have name tags) in a low purr, and what would Timothy suggest for someone who likes light and sweet, hands on the counter close to Tim’s in a perfectly casual way.

The leaner one, who has an ass that could be considered out-of-this-world-hot, literally puts a hand on Tim’s, nodding with attentive eyes while Tim gives them the specials of the day (for the third time), and Steph comes very close to burning the shit out of herself while making his latte.

(They are so obvious. Tim what are you even doing right now? Why, whyyy isn’t her best friend telepathy working RIGHT. NOW?!)

They’re from out-of-town, on some business, and know nothing of the sights. Would he happen to be from Gotham? Could he suggest a nice hotel where they might get accommodations?

It’s right then. Right. Then.

She has to do something.

Because they? Are best friends. And she is invested as hell getting him laid. 

(After that awful break-up with Conner last year, he hasn’t gotten back on the proverbial horse. And this? Is his opportunity of a literal lifetime.)

“Tim! Could you help me just a minute–“ is sweet and soft, her smile warm and welcoming. “If you guys wouldn’t mind having a seat over there, Tim can bring your drinks in a jiffy!”

The looks are absolutely sinful and even her sweet best should be picking up on the UST less than a foot away from him.  She bites the inside of her cheek at how pink his face is when their customers finally take a few steps away from the counter.

She pulls him back around the set-up to the sinks by one wrist, almost hopping up and down with excitement.

“Wh-what did you need help with? Did the espresso machine go down again?”

“Are you fricking kidding me right now?” She whispers furiously, “Tim. Timmy. Honey. Sweet Summer Child. You are going to listen up and do exactly as I say.”

Now he’s rolling his eyes because something is definitely coming that he isn’t going to like.

“You are going to take out their drinks, and tell them you know a perfectly nice hotel not far from here. If they seem interested, you’re going to tell them you’d be happy to give them directions or maybe show them where. Le Grande is only a few blocks away, and you might have a chance to be the jelly in that sandwich.”

“Are you serious?” He deadpans. “They’re just…being nice. It’s late, they want coffee,” he shrugs awkwardly, “you know. Just really friendly people?”

“This is Gotham,” she deadpans back, “there are no friendly people. But they? Are so into you. Take their drinks, tell them you know where they can stay the night, a place with a nice bar and good reputation. If they invite you to have some birthday drinks with them, then, for the love of God, Tim, say yes. Maybe if you get a few in you, they’ll invite you to their room for a game of hide the salami. If they do, you’d better come back with stories for days.”

“I love you, but you make me crazy,” and he walks around to finish up the drinks, shaking his head with a grin. “C’mon, like I would even show up on their radar? I’m betting CEOs or Hollywood kept husbands.”

And now the game has begun. Steph goes around behind him to clean-up the mess. “Tallest is an underwear model. I’ll accept nothing less, not with an ass like that.”

“Unless they’re in porn,” he comes back with a lowered voice, chancing a glance over his shoulder to find the three beautiful men looking back at him from the only table still with chairs on the ground. 

“I can see it,” she returns with a laugh, “I mean. They are off the charts.” But she gives him the side-eye, bites down when he is completely gone.

And Tim doesn’t answer, can’t for the way his breath is literally taken away. His crazily eidetic memory spits out Damian when their eyes meet from across the mostly closed shop, Jason and Dick are talking low, glancing at him with flirty, interested smiles, but Damian hasn’t looked away, those green eyes incredibly intense. 

Like picturing someone with their clothes off, tied to his bed, third orgasm ruined, and the next one carefully planned out for the execution, kind of intense.

Damian licks his lips, making it obvious, while those eyes take a slow sweep down his body, and Tim can’t help the abrupt strike of heat that shivers up his spine. 

**

“He is more beautiful in person,” Dick says low in the old language. “Father was right to send us.”

Jason glances at their older brother, sitting back in the rickety chair with deceptive ease, the very picture of beg me to fuck you. For the last ten minutes, he’s been picturing that cute little barista panting under him, eyes dazed and desperate in the same breath. 

“Kinda begs the question howz he been able ta live with mortals like this. Someone oughta found ‘im out by now.”

Without looking away, catching the curve of cheek go pink with his attention, Damian smirks behind his hands. “Father said twenty-one years. Perhaps he was be-spelled as an infant. That would explain why he was forced to stay here with mortals rather than live among other halflings sired by Gods.” 

And in their world, curses are more common than one would think.

“If the spell had an anchor date, no one would notice him until the duration.”

“’S already hard ta take m’ eye off’n him,” Jay admits low, rumbling deeply in his chest, “gonna be soon if he ain’t already there, ya feel me, boys?”

Dick hums an affirmative, eyes narrow on their prey.

“Should we discuss an actual plan to bring him into his power?” Because Damian is already salivating for the man moving behind the counter.

Initially, Damian had been against father’s wishes. He was in no way prepared for the first glance in the waters, only slightly less enthralled now that he’s been in the mortal’s presence. His soothing nature, his song-like voice, the pink of his lips, the deep darkness of his eyes, the radiance and calm Damian felt immediately soothes something desperately angry that has always animated him as the God of War. 

In that moment, not having this man is unacceptable. He has every intention of joining Richard and Jason in bed with this Tim, aiding them in pleasuring this man over and over and over. The need is compounded after facing Tim’s easy smile and soft laughter. Damian finds himself hungry, arousal burning him from within, replacing the fire of his rage with something more primal. He immediately imagines that softly smiling face to be twisted with unbearable pleasure, bare and beautiful with his thighs over Damian’s shoulders, voice hoarse from moaning, crying, begging. 

All that in his mind’s eye while watching Tim’s moving mouth, imaging how he would taste. 

Dick’s mouth quirks when he catches the very intense vibe his youngest brother is setting off, sees their important assignment get adorably flustered. The other mortal behind the counter is talking with flailing hands and easy to read lips, his senses reach out with the wind to catch as much of their conversation as possible, gathering information on their prey. 

He smirks when the female mortal seems to be on their side. The hunt won’t be as difficult as he’d first imagined when he had answered their Father’s call. 

Jay laughs at their younger brother, “thought that one was obvious from how hard yer cock is in yer pants, Demon.”

The God of War doesn’t bother to look away from their eventual conquest, “tt. Crude as usual. Unlike you, I do not usually have a taste for mortals. He is the first I’ve come across to elicit this…reaction.”

Dick smirks when the female rightfully compliments his ass, tuning back into the conversation while he subtly watches their assignment come back around the bar and work the machines. He’s already formulating a plan, not counting on their individual power to simply overtake Tim with eye contact. Commands might not work either, but they would need to test it on him to know for sure. Jason’s usual seduction didn’t make Tim speechless with desire, Damian’s intimidating aura didn’t terrorize him or incite him to violence, and Dick’s mostly-feral predator vibe didn’t trigger Tim’s fight or flight. Come to think of it, their usual effect on mortals didn’t seem to happen to Tim at all. 

“Ta be honest…halflings like him,” Jay hitches a thumb in the direction of their prey, “are at least prepared fer what’s ta come, see, ‘cause most halflings are on Paradise Island with the Amazons. Gods n’ Goddesses can find ‘em there, n’ the Amazons keep ‘im all safe. ain’t like that until after a full God brings ‘im ta power. This?” and Jay gives a sweep of one hand to encompass everything, them, the mortal world, the coffee shop. “Well, this ain’t ‘xactly the precedent.”

“Surely, since he is still technically mortal, he is...fragile. How can we take him without killing him before his power manifests?”

Dick’s eyes narrow, “simple. He already has an aura of a godling. It’s only getting stronger, and will be more so as long as we are close. By the time he’s ready, he’ll be strong enough to take us.”

“I feel that,” Jason smirks a lil, crossing his ankle over his knee, chair facing toward the pretty thing just waiting fer ‘em. “He’s further along than any I ever felt not pantin’ under a God.”

Dami shifts slightly, rolls his shoulders back. “You say this as though he is ...different, Jason.”

“Come offa it, Dames. Why else would the big man hisself call alla us fer one halfling, eh? Like that ain’t so far under his usual, yeah? I’m thinkin’ this pretty boy might be Daddy’s dirty lil secret.”

Damian straightens, finally taking his eyes off their conquest to glare at his half-brother, “you believe our Father has lain with a mortal and born another child? This man?”

Jay shrugs a careless shoulder, “Only explanation as ta why he asked alla us ta be in on the deal. Way it’s s’pposed ta go, ya only need one God ‘er Goddess ta bring a halfling. So, why’s B called in the big guns unless he’s somethin’ more? C’mon, Demon. Unique my ass.” His forefinger makes a circle around their table, putting the bigger question out there.

“If he is half blood of our Father,” Dami’s voice goes low and thick, thoughts churning dark behind his eyes, “then taking him to bed–“

Jason laughs out loud again, eyes glittering in the overhead lights, flecks of jade in a sea of blue. “–is gonna be the fuck of yer immortal life, Baby. Anyone with ‘im is gonna ride ‘im like an animal ‘till he screamin’ an’ all that power is gonna fill ‘im right on up like a cup runnin’ over.”

It’s very obvious when Damian’s eyes dilate, slide back to their pending conquest.

Dick looks over at his middle brother with a frown, “don’t count your chickens, Little Wing. The hunt isn’t over.” He turns back to their prey, “we have him in our sites, but we have to actually catch him.”

Jason clicks his tongue, “I got it on good authority we can convince ‘im. I mean, ya lookit us lately? Mortals are all over me on any standard day.”

And, it’s not a lie. Of the three of them, Jason directly interacts with mortals the most. Whether in the Underworld overseeing punishment, or in his high-end nightclub in Los Angeles, Jason lives among mortals with Father’s blessing (as long as the Underworld is kept closed and the guilty submit to justice). 

“Well, we gave him a backstory, so the next step is having a den to secure him. Jay, that female mentioned Le Grande. Sound familiar?“

“Oh yeah, it does. No worries, Big Wing, I’m onnit,” and a salacious grin the working barista happens to catch. 

While Jason Todd now lives in the City of Angels, Gotham was always his first stomping ground. Whenever he wants a vacation from his nightclub or the hell loop management he’s got going on down below, he comes back to Gotham to live a little in the old style. He pulls a phone from his inner jacket pocket, makes a quick call, his voice low and hypnotic, watching as the female puts all their drinks on a small tray for the halfling to carry to them. 

He hangs up when the Penthouse is on the way to being prepared, any time Mr. Todd, and a slow smirk slides over his face while he imagines that pretty boy ready ta be debauched in all right ways, laid out against blood-red sheet in a very impressive bed, that pink mouth open and panting their names like a prayer.

(Fuck, he’s getting more powerful. We ain’t gonna have much time. He and Dickie share a side eye while their Dames gets caught further under this boy’s spell. Fer a first mortal, their lil murder muffin picked one hell of a time ta get a taste.)

“No worries, boys. Nest is gonna be swanky as fuck ‘cause I got standards n’ all.”

“I’m more concerned about whether it’s safe, Jay. I don’t want anyone else finding him for a while, at least not until he is able to go before Father.” Dick subtly watches their prey, keeping tabs on the beauty coming so close to his time. The faint power humming like an aura is a drug to any full God in the area.

“We can make him agreeable enough to keep others from finding him.” Damian waves off, unconcerned. “Once he is fully awakened, his stamina will increase exponentially. Then it is a matter of keeping him in bed long enough to acclimate accordingly.”

“Not if he’s immune to our sway over mortals, Little D.” Dick’s eyes narrow, his gaze turns shrewd, “So we are going to keep him agreeable by being on our best behavior and seduce him the right way, slow and gentle until he gives us some indication he can take…more. Everyone understand?”

The scoff from their God of War includes a roll of the eyes because this man is their spoils. Things like slow and gentle aren’t necessary when you are claiming what you’ve rightfully taken. 

Jason, however, smiles wide and white, “ya said the secret word, Dickie.”

(No one has to verify it is indeed seduce.)

“Just keep in mind. We’re here to help him, not hurt him. The sex is going to be fantastic considering how innocent he looks, but we’re also keeping him safe.” 

“The only true concern is Chaos. If any of them get a hint of him, we will indeed have a battle on our hands,” Damian idly observes, just the thought of what his Chaos Grandfather would do to this beautiful being makes his fists clench, makes fury find root in his heart where the the urge to claim what is his, theirs, grows stronger. 

Dick immediately straightens, has a second to shutter at the image of Ra’s appearing before this (their) mortal and seducing him out of his innocence, Ra’s keeping him chained to a bed with jeweled restraints, Ra’s taking advantage of his power, his body, his very essence.

Dick seethes just thinking about it.

“We’ve already found him,” Dick tries to keep his voice steady, eyes all for the boy laughing at the female’s antics, moving around the machinery with knowledgeable hands, “the plan is we keep him secure until he’s stable enough with his power to enter Father’s presence, then they won’t be cause for concern. Chaos cannot enter the Heavens. There, he will be the most safe.”

Jason and Damian both give him their attention.

“C’mon, Dickie,” is smooth in the way Jason can be, their bringer of punishments. “Ya ain’t tellin’ me alls yer thinkin’ ‘bout is keepin’ that lil piece safe? Wid’ an ass like that? Getting all pink just talkin’ the talk?”

Damian hums softly, “he will be exquisite.”

“Like I already said,” Dick smiles widely when Tim finally picks up the tray with a last few words to his co-worker who is cleaning the machines they just used. “The sex is going to be fantastic.”

 **

The three hottest men on the planet have unfairly low standards, or he’s being fed a line. Tim can’t really decide which.

Steph was just telling him to take them to a hotel in hopes they wanted him to come up for a drink. 

And that is literally happening here.

Right in his face.

After handing out their drinks, Jason’s low drawl (and God what that is doing to Tim’s brainpan should be considered a crime here) casually name drops the most expensive hotel in Gotham, just like so Timmy, we jus’ godda nice room there. It ain’t far, but ya could take us th’ easy way. Maybe come up fer a drink after yer shift?

“We would absolutely love to have a drink with you, Tim. A thank-you for staying open long enough to give us a place to orient ourselves in a new city.”

“I agree with Richard. We owe you quite a debt, don’t we? It is only polite we…compensate you for the inconvenience, yes?”

He knows his face is pink with what is absolutely nothing less than an invitation to a foursome with three gorgeous men he has a hard time looking away from. 

Their eyes feel like hands moving down his body, under his clothes, and in a crazy kind of way, he’s not having paranoid thoughts of kidnapping and human trafficking that could possibly explain why these men wanted ordinary, every-day, boy-next-door him.

His hand unconsciously tightens around the tray he’s holding by his side, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think this-“ he makes a circular motion with his free hand, “is going to happen. You guys are, ah, a little above my level, and not in a bad way. The flirting is…nice. It’s been a while okay, and I’m weak, but whatever. Anyway, Le Grande isn’t far, so not hard to find, and I’m sure anyone would be happy with some of that um…compensation.  So, please enjoy your drinks and have a good night,” he gives him his professional, glad to help you smile, turns on his heel, and walks away without a backward glance.

(Even if he’s mentally facepalming himself to Mars the whole way.)

**

Steph is beyond disappointed. She’s literally radiating some kind of what the fuck are you thinking energy while they finish up with the machines, doors now securely locked, main lights out, and the night is finally over.

Their last customers took their drinks with a disappointed air and left not long after his little speech, casting glances at the counter where he was stocking things up while Steph watched them mournfully go.

She had about five minutes of incredulous ire, but he literally lays it out for her.

“What do you think men like that want with someone like me?” 

Knowing her, she’d be picturing him naked with a collar around his neck in some rich guy’s mansion somewhere, and she relents a little because yeah, he has a pretty valid point.

The streetlights glow softly in the night as Tim waits while Steph locks the door, and they walk the usual five blocks to her building. Talking about the end of the night is taboo by now, especially when they pass the street leading to Le Grande and just keep walking.  They talk about their plans for their next two days off–

(“I have a hot date.”

“Mmhm, Dungeon and Dragons, Tim?”

“What? Hello, D&D was so last year…. It’s Warhammer, actually.”)

– and Steph bemoans his fortune one last time.

(“But like, what if-“

“I don’t think I want to speculate. If I do, then I might realize that was a bonehead move.”

“Aw, Timmy. The next time hot guys flirt, give them the benefit of the doubt. You could have at least said yes to the drink.”

“Well, I am twenty-one today.”)

He waves, waits until she’s in the building before moving deeper into the Gotham night. He’s careful about staying in the shadows with his head down to avoid notice. It’s not great here in the Narrows, but he loves his place above the old theatre even if the rent is just this side of ridiculous, especially for this part of town.

Still, it’s always a 50/50 walking home. 

The several creepy alleyways between the shop and his penthouse could house just about anything, from a robbery to a shooting to kidnapping most nights, and he hunches further in his hoodie, keeps his head low. Against his better judgment, he’s thinking about them instead of the pitiful cupcake waiting in his fridge with a candle on top and ordering a fresh pizza.

He thinks about the humor in Dick’s eyes, and the interest in Jason’s. Not to mention how…intense Damian had been. He’s helpless to wonder if those gazes would be the same if they were all in bed together…

His face is suddenly a little hot, and he firmly decides he’s totally allowed to speculate about what-if he’d legit said something like, “a drink? That would be really nice actually.”

Yeah, that would have led them to a very nice hotel room with a minibar, and maybe some making out to start.

(He might be sitting on Dick’s lap once he’s had a few drinks in him, getting hotter with each new purposeful brush of hands against him.

Pressed up behind him, Jason would tip his head back for dirty, deep kisses, pulling off his mouth with an audible sound.

“Yer birthday, izzit? Well, me n’ my boys def’nitely gotch the perfect present f’ ya.”

Damian would lean in to talk against his ear, make him shudder in their arms, “It’s easy to unwrap, Timothy. I can promise you would enjoy it.”

And if he whines when Dick bites down on his throat, then only the three hottest men he’s ever seen would be able to say for sure.)

He’s completely into the what-if and is probably why his resident-of-Gotham-fight-or-flight instinct doesn’t kick in.

Before the man with the gun ever turns around to face him, Tim can tell he’s dangerous because he’s scared. Desperate and scared are such a bad combination.

But even if the man with the gun is desperate, the small family huddled in terror have so more to lose. 

Tim's eyes go wide because his night just changed forever, and his automatic reaction is to take a half step forward, to reach out a hand, to a "don't do this, please don’t do this," rolling right out of his mouth. 

He’s helplessly looking from the gunmen to the family pinned down in this dirty alleyway leading to his place and the theatre, heart throbbing in fear for the little boy in a nice suit clutching his mother and father with tight fists.

And something in Tim firms, cements, in the immediate, abrupt belief that this is going to end in his favor. Something inherent in him knows he has control of the situation. 

The gunman’s barrel is aimed dead center. 

(A killing blow.)

"You aren’t going to do this," something in him pushes and pulls, something that makes him so sure, so fucking sure, no one in this alley is going to die tonight. (But, his knees still knock with fear and adrenaline while his brain pan works in overdrive.) 

A shudder goes through the hand holding the gun, eyes he can't really see in the dark, narrow from below the brim of a dirty hat.

"Get lost, kid.” But the guy plainly swallows, sweat beading off the side of his face, muscles tight with strain. “This isn’t any of your business." 

Tim grits his teeth, doesn’t move forward in case he sets something off. "All of us can identify you, and you aren't going to get enough shots off to kill everyone, not without being noticed, even in this neighborhood." His eyes slide back to the family when the motion of the father pulls the small, blue-eyed boy behind them, shielding him. 

You are going to go home tonight, alive and together, Tim promises the little boy with his eyes. Everything is going to be fine.

(And if he could stop it from happening to that little kid with a trembly lower lip and three-piece suit because he got to go with his parents for a night at the movies, then he damn sure isn't going to run.)

"So you?" His own voice goes deep, dark, and from somewhere past all his own fucked-up pain and trauma (his past scars buried in grief and mourning and moving forward because for fuck's sake, there was nothing to go back to) . "Aren't going to hurt anyone." 

“You seem pretty fucking cocky, you little shit.”

“Only because you know I’m right. GCPD always has patrols here, so you won’t get far.” 

The gunman sneers, his arm starting to get tired holding up the shiny automatic. 

The mother over the gunman’s shoulder has a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet, but the small family is subtly shuffling slowly backwards. Tim gets it. He needs to keep the attention on himself, give them time to get out of the line of fire. "The way I see it, you've got two options here." 

He slides his wallet out of his back pocket, holds it up over his shoulder between two fingers. "Take this as a door prize and run. Or, try to shoot us, potentially miss because that .38 special is a piece of crap, and have a pretty nice cell at Blackgate for the trouble. Robbery is one thing, but murder? Definitely a whole different type of crime."

The father keeps slowly hedging his family back, trying not to make sudden moves while Tim keeps his wallet waving back and forth, keeps the motion so the gunman stays trained on him. 

The tension is palpable while he waits for the gunman’s decision, the next move, the next flinch, the resounding blam as the gun goes off, his pulse thudding in the back of his mouth even while he knows everything is going to work out in their favor. 

Take the wallet and run, he keeps thinking over and over and over. Don’t look back at them. Take the wallet and run.

A huff in the night between them, and the gun barrel disappears inside a ratty coat, the gunman darting up to snatch the wallet out of Tim’s hand and hightail it the fuck out of the alley.

Once he’s gone and the echoing footsteps fade, the relief is palpable.  The father lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank-you,” he tells Tim gravely from across the alley. He turns to scoop up the little boy, weave an arm around his wife’s waist, and steer them back toward the theatre and into the light. 

Tim, heart thudding in his chest, turns to put his back against the rough brick and mortar. His knees feel weak with relief and adrenaline now that the obvious surge in bravery (reads as stupidity, tempting a guy with a gun and all) has left him panting and shaky.  “Sure, it’s fine. Being shot in Gotham isn’t really a big deal.”

He’s pretty sure he muttered it to himself because the small family fleeing their almost-demise doesn’t turn. But the voices from the mouth of the alley gasp in outrage.

“What almost happened?!”

Tim jerks because he didn’t think anyone else was behind him when the gunman took off. Imagine his surprise when his customers are standing there staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shot?” Jay is already striding forward, hands all over the barista to look for injuries because dammit, were they too late and someone already got at him? 

Dick has a hand on Damian’s shoulder, pushes the youngest toward the running gunman in an obvious message before joining Jay at their halfling’s side. 

He notices how big those blue eyes are with Jay’s long fingered hands pulling and tugging and touching. He catches the pink in Tim’s face when Jay’s hands finally wrap around his hips, thumbs in the niches. Their prey is in their trap now, theirs to reel even closer. All they have to do is keep him cornered and wait for the right moment to strike.

“N-no, nothing, I’m fine, really!” Tim sputters, stepping back out of grabby hands, face hot with how strong Jason’s hands are. “I mean, that’s-that’s pretty standard for Gotham, actually.”

Dick has no qualms palming the side of Tim’s face, tilting his eyes up, using just a bit of influence in his tone when he asks, “still, did he hurt you, Tim?” 

“No! No, I’m okay. Situation defused. I just had to give him incentive to leave without firing the gun.”

Dick hums, thumb moving over the cut of Tim’s jaw. “He was dangerous. Standing up to him was very brave, Tim, but you could have been seriously hurt. I’m a little worried about letting you out of my sight with guys like him running around.”

Jay’s eyebrow arches because wow, Dickie. ‘At was nice. But even if he knows the oldest is trying to push, trying to make Tim fall under his spell, become more..open...to suggestion as Gods have sway over mortals. It takes Jason a second to realize their little mortal ain’t looking all dreamy-eyed n’ dazed with Dickie’s influence. 

Means, they’ve godda play this the way Dick said from the beginning. Tricks ain’t gonna make it easy fer any of ‘em.

Not that he’s got a problem chasing when they play hard-ta-get. 

“I mean, I made it this far in life,” Tim jokes weakly, breath shuddering when Dick’s thumb feathers over his lower lip. “I don’t – why were the three of you passing over this way? I know I gave you foolproof directions earlier.”

Instead of answering, Jay wants to give it a go, lets himself pours on the voice, “Ya look shakin’ up a lil’ there, Baby. Lookit this,” wrapping his long fingers around one of Tim’s hands, thumb rubbing over the softly beating pulse in his wrist. “Yer hand’s tremblin’. Might wanna come back ta th’ hotel n’ get a drink after all, feel me? Getcha nice n’ calmed down. Ledd’us drop ya off once yer better. Make sure ya don’t run inta no more trouble. ‘Course we want ya ta be safe n’ sound, don’t we?”

With the darkness in Jay’s eyes, the possessive hold Dick has on him, Tim can barely swallow, can barely catch a breath.

Luckily, his mouth catches up before his brain has time to process the logistics of where the hell did you come from again?

“I can’t, sorry. I kind of gave up my wallet when–”

“After what you went through, it’s our treat,” Dick soothes, his other hand itching to touch skin, “consider it a birthday drink.”

The two of them give a more overt push.

Tim sucks in a breath to decline, but when Dick takes his hand, the what-if in his brain pan flares to life again, and everything feels so much like fate or destiny. Like he was meant to say yes the first time and here he is getting some kind of divine do-over.

(Does he even believe in all that shit? Probably not, just his brain trying to help him get laid is more likely the case.)

Either way, how can he say no a second time?

**

The answer. 

He doesn’t.

In less than ten minutes, he’s packed between Dick and Jason in a booth at Le Grande’s very posh digs, a place he’d probably never see in his life considering only the Gotham elite had a place in the VIP lounge.

He’s nervously wiping the condensation off his drink, trying not to think of Jason’s massive thigh pressed up against his or Dick’s hand casually on his knee on the other side. Jay has some ridiculously tall beer, and Dick is sipping on a blue drink from a martini glass. Tim has a water with lemon since, you know, his wallet was taken and he literally has no identification to prove he’s of age.

Out of the dim, Damian stalks toward them like a sleek panther stalking prey, those jade eyes zeroing in on their table. With a smirk, he slides into the other side of the booth and holds Tim’s wallet between thumb and forefinger. He places it in front of their...night’s acquisition, already eyeing the barista’s soft t-shirt and jeans, calculating how fast they can strip him of the clothes.

Tim’s mouth drops open when he opens his wallet to find money and identification still there, “h-how did you…?”

“I am very persuasive,” Damian purrs over the music, “it is a gift.” He has a moment of satisfaction, recalling the thief’s absolute terror when Damian took on his godly form, full height with spiked armor and flaming sword, glowing green eyes behind his helm, ready to strike the criminal down with one mighty blow.

“Return the wallet and never seek to harm another soul as long as you remain on this mortal coil.” Was like ground glass, the flaming blade scant inches from the criminal’s nose.

He didn’t kill the mortal, hadn’t seen the point really.

Tim’s soft smile and awed, “thank-you, Damian.” made dealing with another pesky mortal worth the trouble. “Did you call the police? Turn him in?”

“Unfortunately, he threw your wallet at me and ran. I chose not to follow.” A small lie but Damian will take Timothy’s appreciation nonetheless. “However, I believe he will refrain from petty theft from here on out. You must have made…an impression.”

He gives Jason a side-eye to make sure his brother understood.

Before Tim could ask more questions, Dick winds an arm around his shoulders and cheers. “Great job Baby Bat! You saved Timmy’s wallet!”

“Of course, it was my pleasure to assist our beloved barista.”

Tim’s face goes warmer, even without a drink.

“All right,” Jay grins down at their little halfling, “now’s ya can have a drink wid’ us, yeah? Gonna celebrate turning the big two one in style, feel me?”

“Don’t worry,” Dick soothes, “we have a place upstairs if we celebrate too hard. Have to warn you, I’m a cuddler and I sleep naked.”

Tim doesn’t know if his face can get any more red.

While their little halfling looks about ready ta bust, Jay takes advantage of the distraction, motions to the cocktail waitress making rounds. She scurries right on up to their table, squints at Tim’s ID for a few minutes and then back at him. 

Dick orders a round for the table in a tone that is mesmerizing and she assures them she’ll hurry back with their drinks.

Tim only downs three drinks that night, but the soft buzz is nice enough to take the edge off.

He learns Jason manages a nightclub, Damian is a weapons enthusiast, and Dick apparently does some kind of contract work for environmental agencies. All of it is pretty vague and none of them go into detail as to why they’re in Gotham in the first place, or where they’re originally from. Instead, they ask him numerous questions about his life and his job. His parents and family (all of them long gone. He’s got Steph and Ives now). Why he stays in one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. You know, understandable questions if not a little intense.

While he’s pleasantly sinking into the soft feeling, the three men around him don’t seem to be affected by the alcohol in the slightest but are intently listening to him talk about his life.

(College was a pipe dream. Right now, he’s just keeping afloat, squirreling away every dollar he can for the inevitable move out of Crime Alley. One day his shitty laptop will be a state of the art system. One day, he’s going to get into social work or something to help other kids like him, so another doesn’t slip through the cracks to live a partial life. He’s rambling like fuck when he tells them this, keeps going past it without noticing the look passing between the three.)

Their attention is...odd. Nice but odd.

He hasn’t felt important to anyone since Conner broke it off, breaking his heart without trying to hurt him. Theirs was just another tragedy that is his life.

Jay disappears for a moment and brings him water when he declines another drink, not wanting to walk home with stumbles, not after that situation with the gunmen could have ended horribly–

The night changes when he admits he’s never seen a room in Le Grande, never been through the doors before tonight no matter how long he’s lived in Gotham, and accepts the invite up to see the penthouse. All of it happening so easily is terribly close to what he’d imagined in his secret fantasy, that his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything other than yes.

[longlivedelusion]

If We We're Everything

Dorian x Orym

@apollosukelele @fairymonk as promised, the morning after the snuggles 🤍 hope you enjoy!

A/N: literally wrote this 20 minutes before the next episode started airing. Barely proofread, but wanted this to get out now now. Hope y'all like my take on this ✨

Warnings: spoilers up till C3 ep111, mentions of world ending stuff and general themes around that (it's C3 c'mon lol)

When Dorian woke up, he expected to be alone. Or maybe, he didn't really know what he expected.

Was the night before a dream? Did he imagine Orym's confession, the soft warmth of his skin pressed against his? The lull of a breath as soothing any lullaby? The smell of Orym, Orym, Orym-

The warmth was still there. The feeling of a body curled against his chest, soft waves threaded through his fingers. He opened his eyes slowly to see the halfling below him, chest rising and falling still in a deep sleep. How rare for him to catch his friend still asleep before him.

His friend. 

Could he just call him that now? What were they? Friends, lovers, partners? He's getting too ahead of himself. As much as he wanted something, everything with Orym, he didn't know what today would bring or what the other even wanted from this. Sure, Orym said he had liked Dorian for a long time, but that doesn't mean he wanted to jump into a relationship persay with him, he-

"I can feel you thinking," Orym said, voice still groggy from sleep.

"I'm sorry, just go back to sleep." He said as he softly began petting Orym's hair back.

"S'okay. Slept longer than usual anyways." Orym nuzzled into the touch before looking up at him with a soft smile. "Hi."

"Hi." Dorian felt his face flush slightly at the eye contact, his insides practically melting at the soft green eyes that peered up at him.

They stayed like that a moment, just looking at each other. The fondness in Orym's gaze making it hard for Dorian to think let alone speak.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Orym said, lulling the silence away.

It took Dorian a moment to think of something coherent to say, and he eventually managed out. "Everything, nothing. Us, the world. Today. You."

Dorian watched as the halfling's face changed into a knowing look, threading his fingers through Dorian's and giving them a gentle squeeze. "It's a lot isn't it?"

"It is," Dorian sighed out. "But this is enough. If all of it goes to hell today, then this will have been enough." The partial truth fell from his lips with ease. 

He felt Orym still beneath him, his tense body drawing Dorian's gaze back down. 

"Orym?" Dorian said, the worry seeping into him. Did he say the wrong thing? Did he-

The softest whisper left Orym's lips, otherwise lost if not for the close distance between them. 

"It's not enough." 

"What do you mean?" Dorian's heart sped up.

Orym's gaze flicked up to his, a slight sadness but determination in his eyes that was not there before. He shifted his body up, their heads now side by side in the pillow. 

"It's not enough." He said more clearly now, eyes fixed on his. "I want more time with you. To take you out on dates, to hold your hand. To show you how I feel without having to rush this."

Dorian's chest tightened, his stomach fluttering.

"I want-" Orym said, his voice near begging as he reaches up to cup Dorian's face, "to kiss you, somewhere beautiful. Somewhere you deserve. Not because the world might end and I might never get the chance to if I don't."

"Orym-" he felt his breath catch, eyes flickering down to the halfling's lips. How could his breath catch? "This is perfect, you're perfect. Just like this."

"You deserve the best, Dorian."

"You already are that," he said, holding Orym's hand to his face. "This, this is so much more than I ever could have imagined. Your touch alone makes my brain shatter and come together again in moments. This is nothing I've never experienced in my life, and best of all, I get to experience this with you. That's all I care about."

Orym's gaze held true to Dorian's, never wavering. "I still can't believe you feel the same way."

"I do," he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly as he realized with a flush. "I do. Feel very much the same." 

Dorian's gaze lowered to the halfling's lips and then up before he spoke again. "I'd really like to kiss you now, if that's alright."

Orym chuckled, the lines by his eyes crinkling slightly as he moved closer, but not quite where he wanted him. "That's more than alright."

Dorian's hand moved to Orym's jaw, fingers threading to the back of his head. His heart felt like a mess of nerves as he leaned forward. Never had he had anyone like this, someone he cared so deeply for, who made his skin feel feel alight, who made him feel this desire, this passion, this.

This.

His lips slowly pressed onto Orym's, a sigh escaping his love's lips as he kissed back. 

Dorian's thoughts left his mind. There was nothing but Orym in that moment, Orym's lips against his, the way they moved so slowly against his own, so patiently. He felt his heart beating so fast he swore the others could hear it from the other rooms if they tried. He tasted sweetness and possibility on Orym's lips, of trust and home, and it was so so perfectly Orym. So perfectly everything.

They did not break the spell for some time that morning, not even as life began to breathe into the others, as the smell of breakfast crept under the door. Only as they were forced apart by the sound of knocking from an apologetic Laudna did they break, and they laid their foreheads against one another for support as they caught themselves. Brought themselves back. 

They would make it through this day, if not for more of this. More of everything.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

May I request a story where Boromir doesn’t fall to the temptation of the Ring? If before Amon Hen, maybe he admits to another member of the Fellowship just how much he’s been struggling?

“Has the fire revealed any secrets in the 15 straight minutes you’ve been staring at it?” (Said to Boromir)

Thanks!

Lean On Me- Boromir x Reader

“Has the fire revealed any secrets in the 15 straight minutes you’ve been staring at it?” You ask your companion with a smirk as you watch his furrowed brows and serious eyes.

“Nothing as of yet, my lady,” he smiled bitter-sweetly, still staring into the flames.

His answer was not as playful as it usually was, and this began to worry you. During the journey so far, you and Boromir had grown close, and would often tease one another. Each of your jabs were usually met with an equal or even more teasing jab in return, so to have such a flat answer made your stomach turn with worry.

Taking the few steps over to him, you sit by your friend and place a gentle hand on his forearm. This small touch made him flinch, which increased your worry even more. Finally breaking his gaze from the fire, he looks into your eyes.

Staring back into his eyes, you see that small tears are beginning to fill them.

“Talk to me, Boromir, I’m here to listen,” you reassure him.

Gently you place a hand on his cheek, while the other holds his. Your touch seems to be a soothing balm for the pain he’s been feeling. Boromir closes his eyes and lets out a relieved sigh, letting himself be comforted by your touch.

Slowly he raises his hand to cover yours that rests on his cheek, as his eyes open and look softly into yours. You stare at one another for a while, until both your hands drop to hold each others and he begins to speak.

“It is the ring, I fear what it is doing to me. I know in my heart that I care for the halflings, especially Frodo, as I care for my own brother, but I feel a danger growing in me. I have no true desire to ever hurt any of my companions, but it feels as though there is a force out of my control, making me feel this way.” Letting out a shaky sigh, a lonely tear falls down his cheek as he looks are your intertwined hands.

“It is as though the loving and brave Boromir who I pride myself on is being burnt away, to reveal a darker more sinister side, a-and I am powerless to stop the flames.” He tearfully confesses to you.

His tears seem to grow as his shoulders shake and he tries to quiet his sobs from awaking the others. Looking at the hurt the ring is causing your friend, you wrap your arms around his strong shoulders and bring him in for a tight hug. Boromirs arms seem to naturally wrap around your waist as he sobs into your neck.

This is not an embrace of simply friends, but not one of lovers either, it feels deeper then that. To be held like this would normally make Boromir self conscious, but in this moment, he is simply reminded of his mother and his brother, and comfort and care is all he feels wash over him.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this Boromir, but I am here for you. I will not let the flames take my sweet Boromir away from me. I am with you every step of the way, to listen and care. I will fight the fire with you, and we will win, sweetheart.” You gently whisper into the sobbing man’s ear as you begin to rock him.

If Boromir had been in his healthy mind, he may have commented or teased about you referring to him as ‘your Boromir’ or ‘sweetheart’, but in this moment as you hold him in the dark of the night, he lets such sweet words soothe him. Boromir will replay your words many times that night before sleep would finally find him.

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

His Majesty the Worm

its wormin' time Genre: Dark(?) Fantasy, Dungeon Crawler, OSR

Touchstones: Classic TTRPGs, Dungeon Meshi

What is this game?: His Majesty the Worm is a Tarot-Based game that aims to take all the boring parts of OSR and make them into goofy and fun features

How's the gameplay?: Hoo boy, this is gonna be a dense one His Majesty the Worm takes on a Maximalist approach to game design, with many sub-mechanics affecting your overall performance, the core game's mechanic is using Tarot instead of Dice for randomization, while a Tarot deck (w/ minor arcana) is recommended, the game is designed so a standard 52 card deck could also work, albeit not recommended. Whenever a character needs to do something a TEST OF FATE starts, characters have stats based on the Arcana's suits, Wands, Pentacles, Cups, and Swords, and whenever a TEST OF FATE starts, they draw a card from the Minor Arcana deck, then add that stat to the number they drew (Face cards are 11-14, Fool is a 0). Characters have a choice between 4 paths (also corresponding to the Suits in a minor arcana deck), a Kith (species), and a Motif (a quick sum up for your character), if I wanted to play a crotchety wizard asshole I would play a Path of Wands character with the Motif "Grumpy Scholar" and the Kith Underfolk, since my wizard is a halfling. The game is split between two distinct phases, Crawling and Citying, The crawling phase is going into the megadungeon and looking around for loot, while the City phase is going into town and buying shit! This game really focuses down on the minor, mundane parts of adventuring, Food management, Managing what you're currently holding, Torch supplying, Equipment Upkeep, and Weight management are all vital parts of a character, this might sound boring, and in any other game it'd be! BUT his Majesty the Worm is built entirely around these granular, seemingly inconsequential mechanics, they feel warranted and fun. The game also has an in-depth Guild building mechanic, after paying the 50% tax that all adventurers must pay to enter town, you gotta use up all that gold from dungeons somewhere! and the best place to put it in is equipment, but second place is helping out your community by starting an adventurer's guild! By investing your hard earned gold into your community you can build many things! like Taverns, Unflattering statues of your rival guildmasters, Monasteries, and other such fun things! This isn't even getting into things like Sorcery and Alchemy and how those end up mattering, Status effects, Language management being a part of gameplay… His Majesty is a maximalist game in every way, but it knows how to blend all of its strange and seemingly menial mechanics to make a very fun experience, it takes some of the most unfun games in the market and goes "Ok but what if it worked?"

What's the setting (If any) like?: Uhhhh, there's a setting alright! It shows up in bits and pieces of flavor text and the like, but there doesn't seem to be a setting guide or anything, the setting is fairly malleable, but a general dark fantasy vibe is the norm, the game explicitly says its not supposed to have a set in bedrock setting

What's the tone?: Goofy Dark Fantasy, its a grim world, but its also silly and pokes fun at tropes of the genre as well as just has copious amounts of poop jokes, its not a game to be taken seriously tonally speaking

Session length: 4 hours minimum, this is a complex game

Number of Players: 5 is my recommendation, 1 gm and 1 player of each path

Malleability: Very malleable! its an explicit design goal!

Resources: The game's website has many resources available, including an online tarot deck, player sheets, and a guild sheet

I really didn't think I'd like this game that much! it's an extremely well made and well thought out look at the OSR genre, if we keep getting OSR game I hope they look more like His Majesty

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Ending Two: Our Angelfish

NOTE FOR MAINLY QUOTEV: Please stop asking for updates. It’s incredibly stressful and considered rude by most authors. I understand and honored that you’re excited to read my story, but please stop saying “Update?” and things like that. I don’t know when the next update will be, probably within a month.

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

I am no longer doing tags. Tumblr hates me and I’d rather not waste my time when there are so many! You can keep up to date on Twisted Zoo on Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, or AO3.

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Note: For Tumblr, the mature version of the endings (the afterendings) will begin sometime after I finish all the normal endings.

Note 2: I think they’ll all be short. Sorry. Also not even trying to go in order at this point.

When you stepped through the employee’s entrance to the aquarium, you could tell something was wrong right away. The water had steam rising from it and the room felt uncomfortably warm, reminding you slightly of the savannah.

Azul surfaced in the middle of the tank, his chin just above the hot sea water, and Floyd and Jade surfaced near the edge.

You walked closer and dropped to your knees at the platform’s edge, sticking your fingers into the water. Yes, it was definitely very warm.

“Is there something wrong with the tank?” you wondered aloud.

“No, angelfish, everything is perfect,” Azul said smoothly.

Immediately, clawed hands grabbed each of your arms, so tightly you were sure they’d leave marks, and pulled. You fell headfirst into the water and swallowed a lungfull of sea water before you could react properly. The salt stung your eyes and your lungs already ached for air since you hadn’t had time to hold your breath.

Your arms were released for a moment and you surfaced, gasping for precious air, then choking as Azul poured something into your gaping mouth. You stared at the octopus and he grinned at you unashamedly.

“What was that? What did you make me drink?” you asked, trying not to panic. Surely it was just something to help you breathe again or something? Right? Azul wouldn’t do anything to harm you, would he?

You started to swim back to the platform, but Floyd and Jade grabbed your arms again and dragged you further from the edge. “Let go! Now!” you demanded, but they merely chuckled at your plight.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, hysteria starting to rise. Your legs were starting to feel strange, tingling painfully, and you couldn’t move them any longer, held up only by the two eels.

“No, Shrimpy,” Floyd replied, giggling.

You looked to Jade for help.

“It’s time for you to join the family,” Jade replied simply.

You jolted as one of Azul’s tentacles wrapped around your legs, squeezing them together tightly, “We’ve been patient, angelfish, but it’s time now. This is where you belong.”

“Forever!” Floyd added with a loud giggle.

Pain shot through your legs and your skin began to prickle like a thousand needles had been stuck into them. The agony- it felt like your bones were shifting and reshaping themselves!

“Relax, little researcher,” Jade whispered, his warm breath on your ear making you shiver despite the warmth of the water, “It’ll be over soon.”

“Embrace it,” Azul encouraged, “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“Embrace… what?” you asked amidst the pain. Then you looked down at your legs, to see what was causing you so much agony. 

You stopped breathing altogether.

In place of your two legs was a beautiful white tail, much like how you would picture a mermaid’s, but with a silvery, translucent fin at the end of the smooth white scales. 

Beautiful, yes, but wholly unwanted.

You began to scream. At first, it was a wordless, terrified scream, but it turned to calls of help. “Mr. Crowley! Zookeepers! Anyone! HELP! PLEASE!”

You fell silent, trying to hold your breath, as the eel halflings dragged you under the surface. At last, when you could no longer hold your breath, inhaled underwater. You were even more horrified to realize you could breathe through the water with ease now. 

The eels dragged you into a huge sand castle they had built themselves, Azul following. You curled up and began to cry. Who would help you now? Who could help you? 

Somewhere above the surface, watching through the cameras, Mr. Crowley smiled.

He couldn’t wait to advertise his aquarium’s newest and most precious addition: the angelfish halfling that would never leave, as long as Jade, Floyd, and Azul were alive.