#t13 figure

[finnieforkys]

He is still holding the knife because i can't get it off. How do i loosen the joints?

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 6,010 rating: T13 warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and gore, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing outright spoken about, if there's anything else to be tagged please let me know

a/n: it's here! and it's proofread! i'm very excited to put this out because i've been working on it for actual months by now. i think about this when i go to bed at night and i look forward to the weekend to keep writing. i don't know that there will ever be smut—there might be, i just haven't properly considered it yet—but there will be a lot of self-indulgent soft moments with the bastard.

please let me know what you think, and comment if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

You feel like shit.

You feel like shit, there are burns all over you, and the whole of your party smells like soot, death and disappointment. Well, at the very least, you, Lae’zel and Astarion do. Karlach seems to be managing perfectly fine if her boasting is anything to go by. And she tends to smell like smoke most days, to begin with.

Shadowheart, bless her, manages most of the minor wounds on her own. Chastises you gently for running into a burning building again—this time literally. Her lecture has no bite though; she can see on all your faces that this latest encounter has left an extremely bitter taste. In all of your mouths, not just yours or hers, and not just because of the smoke.

Once you no longer look like more of a corpse than your actual undead party member, you drag your feet back to your tent. Grab a change of clothes, pull a bucket from by the fire—with a promise to a whingeing Gale to bring it back, clean and preferably full of equally clean water—and thoughtlessly head towards where you’d last seen running water. It would suck, it would probably be freezing, and the idea of being mostly unarmed in any state of undress makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear into the Underdark. Maybe let the monsters there take you, while you’re at it. At least then you wouldn’t have to worry about an uninvited guest in your fucking skull.

But there is work to be done. Horrible, dreadful work. You know you’ll sleep… maybe not better tonight, but at least not as miserably, you hope. All that physical exertion has to be good for something.

You try not to think of the people at Waukeen’s Rest as you walk. Conveniently—or supremely inconveniently—there’s already someone in the clearing you’ve wandered into. The shock of white hair lets you know it is, in fact, Astarion who’s sat at the water’s edge. You figure the only reason he hasn’t noticed you yet is because he seems very… aggravated. His back is turned to you, but you can tell he’s violently trying to scrub something out of his hairline.

Probably the same blood, gore and soot that’s dried into yours.

You raise the bucket in your left hand and knock into it with your right. The vampire flinches and spins around so quickly you wonder if secondhand whiplash is a thing. There’s a moment where his face displays what you’re almost certain is fear, before he controls his expression into something more akin to familiar annoyance.

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

You wrinkle your nose at his almost pouty tone. Lately, Astarion’s been especially bitter with you. No idea why; maybe it’s because you turned him down those two times he propositioned you? You hadn’t figured he was serious. He flirts all the time with nearly everything with a pulse—probably things without if given half a chance—how would you ever know if he was being genuine?

…or maybe it’s the whole conversation with Raphael. Hm. Well it’s not like anyone—except Astarion, apparently—could fault you much for not wanting to trust a devil. At all. Ever.

You’re thinking too much about it.

Instead of offering an immediate answer, you approach Astarion with a not insignificant amount of caution.

“I can…” you start, but trail off. If you offer help—which he clearly needs, what with being unable to see his own reflection and therefore see his own face to wash the dried blood, soot and grime off of it—he’s going to refuse you. If you try to impose yourself, you’re probably just… not going to make it to see the next morning, actually.

So you hedge your bets and, after taking a few more careful steps forward, reach your hand out, palm up.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at the washcloth Astarion’s holding. He predictably narrows his eyes at you. His gaze flickers between your outstretched hand and your face as though there’s some form of deception there that he should be able to see.

His right leg shifts, just barely. You already know that’s the side that has a small dagger hidden in the boot. You do your best to pretend you don’t see or know.

You’re not sure you do a terribly good job of it. Astarion sighs—a terribly loud, put-upon sound that just reminds you of a child being told to clean their room.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

You’d sigh yourself if you didn’t think it would set him off even more. So instead you approach, carefully and slowly as you can manage without looking too terribly awkward. Once you’re a foot or two away, you grab the washcloth and give it a quick rinse in the river. Once you’ve wrung it out, you maneuver the bucket upside down to sit on it and scoot yourself a bit closer to the… very obviously displeased vampire.

You barely catch yourself; when your right hand comes up to his face with the washcloth, your left immediately follows. It hovers by his cheek and you freeze, for a moment, and try to remember to breathe under Astarion’s extremely judgemental stare.

“Can—do you mind?” you ask, barely over a whisper, quickly glancing at your left hand. You’re already curling your fingers to pull it away.

The vampire spawn rolls his eyes like your antics are truly the most boring thing in the world before answering.

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest, if you don’t mind. I would really love to stop wasting time on a face I can’t even see.”

You nod and try not to swallow thickly. But you don’t think any effort matters. The sound of your thundering heart would probably bury any other sound your body would make anyway.

His skin is incredibly soft, but you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying so. You focus on what you’re meant to be doing, focusing on a spot above Astarion’s left brow. Then the right brow. You do your best to remember to breathe through your nose the whole time. No talking. No fast or twitching movements. You pray the smell of death and fire are enough to overpower whatever your breath smells like.

You don’t realize when he closes his eyes. Maybe after the second or third time you gently push his head this way and that. You run the washcloth around his ears, along his jaw. Meticulously avoid the two puncture wounds on his neck.

“As good as it’s gonna get,” you whisper, quickly casting your eyes down before Astarion opens his, and busy yourself with folding and refolding the washcloth. Take a deep breath and look back up while you pass the cloth back over. “Still gonna want to dunk your head, though. Hair’s still…” You gesture vaguely at what should be a shock of pure white.

It’s… well it’s not entirely white anymore.

There’s a moment where you catch an unusual expression on Astarion’s face. It doesn’t last long enough for you to be able to figure it out. And where maybe you would’ve asked, any other time, today doesn’t—the timing doesn’t feel quite right.

“Well then,” you start, grabbing the bucket by the handle and quickly moving to the river to scoop up a decent amount of water. You pretend it’s not heavier than you think it was. You’re trying to figure out what you should say as you leave—if anything at all—but your companion makes the choice for you.

“Thank you,” he says, not quietly, but not with the usual bravado you hear from him. It’s enough to make you pause. “I would hate for my slovenly appearance to ruin vampires’ prim and proper reputation,” he continues, and you can’t help but let your mouth twist into the smallest grin. “Even though red is my colour.”

You snort in amusement, but quickly shake it off. There is something you want to be saying, actually, and you open your mouth before you can lose your nerve.

“When you’re done, can you—do you mind passing by my tent?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as he wrings out the washcloth. He doesn’t move, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure he wants to slighter back to the water’s edge. You cut him off when he opens his mouth; you’re not sure you’re ready for whatever biting one-liner he’s got ready for you.

“Actually nevermind, I’ll just—I can see you tomorrow morning. It’s not that important.”

You beat as hasty a retreat as the weight of the bucket of water lets you.

You help Gale for supper. Wash, peel and cut various vegetables, fetch more water by the riverside—Astarion has blessedly left by the time you crouch back down by the bank—and take the time to throw the ball for Scratch a few times. By the time the sun begins to sink into the horizon, the smell of deliciously spiced duck, stewed in with a mouth-watering variety of vegetables, wafts over to you and lures you by the fire where your companions have assembled.

Your local vampire is, predictably, absent. You find yourself wondering if the smells that are so tantalizing to you now would be repugnant to you if you had survived on the blood of pests for two hundred years.

Supper is generally a calm affair. You catch up with whomever was absent from the adventuring party for the day, offer Gale some praise for the meal, indulge Wyll with a few dances—kept at a very polite and respectable distance—and eventually settle by the fire.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart seem to have made peace, for now. They watch each other from their respective tents. There’s not as much contempt and disdain as there was a few nights ago when they’d tried to kill each other. You’re relieved they no longer feel the compulsion to ask to the rapidly mounting pile of absolute bullshit you have to deal with. As if mindflayer spawn in your brains and the looming threat of annihilation weren’t enough to sate their need for excitement.

Well after the sun has set, Wyll rests a hand on your shoulder before sitting himself next to you by the fire. You nod in acknowledgement and quietly retreat to your tent. You’ve set yourself up far enough from the campfire if only just for some solitude after a day surrounded by other people and death. Close enough to the water that, when you return to camp at the end of the day, you’ve an easy time just shrugging off your armour and clothes and just walk into the water after sliding into a well-loved, black cotton slip.

You’ve sat yourself behind a makeshift low table—really just a few planks of wood, scavenged from a damaged dock, atop a pair of crates you’d emptied—and open your journal to begin writing. You were never an avid diary-keeper before being abducted by the nautiloid. Never saw the relevance of it. Not that you could remember to keep track of your daily activities, either way.

But now that so many things happen in only the span of a handful of hours, and so much planning to do, and so many people to remember... you find it easy to sit down at the end of the day and write down everything you saw. You write about Halsin’s release from the dungeons in the defiled temple. Write about how conflicting he seems as a man, and as an elf—so incredibly large, and his speech is so incredibly gentle and soft until it suddenly is... not so much.

You take a moment before writing about your encounter with Abdirak. You keep it brief; the only person reading this journal should be you, after all, and you trust yourself to remember how you felt, beneath the mace, and how you feel now, trying to untangle those feelings.

You omit Astarion’s interjection, much as you do spend a minute thinking about it.

You’re flipping to your fourth page of daily notes when you hear a gentle knocking on one of the wooden poles holding up the canvas of your tent. You don’t look up from your writing but call them in, anyway. You gesture vaguely in front of you, motioning in what you think is the general direction of the cushion set in front of your makeshift desk.

“Sit,” you command. “I’ve just got to... finish. This sentence,” you add haltingly. You have to cross and rewrite a word, spend a few more seconds completing your sentence, before finally putting the quill down. When you look up from your notes, you hastily shut your journal, still-wet ink be damned.

There are... probably too many things written down that you wouldn’t want Astarion to see, especially if his current smug expression means anything.

“What, too caught up in waxing poetics about my boundless charms?”

You scoff at the play of arrogance before pulling one of your smaller packs into your lap and stuffing the journal back inside.

“If you must know,” you start, tossing your back near the back of your tent. As far out of reach of a rakish rogue as you could manage in such a small space. “I was writing down my expectations for the day tomorrow. Which includes going back to the grove to collect our reward from Rath.”

Astarion raises his chin and you and narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously selfish of you, bard.”

You shrug your shoulders and lean back on your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. “I’m not as tooth-rottingly sweet as you seem to think I am. My altruism is also self-serving.”

Astarion shifts and pulls a knee up to rest his arm against and leans in. There’s a glint in his eye you recognize. Your heartbeat flutters, for a second; you could say that you don’t like it when he looks at you like a roast to carve, but closer to the truth would be to admit that you’re terrified of it for lack of knowing how to respond.

You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve got too many people relying on my decision making, besides. I can’t afford to extend a hand if I can’t be sure we won’t all get bit. I very much intend on having us all get to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, and live to see our brains roommate-free.”

Astarion scoffs and leans back. You breathe a little easier now that he’s back to being more aloof and judgemental rather than overly-observant.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” he replies, feigning interest in the cleanliness of his nail beds. “The fact that you’ve assumed that kind of responsibility for... what, exactly?” He turns his gaze to you, and you can feel more than see the derision in his eyes.

You look down and take a moment to think. The obvious answer, the first one that comes to mind, is that you feel you have the moral obligation to help when you’re able to. It’s how you were raised.

Another answer, just as true as the first, is that you hope that if you treat others with kindness, maybe they’ll allow you mercy when you need it. Self-serving altruism, just as you’d said.

“Safety,” you eventually respond, lifting your eyes to Astarion’s and tilting your head. “Same as you, I figure.”

Astarion bristles at this, but only barely. You can see it in the tension appearing in his shoulder and the way his face seems to become a little more taught, a little more rigorously controlled.

“Safety, you figure?”

You hum in agreement. “I’m the one you chose to bite that night.”

Again, he scoffs. “Because you were the one least likely to stake me, darling. Not because I thought you’d keep me safe.”

“You thought I’d keep your secret safe, though” you say, pulling your legs back towards you and lean in to rest your elbows on your desk. “I was the safest risk because somehow, all of you with the brilliant exception of Wyll, think I’m a bleeding heart with no sense of self-preservation.”

“You quite literally wandered into a room full of smokepowder barrels with a torch in your hand. A lit torch.”

“I didn’t know there would be smokepowder there, come on!” you exclaim in defense. You compose yourself almost immediately; you know Astarion’s just trying to rile you up. Looking at him, he’s not quite smirking, but there’s the pull of an expression there that feels like it could be satisfaction.

You sigh and run a hand down your face. It feels like a cold shock to have him speak so casually with you now when he felt so unapproachable by the river, earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that he chose to come see you, come into your space, makes it feel different. You feel more in control, if only a little.

In here, you still have the pretense of being the leader of your eclectic group. By the river, stripped of armour and excuses, you felt untethered.

“Whatever. Is there a reason for your visit or were you just bored with getting under everyone else’s skin?”

Astarion fakes hurt and offense, a hand to his chest. “You wound me! You’re the one who asked me to come to you, or has the tadpole knocked the memory loose?”

You lean back a little. You had forgotten. In the midst of the food and the dancing and the writing, you had completely forgotten that you’d asked for him to seek you out. You had, however, figured he would actually wait until the morning. Or maybe another week, if you survived that long. Or never at all.

You were never quite sure what Astarion thought of you at any given point in time, nevermind how seriously he would take your words.

“Right. I just fi—it’s. Right.” You trip over your words, before leaning off to one side to grab at a small pouch. You pull at the drawstring as you right yourself, and plunge a hand in to pull out its singular content.

You hold it up in front of your eyes for a second. It had started as a peculiar stone, but with some time and effort and possibly too much polishing, had revealed itself to be a particularly beautiful opal. Clear nearly all the way through save for a single starburst of vivid colour in the center, tendrils of refractive colours reaching out for the edges.

It had reminded you of sunlight, when you had first held it up to a candle after the final polish. And then, unbidden, you thought of Astarion, and his complicated and upturned relationship with the sun.

You slide the pendant, carefully wrapped in looping metal wires, strung on a simple braided leather cord, over the desk to Astarion.

“I found this in the village,” you explain, trying to calm the panicked thrumming of your heart. “It reminded me of you so I... well, it’s yours if you want it.”

This felt like a good idea at first. While grinding down the rough edges and sanding the surfaces smooth, it felt like a kind gesture. Currently, it feels like maybe you might have given Astarion even more to relentlessly tease and bully you with. Like perhaps you’ve found something that would add another weight to you both.

You keep your eyes on the table. See Astarion slowly reach for the pendant to hold it up in front of his own eyes. You swallow thickly and motion to the candle at the edge of your desk.

“If you hold it up to the light, it looks better.”

He wordlessly nods and follows your directions. The stays motionless for several seconds, and you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. His expression doesn’t change at all, and that makes you even more nervous.

This feels like the riverside all over again. You never know how Astarion will accept kindness, you realize.

“...I don’t understand why you would give this to me if it reminds you of me,” he eventually says, though his eyes are still riveted to the flame-like starburst of the stone. “Why would I keep it?”

You flounder for a second and do your best to try and remain composed. I just wanted to isn’t going to be an acceptable answer. When Astarion turns his gaze to you, otherwise unmoving, you hold a hand up.

“Give me a second,” you rush to say, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down at the wood of your desk to think. There has to be a string of words you can put together that will make sense, even to someone like Astarion. Surely.

Some bard you are.

“I suppose,” you start slowly, placing your palms flat on the desk. Astarion brings his arm down. You don’t see what he does with the pendant. “I wanted you to have something that meant someone thought kindly of you.”

You expect to see a sneer on his face, or something akin to disgust, maybe revulsion. But, no, he’s returned to examining you again. You feel the tadpole squirm behind your eye and squint against the discomfort. Is he trying to...?

Well, fair enough.

You hardly have any control over the tadpole—not that you want to control it, you only want it out of your skull—but do your best to try and let him see you finding the stone. Try and open the door just wide enough for that single experience.

Astarion, of course, pushes his luck. Though he’s about as skilled with using the tadpole as any of you likely are at this point, and gets pulled into your mind like a receding wave. Your mind shows you sharp, white teeth and crimson eyes. A shock of silver-white hair under moonlight just as his face comes into view. Teeth at your neck and the feeling of uncertainty of what any of this means for you. The flood of relief when you realized your campmate was just a vampire, and that he was never intending to do anything worse than taking a sip.

Astarion withdraws suddenly and violently from your mind. The absence of him feels like the bleeding gap left by the removal of a particularly large splinter. There’s a headache beginning to drum just behind your eyes that has nothing to do with the illithid parasite. You rub at your eyes with the butt of your palms to try and ease the soreness there. When you pull your hands away, the expression you see on Astarion’s face is indescribable. There’s horror there, but understanding and a non-insignificant amount of apprehension.

“Next time,” you croak, clearing your throat and rolling your shoulders. “I would appreciate if you just asked.”

“I did, and you let me in,” Astarion answers, uncharacteristically soft and quiet. He says nothing else before standing up and turning to leave your tent. You feel aloft in the wind before he turns around to add, “Thank you, for your gift.”

The canvas of your tent moves back into place. Your candle keeps burning. The quiet of the camp is only broken by the habitual night time sounds of nature, the occasional sound of Scratch’s collar, and the crackling of firewood when Wyll throws in another log.

You whistle sharply, two tones, and you hear Scratch eagerly making his way over to your tent. He pushes the canvas out of his way with his snout and quickly comes to sit in front of your desk.

“Is something bothering you, friend?” the dog asks, tilting his head to the side. You smile when one of his ears flop over.

“I’m alright, boy,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “Mind spending the night here with me?”

Scratch stands back up excitedly, tail wagging. “Of course!”

You make short work of moving the planks of wood to the side and stacking the crates out of the way. Unfurl your bedroll and pull some salvaged sheets for some extra padding. When you lay down, Scratch curls up at your side. You put an arm around him and distractedly scratch at his back.

When you trance, you try to keep your mind as clear as possible. You need to be sharp, alert and aware for the day tomorrow. You need to clear the rest of the goblin camp, prepare yourself for the brutality of it. And then report back to the grove and Zevlor once you’re done.

This does not prevent ruby eyes shining like stones from appearing in the shadows every now and then.

You walk to the grove with everyone in tow. You, Astarion, Lae’zel and Wyll are covered in blood and probably viscera. Karlach seems mostly untouched, and though Gale and Shadowheart look exhausted, they seem perfectly fine. Nothing a nice, long rest won’t fix. Probably.

In front of the large wooden gate, you call out to Kaldani.

“Let them know it’s done,” you shout up. “The goblin camp has been cleared!”

There’s shouting as the gates open, and immediately the tieflings begin to swarm you. Zevlor appears out of practically nowhere. Alfira even makes an appearance to interrogate you about the goblin camp, the defiled temple. You end up following her deeper into the Grove to sit and regale her with your... well, you suppose they are heroic endeavours, but you take a moment to sincerely let her know it was horrible. Yes, you whole group is competent, yes, all together you make for a terrifyingly effective strategist. But slaughtering people who don’t know any better because it was kill or be killed isn’t something heroic. It is not magical or fantastic. It is brutal and it is bloody, and when you say that, you wrinkle your nose.

You’re still covered in blood. And gods know what else.

Alfira makes sure to convey her understanding, lets you know that she won’t be composing something wonderful and fantastic. She tells you she wants to make it a cautionary tale; being influenced by powers you cannot see and compelled to perform acts of cruelty yet unmatched. The grit and resolve it takes to prevent such a thing, and the knowledge that sometimes you must choose means for ends you cannot promise. It’s a bit much, but you appreciate it.

You don’t bother letting the rest of your crew, swarmed as they are, know of your departure. You slink off to go collect from Rath, as you had mentioned. Leaving the inner chamber and escaping unnoticed, however, was a significantly greater challenge. As you’re attempting to make a quick escape, you get held up by Zevlor. He offers to pay you for your help—the word makes you grit your teeth—and given that you’re alone and no one else can complain about your decision making, you refuse. Looting the defiled temple had provided you all with more than enough tradeable materials to make for a sizable amount of gold.

And you have a feeling the tieflings are going to be needing whatever they can get their hands on far more than your lot will.

You accept Zevlor’s offer to celebrate your party tonight, if only because you don’t have the heart to turn him down. And maybe also because the idea of drowning your sorrows in several bottles of wine and ale sounds like an amazing idea.

Shadowheart is the only one that spots you trying to make a hasty getaway. She smirks at you before looking away, back to whoever she was conversing with. You let out a sigh of relief and trudge your way back to camp.

By the time you make it by the extinguished fire, you’ve already taken off your breastplate. You feel better already, without the weight of it on your shoulders. Make your way over to your tent and make quick work of the rest. Staring at the pile of metal and leather, you find yourself wishing you knew any transmutation spells. Prestidigitation would be very useful right now.

You disrobe, piling your clothes into a wicker basket, before slipping into your cotton shift. Grab the wicker basket and make your way to Astarion’s tent. You pilfer one of the six bars of soap the man has before making your back back to the waterside. You’d at least like to be clean of blood and dirt and have the possibility of wearing clean clothes if you’re going to be up all night drinking to what you suppose is a job well done.

You let your face screw up in disgust while you scrub at your face with a threadbare washcloth. Evil as goblins may be, you’re still unsure about the near-thoughtless slaughter of the children you found in the dungeons. There’s something off-putting about anything resembling genocide. You let yourself get angry, in between scrubbing your hair with soap and dunking your head in the water to rinse it out. Angry about being in the horrible position of leading a group of people with different ideals, angry about the stupid fucking worm in your head, angry about everyone looking to you for the correct path to take.

“Correct path my left fucking nut,” you spit, flattening your wet hair away from your face. “Like a bard’s supposed to be a moral fucking compass.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual,” you hear from the riverside, and take a moment to close your eyes and brace yourself. You take a deep breath before turning to face Astarion.

“I hardly think bathing is unusual,” you retort back, twisting and wringing the water out of a tunic particularly roughly. “Did you also escape ahead of the tieflings, then?”

Astarion leisurely kicks a log—probably one that was by the fire—before taking a seat a few feet away from the water. He looks... alarmingly clean for someone that emerged from the same hellish depths you have. You don’t listen to his reply, but instead try to remember whose face you remember seeing in the grove. His was not one of them.

A twig hits you in the forehead and stuns you out of your thoughts.

“What in the world was that for—”

“I was asking you a question,” Astarion says, leaning an elbow on a knee and cradling his chin in his hand. “But it seems someone was too preoccupied with my shoulder to properly pay attention to me.”

“I realized you didn’t follow us to the grove,” you trail off, turning back around to continue washing your clothes. You freeze, for a moment, realizing he very well could have seen you sneaking the bar of soap from his belongings. You resume your scrubbing, determined not to bring it up if he doesn’t. Not like Astarion hasn’t pilfered some of your own things before.

“I did,” he replies with all the drama of someone being called a liar. “I simply left once the news had been given that we’d been successful.”

You hum to yourself. “So you left before they even opened the gate to let us in, then.”

You hear a scoff, then, “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“You’re the one who was saying I wasn’t paying attention,” you say with a bit of a huff, twisting and wringing out your trousers before slinging them over your shoulder. “What was the question?”

There’s a long enough pause when you’re scrubbing and rinsing your undergarments that you wonder if Astarion’s just left. You let the clothes fall back into the wicker basket you’d wedged in some tall grass and turn back around.

He isn’t looking at you. You don’t think you ever quite understood the concept of someone looking through you until this moment. Astarion’s gaze is, technically, you suppose, on you. But he seems far away, like recalling a memory he isn’t quite sure how he feels about.

“Well?” you prompt, grabbing the wicker basket and making your way to ground.

“When we spoke, last night,” he starts, and you find he sounds a little unsure of himself. Hesitant, maybe? “When you... let me in.”

You’re not sure if you shiver because of where the conversation is going or because your dripping, waterlogged shift is making you cold. You don’t say anything and wait for Astarion to continue.

“The first night I—when I bit you, what...” he trails off and looks away. His face contorts into something like disappointment, but you’re not quite sure what with. “What is it you were scared of?”

You busy yourself with finding a nice, wide rock, exposed to the sun, to lay your clothes out to try. Do your best to make sure everything is flat and won’t wrinkle.

“I was scared of the same thing any woman would when she wakes to a man looming over her.” You try to keep your voice level and not let the vitriol—the result of equal parts rage and terror that Astarion couldn’t possibly ever have had any hand in—out of your voice. “It wouldn’t have been the first time,” you add quietly.

You turn around to wring the water from the bottom of your shift. You keep your eyes down as you twist the fabric, but catch Astarion standing in your periphery. When you do look up at him, after he’s taken a few steps toward you, something horrible and expanding twists in your stomach.

He looks ashamed, somewhat, but there’s something else in his eyes that takes you a moment to place. It’s understanding, it’s knowing that he had put you in a position that he, himself, is intimately familiar with. It’s the kind of look you seldom ever see on a man. It rends your heart, a little bit.

“Right,” you say suddenly, moving to shake and wring the water out of your hair. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way, so if it’s all the same t—”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurts out. Like the impulse to apologize for his transgression was stronger than the need to preserve whatever image he’d constructed himself. “I wouldn’t have—if I’d known—”

“You could have,” you interrupt him in turn. When you look down at your hands, you can see your veins honeycombing in a familiar pattern. You still the shaking in them by picking up the hem of your slip. “I’m not being fair to you, sorry. I can understand why someone in your position wouldn’t have been asking for everyone’s personal circumstance.”

“How—what do you mean by that?” Astarion asks, frowning like he thinks you know something he doesn’t. You shake your head.

“The expectation would have been for you to share your own history,” you explain, making your way to your tent. You pretend you don’t loathe the feeling of dirt and grass stuck to your feet. “Even if you’d lied, that would’ve all been blown away as soon as we got to Bladur’s Gate, wouldn’t it?”

Astarion looks down and away. You shrug your shoulders as he follows you. Busy yourself rolling and tying up the fabric that served as a door to your personal space. You turn your head just in time to see him open his mouth to speak, but whatever he starts saying is lost under Gale’s booming greeting.

“There you are! We were wondering where our fearless, valiant leader had gone!”

You glance over Astarion’s shoulder, where you can see Gale leading your merry band of misfits, before looking back at the man in front of you. He already looks detached and aloof again.

“Suppose I’ll leave you to your social duties then, darling,” Astarion says as way of a parting greeting, and ambles over to his own tent and disappears inside.

You let Gale fill you in on the plan—wherein the tieflings will pack everything up and, on their way out of the grove tonight, will come celebrate their ‘liberation’ with the camp. You sit on the small stool you have set in front of your tent and only half-listen while coming through and braiding your hair.

You don’t see Astarion again until well after the sun has set.

[trooperst-3v3]

Figured out a great way to encourage the gunners not to snack at their posts.

I ran out of those motion sensors that yell in Katie's voice, but, with the help of AR-T13 the armorer, I came up with a better solution:

So, the gunners wear those fancy helmets that show them targeting data, right? Well, AR-T13 helped me add a little program to their targeting computers. If the microphones in their helmets pick up the sound of chewing, the connection between targeting computer and helmet will immediately break, and their visor screens will play unskippable 30-second ads until the offending sound stops.

It's actually a beautiful solution, especially since the ad deals we worked out with local businesses will make the First Order a few credits every time one plays.

[buffleheadcabin]

This small Japanese street is lined with figures, sculptures and a shrine dedicated to frogs.

[abcexpresspk]

Price: (as of – Details) From the brand - ...

[techbloggingfool]

Excel, Convert A UTC Timestamp to CST

I recently needed to create a comprehensive report out of some exported log data. The system I was working with exported timestamps in the UTC format of YYYY-MM-DDTHH:MM:SSZ. For example, 2023-10-08-T13:43:30Z would be 1:43:30 PM on October 8th, 2023, in my time zone. I figured it would be easy to change in Excel. I assumed I could do it with a custom date map on the row that the time data was…

[streetbanana]

Uninstalling suitcase fusion 3

The other little piggy thought it was a splendid idea and joined the first one! by FlosDeLux, on Flickr Step 1: See the handle holes there on the hatch door? There is one Torx screw in each:įord Focus mk2 Boot Open by FlosDeLux, on Flickrįord Focus Mk2 Left Hatch Boot Handle by FlosDeLux, on Flickrįord Focus Mk2 Right Hatch Boot Handle by FlosDeLux, on Flickr Next time I will use my Canon 30D, honest! Better pics, 8MP, not so large, and better quality! Well, the issue persisted, and as I later found out, the micro-switch has not dried off either, despite the hottest week (30C) in Ireland, EVER!įor this little experiment, one will need a Torx screwdriver (my nuts'n'bolts required T13), a little wrench (10 I believe) and a bit of other odd tools you probably already have lying around. I have then decided to leave it like that, to see if the micro-switch would dry off and stop producing the issue. So on one fine day, I decided to poke around and peeled the rubber cover of the actual boot handle, and I swear to god, what looked like half a pint of water came out of that handle, together with some white stuff in it, which was either coagulated wax from the power wash injected water, or the corrosion of the aluminum (or whatever metal) parts within. I did some research and figured that it would either be the water in the cable connector (which means when you press any control that kicks off the lights on the tail the boot goes off) or that the actual handle micro-switch was somehow damaged. Being a relative newbie to the Ford Focus scene (got one recently) I discovered that my boot/trunk handle (with a micro-switch) did not work, and to make things worse, the boot would open all by itself during driving!

[badtonki]

Make calctape default calculator shortcut

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut windows 10

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut android

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut software

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut Pc

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut windows

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut android

Thanks for using this free android app named Calculator with Tape - CalcTape. If you find any problem feel free to contact us. You can share your calculation document to your colleague, business partner, Friends whom need your calculations. Your Calculation will store in your mobile, so you can get it when ever your wants it again to view, edit. CalcTape is NOT a scientific calculator, but do we need these in daily use ? You can place the cursor everywhere you like in the calculation: It's like a note where you can change anything you like in any place with the advantage, that changing numbers or operators updates your calculation immediately.Commenting figures and results gives sense to your calculations, so you can understand what you did when viewing the calculation a month later. It is your companion for all daily calculation needs and easily masters all scenarios you can imagine.

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut windows

For instance, if a pinned app shows up as the fifth app from the taskbar’s left side, you can use Windows logo + 5 to open that specific app/program.Calculator with Tape - CalcTape is free android tool for doing calculations with comment for each digits,store history of your calculations, share your calculation and many more all funcationality in single solution whose named Calculator with Tape - CalcTape. /archive/tag/android-default-email-issues.html T13:16:05-06:00. Choose Windows Calculator by Microsoft and click on. Click on the Search button in the top-left of the window, then type in calculator. Launch the Microsoft Store app from the search results by clicking on it once. That is, if an app/program icon is pinned to the taskbar, you can use Windows + 1/2/3 shortcuts to open those programs/apps. Press the Windows + S keys on your keyboard to bring up the search utility, then type in Microsoft Store. Note that you can use this shortcut to open any app on the taskbar. Step 4: You can now use Windows + 1 keyboard shortcut to open the Calculator app. That is, it should appear next to the Start button, search box (if you have), or search icon (if you have the search icon on the taskbar). Step 3: Now, move the Calculator app to the extreme left of the taskbar (as shown in the picture below). Step 2: When you see the Calculator entry in the search result, perform a right-click on it and then click the Pin to taskbar option. Step 1: Search for the Calculator app using the Start/taskbar search feature.

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut windows 10

Method 2 of 2 Another way to create a keyboard shortcut to open Calculator in Windows 10

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut Pc

Install Onedrive app -> In your browser, go to the folder containing the desired file in sharepoint -> on the upper ribbon select add shortcut to OneDrive (if not showing, click on the three dots), this action creates a shortcut for the folder containing the file -> Open your OneDrive folder on you PC (the. That is it! You can now launch the Calculator app using this keyboard shortcut. If you want a desktop shortcut to be opened by your desktop app then do the following. Fixed problem that CalcTape started in default-layout if docking-windows such as Variables or NumPad were outside of the bounds of the CalcTape-main window at the end of. Resolved some keyboard-shortcut issues in the file-menu (all languages) ctrl-shift-s new hotkey. :///profile/APFT-Calculator-Crack-Free-Latest-2022/profile. CalcTape Version History (Version 6.0.4 (Release Date.

#Make calctape default calculator shortcut software

For instance, if you choose the letter “C,” Windows 10 will make the keyboard shortcut as Ctrl + Alt + C. It requires no prior knowledge and might be a software that will make your. Note that Windows 10 will automatically attach Ctrl + Alt to the selected shortcut. Step 4: Under the Shortcuts tab, in the Shortcut key field, type a letter you would like to use to launch the Calculator app. With Windows 10, lots of built-in apps (like the calculator) are now Modern UI apps. Step 3: Now that you have the Calculator shortcut on the desktop, right-click on it and then click the Properties option. Step 2: Now, drag and drop the Calculator app tile from the Start menu to the desktop area to create its shortcut on the desktop. To do that, search for the Calculator using the Start/taskbar search, right-click on it and then click the Pin to Start option to pin it to the Start menu. Calculations can be made quickly and easily. Step 1: First of all, we need to create a shortcut for the Calculator app on the desktop. Alternatively you can also use the shortcut ctrl+n to create a new document. Step 3: Click File on the top left corner, and select Save As to move on. Step 2: Open the new text document, and input calc. Click on an empty space on the Windows 10 desktop, right Mouse-Button. Steps to create a Calculator shortcut on the desktop in Win 8/8.1: Step 1: Right-click the blank area on the desktop, choose New in the context menu and tap Text Document in the sub-menu to create a new text document. Create a keyboard shortcut to open Calculator in Windows 10 1.) Creating the desktop shortcut for the calculator To see the Windows 10 or 11 desktop, press the key combination Windows logo key + D.

[konohagakureship]

What actually happens to Team Minato in the intergalactic au?

Hi anon!! thank you for asking!!! and sorry for the delay xD

This took me TOO LONG to write but i hope you will enjoy it! (it’s a LONG post)

TLDR Team Minato: 

Team Minato (T13) meet in the Academy and remain together for many years until Kakashi is promoted to Captain and Obito and Rin join the Exploration Corps. 

In the meantime, Minato is elected Minister of Gaheliant, Obito nearly dies in a rookie mission and is assigned an assistant T0B1 droid, Rin nearly dies after she gets implanted a remote controlled bioweapon and Kakashi recruits KN0E from Root, assigns Itachi a covert mission and becomes T7 tutor.

Here you can find more info about the Space Academy and the courses (i’ll make a post about it in the future probably)

What you will find under the cut: 

a basic timeline of T13,

a map with their homeplanets,

and their stories from their childhood to the present.

au! Intergalactic Akatsuki  |  Masterpost

————–

Team Minato (T13) basic timeline

Minato enters the Space Academy at the age of 16, where he meets Kushina. He obtains the rank of Sub-lieutenant and Lieutenant, with Jiraya as his Academy tutor.

After his graduation, he chooses to pursue a military career and is promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

Two years later, Minato is promoted to Commander and transferred to Captain Jiraya’s Division.

Two years later, Tsunade is appointed Secretary of Gaheliant and Jiraya is promoted to Commodore. Minato is promoted to Captain.

Kakashi, Obito and Rin meet at the Space Academy at the age of 16. They form T13 under Captain Minato’s tutoring. That same year Minato marries Secretary Kushina.

At the Age of 31 Minato is promoted to Commodore and Naruto is born.

Three years later he abandons his military career after Minister Tsunade appoints him as Secretary of Gaheliant. He stops being T13 official tutor. 

Kakashi graduates from the Academy with the rank of Lieutenant, while Obito and Rin graduates with the Sub-lieutenant rank. The three of them decide to pursue a military career and are promoted to Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenant.

In an exploration mission, Kakashi encounters the Root agent KN0E but does not report it to his superiors.

Two years later, Kakashi is promoted to Commander and is given a ship and crew specialised in sabotage missions. His subordinates Obito and Rin are promoted to Lieutenant Commanders. 

During that time, Kakashi gets KN0E to join the official military thanks to Minato’s influence as Tsunade’s Secretary. KN0E is given the name of Yamato Tenzo and joins the Galactic Federation Special Forces as a Lieutenant Commander under Commander Kakashi’s orders.

Two years later Minato is elected Minister of Gaheliant, Kakashi is promoted to Captain and put in charge of the covert operations. Obito and Rin join the Exploration Corps as Commanders. Yamato is promoted to Commander in Captain Kakashi’s Brigade.

Three years later Itachi becomes Commander Yamato’s Lieutenant Commander.

At the age of 32, Kakashi becomes a tutor in the Academy for T7. The same year, Itachi is promoted to Commander in Captain Kakashi’s Brigade.

Maps

T13 homeplanets

Relevant locations to their stories

Team 13 from their childhood to the present

Minato Namikaze

Minato was born in the capital planet Qintis (Saukiren region), in an average family. Minato grew up admiring the work and career of the then Gaheliant Minister Hiruzen Sarutobi, who was native from Qintis. 

From a young age Minato witnessed the rising conflicts in the border with Wavka and the Cartel. Saukiren was in charge of the military and humanitarian aid that the Federation was sending to Wavka, so many refugees arrived to Qintis during that time. 

Minato and his family volunteered in the humanitarian program in Qintis, but he wanted to have an active role in future conflicts. As soon as he reached the age of 15, Minato applied to join the Space Academy for Gaheliant Officers.

At the age of 16, Minato moved to Ionath and joined the Space Academy. As a cadet, he was assigned a team and a tutor, who would guide him and supervise his academic performance and training. Captain Jiraya was his designated tutor, but will also become a paternal figure to Minato.

During his time in the Academy, Minato received advanced combat training and elected Uzui Matter Studies and Diplomatic Relations as his academic degree in the Ionath University. After being promoted to Sub-lieutenant, he specialised in Flash Incursion Strategy and participated in active duty missions under Captain Jiraya’s orders for two years, achieving the Lieutenant rank. 

After his graduation, Minato choose to pursue a military career. He was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and joined the Galactic Federation Forces. 

At the age of 30, Capitan Minato became the tutor of T13 a cadet team from Gaheliant’s Space Academy. He tutored them for four years, until he was appointed Secretary of Gaheliant. In the meantime, he got married to Uzui’s Secretary, had a son with her and got promoted to Commodore.

Eight years later, Minato is elected Minister of Gaheliant, taking over Tsunade’s position. 

Kakashi Hatake

Kakashi was born in Ketra, the second planet of the Izuko region, in a military family from House Hatake. After his mother’s death, Kakashi moved to Ionath with his father, who was serving in the Special Forces. 

Commodore Sakumo Hatake had a major failure during one of his missions, that resulted in the death of several members of a Vynt battalion, which repercuted in the diplomatic relations between Gaheliant and Vynt. Sakumo was demoted from his rank and relieved of his duties, and after a long depression, he took his own life.

Kakashi had joined the Space Academy that same year. Spited by the actions and failures of his father, he swore to become a better official than Sakumo. 

In the Academy, Kakashi was assigned to T13 under the tutoring of Captain Minato, alongside Rin and Obito. He received advanced combat training and elected Imperial Military History and Classical Warfare Studies as his academic degree in the Ionath University. 

In their fifth year in the Academy, Minato was appointed Secretary and was relieved of all his military duties, including his tutoring. T13 had to endure their specialisation time without Minato’s guide on the field, but he still tutored them unofficially. During that time Kakashi was promoted to Sub-lieutenant, specialised in Sabotage Missions and achieved the Lieutenant rank. 

After his graduation, he joined the Galactic Federation Forces and was promoted to Lieutenant Commander. During one of his missions, he encountered a covert Root agent named KN0E but did not report it to his superiors in order to protect him. 

KN0E and Kakashi met again after he was promoted to Commander, during a covert mission to investigate the Federation dark side. This time, Kakashi convinced KN0E to join his crew, and thanks to Minato’s influence, Minister Tsunade forced Admiral Danzo to accept KN0E’s transfer from Root to the Special Forces. KN0E was given the name of Yamato Tenzo and the rank of Lieutenant Commander under Kakashi’s orders.

Two years later, Minato was elected Minister and Kakashi was promoted to Captain and put in charge of the covert operations of the Gaheliant Special Forces. Commander Yamato became his right hand and instructed the just graduated Lieutenant Commander Itachi. Two years later, Itachi is promoted to Commander, and Kakashi assigns him a covert mission, codename : Akatsuki.

That same year, Kakashi becomes the tutor of T7 in the Space Academy.

Obito Uchiha

Obito was born in Uqian (Ulanir Region), in the Uchiha reigning family. He lost his parents at a young age and was raised by his grandmother. At the age of 16, following his family protocols for noble children, he was sent to Ionath to join the Space Academy.

Not being particularly good at anything “of importance”, Obito grew up feeling the pressure of his duties imposed by the Uchiha, and his eagerness to prove himself worthy augmented when the time to join the Academy came. He wanted to rise high, to become a relevant figure in the Senate and be respected amongst his peers.

However, his restless political ambition would fade once he saw that his objectives were the result of someone else’s expectations on him, and would try to pursue his own dreams.

In the Academy, Obito was assigned to T13 under the tutoring of Captain Minato, alongside Rin and Kakashi. He received advanced combat training and elected Astrobotanics and Diplomatic Relations as his academic degree in the Ionath University. During his last years he specialised in Sabotage Missions and achieved the Sub-lieutenant rank.

After his graduation, he joined the Galactic Federation Forces and was promoted to Sub-lieutenant and assigned to Lieutenant Kakashi’s squadron. 

In one of their rookie missions, inside the DeadZone territory, their team was ambushed by Istamyran pirates and Obito received a fatal hit that lacerated the right side of his body in an attempt to save his friends. Believing him dead, the squadron recoiled to escape, but the vitals in the medi-pad later revealed that Obito was still breathing. Kakashi and Rin returned to rescue him and took what remained of their friend to Ionath’s Military Hospital.

Obito spent months under observation and went through many medical procedures, receiving biomechanical prosthesis and reconstruction surgeries. After his recovery, he and Rin got promoted to Lieutenant and Kakashi to Lieutenant Commander, and resumed their military duties now in the Special Forces. 

Once Kakashi got promoted to Commander and given a ship, Obito and Rin joined his crew as Lieutenant Commanders, and took on missions specialised in sabotage and infiltration strategy in the Cartel border.

Two years later, with Kakashi’s promotion to Captain, Obito and Rin joined the Exploration Corps. Obito was promoted to Commander and deployed to the DZ Division that operated in the DeadZone territory, as head of Astrobotanics and Xenobiology Research Department. 

After his incident with the pirates, Obito received a military grade android T0B1 model that accompanied and assisted him in his duties. He named him Tobi, and spent so much time together that the android ended up adopting Obito’s cues and mannerisms.

They remained together for seven years until T0B1 was lost in an attack on their exploration ship.

Rin Nohara

Rin was born in Soqh (Konoha Region), in a modest family with medical background. Inspired by her older sister, who was a member of the Humanitarian Engineering Corps deployed in the Wavka Sector, Rin applied to join the Space Academy for Gaheliant Officers at the age of 15, and moved to Ionath as soon as she got accepted.

In the Academy, Rin was assigned to T13 under the tutoring of Captain Minato, alongside Obito and Kakashi. She received advanced combat training and elected Xenology and Emergency Medicine as her academic degree in the Ionath University. On her last Academy years she specialised in Sabotage Missions and achieved the Sub-lieutenant rank.

After her graduation, she joined the Galactic Federation Forces and was promoted to Sub-lieutenant and assigned to Lieutenant Kakashi’s squadron. 

When he was promoted to Commander. Rin, alongside Obito joined Kakashi’s crew as Lieutenant Commanders, and took on missions specialised in sabotage and infiltration strategy in the Cartel border.

In one of their infiltration missions in Hissek (Ki’mer Sector), Rin was discovered by Cartel mercenaries who captured and held her hostage for days. She was interrogated and tortured to get information about the operation, but she managed to escape before they could get any intel from her or contact her team for a ransom. 

However, during her interrogation, she had been implanted a remote controlled bioweapon that would activate as soon as the tracking device detected her proximity to Ionath. As soon as she realised, she took an escape pod and ejected it from the ship trying to end her life before her team and crew could be affected. 

T0B1 detected the lowering vitals of Rin’s medi-pad and alerted Obito and Kakashi, who tracked the escape pod beam signal to rescue her. Rin remained closed inside the escape pod until they arrived to Ionath Space Port, where she was put in quarantine and treated by the Military Medical Corps. 

After her recovery, she got promoted to Commander and with Kakashi’s promotion to Captain, Rin and Obito joined the Exploration Corps. She was deployed to the DZ Division that operated in the DeadZone territory, as head of Xenology and Xenolinguistics Research Department. 

Their mission was to investigate and study the remains of the ancient culture that once inhabited the DeadZone, as long as the radiation levels allowed them, while dealing with the many thieves and looters that sailed that territory.

[finnieforkys]

Took me two hours to build them, mostly because the plastic was really hard

[incorrect-treasure-quotes]

[T13 having dinner]

Haruto: thanks, dad

Yoshi: what did you just call me?

Haruto: nothing, I said thanks man

Hyunsuk: Haru, do you see Yoshi as a father figure?

Haruto: pft, no, how could I ever consider HIM as a father figure?!

Junkyu: Haru, show respect to your father!

[thenuanceddebater]

An Update – Law School (AKA I’m not dead, far from it actually)

Hey guys. It’s been a while. I know, I know. I should have said something before I left. But, I’ve been pretty busy. 

Most of you guys don’t know this (though some of you could have guessed), but I’ve been applying to law schools this year. In fact, I applied to way, way too many. I didn’t think I was going to get-in anywhere good. My undergrad grades were... not stellar. The semester before I began this blog, I almost failed-out of school. So, I figured my chances of getting into something super competitive like a good law school were pretty much nonexistent.  But I applied anyway, because my LSAT score was... pretty amazing. I applied to multiple T13 (that is Top 13 schools) and a bunch of schools in the T30 (top 30) and T50 (Top 50, I’m sure you see how these stupid abbreviations work now). I didn’t think it was going to work, but somehow it did. 

I got an interview from a great law school. Not just one of the T13 schools, my top choice school. The school that my girlfriend is going to for her PhD program (yeah, my life has been kinda busy as of late :p). And they admitted me during my interview with them. It was insane. Not only was I going to a great school, but I was going to the school I most wanted to go to.

So yeah. There’s my update. Starting fall of 2019 I’m an official top-tier law student. Which means, that I’m likely not going to be around very much – law school is a gigantic slog. But this is exactly everything that I’ve ever wanted in my life. I have a real chance of being a prosecutor, or even a judge right now. I didn’t have that last year, or the year before. So, to anyone who has ever wished me well, or encouraged me through an ask or through a PM, or reblogged one of my posts with clever commentary or something that made me laugh, I have to thank you all. And anyone who sat back and watched, who thought that I was intelligent or important enough to follow, thank you guys too. I really mean that. 

This blog and some of the confidence I gained from it is part of the reason why I was able to achieve the first part of my dreams. And to anyone who is still here or still wants to watch, I hope you’ll stick with me. Let’s see what’s on the other side of this. Together. 

So, now the stuff most of you guys probably care about. I can’t promise daily or weekly content will return. I’ve got a 9-5 job right now, and prepping for law school (”pre-reading” similar casebooks for every single class I’m taking my fall semester, all the logistical nonsense, etc.) is taking a lot of my time. I’ve also got friends, my girlfriend, even more logistics (Where am I going to live? Oh god, I need to sign a lease within the next month or so!), and bunch of other stuff on my plate. And ranting and raving at people on the internet kinda... loses its luster after a bit :p. But, I can promise that I’m not going to ignore you guys anymore – not intentionally at least – and that I’ll try and keep you updated as to my availability here. I’ve been a really, really private person, because that’s who I am. And I can’t say that’s going to change. But I can at least try my hardest to keep you guys in-the-loop. So, without further ado, please return to your normal content consumption. Thank you for listening.

–TND 

[bots-in-the-big-city]

I wasn't always who you know...

"Ugh, they called me little AGAIN. I'm a big man! I'm not a little boy!" Blockman kicked a rock in frustration.

"You haven't been upgraded to your T13-15 armor yet. So, yes, you are technically still a kid," Torchman watched as Block swung around flabbergasted.

"You too? Why? It's because you're an adult, isn't it?"

"No. It's because I know how it feels to be betrayed by your own body. You aren't the only one to have problems, you know."

"Mmmmm," Blockman didn't want to admit anything, and Torch could see it.

"Why don't we go to my house?"

"Can we make something?"

"Sure," Torch got up from his sitting position and began to walk, Block scurrying along to keep up.

"So what do you have in mind?" Torch looked down.

"Can we make something with the Perler Beads?"

"Okay. I do have quite a collection."

"Yes!" Blockman hopped a bit.

Torchman laughed, then continued to walk. The city was tight, but on the edges it's a bit more spacious and the houses are easily recognizable.

Torch's house was large, cool blue house that had green vines growing up the side. Inside, there was two floors and the floors were all some type of wood. Some floors were hardwood, some were bamboo. The walls were maroon with gold highlights.

Torchman went into the closest closet and pulled out a big container of Perler beads, all organized by color.

"I'll call your dad and tell him that you're here. In the meantime, why don't you figure out what we're going to make?" Torch put the beads on a nearby table and made his way to the kitchen.

Blockman took a seat at the table and began to look through the colors.

"I'm gonna make something cool! Something manly! Some-" While chatting to himself, his hands caught something. There was an indent in the middle of the table, covered by a tablecloth. He put the Perler beads beside him, took off the cloth, and examined the table.

He looked under the edges of the table to see gears, it looked like the table can be split two ways. He tried to lift it himself, but wasn't strong enough to move the table.

"Do you like the table without the cloth?" Torchman asked, making Block jump.

"Oh, I just-.." Block couldn't figure out a good answer.

"Let's leave the cloth on," Torchman walked over and covered the table back up again.

Blockman stayed silent and put the Perler beads back on the table. He and Torchman arranged them into the shape of a dumbbell. Then, Torch used his ability like an iron to melt the beads. It came out perfectly.

"It's a little heavy," Torchman joked. Blockman laughed a little, but still felt uneasy.

What was under the table? Did Torch say anything that might give him clues. Umm

...

'It's because I know how it feels to be betrayed by your own body.'

Betrayed by his body? What did that mean?

"Torchman?"

"Yes, Blockman?"

"Why did you say you were betrayed by your body?"

Torchman stayed quiet for a bit, with a look that seemed to be many emotions mixed together.

"To put it simply, I wasn't always who you know."

"What does that mean?"

Torchman exhaled. He didn't say a word as he walked over to the table, removed the beads and the cloth, then moved the sides of the table apart.

Inside the table was several photo albums. Torch pulled out the one hidden deep under the others. It was the same blue as the outside walls. He skimmed through photos until finding one and pulling it out. He gave the photo to Block before putting everything back.

"Who's this?"

"That was me."

[trooperst-3v3]

"Hey Steve- It is Steve right? "ST-3V3" equals Steve? Anyways, not having a lot of luck finding actual parts out here. At the most I've managed to find a full hand, a foot, half of a left upper arm, and a small variety of parts I am told would belong to the legs. Not enough to make a leg mind you. Also, no Jawas but a surprising amount of Ugnaughts. Nice fellas to be honest, very helpful little buggers. How are things going on your end of our little project?

My given name is ST-3V3, but loads of people call me “Steve” since it’s such a mouthful, so that’s fine. Trust me, I’ve been called worse.

As for our project, you’ve completed a bit more than I. I had to take some time off to get a new microwave. I’m back to work now, though. I was about to go cross-eyed looking at schematics for finger joints, so I decided to take a break and ask AR-T13 to help me figure out how to program this thing to only murder people when we tell it to. Then AR-T13 was like, “Sorry! I’m no good at programming. Can’t figure out all the 1s and 0s seeing as I’m…non-binary.”

So now AR-T13 is sitting in the Bad Pun Time Out Corner of my shop laughing like a lunatic while I try to sort it out by myself.

[hallythelantern-blog]

The Blue Rose (Adrien Appreciation Week): Chapter 4

Theme: Fashion

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Fanfiction AO3

Hi everyone!

A quick announcement: I decided to crop out the last parts of Chapter 3. So that it ended with the receptionist smiled. It just ended awkwardly and I wanted to prevent that for people who would be reading that in the future.

For people who already did, sorry! I wish I had been less impulsive when I updated Chapter 3. Also, I had wanted to reach my 10k word count XD.

Chapter 4: Change

He couldn't believe it.

He had thought he knew. That he was prepared for this.

But seeing it was different from just pure speculation, however it be with incriminating evidence.

Now, he had no doubts as to who she really was.

- A day ago -

Adrien walked Marinette home and then walked back home. His steps were rigid and heavy, requiring extra energy to bend at his knees due to the plenty of exercise they had gotten, running from fangirls and all. It was as if he had one long stick stuck inside his legs. If he bent it a little, it would break.

Of course, he wasn't complaining. In fact, he couldn't stop smiling like a bumbling idiot. Today had been one of the best days in his life. With Marinette by his side, he had experienced something that would have made a great story. There had been adventure, suspense, and most importantly, romance! They had been chased, they had had fun, and they had had even their first kiss together!

Granted, it was on the cheeks. But it was the first time that she had reciprocated his feelings. He could just feel her warmth again in his cheeks. He blushed. They had spent so much time holding hands, which had jolted him and sent him into an oblivion of happiness every single time. He had the chance to view those blue eyes for the entire day, and they had always been looking back at him. Not ignoring him or telling him that they were busy doing something else.

It felt like a dream. Now, the only thing left was to push them together like he did with his Ladybug and Chat Noir action figures.

The euphoria didn't last long, however. When Adrien saw his father waiting for him on the front doorstep, he knew that a hurricane was going to hit.

Adrien didn't say anything. He looked at his father's cold eyes with hope and desperation.

"Where were you out today?" his father asked. The monotone voice, devoid of any emotion, grinded his ears. Adrien flinched. He knew that this was not going to be good. His father probably already knew where he had gone, and was just rehashing it for some reason.

"Um…" he chuckled, trying to look for any distraction that might calm his beating heart. Unluckily, his house was always barren and devoid. Nothing to change a conversation.

Besides, it wasn't like his efforts would change anything. His father was a direct and confrontational man. Even if Adrien did manage to change the subject, Gabriel would never lose sight of what he had set out to say. Gabriel's cold and calculated words were always a juggernaut and a dagger at Adrien's heart, speaking the truth without any regard for others but him.

Sometimes, Adrien wished he wasn't so sensitive. He should have been numb to Gabriel's straightforward prose by now. It wasn't his father's fault that he was like this; it was just part of his personality. But his father's words always ate at his heart and his brain, always making Adrien second guess and doubt himself. Always making Adrien turn over from fear of what had happened on the day of their confrontations. Sometimes, Adrien wondered if his loving father had been replaced by a robot.

"I…" he began.

"Perhaps you can explain this?" Gabriel said, holding out his phone. On the screen flashed a picture of him and Marinette at the mall. The very same picture where he had been guarding Marinette from the flash.

"I…" he began, looking anywhere but the screen and his father. His shoulders slouched. "I went to the mall," he sighed, finally deciding below.

"Why did you go?"

"I wanted to buy something to wear for the fashion show."

Gabriel's brow rose in suspicion. "Why did you go?"

Adrien sighed. There was no use trying to hide anything from him. The man could practically read Adrien's mind.

Adrien wished he could say the same for Gabriel.

"I… I wanted to spend time with Marinette," Adrien said.

"You mean the girl in the picture?" Gabriel said, holding the photo even closer to Adrien. Adrien could now hear his breath touching the phone screen.

"Yes."

Gabriel scowled.

This was not going to be good. At all.

"So, to spend time with a girl you liked, you ditched everything on your schedule today?" he asked, voice rising.

Flinching and eyes widening with fear, Adrien thought about the responses he could give right now. He could give a no, but Gabriel would see right through that. He could say yes, but he would be in trouble. It was a lose-lose situation.

Adrien was too familiar with it by now.

"Yes," he said, barely a whisper. His shoulders lowered even more. The ground was pulling him; he had to fight every ounce of his existence to not be sucked in.

His head was now a black mess of nothingness.

Gabriel frowned. His voice grew louder. "Even if you had no suit to wear, you should have contacted me so that I could supply you with one. There would have been too many sponsors who'd have been perfectly content loaning you one."

"But, father, I-" he began.

"No buts. You could have been caught by the paparazzi who would have been more than willing to catch you in an unflattering light. Moreover, you could have been kidnapped." Gabriel said. His voice began to rise. "I will not have my son risk his life just so that he could…could…spend time with some girl," he said the word as if Marinette was a frivolous distraction. Adrien clenched his fists.

"But, father, I-" he began again. Adrien sighed. It was useless.

I just wanted to go shopping like all the other kids.

After a momentary silence, Gabriel began. "You will be with your bodyguard at all times, and you will not go anywhere near a mall. Is that clear?"

Adrien's shoulders hunched even more.

He closed his eyes at what was coming next. His father was going to ban him from seeing Marinette because she was a distraction. Also, most likely because him having a girlfriend would damage the brand. He prepared himself for the future, where he would only see Marinette in school as Adrien and Chat Noir every other time. Goodbye world, he said as Adrien.

It would be a hassle. Especially when Marinette liked Adrien and not Chat Noir. And then would probably reject him again for him, except from her civilian side.

Or did Marinette like Chat Noir? In the way she did Adrien?

He shook his head. While going off into fantasy land would be great, the consequences of that would not be.

Adrien focused on his father once again.

"This also means that the girl-" Gabriel began to say. Adrien backed away unconsciously. He was not ready for this. "would be under your bodyguard's care whenever you two are together."

Adrien was right. He was not ready for this. Or the exuberant warmth that surrounded him as the words began to register in Adrien's mind.

He could jump for joy right now.

"Oh, thank you, father!" Adrien said, smiling. "Thank you so much!"

Was that a…smirk he found on Gabriel?

Adrien didn't care. He was too busy celebrating.

"She is going as your plus one, isn't she?" Gabriel asked.

"Yes," Adrien said happily.

"I expect nothing but the very best dresses from that girl," Gabriel said.

Adrien could fly right now. "Of course! She made her own dress and she's super talented."

"I am aware. She made the feather hat for the competition. A very talented young designer indeed," Gabriel said.

So he knew her! And regarded her highly!

Maybe it was Adrien's birthday today. No, that wasn't right. His birthday never was happy. At least, after his mom had disappeared. It wasn't Christmas, because he never got any presents or ate with his father after his mom had disappeared. It wasn't his father's birthday because Gabriel was strict and grumpy no matter what. It wasn't his mother's birthday or day of disappearance because they were the one and same.

His father must have been replaced by an affectionate robot. Or had come back to when his mother had been around. Adrien didn't know what to think of it. He smiled, hoping that this would last.

"Next."

Marinette and Adrien walked up to the receptionist.

"Name?"

"Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng," Adrien said. Marinette smiled.

The receptionist did not look up. "Your clothes are inside the lobby," she said, pointing inside. "Here is the tag for your dress, so that you can find it easily," she said, handing the pair two slips of paper.

"Thank you," they both said to the receptionist. The receptionist did not look up.

"Next."

The lobby was divided into the left side, which were for the men, and the right side, which were for the women. The middle was left empty for the red carpet.

Marinette couldn't count the sheer number of rackets with clothes, just on the women's side. "10…30…50…100…" she muttered, eyes wide with shock.

While the left side were mostly black suits or tuxedos with an eye-catching color like red here-or-there, the right side had all the colors of the rainbow, plus pink, white, black, grey, and any other colors Marinette could think of.

She was amazed at the stunning difference. One would think, because the attendees were those who were most tuned into fashion, that the men's would have more variety in their colors. But they didn't.

"I'm going to, uh," Adrien pointed to the left side. "Get mine," he said.

Marinette smiled. "Okay. I'll go find my dress too," pointing in the opposite direction. And with those words, they separated.

Marinette looked at the paper. "T13," she mumbled, taking a deep breath.

This was it. This was her entry into the fashion industry. By the side of the famous model Adrien Agreste.

She sighed happily. This was everything she could have hoped for and more. She was going to make sure to give Adrien her thanks for bringing her here. She didn't know how to repay him, but maybe she could feed him for an entire year for free. Maybe that would do.

She began looking for where T started.

"T…T…T…" Marinette said, fingering the signs that were on top of the rackets. Since A was at the front of the gates, she had to go down considerably.

She couldn't find it!

She was sure this was where T was. Every clothing had a tag that started with T.

Then she had started looking for the tags where the double digits had started. Just three more down, and then she would find it.

But it wasn't there!

The tags went from T12 to T14.

And her dress was nowhere in sight.

What was she going to do? She couldn't attend the fashion show without having a dress. And she wasn't dressed in anything fancy right now; she was only dressed in her signature black blazer and pink jeans. She was going to stand out too much because she wasn't dressed up enough.

It was the worst way to stand out.

When designers would see her, they would think of her as unprofessional because she wasn't dressed up! They would put her on their list of people that they would never hire, just because of today. She would never make it into the industry. Never. Just because she couldn't find her stupid dress!

She would be ruining her life and career!

She let her fingers run through underneath her eyes. This couldn't be happening right now. She had to have a dress to wear, but she didn't know what to do. What was she to do? Her head started aching.

"I don't know what dress I'm going to wear, John. I'm going to wear the one that I feel like wearing." Marinette heard a mumble and turned around to face the source of the noise. Something about that voice was irritatingly familiar.

And it was. It was Chloe. With her butler, who had a…yellow teddy bear with him?

"Forgive me, Ms. Bourgeois, but it's not John, it's-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Chloe brushed it aside.

Ugh. Not this again. Not today. Things were already going terrible for her as it was.

Marinette sighed. They met eyes.

Chloe scoffed. "What are you doing, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Obviously, I'm here to pick up my dress?" Marinette said. She didn't want to tell Chloe about the fact that her dress was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, I hope you find it quickly and get out of my sight," Chloe said, shooing her.

Marinette wished that she could be as infinitely patient as Tikki was. Because she didn't think it would take much for her to boil today.

Five minutes passed, and Chloe was still trying to pick out her clothes.

"I like this," Chloe said, holding out a blue dress, "and this," holding out the polka dotted one. "What do you think I should wear?" she asked her butler.

The butler's face lit up and Marinette smiled sympathetically. "Well, Ms. Bourgeois, if I may. I believe that the blue dress brings out the color of your eyes and will look stunning on you."

"What do you mean?" Chloe flipped her hair. "I'm always stunning."

"Of course, Ms. Bourgeois. I did not mean it that way." The butler balanced tightly on the rope of his thoughts. "I just mean that-"

"I know what you mean, okay?" Chloe said. "But I like the Ladybug dress a lot too, and everyone knows that I would make a great Ladybug." Chloe flipped her hair once again.

Marinette took a moment to gag.

Chloe frowned. "Why are you still even here? Go on, now, shoo shoo," Chloe flicked her wrists and looked to the side, as if Marinette wasn't even worth it.

Marinette clenched her fists. "Well, I would happily," she began, "if my dress hadn't suddenly gone missing." She crossed her arms and looked away from Chloe.

Chloe was surprised. "I thought that you had your dress with Adrikins yesterday," she said, the name said in a more saccharine way than usual. Everything else was said with less sweetness and more bitterness. Especially the you part.

But…for once in a while, Chloe hadn't tried to sabotage her?

Marinette let out an exasperated sigh. "Look Chloe, I don't want to deal with you today. I had pulled an all-nighter to make my dress perfect and get it done on time, but it seems that it has suddenly gone missing. My luck is in shambles right now, and I don't need you to go and further ruin it," Marinette said the words slowly.

Chloe scoffed and clenched her fists. "What do you mean," she began to raise her voice, until something calmed her down, making her breathe in and out to relax. Marinette looked in the direction Chloe was looking.

The butler had…squeezed a yellow teddy bear?

Chloe put on a fake smile. "Well, that wasn't nice at all," Chloe said, making Marinette scoff. "Especially since I could help you out," she said.

Marinette's eyes widened in panic. Chloe? Help?

Chloe scoffed. "Your face tells me that you don't think that I can help anyone."

Well, when you had been in the same class as her for four consecutive years…

"You may not believe it, but I am," Chloe said, pointing her fingers at herself. "a very generous person when I feel like it." Which was never, Marinette thought. "And since I have been feeling very generous today," Chloe began, "I will lend you my polka-dotted dress for the show," she said, giving Marinette the polka dotted dress.

Marinette couldn't believe it. Chloe Bourgeois was giving her, Marinette, Chloe's most hated enemy, her clothes?

And it wasn't even ugly.

It was beautiful. The polka dotted dress was covered from head to toe in glitter, with the black spots each having a black gem inside. It reached to the ankles with a halter neckline, and an open back all the way from the shoulders to where the stomach ended. Marinette also saw that there were red and black jewelry that switched colors as it went down. So that they were red earrings, black necklace, and red and black bangles, one on each arm. Even the shoes were red.

It was unbelievable.

This could not be true. Maybe this was a dream.

Nah, even she wasn't that crazy to have a dream like this.

It was real.

It was unbelievably real.

Chloe is being very nice today… Now that was something that Marinette never expected to say about her classmate.

Marinette hoped this didn't come with strings attached.

"What are you staring at me like that for?" Chloe asked. "Don't you want it?"

Marinette smiled with delight. So Chloe was not doing this to sabotage her! She was actually trying to help her! Inside that cold and unfeeling exterior that had a complete disregard for other humans, Chloe had a heart that was capable of being kind. It warmed Marinette's heart to think of this.

"Just take it off my hands," Chloe said, turning to the side and crinkling her nose as if the dress smelled disgusting to her. "I don't want it anyways."

Marinette smiled again. This was Chloe's way of being nice, and she was happy that the girl was making progress.

Marinette would have gladly taken it, if it hadn't been so Ladybug-like.

Marinette hunched her shoulders and smiled, trying to hide her grimace. "I'm very thankful for the gesture, Chloe," she said bittersweetly. "But could you loan me a different dress?" Marinette said, looking at the other dresses that were now piled on the floor. "I have a feeling that this dress," she pointed at the Ladybug dress, "wouldn't fit me."

"Of course it does," Chloe said. "You and I are the same size," she said.

Marinette's eyes widened at the fact that Chloe knew they were the same size. That she knew anything about her, period.

"Oh, no," Marinette chuckled nervously. "I don't mean that. I just mean that I wouldn't feel, uh… confident in that dress?" her voice rose from the word. She smiled nervously. She hoped she hadn't upset Chloe.

She had.

Chloe clenched her fists and dropped both of her dresses. "See Jacques?" Chloe turned to the butler, who was trying to correct her his name. "See what happens when I try to be…nice to people?" She said the word as if it were a disease. "Look at what happened here! I tried to loan my enemy my favorite dress of all time but she turns it down without an ounce of gratitude! She should be thanking me!" Chloe said, fuming.

"But I am grateful-" Marinette began.

"No you aren't!" Chloe stomped her foot. "If you were grateful, you would have accepted the dress in a heartbeat!" She yelled. "Well, it's fine anyways," she began. "you can have the dress, whether you want it or not," Chloe said, turning her head away from Marinette. Chloe was still fuming.

She walked away, stomping. "Since you hate it so much, it will be even more satisfying for me when you do wear it!" Chloe said, as she picked up the rest of her dresses but the polka dotted one and stormed off.

Marinette tried to reach her. "I-"

But it was too late. Chloe had already stomped to where she wouldn't be able to hear Marinette's voice.

Looking at the polka dotted dress, Marinette sighed. She picked it up and went to the changing rooms.

"I guess there's no other choice?"

Adrien sighed with relief but also with disappointment. His father hadn't showed up.

Now that he knew that his father wasn't there, he knew that he could relax a little bit more than if he had been around. Although he was still expected to be on his best behavior, and so he was still bound.

But he also was sad that his father didn't come. He had said of "important matters," but what was more important than this fashion show? This was the ultimate opportunity to network with other companies, collect inspiration, and catch up on the latest gossip in the industry. Adrien knew that Gabriel wasn't a very…talkative man, and couldn't imagine him partaking in the gossip, but he knew that his father did engage in conversations whenever they served a purpose. Also, as much as the man was hard to be around and Adrien did avoid him, he was warmer and more cordial whenever they were in events like this.

Adrien knew, deep down, that the cordiality was mostly for show, but he still wanted the occasional taps on the shoulder and smirks of content on his father's face. To know that he had caused that smirk, because his father was proud of him.

He exited the changing rooms and heaved a huge sigh. He wished he could see something like that often. It was getting harder and harder now to see his father out of the room.

"Adrien?" A voice asked across from him.

He looked up. And was blinded.

He rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren't lying to him.

He had thought he knew. That he was prepared for this.

But seeing it was different from just pure speculation.

Now, he had no doubts as to who she really was.

Marinette really was Ladybug.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't unsee it.

Marinette was wearing a Ladybug-themed dress. A Ladybug-themed dress! With the blue rose accessory that he had given her, her maze-like eyes were brought into center stage. The clash of red, blue, and black said a bold statement about Marinette, who was now blushing.

He had seen the striking resemblance between Ladybug and Marinette before, but now, this was too much. If he could die, this would have been the moment.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

But… "This isn't the red dress that you designed…?" he asked.

Marinette blushed. "Yeah. I couldn't find mine, so I had to borrow one of Chloe's," she looked to the sides.

His eyes widened. "Chloe?" he asked with disbelief.

"Yeah. I was surprised too," she smiled. Her smile was infectious. "Crazy, huh?"

"Well," Adrien chuckled. "I guess we'll have to thank Chloe later."

Marinette looked at her with a sheepish grin, which suddenly melted into a frown.

"How did you know that this wasn't the dress that I had in mind?" After all, this dress was red as well.

"Er...Just, a guess?" Adrien shrugged.

Marinette smirked.

What did that mean?

Looking desperately for a change, he checked the clock. Lucky for him, it was almost time. "Come on," he said, grinning and putting his right hand on her back. "The show's about to start."

Luckily, no one seemed to figure out that Marinette was Ladybug.

These people actually were all blind. That was the only answer. Even those who were most sensitive to the smallest nuances in clothing texture couldn't figure it out. She was baffled and grateful at the same time.

No one had commented how Ladybug she had looked or whispered anything about the superheroine other than compliments on the Ladybug-themed dress. At least, not that she could hear of.

She walked, letting Adrien guide her to where her dreams would unfold.

Adrien led Marinette to their seats at the front row and they both sat down. The lights on the seats dimmed and the focus was now solely on the catwalk.

Gabriel's brand was up first. One by one, the models flaunted their attires, ranging from summer swimsuits to formal attire. It was all boring and the same old same old to Adrien.

But after seeing the joy on Marinette's face as each model strut their stuff, Adrien smiled. And also wished silently that he was the one up there, giving Marinette the joy and sheer enthusiasm that made his heart flutter. Although Adrien was the face of the brand, he was not participating because Gabriel wasn't present. He was expected to be the substitute for Gabriel, which was a hard task in itself.

He watched all of the clothes, one by one, as they came and faded into memory.

Except for one.

The formal attire was covered in a deep shade of purple. In fact, everything on the formal wear that was clothing was purple. There was a giant black butterfly-shaped lapel that reminded him of…someone. The model also wore black gloves and a…grey mask that was shaped like a butterfly. Where his tie should be was a brooch.

Adrien thought it odd. Although the Agreste logo was a butterfly, the lapel was not shaped like the logo. It looked far more pointed and angular than the logo, to the point that he could see that the attire had been inspired by butterflies. Lots and lots of butterflies.

Which were not untypical. Although Parisians began to regard butterflies in a bad light due to Hawkmoth, the Agreste logo had always been a butterfly. At least, Adrien remembered it that way. But this was the first time that he had seen his father directly and blatantly be inspired by something.

And…Hawkmoth…Hawkmoth…Hawkmoth!

He gaped in horror.

It looked just like what Hawkmoth had worn when Volpina had cast her illusion.

Was this a coincidence? Or was it not?

Hello!

A quick announcement.

I have been getting behind on the challenges. So, I'm afraid that I'll have to finish the challenge a little bit late. Hopefully it will only be one day late.

Hope that doesn't stop anyone from reading this though!

Thank you so much for the support :D