#so looking forward to her getting better looking armor one of these days

[water-to-drink]

How They Became Attracted to You

(Characters): Al haitham, Ayaka, Kaeya, Chiori

(Synopsis): First meetings with the most popular or influential students at the academy

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, reader is an artist, school au, reader is a transfer student, possible ooc Chiori, (if I missed something lmk)

(Word Count): 1.4k

(A/n): If you all like this then I’ll make a part two, just tell me which characters you want to see

🦅Al haitham🦅

🦅 The first and only one to best him in a test, a geometry test to be specific. He only came in at 99% while you come in at a perfect 100%

🦅 At first refused to believe that a mere art nerd could get a better score than him and so with as much delicacy as a bull in a china shop Al haitham came up to you and asked you how you got your score

🦅 Being randomly approached by the school’s smartest student you were very nervous and told him that you just did what you learned from class. Seeing that you won’t give him the answer he asks for you to tutor him which you agreed to go it, mostly because you were very nervous under his sharp gaze

🦅 While tutoring it became apparent that you sucked at explaining things to him, don’t get him wrong he already knows the material he just wants to know how and why you got a 100. As these sessions went Al haitham saw how your hands would glide across the paper, the delicacy almost amazed him

🦅 Slowly but surely Al haitham realized that there was more to your shy exterior. You were sassy and quick witted, you could even match his intellect on many topics, he finds himself feeling that he on an equal level with you.

🦅 Now he looks forward to your tutoring sessions, recently you two won’t do any tutoring just do your homework and talk about anything on your mind, the same mind that he finds so interesting and beautiful

🪭Ayaka Kamisato 🪭

🪭 The two of you have seen each other in the hallway before and after classes. She would always see you with a sketchbook in your hands or drawing in it. You didn’t take up too much real estate in her mind, the poor girl has too much going on as the daughter of the Kamisato family. That was until one day where Ayaka was leaving cram school and her chauffeur was stuck in traffic, she was approached by an older man

“What’s a girl like you doing out so late?”

“I’m leaving cram school, sir.”

“Cram school? You kids work so hard, I can show you a good time.”

“Uh, no thank you, sir.”

“C’mon, don’t be so stuck up, live a little-”

“What’s the problem?!”

🪭 There you are, yelling at the top of your lungs, she can tell that you’re scared but you still yell drawing more attention to yourself and the creep in question. Once a lot of people are watching the scene the creep walks off leaving you and her alone

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry that you had to step in.” Ayaka bows her head

“Don’t worry, I saw that you were uncomfortable so I decided to step in. See you around.” You waved goodbye as you walked off and her chauffeur pulled up

🪭 Later Ayaka came to learn that you didn’t know of the prestige that came with the Kamisato name. You came up and scared off the guy of your own volition, thinking that she was just an ordinary girl who needed to be rescued and that is what she’ll continue being to you

🪭 It wouldn’t be hard since you two are in different grades, you being her senior by a year. You would both meet up in a quiet cafe you work at, she learned that it was your family’s business and work there to help your family and to earn some pocket money. The two of you got so close that you even let her look through your sketchbook and Ayaka was amazed by your skills

🪭 When you offered to draw a portrait of her she jumped at the offer. So one day at your family’s cafe you presented her a drawing of her. You drew her as a swordswoman dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and armor, she profusely thanked you and framed it the moment she got home

🪭 There are some nights where if she can’t sleep mainly because of nerves she’ll take your drawing and look at it, thinking about you would quell her anxiety and give her the best of dreams. Just don’t tell her brother, she’s afraid he’ll scare you off

❄️Kaeya❄️

❄️ Is the complete opposite of his adopted brother, he’s known as the school’s flirt and a total playboy. He makes girls and guys alike go head over heels for him, and you, the new transfer student, is on his radar

❄️ He lives for making innocent things like you into a flustered little mess. So when he sauntered over to you and threw his usual flirty remarks, he wasn’t met with a sheepish face nor an oblivious one. No he was met with a look of disgust

❄️ Without saying anything you walked away from him, leaving him bewildered. Did he do something wrong? Everyone falls for him. Refusing to take this laying down Kaeya decides to find out why weren’t you under his spell

❄️ And so he began to make an attempt to learn more about you, your likes and your dislikes, or your hobbies. At first you would just ignore him when he would try to strike up a conversation and after a few weeks he decided to make a deal with you

“Are you serious?” You asked

“Dead serious. We’ll act as friends and if you still can’t stand me in 2 months, then we’ll stop. Does that sound good?”

“Only if you promise to leave me alone after?”

“If you still can’t stand me.” Kaeya threw his signature smirk

“Ugh fine! But no flirting!”

“I make no promises~”

❄️ The two of you tried to act as friends, before it was awkward but soon you got used to his presence and you slowly began to come out of your shell, finally showing your true colors after about 3 weeks of “friendship”

❄️ Kaeya finds himself laughing at your jokes, actually laughing and not the fake laugh he would do when he’s trying to fuck somebody. Now Kaeya’s heart thumps whenever you would laugh at something or wave at him in the hallway. Oh gods, is he in love?!

❄️ He wishes he didn’t have the reputation he has, he wants more than your body, he wants your heart

🪡Chiori🪡

🪡 The president of the sewing club. Chiori and her club members have made various designs, many of them for the theater group whenever they’re putting on a performance. However the best designers have their slow movements, not being able to come up with any designs that are up to their standards. That is what plaguing Chiori

🪡 One day she finds a random sketchbook in the sewing club. Curiosity getting the best of the young seamstress she flips through the book, there she sees the most beautiful character designs, the obvious inspiration from big names like Chanel, Gucci, and Thierry Mugler, but the person who made these designs are unique to them. It all gives Chiori a surge of inspiration

🪡 Immediately she opens up her own sketchbook and begins drafting up some designs, some are amazing but others don’t compare to the designs in the mysterious sketchbook she found. She must find the person who made this

🪡 She hears the door opening and when she turns her head, she sees you looking a bit embarrassed.

“Uh, I left my sketchbook here, have you seen it?”

“Yes, I have.” Chiori picks up the book and hands it to you. “I looked through it.”

“Wait, what?!”

“And I like what I saw, can I make the designs in this book?”

🪡 So every Tuesday you would go to the sewing club and let Chiori bring life to your designs, the two of you would talk about various fashion styles and designers. Chiori is very impressed by your vast knowledge on how different styles and cultures arose, she might even say it rivals her knowledge (but she won’t)

🪡 The more time you two spend together the more Chiori likes you, she would look forward to your presence right next to her talking her ear off about your characters as she worked. Normally she would play music but the sound of you rambling is more than enough for her

🪡 In the privacy of her room Chiori would often find herself drawing up designs for wedding garments for her and yours wedding, she can’t wait for the day you to call her “my wife”

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

[dontcryminecraft]

red team purgatory day one

half of red team isn't here, nobody knows how to actually PLAY MINECRAFT, and the only person remotely good at pvp here is philza. Carre carries everyone and is off doing his own thing. Even IF the other half of the team is there, the only person i can accurately gauge the ability of is WILBUR, and i have zero faith in his skills lol. Everyone is realizing how much they're going to have to stream, and some will have to change their schedules in order to play effectively. Charlie doesn't stream for 5 hours, but he has to be here for all of this, and it becomes VERY CLEAR, VERY QUICKLY, WHY HE DOESN'T. His voice is dead and he is unravelling at the seams. He hates it here more than anyone. only half of his breakdown is a joke. They're drying. Cellbit and Slime had ENOUGH and just beat each other with sticks. They're devolving and screaming about how much they hate this and they're manic and their arms feel numb and tingly and badboyhalo keeps killing them and they keep dying and life hates them. Jaiden told badboyhalo to kill himself. In a fit of rage they declared that they no longer care about the eggs and they'd rather just go home. They're planning on logging in on Monday only to build a house and start Egg Island Survival LetsPlay where they make an Emerald Empire and only respond in Villiager Hrmms. now they're sing/screaming as their base burns around them, and i can't tell what they're supposed to be singing but they kept repeating "say something I'm giving up on you" and someone started playing the Living TombStone FNAF song. Phil got a globe and gifted everyone a fidget toy to spin and they're just sitting and spinning. Baghera just realized that Phil already had all the saplings they need and she wasted her time, so Phil took off his armor so the two can could fight. Baghera lost even though she had a diamond sword, so Phil just let her kill him so she can be happy. Corpses scatter across their yard. They're killing each other. I started typing this with 20 minutes left and I'm witnessing the longest fucking 20 minutes of my life how is there still 7-whatever minutes left??? CELLBIT JUST CONFESSED TO THE MURDERS AND THEY'RE CONFESSING TO THEIR SINS NOW???? I CAN'T TELL IF CHARLIE'S CONFESSION ABOUT JUANAFLIPPA AND THE CODE IS CANON???? Charlie suggests a cannibalism arc and everyone wants to go absolutely FERAL and cellbit it trying to act normal about that idea and kinda fails at it. And it all ends with everyone being banned to enforce the 5-hour rule. We're Free...for today. And despite this, they don't want to change teams and they're actually looking forward to suffering with friends :) ...nevermind they're planning on selling wilbur to get a better advantage.

[moonselune]

Hiiii I'm the person who requested the fireball prompt and OMG I loved it so so much it was amazing :D I was wondering if u could do a follow up to it where Tav is, for the most part, all healed up and better but they now struggle to do certain things due to the massive burn mark on their back? Like they can't fully stretch their back to put a shirt on or they can't perform certain moves in combat due to it hurting too much and the ladies just help and support them through it??? I think it'd be really cute

You're right, this is really cute

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Days had passed since the battle, and though your wounds had mostly healed, the large burn scar on your back remained a constant and itchy, reminder of the sacrifice you had made for Karlach. A sacrifice you would commit a hundred times over.

One morning, you struggled to pull a tunic over your head. The fabric caught on the scar tissue, sending a sharp pain through your body. You winced, gritting your teeth as you tried to continue.

“Let me help you,” Karlach's voice came from behind. You turned to see her standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and determination.

“I can manage,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. Karlach stepped forward, gently taking the tunic from your hands.

“I know you can, but you don’t have to do this alone, babe.” She carefully helped you slip the tunic over your head, mindful of your injury. Her touch was surprisingly tender for someone so strong and fiery.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration at your own helplessness. Karlach smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at you.

“You took a fireball for me, you idiot. The least I can do is help you get dressed.” She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Later that day, as you trained with the others, you found certain combat moves difficult to perform. Every twist and stretch sent a sharp pain through your back. Karlach noticed your struggle and approached you, her eyes filled with concern.

“Let’s take it easy today,” she suggested. “We don’t want to aggravate your injury.”

“I'm fine, Karlach” you protested, frustration evident in your voice.

"You're not, babe " Karlach mocked as she pulled you out of training with Lae'zel. Karlach placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. That you quickly shrugged off. "Hey, I know it's rough, soldier okay? But you are going to get better. We’ll adjust your training. Focus on moves that don’t strain your back. I’ll work with you.”

Her tone left no room for argument and you nodded, placing your head against her shoulder to hide your displeased scowl. You didn't want to have different training schedule, you wanted to train with the others. You knew you sounded like a child and as if Karlach could read your mind she patted you on the back.

"It's all gonna be okay."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Days turned into weeks, and though your body healed, the large burn scar on your back remained a painful reminder of the battle. Simple tasks, like performing certain combat maneuvers or even just reaching for things, had become difficult and excruciating.

One morning, as you struggled to put on your armor, the pain in your back flared up, causing you to drop the breastplate with a groan of frustration.

"Let me," Minthara's voice cut through the silence. You turned to see her standing in your tent entrance, her eyes narrowing as she took in your struggle.

"I don't need your help." you replied stubbornly, even though the pain was evident in your voice. Minthara's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained firm.

"You do not have to prove your strength to me, nor do you have enough of it currently to defy me. Allow me to assist you." She stepped forward, picking up the breastplate and helping you slip it over your head with surprising gentleness.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration at your own limitations. Minthara's eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability shining through her usually stern gaze.

"You protected me at great cost to yourself, my love. The least I can do is help you with this." She adjusted the straps with deft fingers, her touch lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

After managing the breastplate, you couldn't hide the residual pain you felt. You sighed and rested your forehead against hers in slight defeat. Feeling your pain, Minthara wrapped her arms around you and held you. She would be there for you, no matter what.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The weeks following the battle were challenging as your body slowly healed from the severe burns. Despite the magical healing from Shadowheart and others, a large scar remained on your back, a constant reminder of your sacrifice. You did your best to hide the lingering pain from Lae'zel, not wanting to appear weak or burden her with worry.

One evening, as you struggled to pull on your shirt, the pain became unbearable. You winced, your movements slow and deliberate as you tried to stretch your back. Lae'zel entered the tent, her eyes immediately narrowing as she observed your struggle.

"Why are you hiding this from me?" she demanded, her voice laced with frustration and concern. She had been pestering you all week about your injury and each time you had assured her that you were fine. And you were going to do it again.

You forced a smile, trying to downplay the pain. "I'm fine, Lae'zel. Just a little sore, that's all."

She stepped closer, her gaze intense. "Do not lie to me. I can see the pain in your eyes. Why did you not tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry," you admitted, your voice soft. Lae'zel's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained stern.

"I am a warrior, but even warriors need help sometimes. You are no exception. Do not be foolish." She reached out, gently helping you with your shirt, her touch surprisingly tender. "Next time, tell me. I do not want to see you suffer in silence."

You nodded, grateful for her support. "Thank you, Lae'zel. I'll do better."

Her lips curled into a small smile. "See that you do."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Despite your reassurances, Shadowheart remained deeply affected by the incident. The guilt gnawed at her, driving her to constantly check on you and cast healing spells whenever she could. Even though the scar on your back was a testament to the limits of magic, she refused to give up.

One night, as you prepared for bed, you winced in pain while trying to stretch. Shadowheart was at your side in an instant, her hands glowing with healing energy.

"Shadowheart, please," you said gently, taking her hands in yours. "You've done everything you can. The scar will fade in time."

Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she shook her head. "I should have been more careful. If I had just turned around…"

You cupped her cheek, your thumb brushing away a tear. "It's not your fault. I saved you and then you saved me, and I wouldn't change a thing."

She sighed, her resolve wavering. "I just want to make sure you're okay. I can't stand the thought of you in pain."

"I'm okay because of you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "Just having you here is enough, my love."

Shadowheart nodded, though the guilt lingered in her eyes. "I'll always be here for you. I promise."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

As your body healed, the scar on your back became a permanent reminder of the battle. Jaheira, ever the practical one, took it in stride, offering both assistance and lighthearted comments to ease your discomfort.

One morning, as you struggled to perform a combat move during training, Jaheira approached with a wry smile. "Need a hand, my dear?"

You sighed, frustration evident in your voice. "This damn scar. It's making everything harder."

Jaheira chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think it makes you look rather distinguished. Sexy, even."

You felt your cheeks flush at her comment. "Jaheira, please."

She stepped closer, her touch gentle as she adjusted your stance. "I'm serious. It's a mark of your bravery and strength. Wear it with pride."

You couldn't help but smile at her words. "You're always so supportive. Thank you."

Jaheira's expression softened as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. "We're in this together, my love. We'll get through it, scar and all."

Her words and presence bolstered your spirits, reminding you that, despite the pain, you were never alone, not when you had her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I did run out of steam a bit with this, I'm trying to build up the queue for when I am away (when you read this I will be slumming it in a field likely dying of hay fever and family criticisms). Hope you guys enjoy it tho - Seluney xox

[bluevaractyl]

Fluffvember - blanket fort

Nine heroes trudged down the path, weariness in every step. It had been a long day. The sun had recently set, and a chill was setting in.

They came over a hill. In the distance, warm lights glowed.

“A town!” exclaimed Hyrule.

“Perhaps we’ll be able to sleep in beds tonight,” murmured Time, rolling his shoulders.

They picked up the pace, energized by the promise of warmth and hylian company. The mood was audibly lighter as they chattered and teased each other. It felt like no time at all before they were passing the farms on the outskirts of town.

A farmer eyed them with suspicion as they walked by. Twilight smiled broadly and called, “Good evenin’!” He’d been more melancholy than usual around sunset, but now he seemed in better spirits. The farmer’s face quirked into a smile and he gave a little wave, hostility melting in the face of the Rancher’s warmth.

The entrance to the town proper was marked by an arch bearing a sign none of them could read, familiar-unfamiliar letters painted in bold strokes. They passed underneath and entered the town.

The streets were quiet. Most of the buildings had signs with pictures alongside the unintelligible words, helpfully hinting at their purpose. They passed a blacksmith shop, a clothing boutique, a jeweler’s shop, and a potion shop before finding a promising-looking place. The sign hanging above the door featured a crescent moon over a bed.

Inside, they found a man wearing a hat shaped amusingly like an upside-down vase, absorbed in a letter. He glanced up at their entry and waved them over.

“And how can I help you?” he asked. Every time he tilted his head, his hat wobbled dangerously.

“We’d like rooms for the night,” answered Time.

The man looked them over, obviously counting, and asked with a hint of doubt, “All of you?”

“Yes,” Time said evenly.

A pause, then the man said, “I have four rooms I can give you. That will be 180 rupees.”

Warriors stepped forward and counted out the money. Once the man was satisfied, he called, “Ellen! Take these gentlemen to their rooms, would you?”

The young woman who had appeared at his words led them upstairs and down a long hallway. Two rooms on the left and two on the right were theirs, so they would be just across the hall from each other.

Ellen promised to be back with an extra cot, then left them to sort out sleeping arrangements themselves.

One of the rooms had only a bunk bed, but the other three had two single beds each. Warriors claimed a single bed away from the window, and Hyrule flopped onto the other one, looking surprised when it bounced. Four made a beeline for the bottom bunk. There was a brief argument over who would take the top bunk. Sky offered, but Four pointed out that he tended to end up halfway off his bedroll by morning, so sleeping several meters off the ground could be a bad idea. Wind took the top bunk instead, scurrying up the ladder like he’d been born in the crow’s nest.

Ellen came back with a narrow folding cot. The boys jumped to help her set it up in the room with the bunk bed. She left looking distinctly flustered. Time chuckled.

Legend and Wild offered to sleep on the cot at the same time. While they were busy trying to verbally outmaneuver each other, Twilight turned into a wolf and curled up on the cot, effectively ending the discussion. Time only hummed and murmured, “Don’t get caught.” Twilight huffed.

That left two rooms and four beds. Time and Sky paired up, leaving Legend and Wild to share the last room.

Everyone settled in, shedding armor and shields and swords and boots, pulling out extra blankets to guard against the chill breeze coming through the gaps around the windows. In the middle of town, with four walls and a roof overhead, there was no need for a night watch. A full night’s sleep was a rare luxury. None of them intended to waste it.

An hour after they’d all gone to sleep, Wind whispered into the dark, “Smithy?”

Twilight’s ears flicked and he raised his head. Four mumbled, “Mm. Yeah?”

“…I’m cold,” Wind confessed.

Four considered that, then replied, “I’ve got an idea.”

He climbed up the ladder and joined Wind on the top bunk. Ignoring the Sailor’s bafflement, he untucked the sheets from around the bed and tossed them over the side of the rail so that they hung down like curtains, securing them with the edge of the thin mattress. Then he climbed down, gesturing for Wind to join him.

“Grab your pillow, too.”

The two boys tugged the curtain-sheets out of the way and clambered into their homemade fort. Sure enough, the sheets kept out the chill and kept in their body heat. The enclosed space slowly warmed up. Wind snuggled into Four’s side and sighed gratefully.

“Thanks, Smithy.”

Already starting to drift off again, Four sleepily responded, “Anytime, Sailor.”

Twilight poked his nose in. When Wind patted the mattress, he leapt onto the bed and curled up by their feet, warming their toes. The three heroes were soon sleeping soundly.

Happy birthday month, @skyloftian-nutcase :)

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Mulan AU)

*after many wars in the Kingdom of Eden which resulted in the deaths of most of the male population, the kingdom decided that it is now up to the women to fight for their kingdom with the few remaining male officers to lead the armies since the few men were needed to keep the population of Eden strong, it was then that a wrathful warlord named Satan decided to strike at Eden, in the Kingdom of Eden a noblewoman named Sera heard once again that her son Adam hadn’t picked a bride*

Sera: Adam, I had thought that you would have liked being married to Eve. You two are friends.

Adam: Yeah, that is what we are friends and nothing more.

*Adam was practicing with Emily’s sword, though Emily was meant to one day take up the mantle of warrior, she was too gentle of a soul to be a fighter and that fit Adam better though it was illegal for him now, Sera beckoned for him to sit by her*

Sera: My Starlight, if fate had been fair you would have been one of the greatest warriors around.

Adam: But I was born in a time where it was illegal for me to do it.

*she hugged her son understanding his frustration, just then they heard a call to the town square where it was decreed that all families with a woman of fighting must join the army to fight against Satan’s army, when the Kadmon family was called, a frightened Emily stepped forward to get her draft papers, but Adam stepped between them*

Adam: My sister is too young to fight.

Recruitment Officer: She looks to be only a year under fighting age, with how desperately we need soldiers we can make an exception.

Emily: Adam please.

*Emily grabbed the draft papers, but she looked like she was on the verge of tears*

Sera: Adam, you can’t go make a scene like that.

*Adam was walking home with his mother and sister wishing there was something he could do to keep Emily from fighting*

(I would place Adam at about 20 years old and Lucifer at 30 years old, so there is a little bit of an age gap but not too crazy, I am also thinking of having Eve, Lute, and Vaggie be the three soldiers that Mulan befriends and in this AU they will know Adam’s secret and are willing to help him keep it. Emily would be 17 when the fighting age is 18)

((Yeah Eve would recognize him after she got a good enough look at him. Poor Emily so frightened.))

Sera: It's going to be okay Emily sweetheart. You're a strong capable young woman.

Emily: I don't want to fight mum.

Sera: I know, but there is nothing that can be done.

Adam hated this, he didn't want his sister to die in war. He didn't want to stay back and make a bunch of babies with some woman he didn't love. He didn't have the heart to tell his mother that he preferred men.

That night, Adam laid awake when an idea came to him. What if he was the oldest Kadmon daughter?

He snuck into his sister's room while she slept. Adam took her draft letter, lucky it didn't have her first name on it just the family name. He then took a wig she owned, long brown and wavy, some basic makeup and a couple bras.

He wasn't sure how to feel that they were the same cup size.

Adam dressed up as a woman and even dawned the armor that Emily would need. He shaved his facial hair, arm pits and legs just in case. Adam used a protective cup to conceal his manhood.

Adam in his best female voice practiced in the mirror: Hello, my name is Adaline Kadmon. I'm the eldest daughter of the Kadmon family.

He said it over and over until it sounded just right.

Adam wrote a small note for his mother and sister for when they would wake up. It said that he was sorry, he loved them, but he had to do this and promised to be careful.

Adam: No turning back now.

When morning came, Adam left on their family horse to meet with the recruiting officer, all of his things packed.

Adam approached the officer, his heart pounding. He looked at the name tag it read Michael.

Michael: Name and paper please.

Adam handed him the draft paper: My name is Adaline Kadmon, eldest daughter of the Kadmon family.

[sunstone-smiles]

You're Not Ogerpon!

Original request (Part 1): “...kieran is so adorable and i would love to read a fic of him that you wrote! i think juliana would be a really cute ler for kieran, but you can pick whoever you want because it’s your fic after all. for teal mask version of him, could you do 5. boo!” 

Author’s note: Wooo! Happy day five of Tickletober! Side note: Kieran absolutely grew on me even more while writing this, Lol. Here’s Day 5: “Boo!” from August’s Tickletober List! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Pokemon Scarlet and Violet

Characters: Kieran and Juliana

Word count: 974

Summary: Kieran and Juliana go searching for Ogerpon, but when Juliana separates from him, Kieran finds something much, much different than what he was expecting in the woods.

---

Why did they think this was a good idea? Better yet, why did he suggest it? He wanted to find Ogerpon with Juliana, but maybe searching through the dark woods in the middle of the night was not the smartest plan… Mistakes were made.

“Juliana,” Kieran whispers, “Where did you go?” He tiptoes through the grass and scans his surroundings—an open area enclosed by trees and bushes shrouded in the dark.

Ugh, why did she have to wander off suddenly? They should have stayed close. Doesn’t she know that separating from your buddy in the woods always leads to some sort of trouble?

Crrrack-

A twig snaps below his shoes. He freezes in place. After a silent moment of stillness, one of the bushes begins to rustle.

He swings his head to the side to see the bush in question. He places a hand close to his chest and gulps down the rising fear. His other hand nervously taps on his leg in rhythm with his heartbeat. 

“M-Monsters!” he thinks to himself. He takes a step back.

He looks around for Juliana, then stares at the bush. But… It could be Ogerpon. 

Against his better judgment, he creeps forward towards the moving bush. The leaves continue to sway and create a rough textured sound on the ears. 

Kieran steps closer, now in front of the foliage. “O-Ogerpon?” Kieran asks the woods. The shifting of the leaves becomes faster. A figure rapidly emerges.

“Boo!” Juliana shouts with her hands in the air, then lunges at Kieran. 

“AH!” Kieran screams and jumps back. He lets out another yelp when Juliana crashes into him. As he stumbles back and attempts to twist away, Juliana’s arms suddenly wrap around him and scribble into his side.

“H-Hehehehey!” Kieran starts giggling and throws his arms around his torso. “Julianahahaha! Yohohou’re not Ogrepon! Or a mohohonster!”

Juliana releases him from her surprise ‘hug’ to allow her fingers better access to his sides, though still keeping him in place as he wiggles. “You’ve got the Ogerpon part right, but I am a monster! A tickle monster!” 

“Whahahahat?” Kieran questions before a loud squeak comes from him when Juliana scratches at his tummy. Kieran folds forward as giggles shake in his core, then he drops to his knees with his arms still wrapped around himself like armor. As Juliana and her tickles follow him down, Kieran flops onto his back. He rolls himself into a protective, giggling ball.

“Julianahahaha!” Kieran says as the ticking proceeds. “Whahahat are yohohou tickling me fohohohor!?”

“Well, at first I wanted to scare you, but then I realized you might have been upset with me, so I decided to surprise you with a tickle attack instead so you wouldn't get mad! Good plan, right?” Juliana finishes her explanation with a playful tease as her fingers wiggle around his torso.

“I guehehehess that makes sehehense,” Kieran responds as if it's a casual conversation, one that’s not disrupted by his own bouts of laughter. All of a sudden, another screech of giggles releases from Kieran when Juliana’s fingers sneak their way into Kieran’s underarms, immediately sending the boy into a higher-pitched explosion of hysterics. He clamps his arms to his sides, which, unfortunately for him, only assists Juliana’s hands to stay trapped at his ticklish spot. 

He kicks his legs out behind Juliana, then briefly wiggles from side to side. When that proves ineffective, he holds up his hands in front of him to surrender. “Buhuhuhut I’m too ticklish for thihihihis! Cuhuhuhut it ohohout! Plehehehease!” Kieran giggles with joy, and with hints of playfulness in his voice.

With a giggle of her own, Juliana stops. She leans back on her knees. Kieran plops to his back and places a hand to his chest; his lungs regain air, while his other hand falls limp to his side. Juliana reaches for his fallen hand and Kieran lifts it for her to grab his hand and pull him up into a sitting position.

Kieran catches his breath, looking at the ground with his hand clutching his stomach. Juliana's expression changes to one of worry. 

“Are you okay, Kieran?” she asks.

“I guess so…” he responds, looking back up at her. 

The energy in Juliana’s words shift to ones of shyness. “Good, I’m glad,” Juliana tilts her head down. She rubs her arm, staring at the ground. A pause. “I’m sorry that I scared you,” she says. “You’re not… mad at me, are you?” She lifts her eyes to Kieran’s. The boy understands the worry in her gaze.

“No! Of course not!” Kieran says with no hesitation to clear the air as soon as possible. He pauses before speaking again. “Usually when someone tries to scare me it’s so they can tease me and my reaction. But, you didn’t tease me! About me being scared, that is,” Kieran reassures Juliana. He shows her a soft smile. “But it’s a nice change of pace to actually laugh about it afterwards.”

Juliana perks up a bit. “I’m happy to hear that,” she shares a smile with him, like two friends already reminiscing about a moment in the making they know will be held close to their hearts.

Juliana lifts herself off the ground and offers a hand to Kieran, “Come on! Let’s keep searching for Ogerpon! And I promise, no more scares from me! From now on, we stick together!”

Kieran looks up at Juliana with big, puppy-like eyes. Her words hit closer than she may even know. Another smile makes its way onto his face. 

“Sounds good to me.” He clasps his hand to hers and Juliana helps lift him to his feet. 

The two head off into the woods to search for Ogerpon. No matter what the results of their search will be, they at least know that they won't be leaving empty handed. 

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 11 - A Fertile Flower of Hope

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit for the full work, this chapter is E for everyone.

Tags/warnings: Mention of sexual slavery.

Word count: 8,000 (this chapter)

Header art by @solmesia.

Work below the cut as well!

As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.

The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.

 "When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a  man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.

"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."

Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.

Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.

He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.

"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.

Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.

***

The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.

They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.

Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds, for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?

Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.

Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.

Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.

"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.

Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.

"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.

"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.

"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.

The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?

“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.

"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child. 

"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you." 

The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."

Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.

When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.

His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.

"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares." 

Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.

******

Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.

As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings. 

Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.

Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.

***** Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.

Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.

A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face.  "Halsin, you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose. 

Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below. 

And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.

Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.

"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.

"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?" 

Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.

Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.

"Well," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books?”

The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.

Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf. 

"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.

It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."

Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of  anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.

"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.

Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.

“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”

'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.

Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.

"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."

Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests, darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.

The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.

"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron. 

"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.

"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.

"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.

"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.

Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was armwrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.

"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.

"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."

Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.

"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.

Or that topic, at least.

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

Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone, let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience, Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.

"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.

As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant." 

Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.

It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.

His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.

Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.

Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."

Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.

He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down. 

"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.

Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.

"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.

Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.

Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.

A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."

The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.

Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.

Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"

"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.

Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs. 

For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.

He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.

"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.

He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience. "You may open your eyes now."

As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.

All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It  mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.

His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.

“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.

He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.

[discordiansamba]

he can't get out of the swamp fast enough.

he takes druk and flies straight to his next destination without hesitation. they're both exhausted when they arrive, so he hastily sets up camp and promptly collapses. thankfully, his sleep is free of strange dreams.

the next morning, he climbs down to the western air temple.

he's been here before, and he doesn't just mean that in the 'came here once in his past life' sense. he'd come here before with aang and master toph. it had taken a lot of damage during the hundred year war, and they were trying to rebuild it together. master toph thought helping with the effort would help with his training.

(he suddenly understood a little better why they'd spent the whole time watching him out of the corner of their eyes.)

shun wanders idly through the halls. this is where prince zuko finally joined the avatar's group. he wonders where it actually happened. he hadn't even known that it had gotten so damaged because azula had launched an assault on it, following after her brother and sokka after they'd broken sokka's father and suki out of the boiling rock.

(no wonder it hadn't been hard to find.)

he lingers in the western air temple for a few days, before he decides to move on. he's planning to go to ember island next.

emphasis on planning.

he's waylaid by a storm instead. it comes out of nowhere- the sky is blue one minute, and the next, he and druk are being thrown around by powerful winds. he clings, white-knuckled to druk's horns, burying his face to keep it out of the ferocious rain as much as he's trying to avoid seeing the lightning that flashes through the sky.

(at least he knows why he's so afraid of it now.)

ironically, maybe if he'd been watching where they were going, they wouldn't have wound up plummeting into the sea. he remembers keeping a firm grip on druk's horns, and then...

...then he wakes up back in the swamp.

he wakes up back in the swamp, and his hands are pale again. he reaches a shaky hand up, brushing it over the left half of his face. the skin there feels raised and rubbery. like there's a scar. he's not wearing his favorite reddish-brown tunic, or the cloth bandages he can't get out of the habit of wrapping around his arms. the royal armor of the fire nation weighs heavily on his body.

he's wearing prince zuko's face.

"do you get it now?"

he looks up, into his own eyes. prince zuko stares out of his face. he feels a surge of anger bubble in his chest. he's on his feet.

"that's not yours," he hisses. his voice sounds strange to him. too hoarse. all wrong.

(it's zuko's voice.)

the prince just shrugs. "sure it is."

"no, it's not," he takes a step forward, grabbing his collar, "-give it back."

"i can't," he says, "-you're the one who gave me this face."

"why would I do that?" he asks.

"because you wanted mine," he replies.

he lets go of his collar. that's not right. "I don't want to be you."

the prince just arches a brow. his left, like he's trying to mock him. the one on prince zuko's face was burned away. the skin around his eye feels impossibly tight. he wants to say something back, but he knows if he opens his mouth, it still won't be his own voice.

(he wakes up in a tatami room. his face is his own again.)

[kkeidawrites]

The Battle of Famines

Welcome to Day 30 of Blacktober!

CW: spoilers, blood eating, violence

For months, the endless battle between the two countries of the eastern hemisphere battled on. No one was able to one up the other and in the process their armies dwindled closer to single digits.

It was also no secret that they were running low on supplies, especially food and such, this prompted the majority of the army returned to their homes, feeling it would be a better option than to die for a war they can’t even begin to remember why it was declared in the first place.

The smell of blood littered the ground as the two armies engaged in another bout of fighting, bodies falling before they even reached the enemy’s blades or some even fighting still with wounds they had previously.

Clanks are heard from swords meeting and the booming of the catapults launching the large boulders on either side. The sounds of war slowly died down over the next two hours, soldiers from both sides were falling like flies and all the more appearing to nibble on the dead.

Two remained on the battlefield, both swords raised and standing at opposing sides on the piles of mangled bodies of their respective sides.

Vlad Tepes III held the broadsword above his head as he pants tiredly. He couldn’t understand it. The other warriors that dared to raise a weapon to him was quickly cut down, even those who was showed favor by their advanced training wasn’t alive long enough to fight him.

Why was this one so different? What was keeping them so motivated? Sweat coated his brow from the heavy full set of gunmetal grey plate armor he wore, and his tattered black cape was growing heavy no doubt soaked in blood, it was miracle that it wasn’t weighing him down. Or perhaps his adrenaline was too high to tell.

The knight standing just meters away from him stood tall and proud, their lancer sword ready to strike again. They wore a bronze color armor, a helmet completely concealing their face and their flag wrapped around their right wrist.

“Heh, I’m quite impressed with you, soldier. You are one of the lucky ones to face me.” Vlad has a sick grin on his face while his opponent remained silent and still.

His opponent takes a step forward and Vlad chuckles darkly, taking this opportunity to rush the knight with a heavy swing of his sword. The knight dodges the swing and uses their wrist to uppercut him.

Vlad stumbles back with a grunt and blindly swings his weapon. The knight dodges once again but, Vlad uses this moment to step forward and kick them in their middle, launching them onto the ground.

Their helmet is knocked off and Vlad jumps on top of them to make the final blow but, their sword stops his large sword from touching their face.

A woman laid out below him, holding his sword back with her own all Vlad did was laugh once more. Her short hair was styled in an Afro as gold eyes glared at him. Her dark skin was littered with sweat and teeth gritted from the strength she was trying to hold back.

“A woman! Now this has become more interesting!” He cackles. The woman kicks him away and Vlad is pushed a few feet away from her. She uses her sword to get back onto her feet and positions her body in a stance of a lancer.

“No matter, let’s see what you’ve got!” Vlad yells out a battle cry as he charges her and the woman remains stoic and ready.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Another four hours pass and Vlad Tepes III is finally finished fighting. He uses his broadsword to hold his upper body up as he knelt on the ground. The woman stayed on her feet, her lancer still raised and ready just encase he was ready to go again.

As he panted, he looked up at the woman again, still not making a noise or changing her facial expression and grins.

“Damn woman, you fight with gumption. A general would be honored to have you in his army. If we meet again, we should have another fight. I’ll even let you win.” He pants, then his arms fall to his sides as exhaustion finally takes over and his body slumps onto the sword.

Running past her, are two men from her faction who take the unconscious man up in their arms and drags him away. She watches them go and sheathes her sword to follow them silently.

Weeks pass, and the process of rebuilding is slow and painful as the bodies of the innocent, the enemy still littered the grounds. Of course, this didn’t stop the execution of the one responsible for all this carnage and destruction.

His head was locked in a pillory, he was was starved and beaten as he was forced to walk barefoot to his awaited execution. His black eyes look to his left and he sees a familiar face standing off to the side, a hood over their head but golden eyes watching him trudge up to the wooden stage.

Vlad’s head was placed on the tree trunk and he waited for the axe to fall on to his neck but, he wouldn’t leave this world without a fight and stretches his tongue out to lick the blood of the dead before his head is separated from his body.

The woman who was fearless enough to fight him, saw what he had done and takes a step back to find the body of a woman. She sees that the woman was pregnant and sighs in sadness.

This shouldn’t have happened, none of this should have happened. She walks away from the scene and takes this time to find the person that she had spoken with a few weeks ago.

Finding the hobble of a home within the outskirts of the torn village, the woman knocks twice and waits.

The crooked door is opened and the old woman revealed herself from behind it, a cracked smile on her face.

“Ah Y/n! Welcome back!” She moves to the side to let the woman inside and Y/n steps inside the home. Her tall stature needed to bend forward in order to walk in the living area and the old woman offered her a seat. Y/n took the seat and pulls off her hood.

“So,” the hag starts rubbing her hands together.

“Do we have a deal?” She asks.

Y/n looks over at the blue liquid vial on the nearby table and faces the woman again.

“Yɛ no (Do it).” She says and the gag cackles as she excitedly hands over the vial, uncorking it. Handing it over to Y/n, she looks down at the vial then drinks it in one go.

This vial, the chance to be immortal and remain this age until her untimely demise. Y/n knew the risks but, she felt that she could grow stronger with this inside of her body and the witchcraft that she was taught and maybe with time, this world would be better and different than it is now.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The year 1999 begins and new management is now protecting the United Kingdom, Hellsing as they call themselves and the ever growing number of new members are constantly joining.

The secret agents that protect the public from corrupted politicians and blood hungry vampires were just as nonexistent and mysterious as Hellsing kept themselves and not once did anyone have the courage to dig deeper into their secrets.

Their most famous agent and king of vampires Vlad Tepes III, now named Alucard, had made himself a home at Hellsing headquarters and a way to release his inner demons on the rouge creatures of the night.

Tipping his red rimmed hat, Alucard walked through the many alleyways of the city of England on a slow trek back to base after dealing with ghoul attack nearby. He needed the break from his allies and he could feel that he was being followed.

A smirk is evident on his lips as he continues his steady pace and then he stops when he felt the person following him appear behind him. His hand on the Jackal he turns his head to see who was bold enough to take a stand against him.

“My, my, what kind of company will I have this evening?” He jeers, turning to the side to face the dark alley.

Footsteps approach him from the darkness and when they finally reveal themselves in the moonlight, the corners of his lips grow in a sadistic grin.

A laugh is released from him, almost maniacally as he pulls out his guns to point at who he saw.

“I remember you! I can’t believe you’re alive after all these centuries!” He cackled and the woman before him gives him a look.

The woman who he had fought likely 300 years ago stood in front of him with a tilt of her head, hair now long enough that it reached her bottom and her golden eyes now a light gold color.

“A vampire?” He questioned.

She says nothing and pulls out the lancer that he is all so familiar with and gets into her stance. Alucard laughs again and gets into a fighting stance as well.

“I do remember promising a fight between the two of us.” The woman gives him a blank look, one he never forgot and Alucard’s red eyes glow in excitement.

“Shall we?”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

If you guys want a part 2 let me know! Be sure to like, reblog, and comment!

[sxulcxtcher]

Part | • the introduction

It was loud.

not too loud, but loud enough to make val want to leave on entry, she took a deep breath through the bass and the heavy smell of liquor and sweat, reminding herself of the bind to this so called mission, her and her guards swerved through the crowd, not that they had to do much shifting in the first place, people started making room once they saw the had-to-be-illegal weapons and heavy body armor, once they made it past the crowd the only thing in front of them was a DJ area and a gold spiral staircase, two bodyguards standing at the start of each rail and two following her upstairs to the large office

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"la anaconda feminina, queen of chicago."

ghost stated, tossing the light yellow folder on the metal table, valeria glanced at the folder and back at the shadow some do not call a man, picking up the folder and reading its almost empty contents, the mystery woman barely having a secured middle name

"what's this for?"

"your freedom."

the cartel leader let out a small chuckle despite the fact the lieutenant didn't speak a hint of a joke, silence stood for a few seconds before the woman actually sat up towards the hard tale, hands still restrained to the back of the chair

"and once i find her?"

"depends on if you can follow instructions."

"i want my men and my guns back"

"that can be arranged."

the woman let a small smirk slip, sitting back to her previous position

"what do you need her for?"

"that is none of your concern."

"it is. "

the male wanted to pinch the bridge of his ose but he had to remain professional and keep his sanity in one piece unless he wanted an earful from price

"we need her alive."

"when?"

"last day of next month."

"that's a lot of trust you're handing me."

"don't fuck it up."

ghost stood and the metal chair screeched against the floor, wooden door closing behind him as val stared at the folder

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The remaining men stood outside of the VIP area, val entered, gold hued, translucent beads, a dark oak table in the middle with a black marble top, and at least six different mean dressed in all black camo and in the same, if not better, armor as her men, and in the middle sat the one and only.

You sipped a bit of champagne, silk dress and skin glowing alongside the beads, hearing them shifting brought your attention from the glass forward, you were expecting company, since one of her chiefs informed you of her coming

but what you didn't expect was a hand. reaching to shake yours before she said anything. the air was still. the queen of chicago didn't do physical touch.

and one of your guards readied his gun before another signaled for him not to do so.

you looked at her hand, and then back at her, sizing her up to see if she would back down, she didn't.

you took her hand and it was almost as if the world continued spinning again, relaxing the mutually held breaths in the room

"valeria."

"y/n, pleasure to meet you."

"pleasures all mine"

you hummed, maybe you could get along with her afterall...

[lukedanger]

Owlcatober - Day 1 - Teatime

Galfrey’s parents had shown her many uses for teatime - a chance to relax and step away from formal affairs, or an opportunity to build a closer relationship with an ally. Like many things, it could serve a purpose that was not immediately obvious to those uninvolved in political affairs or who did not understand the personal bonds necessary for them. It could even be a tool, a carrot to offer to competing nobles seeking her attention to their petitions or wishing to appear closer to the crown.

Today, however, she intended to use it for something less political. Galfrey had specifically not worn her armor as she had done so often, instead wearing a relatively simple white surcoat with a side cut to show the red cotehardie beneath as she would in her own chambers in Nerosyan when she did not plan on public appearances. Though it would have been the height of fashion when her reign began, hard as it was for her Laya to believe as the squire helped her get it on.

Though she supposed she still looked fancily dressed compared to the angelic woman, this being a rather literal statement as of late rather than anything fanciful, sitting across from her. The Knight-Commander - Elaina - was wearing a simple blue dress, though now with a cut in the back to make room for her wings.

They were sitting at a window side table in Drezen’s citadel, in one of the studies on the upper floor. Galfrey had wanted to do something informal, and if she was honest she needed to try and be herself again.

“So, how is Arueshalae doing?”

Damn it, how was it that she sounded so stiff when asking? It was a perfectly normal question to ask about someone’s lover! Right?

Elaina smiled, setting her tea down as she did so. “Quite well, Que-” She caught herself. They were trying to do this without formality. “Galfrey. She is with Ember today, helping with some of the Redeemed Brotherhood.”

“You truly believe it can work?” Galfrey asked, then shook her head. “Forget I asked, Kn- Elaina. I did not want to discuss business today.”

Elaina nodded. “Of course. How is Irahai doing, with the civil war over?”

“Better,” Galfrey admitted, taking a sip of her own tea to think on how best to put her thoughts on it. “She is a strong leader in her own right, but after a century of me, and without any sort of mythic power to appear blessed? I fear they will not judge her on her own merits.”

Galfrey trailed off there as Elaina picked up her own tea to drink. The blend was at least pleasantly smelling - Konomi had secured herself a supply from her home city in distant Tian Xia, and had been willing to share it as an apology gift for the Royal Council’s hubris. It was a sweet taste, but remarkably soothing, though some of that may have been the herbs it was prepared with.

The silence continued on. Perhaps that was what they truly needed - there was a time for energy, for the two combining a century of experience with a new perspective and power to wage total war against Deskari’s armies and what remained in the field of Baphomet’s. And then there was a time to relax.

If only Galfrey knew what to do with it.

“How do you pass the time?” she finally asked, wincing as she realized she had blurted it out. “Not lately.”

“Before I became Knight-Commander?” Elaina removed the spoon from her tea, satisfied with the temperature and mixture it had cooled to. “Reading, usually. Sometimes talking with patrons at an inn I stayed at, or hitting the tourney field for practice. The only thing I can really do now is read, though.”

“You are now the Knight-Commander,” Galfrey nodded, “No one will spar with you out of fear that they will hurt you. They feel they are being judged when you want to talk with them.”

“Seelah and Wilcer are probably the closest to the average crusader I can regularly speak to,” Elaina admitted as she leaned back in the chair, leaning forward a bit to keep her wings clear. “Some days I wonder if I need to ask Arueshalae how she glamored herself just to walk through the market, or visit the tavern.”

I think I know what you mean, Galfrey realized as she took a sip. “Everyone stops what they are doing to watch you, or wonder what such an esteemed figure is doing among the likes of them.”

“Exactly, and these have not made it any easier,” Elaina tapped one of her two golden-white wings. “I imagine your crown does the same.”

“Not even that. Do you remember Irabeth, back at the Defender’s Heart?”

Elaina frowned a moment, putting a hand on her chin as she tried to remember. “She recognized you - recognized your voice.”

“That is what I always have to fear, when I try to go unnoticed. Or someone recognizing my face from the coins,” Galfrey explained, her thoughts drifting back to the march on Drezen. How little solace she had found in what she thought would be the chance to be a true warrior again. “There was one solace going by Kitrane, though.”

“What was it?”

“I could watch someone else struggle with leadership, and advise her.” Galfrey allowed herself to smile. “Perhaps that was what I had been missing for so long - someone I could consider a peer, who understood what I was going through.”

Galfrey watched as Elaina finished her current cup of tea, then poured another as she was mulling over how to answer that.

Am I putting too much on her? Galfrey wondered. She is so eager to help those in her lance, but isn’t that what friends are for? Am I being too presumptuous, especially after what I did?

Elaina finally spoke as she finished stirring the tea again and left it to cool. “Let’s see where this goes, then. So, how did Konomi end up as the Royal Council’s lackey?”

“I have been giving it some thought myself…” Galfrey admitted as she started to recount how Konomi had joined the court in Nerosyan. Maybe they just needed time to become comfortable with truly unrelated topics. Steady steps.

Perhaps next time, she could prepare better for it. Drezen did have a library, after all.

====

For those curious, this is what I was referencing when describing Galfrey's dress. Minus the hair decorations.

EDIT: Additionally, Ao3 link: Paladins and an Iconoclast (Owlcatober 2024) - Chapter 1 - Luke_Danger - Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

[guardian-angel12]

Flames {Rexsoka}

Prompt: They’ll hear us/you

@rexsoka-monthly

Mandalore was in flames. 

The city burned at the same time, so did Rex's heart. 

All his Mandalorian roots seemed to scream as he watched the destruction, an orange hue cast over his shielded face and making eerie shadows dance across his visor and armor, like the ghosts of the past katarn armor-wearers giving their final breath. 

He knew somewhere deep inside that this place would fall to ruin, something about the thick smoke that rose into the dark blue night and disappeared into the stars. 

Maul may have been captured, but he knew that wasn't the end. 

He breathed a small Mandalorian blessing out over the edge of the balcony he stood on and turned around, blinking back the angry tears that rose into his eyes, but not with much effort when he felt his entire being soften. 

She was waiting there. He felt that tingle inside his chest the moment he turned around. 

"I'm sorry, Rex." Ahsoka said softly, her face not in view yet for the shadows, but he made out her frame, lithe and disciplined and beautiful... her colors contrasting with the horrors of fire and smoke and battle. 

"You completed the mission. That's all that matters." he replied, voice filtered of his sadness through his helmet, but she sensed it. 

"We should get back to the others, we're leaving soon." she said, eyes flickering around his face and going down until they stayed on the ground. 

He only nodded, following behind his commander with a slow and steady stride. 

Whatever citizen she claimed to be now, whatever nomad, she would always be his commander, always be the one who earned his respect more and more every day and every time he saw her.

The Tribunal was filled with people, soldiers, officers, and droids alike, ready to leave the planet as Maul was escorted by a few Mandalorians inside a special Jedi holding chamber. 

Rex felt... odd about it, although he knew Ahsoka had handled the Sith apprentice herself, and that she was more than capable, something about still having the monster near her bothered him. 

I should've been there. 

It was all he kept thinking, again and again he felt like he should have been there. 

Ahsoka was led off by a few higher-ups in need of her assistance, and Rex was left alone, pondering. 

Jesse met to speak with him but he knew he wasn't being himself, something about all of this was bothering him, but he knew the main reason was not the fact that his heritage planet was in shambles. No. It was something else, and he felt like perhaps he knew what it was but still the confusion swirling in his head was overwhelming. 

Before he even registered what he was doing or where he even was he met her in the briefing room, an empty hologram table before her as she stood there staring at it, looking lost in a past time and memory. 

Ahsoka felt him before he'd even been close enough for the doors to open for him, sensing his soft hum in the Force that told her he was alive, but sometimes it told her things she didn't want to know, let her feel his pain and his confusion and his sadness. 

She wanted to take it away. She wanted him to have a normal life, a life without war and heartache and loss. Wanted him to have a choice. Whatever he truly wanted in this life, in this vast galaxy that had become so grim. 

"A—are you okay?" Rex asked quietly, watching her from behind. 

"I will be." she turned around, and found that his eyes were distant, lost. "And you?"

His chest tightened, and it was getting hard to breathe, but he just needed to get it out and try to fix himself, try to let himself focus again and just do his duty without feeling like only half his mind was there. "I can't answer that."

"What do you mean?"

The way instant concern flooded her big, starry blue eyes made him feel both worse and better. But she took a step forward, almost like she was worried he had been hurt and decided not to tell her. 

"I just... Some things happened today, and with that and everything else, I don't feel right."

"What things? Mandalore?" Truthfully, she just wanted to run to him, throw her arms around his neck and tell him it was going to be alright, that it would get better from here. 

Tell him what she had been battling with besides the Sith and the Death Watch, and that thing was him. Him, invading her heart and her letting him. 

At war with something she welcomed.

"That's... part of it. But you—when you fought Maul, I should've been there, and if something had happened—something had gone wrong, I—''

Ahsoka shook her head slowly. "Rex—"

"No, please... I, I need to say it. When you left, everything changed, all this," he gestured around the room like he was gesturing to the entire galaxy, his grip on his helmet under his arm getting tighter and then he squeezed his free hand into a tight fist. "it changed, it hasn't felt the same since. And then you came back, General Skywalker told me you were and—and I didn't know how to take it, but I wanted you to, but as soon as I saw you something else changed, and now I... I can't help but think about what you'll do when all this is over, when you leave."

Ahsoka wore a sad expression, but inside she was burning up, she knew he was strong, knew he tried to put his duties first and ignore his personal feelings and emotions but she also knew he was starving, knew he was pining and so was she, but seeing him like this...so unsure of himself and almost like he was guilty, it broke her heart even as she searched for the right words and the right actions. 

A thousand things came to mind that she wanted to say or do, but let him stand there in silence, searching for what he needed to say, what else he needed to get out. 

"I just..." Rex seemed like he was choking. "I won't lose you again. I can't."

That broke her stillness, and she walked straight to him, searching his face and finding all the pain. "Rex..." she said his name like it was the most precious thing, something she cherished with all her heart, and his eyes lifted to meet hers even as they looked down to her shorter form, staring deep into her beautiful face and trying to remember each and every detail. Every line, every pore. He didn't want to go without it. Without her. 

Ahsoka lifted her hands up and gently placed them on the sides of his chest plate, brushing her fingers down and stroking the tiny pock marks of battle and tracing the lines war had left. "You know I never wanted to leave you."

He swallowed hard. "I know." 

"I am sorry. Leaving... it was one of the hardest things ive ever done, mostly for one reason..."

His eyes were questioning, but he asked anyways, voice so quiet it sounded raw. "What?"

Ahsoka breathed in through her nose deeply, eyes flickering down then up again. "This one." 

Then she snatched the sides of his face and slammed her mouth up against his, making him drop his helmet in surprise, stumbling only a little backwards and his hand lifted up, freezing near her head.

He kissed back eagerly, a million sparks seeming like they reignited in his dying fire of a soldiers heart. He put his hand on her cheek, his other on her back like he was trying to keep her there, like she was his and the only thing that mattered. 

She finally pulled back, but stayed so close he could feel her warm breath stirring against his mouth. "I thought of you every day." she murmured. 

He ran his thumb across the white streak on her jaw, not having anything left to say but finally feeling that yearning being met, that wildfire finally being fueled not with sadness and longing but with passion and love that he knew was most likely forbidden to both him and her.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but the instincts inside of him took over as he cupped her face again, kissing her with every bit of the loneliness he'd felt since he last saw her. With every word he had wanted to say to her since they had last spoke. Her small frame was pushed back from his careless affection, until she was clasping her hand against the rim of the table and finally took his shoulders and turned him around, pushing him down onto it where his armor clanked hard against the surface, but she just kept pursuing with her lips even as he let out a breathy laugh.

"They'll hear you, cyar'ika." he whispered into her mouth. 

"So what?" she purred back, gripping his shoulders with a wicked little grin that made his entire body heat with that fire, knowing completely and entirely that she was that one thing he wanted most in the galaxy.

[callmelyc]

Lances ex was terrible

He was the kind of ex that was really full of themselves, cruel, didn't like Lance spending too much time with anyone else (not that his ex girlfriends were any better).

So when they finally broke up everyone rejoiced. The demon had been slain!

Until...he came to get his shit out of Lances apartment because not only did he take his shitty wardrobe he also stole Lances precious baby blue!

His beautiful baby, his sweet meow meow, his darling princess.

But because Lance had no proof the asshat got off scott-free!

He'd cried for hours not knowing what to do and his stupid ex blocked him so Lance couldn't even attempt to beg for his cat daughter back. So he did what anyone would do, he complained online.

The comments flooded with people trying to come up with ideas until one stood out. Some guy with a photo of a motorcycle asking what this ex looks like.

Lance sniffled sending pictures in the replies and waited. He wasn't sure why anyone would want a picture but maybe the guy wanted it so he could keep an eye out? The reply didn't take long at all and it only baffled Lance further.

The guy, Keith K, responded in seconds "dw I can handle this."

Before Lance could even question anything Keiths status had switched to offline leaving Lance to read through other comments as possible solutions.

~•~

At 1am Lances phone lights up with a call. Now, normally Lance would ignore these, who responds to random calls especially at 1am?

But he looks down and it's the same name of the guy from earlier, Keith K. Lance will admit first a foremost he doesn't always think things through and come on now, he was curious to know how this guy got his number at all.

So lance picks up, groggy with sleep "hello??"

"I got ur cat back, do you wanna meet up for her or would you like to wait until later?"

That got lances attention. Now more awake he scrambles to get dressed "are you sure? Like ur sure it's my cat?"

"your name and number are on the collar"

"Where do you wanna meet?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? I am the stranger."

"Yeah but ur a stranger that apparently saved my darling daughter!?"

Lance hears a small laugh on the other side of the line "I'll shoot you my location?"

"Sounds good to me."

The second the call ends Lance receives directions to a place 15min out and a picture of blue safe in a cat carrier. He's more than relieved to both see her and have proof this wasn't a dream, though he is still weary.

He shoots off a text to Hunk and Pidge with his location/tracking on in case something went wrong and Lance rushes out the door to go meet this stranger. They'll likely wonder what he's up to at this hour, maybe even spam call him in worry. However, Lance doesn't have the patience right now now when his baby is in some randos hands.

Pulling up to the 24hr McDonald's he doesn't even care that he's meeting a stranger anymore the second he sees his baby blue through the window. Lance rushes inside and the second she spots him she paws at the carrier door with a sweet little meow. He's cooing over her and letting her out to make sure she's safe when he finally looks up to see her knight in shining armor.

And wow....this guy is hot.

Dark hair, deep eyes, leather jacket and gloves.

Dude looks straight out of a Harley magazine despite the beat up pick-up in the parking lot Lance is positive belongs to him.

As blue snuggles into Lances hold he looks at Keith with the first genuine smile he's had in days "thank you, I-I don't even know what to say? I can't thank you enough how on earth did you manage this?"

Keith just gestures for lance to sit down across from him, so he does, and smiles "I have my ways."

Oh? Well Lance has to know now "go on share the deets. I can offer you whatever you want off the menu as payment."

The other man snorts "it's fine I'll share without pay...This time."

"Oh? How generous of you."

Keith leans forward on the table "your ex was already on dating apps. I pretended I'd take him on a good date and went home with him. The second he left to get pretty for me I took the cat and ran, he's a douche."

That...what not at all what Lance expected to hear. His jaw was on the floor. He laughed in surprised awe "you...you got my cat back by luring him into false security??"

Keith's brow lifts "what like it's hard? He's the one that fell for it and got uno reverse robbed. I don't know what you saw in him."

That only gets lance to laugh harder "yeah, I don't either."

They spend the rest of the early morning chatting and eventually exchanging phone numbers.

On the way out Keith stops him though "actually, I changed my mind I do want payment."

"Oh yeah? Like what"

He smiles "how about a date?"

Lance is left breathless in the light of the rising sun "you won't be robbing me now, will you?"

"and if I say I am?"

"what do you aim to steal from me mr.criminal?"

Keith leans in just slightly "your heart? If things go well."

Lance gives him a quick peck on the cheek "yeah, yeah I can do that."

No one believes Lance when he says he got a new boyfriend because the guy stole his cat back from his ex.

[its-in-the-woods]

Life's to short Chapter 1 (completed)

Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean

Post end of season 1

Not beta.. I tried to edit 🫠

Ninety five percent written just tweaking

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

There will be canonically typical violence and eventually smut

+18 only

Slow burn sorta kinda

Please be nice this my first fic in almost a decade 🫣

Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻‍♂️

The sand blew past them as they marched forward along the rolling dunes. It had been, what, seven days since they left the observatory. Seven days of traveling east, well, eastish. The hound with them had the scent of old Daddy Maclean, a stuck bleeding pig in a half-dead power armor. A slick smile spread across his face, unless that piggy had a spare fusion core he wouldn’t be too far ahead. The sooner they got to him the better, not that the company was bad. Miss Chatterbox had actually been quiet. It was almost unnervingly so. He didn’t think the little slip of things could keep her mouth quiet for so long. The dog had made more damn noise than she did. Then again the Ghoul thought she had had the rug pulled right from under her. Went from a blushing bride to a finger-biting, venom-filled, killing machine. If the Super Duper Mart was any indication the little lady was a fighter. Another smile crossed his face as he glanced back at his companion. The Smooth skin had grabbed a poncho and pair of goggles off a dead traveler. He had pointed it out to her when they walked by, she hadn't even wrinkled her nose at it. Her skin was deeply tanned, pocket marked full of sun blister, and vault shoes traded in for something a bit more heavily soiled. Yet she was still so different from anything else out there. The Ghoul had tried to persuade her into giving up the vault suit but she hadn't budged yet.  The blue and yellow suit, even heavily soiled, stood out like a sore thumb up here.

The first few days he had watched her fall, stumble and tumble all over the damn sand. It had caused a few coughing-fitted laughs, she was nothing but stubborn. Learning quickly how to walk on the slippery slopes and getting good boots helped. She barely ate and drank sips here and there. Her once sparkling eyes seemed hollow, the brightness sucked out of them. It was better that way, the Ghoul mulled. She needed to be hollowed out a bit, the spark stamped out some. If Lucy was going to make it top side she needed to be a little harder. Have a little more grit and grime smeared on her. His mind wandered a bit, as minds tend to do on long walks. The look of determination as she mercy killed her Mom, the look now on her face as she marched behind him. It stirred things, things that should have been long dead. But Ghouls were after all base creatures and somewhat humans. He had been stuck in a damn coffin for thirty years. It had been a long damn time since he felt anything soft. The thought of the feel of her face under his hand, then the pain as she bit him. If he lingered on that thought too long it was viable to make for an awkward evening. Not that Vaultie would have any interest in his ugly mug.

A half-ass lean too came into view, a perfect spot to let the Vaultie rest. He could have continued through the night, but she wasn't used to this, so some creature comforts were needed. He sent Dogmeat out to get her own dinner as they walked closer to the place. They both split in different directions circling the place to make sure nothing was hiding out behind the shanty. A custom they had both gotten used to, making sure the place was secure before going in. They met at the back, damn she did look tired. She had pushed the goggles up into her black hair, eyes with dark circles looking back at him. 

He gestured with one leather-clad hand, “Ladies first,”

She rolled her eyes but went inside the little hut, dropping her bag and then herself onto the floor. At least what passed as a floor, was more sand than wood. The Ghoul had made sure Lucy had grabbed a bag, he certainly wasn't carrying all the goods considering she was the one who needed most of it. He also dropped his saddlebag onto the ground stretching his back a bit. He plunked down on the floor digging into the bag he pulled out his cantine of water and took a quick draw of it. Lucy’s arms were draped over her knees, ridiculously large eyes staring out into nothing. 

“You need to eat, and get some water in ya,” The Ghoul tapped her foot with his own.

She barely moved, just staring straight ahead. The Ghoul sighed and rummaged through his bag finding a can of Cram. He shook it against his ear, “Should be okay,” 

Tossing it, so it landed between her legs. She blinked and reached forward grabbing at the can. She cracked it open and stared at the half-dehydrated meat, before reaching in with her fingers and scooping some out. Less than two weeks ago she would have made a face and asked for a fork before touching the stuff. Good girl he mused. 

The Ghoul had stared far too long as he watched her fingers go into her mouth. Her pink tongue poked out to lick away the residue. The slightly purple-gray finger roved around in the tin before she looked up at him. He turned his eyes away, grabbing his can and opening it. The heat burning in his guts pushed down. Yep, it had been way too long. He wasn't stupid enough to stay around to let that heat fester itself into a fire. The girl had been through enough without his dick getting in the way.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Ghoul grumbled and pushed himself up and out of the opening in the wall without another glance. 

****

Lucy watches the Ghoul swish out the door like some leather-clad shadow. She had seen the way his eyes had watched her eat the food. Those gold-colored eyes blown open almost black. It wasn’t the first time she had caught him looking at her. It wasn’t the same way he had looked at her when they first met. The way he sneered down at her like she was less than a roach-slime on his boot. No, this was different. Something was different. Lucy’s mind swept back to her Dad, the piece of crud he was, trying to walk off in a stolen suit of armor. The look on the Ghoul’s face as he realized who it was. The way his eyes had widened with rage, the venom in his voice as he demanded to know where his family was. Two hundred years. He had been around since before the bombs dropped. All he had wanted was his family. 

Lucy could understand, well sorta, she didn’t have answers about her own life. A life that was one big fat mutated lie. She threw the empty can at the wall watching it bounce onto the sand. The last seven days she’d been stuck in her head. Remembering her bother Norm as she left. Wondering how the vault was fairing. Would she ever see them again? Lucy knew the journey ahead could possibly kill her. Actually, the possibility of her dying was high on the list. Surprisingly she didn’t fear death anymore. Death was an easy solution. There was far worse thing than death, she had learned that the hard way. Now sitting here thinking of how the sun had scorched her as she stumbled across ground that felt more like heavy water, not that it was any better at night. Even wrapped in the poncho and sleeping bag she would still feel cold in her bones for hours after she got up. Hot tears were pouring out of her eyes, this stupid wasteland, with its stupid sand, and stupid cruel people. It was all a lie. Their vault was never coming to repopulate America. What even was America? What was any of this? What was she even doing? 

She wiped her eyes and stood up. Lucy wanted answers and she wanted them now, and who better to answer them than the two hundred-plus-year-old butthole sitting outside looking up at the stars. Stopping, she watched him for a moment. Dogmeat was lying beside him, parts of some kind of dead animal beside her. The Ghoul was just staring up at the night sky. Lucy turned and looked up. In all the time, traveling this wretched wasteland, she had never stopped to look up at the sky. Millions of bright twinkling specks lit the sky as the moon crested over the range of ravaged mountains. It was beautiful.

“Guess you’ve never seen the stars before?” Ghoul questioned. Of course, he’d have heard her move, the man, creature, whatever he was, had scarily good perception.

“I never stopped to look at them before. I’ve seen pictures. Movies. But it’s so bright.” 

“Nothin’ better than in person,” He drawled sucking back on a cigarette he had nabbed off another dead traveler. Lucy wondered what it tasted like, and for some reason what the Ghoul would taste like.

She walked over and sat down beside him. Lucy wouldn’t have had very many nice things to say about the Ghoul. But he was all she had. Legitimately. Maybe, Maximus would live, he would come looking for her. But at this very moment, the only thing keeping her from walking into a Radroach den was him. Whatever he thought of her, she didn’t really care. So they sat there looking up at the stars watching the moon move across the night sky. 

She looked over at the Ghoul. He raised his brow, as he sucked back on the cigarette. 

“Could I try that?” Lucy asked bluntly, really there was no need for pleasantries between them. 

He crooked a smile at her handing her the cigarette. “You sure Vaultie? Things can be addictive.”

Lucy placed it between her lips taking a deep drag like she had seen him do. A cough immediately followed as she tried to blow smoke out. The stuff was awful.

Coughing and sputtering she handed the blunt back to the Ghoul. Who of course was laughing at her, as he took it back.

“Little too deep there Ms. MacLean.” He chuckled, taking another suck, his eyes constantly watching her.

Lucy caught her breath and felt a slight buzz start at her temples. She accepted the smoke when he handed it back. Taking a smaller breath was much more pleasant, even if it tasted like ash. The buzz wasn't horrible though.

“Well, I'd never guess Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes would like a smoke.” The man smiled wide, those eyes glistening in the start light.

Lucy shrugged looking up at the stars, before staring right back at him. “Life seems too short not to try new things.”

He may have been a two-century-old Ghoul but he didn't scare her anymore. There were much worse things out in the wastes.

*Hope you enjoyed the read*

Chapter two here

[inkedroplets]

The vague similarities between Katie's Continental character and Doctor Poison had me imagining a Supercorp AU where Kara is raised on Themiscyra instead of Midvale. I'm thinking Clark thinks it's the best place to be raised when she has trouble controlling her strength and Diana offers to take her in to both give her a home and to train her. Kara is mostly happy on the island. It's not Krypton but it's a home that she slowly acclimates to over the years. But she longs to see what lies beyond the island. To see where Kal has made his home. Whenever she hints at wanting to leave the island, she's rebuffed gently. Man's world is not just dangerous but as Amazons are not meant to set foot off the island, she would risk banishment if she left. It's a discussion for another time. An opportune moment when Diana can convince Hippolyta that she should be allowed to leave. "You just need to be a little bit more patient, Kara," Diana assures her during a training session. And Kara is... for a time. Until Diana returns one day with grim news. Clark has been injured. Hurt. Something that they thought impossible. (His weakness to kryptonite isn't common knowledge). He's in a coma. Something that Diana considers keeping from Kara but in the end can't bear to do so. "Lena Luthor," Diana says and hands Kara the remnants of what looks like a spent canister. "She's made many weapons like this... We've been trying to track her down for ages... Her brother has tried assisting in her capture but..." She shakes her head. "I never imagined she would create something capable of hurting Kal."

The attack on Superman makes Hippolyta put her foot down. Kara is not to leave the island until the threat has passed. A decision that Kara can't abide. She doesn't try to hide that she plans to leave the island. To hunt down whoever hurt Kal, knowing that whoever did is a danger to everyone else. "If nothing will dissuade you from your course," Hippolyta says with a heavy heart, knowing she can't waver when Kara has made her declaration to leave in front of so many. "If you set foot off the island, you are to never return." The prospect of leaving another home is enough to give her pause, to consider her options but when she sneaks from her chambers in the dead of night she's surprised to see her armor and her weapons waiting for her. A parting gift from Hippolyta. It doesn't take Kara long to track down a lead. She's made no efforts to hide what she's doing, being reckless in her pursuit only to come back to her modest apartment to a note that tells her they know how to find Lena Luthor. "It's too easy," Diana warns when Kara tells her that someone might have information about Lena. "We've never been able to track her down in all the time we've spent searching for her. Trusting that a stranger might be able to do that..." She shakes her head again. "We need to be cautious. Make sure it's not a trap." "Of course," Kara replies and while she understands Diana's trepidation, she can't help but go alone to the meeting. An abandoned warehouse. She has time to scope out the place, seeing only one person inside, her guard still up. She forces her way through a rusted door to get inside and spots the lone figure standing in a nest of shadows. "You're looking for Lena Luthor?" Barely even a question but Kara answers affirmatively anyway and that's when the figure steps out of the darkness. It's Lena. Kara rushes forward without thinking and has her hand on her throat, lifting her easily. "You!" she seethes and her eyes glow a violent red for only a moment. She expects to see hatred, maybe fear on the woman's face but sees nothing of the sort. If anything, she looks almost relieved at the prospect Kara might unleash all her rage upon her. "I didn't hurt Superman," she whispers hoarsely and a solitary tear rolls down the side of her face and down her mask. "I didn't hurt anybody." Kara knows better than to believe her but she drops her, lets her tumble to the ground. "You did," Kara whispers and reaches for the spent canister that Diana brought to her. "This is yours," she hisses and sees red when Lena nods.

"My research," Lena pleads. "I never wanted to turn it into a weapon. That was my brother's doing..." And it all comes out. Lex's facade as a humanitarian that he has carefully crafted. The one sane Luthor that has tried time and time again to stop his sister's more sinister inclinations have been nothing but smoke and mirrors. Even her mask is nothing more than a prop she's been forced to wear. 'To look the part' "Why do it then?" Kara asks, unsure of whether or not she should believe her. "Why help him, why let him pin all the blame onto you?" And that's when Lena pulls out a polaroid from her back pocket. "If I don't," she says and holds the photo up to the light. "He'll kill my best friend." When Kara leans closer, she sees a man tied to a chair, looking ragged, looking weak but relatively unharmed. "Jack," Lena murmurs. "I want to save him," she says, getting straight to the point. "I want to stop my brother, and I need your help."