#the brain worms beckon me

[artzybumpkin]

Still a WIP I’m trying to decide if I want to finish or not lol

P/im was the first in the group to find out hehe

He found the test in the office bathroom while tidying up before the start of the day. This DEFINITELY wasn’t here the previous evening though, and the only other person in the building that morning was…

“A/llan…?”

[caestusvulpes]

@pastballads asked:

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." - from Bern

"Now y'all know damn well y'haven't bothered me a day in yer life, Bern." Hikari stretches her hands up high above her head, interlocking fingers and letting out a long, arduous yawn. "Jus' been a li'l busy lately with all the... arrow shit. Enemies like t'pop up jus' about anywhere 'round these parts-- annoyin' ass bullshit."

She lazily blinks her visible eye, slow and contemplative. "You keepin' well? Eatin' healthy? Cuttin' the cig habit?"

[ikkosu]

Earthspark bumblebee is currently rotting my brain from the inside out so could I ask for so fluffy fem shyer human and bumblebee who are crushing hard for each other but keep both of them keep prolonging confessing to the other the terrans realize what's going on and take it upon themselves try to get them to confess their feelings to each other

SUNSHINE

bumblebee x shy!fem!reader

a/n: tfe bee is so big brother energy 😭 he reminds a lot of what rid bee could be. I had a lot of fun writing this ! totally didn't rewatch all the bee scenes to get his character right,,,,,totally didn't. (I don’t write fluff often so i treid my best I swear)

[i]

"When are you gonna suck it up like a man and confess?"

Twitch startled you from above as the whirs of her fan hummed gently, hovering around you in her alt-mode.

"C'mon! What're you gonna say, huh? Turn away from the problem like you always do?"

Gloved hands, scathed with dirt, halted in the midst of pulling out a persistent weed. You feel your temple burn, a nervous laugh bubbled from your throat as your fingers plunged into the soil once more, pawing around to find the root of the problem.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!".

"I don't know what you mean."

When you did find the source, delicately you curled your fingers into the crevices, balling the soil then, with a huff, yanked the roots out. You're careful not to damage the nearby flowers.

When confronted at the baselines of your problems, you often churn into a sputtering mess. Sometimes, you have to clarify that no, you’re not angry, or no you’re not daunting — that’s your facial expressions constricting. Because if you don't. You're going to cry. And you're going to cry lots over matters daintier than an atom.

"Wuss."

"Twitch. Really you are trying." You sigh when the drone nudged your back.

A quick zip-zap of metallic whirs and she’s in her usual form, yellow eyes ablaze, arms crossed, leaning over with a scowl. Her hips jutted out, sassed-esque — a pose Dorothy used often when she's mad.

"I appreciate your concern but—"

“Dont even try to push it away. I'm not stupid." She prods, getting up to your face. Really, this adorable thing is half a step away from making you ostrich-dunk your head into the soil. "Oh, let me guess : tongue, tied? Busy thinking about a certain someone? Someone, or a bot so yellow like the sun, it’s blinding your eyes?”

You don’t even know where to begin. So, you look into the soil really hard, like you’re trying to find something worth focusing on. Oh, look. A worm. Bingo.

"I'm going to eat that worm if you're not going to look at me."

"Twitch—" You began.

Then, she’s shoved away.

"Sorry, you see. Wh-what she's saying is that, well, you know—" Thrash nudged his head into view, twiddling his thumbs as a demure, placating smile eased on his soft face. "...it's high time you...tell 'im how you feel?"

This time you want to plunge your head into the soil. It’s not a want, it’s a need. The scent of earth was purging strong, beckoning you with it's heed, as you, yet again, choke back another sound. You laugh, nervous. God, this earthworm! So, interesting. Haha. So...so...er. Hm.

"Pshh. How I feel? I feel fine."

"I mean...about your, uh, crush on bee."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Twitched groaned, rolling around the grass all the way from the stack of hays to the tip of your boots. Then, she repeated the motion, each rant about your supposed love life —also, none-existent, if you will— becoming more fervent. That is, until Thrash had plucked her up by the arm pits and she fell limp like a doll in his hold.

" You said you’d be nice about it."

"What’s there to be nice about?! They’re being so smushy mushy , oh darling so lovely, it's giving me the critters!” She growled, clawing the air

You stood up with an uncertain hunch in your shoulder. You’re still holding the clump of soil in your rubber gloves, back taut and jaws slacked. The earthworm was gone, buried in the soil somewhere. You hoped it had a a nice stay unsurfaced for once — and you really should keep twitch away from Wheeljack. She's even swearing, now. She swears!

“Come on, now Twitch. It isn’t so bad.” You say quietly, not trusting yourself to yell at the skies in full volume. Really, you’ll disentigrate.

“You don’t get to talk, wuss.”

“Twitch!’’

“What?”

“Mom said be nice. A person’s word is like a kni—“

"Yeah, well she's a liar!" You shrunk asher digit juts your way. "That's gotta breach the fifteenth rule, right? A whole machete stab?"

Thrash seemed surpise. "You actually remember the rules."

You're exasperated. "What rules? And, what on earth are you both talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me!"

"Really, I'm not." Oh my god, are you really having a verbal spar with a — with a child of all bots that's half your size?!

"Oh, yeah? Then why you're nervous, huh? If you're not nervous then you've got nothing to hide."

"I'm not nervous." You said, blinking profusely.

Twitch made a face. "You're gardening."

"The grass looked bad."

"You garden when you're nervous."

You feel your lungs gave out. Your inner you's are bouncing around in your skull, panicking and screaming in disbelief. Alarm signals, blaring inside. How did she know?!

"N..no? I garden when I'm....happy." You kick the ground sheepishly. Bad call. The soil tipped over a your hold, little dots of brown mingled with the grass. Oh, dear.

"Happy? Please. You're nervous because big 'ol bee didn't have the spark to confess to missy sweet spark with barely any roots to hold herself." Twitch huffs. She's getting to sassy for her own good — "And so are you, wuss."

"We're friends!" You said, though the term was lacking. "Normal friends. Buddy, even. Buddy friends...haha...."

Thrash stiffens.

Twitch deadpans.

Both at the same time uttered : "Really?"

[ii]

They're hiding in a bush. A bush of all places. No, not the tree, obscured by the leaves and a leverage with the branches. Or, whatever hiding place is deemed suitable for this operation. A bush. Can you believe that?

Fluffy Ears nestled herself on the grass, curious eyes skimming over the several Terrans peeking over the bush. Thrash brought it upon himself to hide in the barn because, as per his words, a good spy needs a good hiding place.

The only good thing about his 'prowling' tendencies is the fact he falls asleep during these so-called covert operations. Which is why he gets most of the ranks during training. What a scammer.

Jawbreaker was too large to hide behind a,ugh, bush so he was demoted to simply standing a few meters back, loitering by the fence.

Twitch feels something poking her rib plate. Can't the spot get any more cramped? "Nightshade, I swear to Primus—"

"Hush! There he is! The first move. Hashtag, commence operation : video!"

"That's not even—"

"On it!" Hashtag wrangled out the most, honest to Unicron, humongous camera in existence.

Silence veiled the three Terrans as they spot the yellow black approaching their resident gardener-who-normally-comes-at-the-weekends-and-bee-is-distraught-over-that-fact, tending the newly planted flowers by the hedge.

"So, I was wondering..." He's stretching on his toes, not exactly looking at you.

How could he? Everytime he so much as to catch a glimpse of your face, he feels like tripping over his own pedes and burrowing himself into the ground until comets rain, the world in flames — and god knows when would Primus let him out again.

"You need something, bee?" You swivel up, pawing your apron to get off the dirt from your gloves.

But he looks confused, optics lowered downwards, brows furrowed. You look as well, then up.

"Yellow, huh." He looks away, pointing to your torso.

You look down again then realized what he meant. Your face burns with a vengeance.

"My other apron broke." You try not to stammer but it's proven futile as an amused smile eased over his face. "A-alex decided to give me his, well, you know one of his precious merch which...is typically your...um face on it. If it makes you uncomfortable—"

"No! Gosh, no. You can wear it all you want. I'm just surprised, that's all. You never really... Besides, it's nice...." He looks down and kicks the grass a little, servos behind his back. "It...suits you well."

At the compliment you look up, hoping not to make eye contact, but he does as well and you're both held at a stalemate. His round almond optics droop. For a moment, his lips part, then it shuts. He looks down, avoiding your gaze.

Is he... flustered? At that thought, you fisted the apron, bunching it a little. You look away, hiding the way you smiled a little. " ...It's a pretty color. Yellow, I mean. Honeybee. I love bees."

He looks back up, blue optics flared, and into your eyes. His chassis did those little backward flips and, he swears to Primus, he'll simply disintegrate. You're a lovely color too.

Bee flinched the moment you turn to him at break neck speed, sputtering, eyes wide and face, all the more flustered.

"What?"

"What?" He said that out loud. He said it. Out. Loud. He held up his servos. "I-i meant it's a lovely color. As in, you know, you're a lovely color so like when you said yellow was a lovely color. I thought— What I mean by that is— Oh, forget it." He lets out a deep vent. "It's been a long day. Sorry."

"You're fine. It's fine, I mean." You said. When silence veils over you both (Twitch really wants to strangle you, right now) you speak up again, quietly. "You were going to ask something...?"

His door wings pike up in surprise, much to his chagrin.

"Oh, right. Forgot about that." He coughed and cleared his throat. " I was wondering If you were...you know..." Gosh, what's that word. "Freethisweekend?"

It was so quick and quiet, you didn't really grasp much of what he uttered. “I got free— what's the next—"

"This weekend." He said, then trailed off. "Free... this weekend."

"Oh..." You look to the ground, hands primly folded behind your back.

"To... ah,” Just ask her out. Just ask her out. Worse she can say is no and no. No is fine! If you don't ask, you'll never know. That's what Elita said, right? Right? He sags. She said a lot of things.

He decides to go in for the kill but the moment he met your eyes, your pretty eyes, your temple grew warm, like really warm. He feels his own face burning and he starts stumbling over his words. “Free to. To go. To, um, a, well, a...d—dah, dah, duh, die, no! A, ah, diversion! Yes! Right. Diversion."

A domino effect of forehead slapping commenced. Bee, you fool! Twitch was wrangled back by Hashtag from leaping over the bush.

"Diversion?" Your face furrowed.

"With the....Terrans!" He snapped his servos. " Right, the Terrans. You know, a new lesson I made. Figured you'd be there for support. It's all about the essence of....diversion."

You stand there, mouth opening then closing. "...Sure, I guess. What time?"

"Anytime you're free." He says it, almost breathlessly.

You blink. "I thought it was a scheduled lesson."

His door wings pike up again. He groaned internally. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, uh. Yeah. Right. Schedule….schedule…So, how's ten tommorow? I'll round up the kids by then."

"Sounds good."

"Good. Good. See you....later."

You wave, then turned around, rounding the corner of the house. The moment you did, your face crumbled and you hid your face into your palms, a whine seethed inside your throat. Bee, however, pressed his helm against his servo, sighing.

How did I messed that up so badly?

Meanwhile, in the bush.

"Cut the film, Hash." Twitch resigned.

"But he could push on!"

"I highly doubt that." Nightshade was already crawling away.

Jawbreaker clicked thought the comms. "I saw yellow leaving. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing. Is Thrash dead? Thought so. Saw his head peeking out from the barn. Someone get him, please."

And, while they're all about to regroup. Twitch just had the perfect idea. It's about time she takes matters into her own hands.

[v]

Night plunged the skies, freckled with stars reflecting off his windshield as he rolled underneath the veil of darkness.

"Bee quick! Come to the barn! A problem just came up!"

"Twitch?" He was about to scale another ramp when he halted midway, changing course immediately. "C'mon talk to me. What's the problem?"

"Just come! It's urgent!"

Seeds of inky doubts blotched into his mind. The little runt had a lot of tricks up her sleeves. Sure, she's a heavy hitter but also a decent liar. Last time she pulled off the same shtick he was pushed into a hole....filled to the brim with mud. He walked around the vicinity and stank like cow feces for days.

He really should stop letting twitch mingle with Wheeljack.

His wheels rolled up to a stop in front of the barn. The trees, inky black, loomed around the farm, towering above him. He felt a shudder up his spine. Leaves rustled. Crickets chirp. All was quiet. Too quiet.

"Twitch? Kids?" He slid the barn door aside, joints whirring with every step. Hay crunched under his pedes. " Ugh, not this again. Guys, seriously. If, if this, Primus who littered this place? If this is one of your jokes I swear to— huh?"

The basement door was open. A gaping hole, black and swarthy greeted his eyes. Who left that open? He took a step closer. "Guys? Are you in there? What's going on?"

Another step. Then another.

"Look, you can come out now. This isn't funny."

The hole grew bigger, bigger and— Footsteps pattered behind him. It was gentle but it drew alarm as Bumblebee whirled around. And, there she was. Twitch stood before him, a wide, chesire grin on her face. The moonlight illuminated her from behind, casting an ominous shadow that loomed In front of her figure.

"Adios!"

He sputtered in confusion and felt two pedes connecting with his chest and he's sent stumbling back down the steps of Nightshade's underground lab. His shout of surprise was quickly drowned out when Twitch pulled the door shut.

"There! That'll do it." She grinned, fists on her hips. “You got that hash?”

“All on tape. Even his face too! Did you see how he looked like?” Hash stepped out of her hiding place, literally behind the hay. The original culprit of hay litter-er. "They're gonna be there for hours! Trapped in each other's embrace! Oohhhh this is so rad. You've seen those rom-coms, right? It's going be so funny when they come back out.”

"With result." Nightshade chirped, coming up beside them. "It's been awhile something has transpired. A change of the usual routine. Oh, the bore of waiting so long. As a scientist myself. I admit — it can get a little bothersome. Let's only hope the heat from the generator can keep them warm."

Silence. Hashtag feels two optics on her.

"Generator, what generator?"

"....Hashtag." They begin slowly. Twitch looks mortified.. "....Please tell me you didn't cut off the generator when I said only to cut off the vault."

Confusion furrowed her brows. "How else would the door be locked if I didn't?"

Twitch groaned, head into her palms.

Nightshade stares at the closed vault. "....Oh, dear."

[vi]

"Unnfh!" His helm collided against the floor. Great. That’s just great. Mentor student. Mentor student! You don’t do this to your mentors! Annoyance bubbled inside his chassis and he grits his teeth. That is it. That is it. He’s had enough of her tomfoolery, her jokes, her tricks! Tommorow, he’s going to put her through hell and back—

“Bee?” He feels something warm touching his shoulder.

His helm swivels up, then his optics widens in surpise when your nose is inches away from his own. You make a flustered sound, suddenly falling back on your ass to put space between you both, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d uh be that close.” Was a soft mumble. “The fall looked like it hurt. You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine.” He breaths out, scrambling up to sit properly. He’s not sure what position, so he curled up his knee plates to his chassis. Your eyes are too…impossible to look at. “Think I broke a joint there.”

“You break joints too?”

He huffs a laugh, “You don’t think we do?” “I mean as in,” You gesture to his body, “ You know, cracking joints. Is it equivalent to me popping my knuckles? I saw you did it this morning when you stretch.” You trailed off, then shake your head. “Sorry, it’s a stupid question.”

“It’s fine. It’s not stupid. You’re not….stupid.” He clears his throat, “We also experience cramps. Tension in the joints when, well, like how a rusty hinged door won’t open up all the way.”

“Oh, that’s one way to put it.” You scoot a bit closer, pressing up against his leg. Bumblebee stiffens, servos moving over to stiffly cup your back to keep on you warm. The air was unusually chilly today. His quick scans showed the generator wasn’t working. Did the lights went out? His servos graze over your shoulders, massaging it a little, then behind your neck.

“And, and that one time. I don’t think you know him yet, he’s an old friend back during the war," He starts rambling for something to say anything to keep the conversation going, “His name’s Ratchet. Old bot forgot to oil up his pistons and couldn’t move for an entire day! Can you believe that? We had to carry him everywhere we went. Once, I was caught in the crossfire. Bullets were raining. Full on barrage. Nonstop. And he’s just like that, a plank of wood in my arms as I ran. You should’ve seen the look in his face!

“I can imagine he’s not happy,” A giggle bubbled in your throat. His audials perk up. “Yeah, I can tell. He’s a lot less crass in his manners when he dealt with me,” Bee leans a bit close, the servo skims down to your torso. “After all the bedgruding looks I’ve gotten from him — he’s got no choice but to give me special treatment of letting me off a few scolding.” “Oh? Why’s that,”

“I’m not exactly the prim and proper type.”

“My, my is bee the rebellious type?”

He lowers his voice into a playful whisper. “I had a phase, okay? Everyone does. Mine, though, it’s just worse than Arcee’s. She’s unhinged too but waaaay less moody. But don’t tell the kids that. I’m not going to have my name sullied, you hear?”

“Noted, officer. But I really can’t promised I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

He groans then a digit nudges your ribs. “No, really I’m serious. They’re going to kill me with that. I don’t want another incident to tarnish my reputation. Ive got Jawbreaker pestering me about how I made a mistake choosing my first alt-mode, I don’t need another slander. My feelings,” he says with a servo over his chassis, “they’re fragile.”

“Come on,” you leaned forward, cheek against his leg plate. Bee looks away, holding himself back from, well, squishing that…squishy part of your face. “It’s not so bad. The beetle looked adorable.”

“Beetle. Really? Beetle?” He looked almost offended you termed it that way.

“Isn’t that what it’s called?” He leans over and flicks your head. “I’d prefer it if you called it something else.”

You laugh. “I’ll bite, then. The Beatles?”

“No,” He said the words too fast, “Honey.”

You freeze. He freezes.

He did not just say that. Oh, no. He did not. He did not. When you look away that’s when he panicked. No! He’s not going to let the past few minutes go to waste! “As in yellow! Honey as in yellow!” He backpedaled, raising up his servos. “You know when I— when you said that, I was—" What’s up with him today? Then, he sags, muttering defeatedly. “It’s not what you think I meant to say.”

He’s blown it. Thrown it all down the drain. All his hard work now crumbled at the mere touch of his fingertips. You speak up after a moment, “What if…I wanted it to be what I think you meant?”

He looks at you again, surprise. He felt his spark clenching. This time you held firm eye contact despite your hands that were shaking. Think about gardening. Think about gardening. This is like that! Like he’s a flower. Gentle to hold. You steeled yourself and stood up on your toes, palms on his knee plates as you leaned in close.

“What did you meant?” You said softly.

His servos reached out to cup your cheek, curling his digits around the back of your hair. You leaned against his touch, closing your eyes. It was warm. His touch was warm. Pulsing and thrumming against your face.

“What I meant is that you’re someone important to me.” Then, he pulls you close, his optics flickering back and forth nervously. “So important I….think about you a lot. Like, a lot. I can’t….really stop. Even when I want to….its hard.”

Your face burns but you’re not letting that deter you. If god decided to kill you today, you’d steel on, wading through his comets. Think about the garden! You close the distance and your lips find the crook of his nose, pressing a gentle kiss to it, then his cheek. Your palms rested on his shoulder. Bee blinks, choking back a surpised sound at the touch but his servos manage to find your waist, curling his digits around the fabric of your shirt and pulls you close. He tilts his head so his lips would find yours.

“I think about you too.” You mumble against his lips.

[starr-matterr]

♡̵♥︎♡̵̵"All you wanna do...is see me turn into...a giant woman!" ♡̵♥︎♡̵̵

This is gonna be my first ever fanfic and its for hsr😭😭

Its probably gonna be ass but I need to get this out of my head actually.

No use of y/n. reader is called "You"

Only like 2 characters r mentioned by name you'll understand that later

I know little to nothing abt hsr so alot of this might just be brain worms.

Idea credit to @eternityofend they r so silly for this idea go follow them plz

You were a unique Aeon, however, thoroughly confusing all who had studied you. You weren't callous and cruel like other Aeons, in fact You took a great pride in putting your all into caring for your followers and all around you. You were utterly perfect in their eyes.

Which Is why they were so confused when it came up to researching you. Your kindness and passion towards all you deemed good was well documented but one thing was not. Your appearance. You seemed to only appear to your followers in dream-like states. To your dear acolytes, You were a complete mystery, those few who did happen to see you only recalling how utterly loved they felt. They could only vaguely describe what they believed was You with statments varying each time.

It stayed that way for a long time as the seasons passed and sightings of You dwindled. Everything seemed so bleak without You, the greenery seemed to dull, the once colorful skies seemed to darken, and it could be felt by everyone.

Especially those blessed by you, most importantly, the Trailblazer. The Trailblazer always had a unique connection to You, often hearing your velvety voice for fleeting moments or seeing visions of You in dreams.

They had grown accustomed to your presence, even if you weren't physically there. When they had come to the realization that you were pulling away from your loyal, devoted acolytes they didn't take it well.

What had they done to forsake you? Why were You abandoning your Trailblazer?!?

They had moped around for weeks, delivering offerings to your shrines spread about the planets You had forged by hand out of love for your creations.

Without your guidance they began to spiral. Getting a little too rough with enemies, not tending to their own injuries after battles, often staring off into space, they were losing it. They needed you.

It wasn't until they had finally reached their breaking point until they heard it. A giggle, that laugh that would make all their worries wash away. Their breath hitched in desperation before they the thought of you out of their mind. You couldn't be back could you?

Then they heard it again. They didn't know why but they started running. It was if their body knew where to go but their mind didn't. They didn't know why they were running, You had never appeared in physical form yet.

They ran in the direction of your voice before hastily stumbling upon You. My were You a sight for sore eyes. The Trailblazer paused as they took in every inch of You, committing every last bit of you to memory, just incase this really was psychosis. You were sat in what seemed to be some large plains as your acolytes swarmed You like small bees.

You let out a chuckle at how adorable they all looked and how much they had grown since you last saw them. They were still so small and so needy but you loved every bit of them. Your acolytes peppered You with questions, praise, and presents as You gretted them all.

Sometimes you'd even let them crawl into the palm of your hand so you could get a better look at them. The person in question currently receiving this treatment being none other than March 7th. As she stared at You with star-struck eyes You couldn't help but giggle.

You continued to play with your acolytes before seeing the Trailblazer. You beckon them over with a smile, one the Trailblazer hadnt seen in months now.

As they approached You gently set March down, as to not hurt her before turning to the Trailblazer. Sensing how tense they were You brush a gentle finger through their hair as if anything harsher could crush them. As you pet their hair they seem to melt into your touch, making you laugh at their content smile.

You weren't expecting this. You expected your acolytes to be intimidated, scared even. You were white large and you could decimate them in seconds. That didn't seem to phase them as they chattered amongst themselves about larger temples and bigger offerings.

They just had to find a fitting celebration for your return, lest you take their hesitation as ungratefulness and devoid them of your presence again.

The trailblazer seemed to be keeping you company as the others made preparations for a mighty celebration in your name. As you patted their head their breaths were shaky as they professed their unbreakable loyalty to You.

It spooked you a bit. You didn't know your dear trailblazer could be so passionate, as You had only really been around them when they needed truly needed support or answers.

You didn't stop them however, You believed they needed to get this off their chest to sooth themselves.

You turn your gaze away from the Trailblazer for a moment, still allowing them to nuzzle into your fingers as long as they avoided your sharp nails. Now that you had a physical form you should probably file them down. You didn't want to harm your acolytes did you?

Your gaze falls upon the small crowd starting to form as they stare up at You. You flash them a charming smile, melting their hearts and making their minds feel fuzzy as you do.

That doesn't stop them from glaring daggers at the Trailblazer however. Just what was so special about them that your other acolytes couldn't do?

Their little angry faces were adorable to You. You just couldn't stop yourself from 'Aww'-ing at them!

Their heart skips a beat as hear it. Did you belive they were..cute? they feel all of those sleepless nights filled with extensive research on your disappearance was worth it. You swear You heard someone in the crowd offer You their newborn.

'This will be eventful.' You think to yourself as cou continue tending to your acolytes. Your heart swelling with unbridled joy.

UH YEAH.

My first fanfic done yippiee yippiee

Can you tell i haven't got past the tutorial of hsr because my phone is ass or naw be honest☹☹☹

Might put out a part 2 if the brain worms become too much idk

Also please tell me if I did anything wrong or something is misspelled or misused just dont throw pebbles at me for it thx!!!

YALL I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS EARLIER IM GONNA RIP MY FACE OFF AUGHHG.

[3447]

thinking some thoughts about the parasitic nature of the shadows, literally and metaphorically. or, what exactly lies behind the ancient gateway OR beneath the constant.

how I see it is that the world is based on 3 important layers. the first and lowest is where shadows reign: which I'd imagine would look like earth's core. second layer, the constant (it's surface and caves, just its "earth" as a whole) being a shell around that said core. the 3rd layer being the moon/alter.

the moon worked as an empty shell around alter: whether the moon was solely made to protect it's identity or hide it I cannot say. & the constant is the shell around the no-name shadow eye thing.

a horribly done sketch to visualize what I'm trying to spew here

point one : looking at nightmare fissures, they always have a faint (or bright, it depends.) red light coming out of it: it matches with the eye's color scheme.

point two : when the ancients tried to make a connection, their entire civilization was destroyed. turned to nothing but dust. which I reckon was caused by an earthquake. bringing everything down with itself(similar to activating the ancient gateway, causing the whole plane to shake): something along the lines of actual earthquakes caused by inner movements of earth itself.

point two and a half : whatever the gateway may be for, i think its awakening the inner beast within the constant rather than connecting dimensions. or at the very least, using it causes that. it may be a literal portal to otherworldly dimensions, but also an alarm clock for the shadow eldritch being.

point three: a bit of a nonsense, notice how the ancients had to move to the underground/caves to connect better with them. moving away from the surface also comes with moving away from the moon which lessened/weakened their connection to lunar stuff and strengthened their connection to the shadows and the rest of their discoveries of dark arts and magic.

point three and a half: if we take the old map as a reference, the ruins were even further away from the surface as you had to take another sinkhole to venture deeper into the depths. or if we take adventure mode as a reference, the Throne Room could be one of if not THE lowest layer of the constant, which explains why the Nightmare Throne as a whole beckons so much power or possesses such.

about the parasitic nature of the shadows:

we have literal parasites. what else you want me to add. its righ th

Parasitic Shadeling also known as Shadow Leech also known as Fused Shadeling & Dread Mites are creatures found in the caves, 2 of which only spawn after opening the rifts. the other is seen leeching off the Nightmare Werepig before his bossfight. Leeches and Mites are two of the most well known parasites. and its interesting how these two come with open rifts.

looking at the ancient murals and their history, its shown that they had to leave their old bodies behind/shed their skins. BUT its also possible that the images are of the parasites entering their bodies/peeking around maybe. though if we take that as a matter of fact, the shadow parasites seen there have a longer body whereas the shadelings are an not.

the image always reminded me of parasitic worms. something worth mentioning is that parasites often target insects and or are found present in their bodies/guts.

the ancients or so how they were depicted are eerily insect/bug looking. even IF they were another type of creature, it would not change the statement. but the insect and parasite parallels is the simplified form of storytelling.

now, i'm not a parasite expert and i'm not trying to be one here. but from what i know or have seen plus my knowledge of other medias: parasites often or always search for a host as they are in need of one to exist and grow.

again, not an expert, but i also like to imagine in this case they work alike illithid tadpoles (? Neothelids). connected to a hivemind/elder brain, changing the form of whoever they take full control of to an entirely different being and killing what was once a living soul. the memories of the host is ever present even if their bodies has changed.

but the mind/soul is not there. a soulless husk taken ower by an otherworldly creature. the illithid can even use the voice/memories of their host as a manipulative tactic which is an unapologetic ruthless act.

funny how we know nothing of the nightmare or shadow creatures. not knowing their names and disrespecting their entire being by referring to them as mere creatures. and its almost impossible to get any of that back, the history is long gone and forgotten.

on the illithid tadpole rant, to me thats the case for Charlie and Metheus. and part of unexplained "manipulative tactic" is presented in ENCORE animated short: Charlie constantly chastising Maxwell but also taunting him by just mimicking Charlie and promising a false sensation of hope or a deal. if it was any other person, i am 58% sure Maxwell would not have accepted the Encore. but by taking advantage of his guilt/feeling he was easily lured into a trap of who knows what.

Nonsensical rant:

point one: another note about Metheus, i like to think they were terrified of the idea of being erased off of history or living and dying without a host thats why they chose a body/charlie.

point one a half: if Metethus wrote the codex and it 'somehow' got to another world, i would like to imagine it's a situation of writing down your life/history/knowledge so it doesn't completely erase who you were or something like that. so you are not forgotten. so others can read and remember you by it. and dropping it off to another world to lure people to the constant is a act of desperation.

point two : the part with "being creased off of history" is a hint towards the William Carter puzzles: in some pictures the name and face of William is destroyed/scratched over.

point two first quarter : to me that's the parasite or parasites trying to destroy William. and in that case, its a lot easier to target someone who was most certainly dealing with identity/personality crisis. as that person would be more accepting and comfortable with the idea of change and what not

point two second quarter : "Maxwell" is the result of the parasitism. took over someone's body, mind, heart and even memories. they may recall things of the past. entirely possible that Maxwell is post product of this issue rather than the parasite feeding off William's memories, but i like to believe both.

point two third quarter : anatomical changes of the body is seen in present day Maxwell, whether its Throne's fault or the inner parasite taking over as time goes by. as if the parasite is not trying to adapt to human nature but to change it and make it fit its true nature.

point two fourth quarter: Maxwell's voice in "Monster" form becomes rather unhinged for sure, but its inhumane too. and it almost sounds like many things trying to make one speak. for whatever reasons, the parasites or parasite is failing to mimic a human and its turning into something else. maybe the parasitic being itself

maybe, maybe the shadow eldritch being is not hidden beneath all the layers of constant. maybe its trying to be summoned and fit there. maybe it's an egg and eggshell situation. and as the time comes they'd eat the constant. leech on it. empty it and wear it's flesh .just like a par

ok im shutting up

ETA: some other points I forgot to bring up / minor edits.

[skibasyndrome]

Wilmon + "there's another way I take my coffee actually"

disclaimer: this 100% Grape's fault and I refuse to take any responsibility 💜 (jk ily bestie and I know it's my fault for starting the vampire brain worms 💜💜💜)

cw: allusions to blood. vampire crack. coffee enjoyers everywhere please forgive me Wille

"There's another way I take my coffee actually." Simon, a carton of oat milk in one hand, Wille's favorite mug (filled about two thirds of the way with filter coffee) in the other, whips around towards Wille. "I beg your pardon?" "The coffee," Wille repeats slower, as if Simon not hearing him is the problem. "I also drink it another way," Wille says, cheerily kicking his legs while sitting on the kitchen counter. Except, no, no Wille doesn't drink his coffee any other way, because Wille is adorably annoyingly particular about the fact that he likes filter coffee only, that he discovered oat milk for himself five years ago and now won't have anything else, that he doesn't like sugar because sugar makes it too sweet (no, Simon doesn't get it, either). Simon painstakingly relearns Wille's coffee preferences every couple years so he can get the coffee just right for him every time. So no, unless Wille has secretly switched it up overnight, there is in fact no other way he drinks his coffee. When he keeps on staring at Wille, coffee and milk still raised in question, Wille waves his hand to beckon Simon over towards him. "I have no idea what you're saying," Simon tells him, but moves over nonetheless, coming to stand between Wille's legs. He sets the items down on either side of Wille, so he doesn't have to keep balancing them while Wille gets to have his cryptic moment. "You know...," Wille starts, slipping his arms around Simon's neck and pulling him closer, positioning Simon so that Wille can nuzzle his neck. But, no, Simon doesn't know. "I don't, actually," he says, but nonetheless leans into the kisses and nibbles Wille presses along the side of his neck. Wille whines a little and teases the skin with his canines. Simon huffs a laugh at the sudden shift in atmosphere. "How are you already hungry again, we just-," and then, horrifyingly, it dawns on him. He takes a step back, pushing Wille's arms off his shoulders. "No," he says firmly. "No fucking way are you saying what I think you're saying."

Wille just grins at him sheepishly and Simon loses all hope. He throws his head back and groans. He loves this man, but sometimes he gets some horrible ideas.

"You haven't even tried it!" Wille argues and Simon is about to lose his mind. "Have you?" He raises an eyebrow at Wille. "Who's the guy whose blood you're secretly sourcing for your abomination coffees and when do I get to meet him?"

Wille just laughs again, clearly getting a little bit flustered now. "We could try it though, right?" he asks, and if it weren't for Wille's puppy eyes Simon would not step back between his legs. But alas, those still haven't lost their charm, even centuries later. He sighs and puts bis hands on Wille's hips.

"You can try it, if you feel like you have to," and now Simon is laughing, too. "But I have some principles."

Wille snorts at that, before pulling Simon in again and gently sinking his teeth into his neck.

aoksjsjsjsjsjenskawksma. Hope it was worth the wait 💀💜 Thanks for sending me this prompt and also for always providing very important and valuable discussions around vampire nutrition 💜💜💜

There are some more (less lighthearted) vampire snippets here and here

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you 5(+) more!

[cookierunauprompts]

omg can you do the opposite of the one flustered jester idea? where the reader is the one flustered and let’s switch things up a bit by making reader a beast too she was also sealed cause well.. I mean girlbosses are always villains so, (reader is the weakest beast sadly, she’s weaker than sm) anyway so what if they’re ALREADY into eachother but they’re goddamn slow burn ass yk AGH and so bcz shadow milk knows she’s flustered and she can well flirt back but like bros already red so.. shadow milk has the upper hand here in terms of teasing / flirting YKYK sorry brain rot.. since this is a little more suggestive bcz well you’re flirting I believe that’s suggestive / a little spicy? hope this doesn’t break your rules I’m not quite sure if this counts as super bad.. if it is i swear it’s not intentional I LOVE YOUR WORK ❤️❤️

ohoho anon, you don't realize the power you've given me. Also, i may have changed it a bit to make Reader more of a Warden within the seal that... kinda sucks at her job at keeping the Beasts in the seal and detering them from escaping just to spite the witches. She's still a bit of a girlboss girlfail though.

Requested Prompts #42 - 💓

The five Beasts, five fallen heroes formerly revered now sealed away for their crimes against cookiekind. Everyone knows that Elder Faerie Cookie is the guardian of the seal, but what about the Warden? Yes, the warden of the seal. The Cookie placed within it by the witches to be the equivalent of a squeaky toy for ensure that the beasts stay within the seal from the inside. And, to put things rather simply... you didn't like your job. In fact, you hated the fact that the witches decided that you were apparently fit for the job. So, instead of doing your job, you got to know the beasts instead. Hell, you may have even caught feelings for one of them. And now, with all this information in mind, it brings us to now. " Oh little warden~" You could hear the beast of deceit purr, causing you to stop yourself in your tracks to look over at the (currently) contained beast. You noticed that he'd shrunken down to be around your height, though not small enough to slip through the bars like you could. " Seems you finally decided to pay me a visit again! I was getting so bored trying to entertain myself!" He reached through the bars of his prison, beckoning you inside. You, of course, obliged in his request. " Well, I have duties to attend to within the seal. If the Witches knew I was slacking off then they'd crumble me for sure." You said to yourself with a chuckle, as if the witches would even bother to care after basically abandoning you here all those years ago. " Oh hush, you and I both know very well that they can't possibly know what goes on in here. You can blame it on that Foolish King if something ever happens." Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, holding your face in his hands. " Besides, who would believe a Fool King like him? Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows just what happens here, little warden." There it is again, there's a certain lit to his voice that seemed to worm it's way into your heart to make it beat faster. You couldn't exactly tell if he was actually flirting with you or not, but there was a certain quality to it that tipped your thoughts towards the more flirty side of things. " Still," You begin, looking away to prevent yourself from staring into his gaze. " It's the only thing I can really do here, y'know?" Your reasoning seems to go in one of the beast's ears and our the other, even though neither of your technically have ears. " Hm... but you could be having a little bit of... fun with your favorite trickster, hm?" He suggested, and that may have been what broke your composure the slightest bit, letting the slightest hint of red creep onto your face. You certainly didn't trust that 'fun' meant exactly what you thought, it was probably another one of his petty puppet shows and he was doing all of this to rile you up and get a reaction out of you. " And what exactly do you mean by... 'fun'?" you question him, your composure breaking further as he let out a low chuckle. " Oh little warden... You're so cute whenever you act so clueless." He purred in this new, low voice of his. Since when could he do this? You knew he was an actor but what???? the fuck??? You could see that he was getting bigger as well, more or less of a good sign. " ... It makes me want to just gobble you up~" hoo boy, hoo fucking boy. You could feel the back of one of his claws rest at your leg. " Starting from your toes all the way to your itty bitty silly little head~ I wonder just what you'd taste like...? I could probably just eat you up in one bite~!" He purred, you could see his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking them in a rather teasing manner that got your heart working overtime. You couldn't tell if it was beating so fast out of fear or embarrassment because maybe this actually flustered you a lot and- by the witches he was fucking huge now. Holy fuck he could probably actually do it. He leaned down close, his wide grin inches away from your face.

" Oh you're oh so teeny tiny... i really could just eat you up in one bite~" He hummed as his hand wrapped around your body. You were pretty sure that your brain is going to short-circuit soon just from the way he's looking at you.

----

this may be the spiciest thing i've ever written, what the heck.i only stopped here cause I couldn't write any more without getting too embarrassed.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 19, "Last Light"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The party teams up with a group of Harpers and it takes all of their efforts to make it to safety. Áine convinces Jaheira to let them stay with the aid of an unexpected familiar face. While Karlach gets a second upgrade, Áine and Astarion run into the devil they know in Last Light and Astarion suggests grounds for a deal. Jaheira explains their plight concerning the shadow curse, what may lie ahead at Moonrise, and their most formidable enemy yet: Ketheric Thorm.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Graphic canon-appropriate fantasy violence; angst; descriptions of trauma-related anxiety; a little bit of Karlach x Dammon; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.1k

Listening to: Artificial Nocturne - Metric

“YONAS, NO!”

“MEYGAN, DON’T, HE’S BEWITCHED!”

The earth itself hissed at their feet, writhing like snakes of pure shadow. The trees themselves seemed to bend low, their roots clawing upward, enticed by towering, spindly wraiths that emerged from the most innocuous darkness cast to the dirt. Great crackling screeches surged past maws that weren’t quite mouths, fingers as long as a forearm swiping at flesh and fire, desperate to swallow the light that weakened them for the prey that was wielding it. 

This was, doubtless, the home Áine remembered.

“HARPERS, STAY TO THE LIGHT,” Lassandra cried, but there was only so much she could do with a simple torch and she knew it.

“Quickly, to me!” Shadowheart shouted at their party, radiant energy surging from her fingertips. The light formed a swirling circle of tiny shining guardians around her. An obscured wraith lurking near her burned in its glow with a disjointed wail.

Instinctively, Áine looked for Astarion. She found him backing toward the circle, unloading arrows into an especially large encroaching wraith, its form and its eyes outlined red. Her eyes flickered to a movement near the rocky outcropping they passed, the muscle memory of old survival instincts taking over as she caught on the faint outline of another wraith reforming. With a flourish, she dashed in with her lost scimitars’ replacements at the ready.

Astarion was wary of wasting each of the few arrows he had left on this wretched thing as he exchanged them for knives. Not thirty paces into these cursed lands and they were already in a desperate fight for their lives. When Shadowheart had first beckoned them all into her circle, his most hated parts of himself had snarled despite knowing by this point that the tadpole would protect his undead body from her magic. Just another upside to the illithid worm in his skull.

Finally, the wraith before him began to falter, but he realized almost too late that it was because he had nearly backed into another of its kind. As he began to pivot to try to keep himself from being corralled between the two, he saw Áine dart in from the side, her shortsword imbued with radiant magic already dragging up the torso of the wraith behind him. It shuddered and disintegrated in a puff of smoke, leaving a spherical husk in its wake.

“Much obliged,” Astarion gritted as he swiped up through the red-tinted wraith still before him with his dagger, back-to-back with Áine as she swiped her sword at another advancing but much weaker wraith. 

“Switch with me!” Áine ordered and they spun in formation. She brought the flat of her blade up to block a downward swipe from the reddened wraith and her shortsword glowed with a radiance that threw the shadow just off-kilter enough for Astarion to duck under her arm and stealthily kill it while Áine distracted it. 

“Shadowheart!” they heard Gale shout, both turning to see the guardian circle flicker and then extinguished as the cleric failed to recover from a particularly hard hit to her head that sent her to her knees. The remaining wraiths grew impossibly taller as they descended on the group. Karlach began to reach down for Shadowheart but remembered herself and growled pure frustration at her infernal engine as she took her anxious rage out on their enemies instead. Wyll and Gale bent to try and hoist her up, repeatedly having to fend off the creeping shadows as they reached for them and their fallen. 

“Chk, out of my way!” Lae’zel hissed as she shoved past the men and hauled Shadowheart over her shoulder, lunging into a sprint after the retreating Harpers, who were calling for them to follow while Halsin ran in bear form with them up ahead, carrying two of their collapsed warriors on his back. “Keep them off us!”

Karlach cut down what she could after Lae’zel ran past her with Shadowheart and Wyll held at the tiefling’s flank, the Blade in full form as he swirled his rapier and loosed bolts of eldritch power from his fingertips. 

“We need to go!” Áine cried and Astarion followed her gaze to the top of the outcropping, where more shadow-cursed creatures were beginning to unravel from the death-dried brush and twist free of the dark. The two turned tail and Astarion gripped Áine’s hand as they ran to ensure they weren’t separated. 

“Come on, come on!” Gale urged them, his eyes rounded with horror as they flickered past the pair. A conjuration of dancing lights hovered around him, just barely throwing a glow against the intensifying darkness, and when Astarion and Áine caught up with him, he extended his hand as well. Áine caught it in hers and the conjuration extended along their line, encircling Astarion and burning away the hooked hand of a wraith hovering just inches from his silver head.

The three sprinted to join Wyll and Karlach, who ran alongside them as soon as they saw their full party accounted for. Wyll shot another red blast from his hands at a wraith attempting to attack Lae’zel and Shadowheart just ahead of them, successfully burning a hole through the creature’s essence.

“Almost there!” Wyll cried.

An enormous globe of moon magic parsed the dark like a beacon and it was where the Harpers were leading them all. In quick succession, the party bowled through the barrier, stumbling into and over each other as soon as the light was breached. Áine, Gale, and Astarion were the last ones through and only realized just how close behind them their enemies were when Harper Yonas, gnarled and rotting alive in streaks of black and sickly green, neared the barrier in his pursuit and screamed unholy murder when it burned his undead flesh.

Áine’s chest heaved with exertion, letting go of Gale’s hand but keeping Astarion’s as she breathed thanks to the wizard. That had brought back memories. She supposed that she should get used to things doing that in this place. A cool hand on her cheek brought her eyes upward to meet her lover’s. He was just as winded but looked more concerned about her. 

Astarion parted his lips to speak when his gaze suddenly shot up to look over Áine’s head. She followed suit and saw a formidable woman in High Harper garb advancing on them and looking none too friendly. 

Áine let go of Astarion’s hand, feeling him try to snatch her back, but she deftly wove between his hands and hurried toward the front of the group. She barely had time to say a thing before she nearly doubled over, her feet held in place by a restrictive tangle of vines wrapping around her ankles and up her calves.

Behind her in a hushed voice, Áine heard Karlach gasp, “Oh Gods, that’s Jaheira!”

At least Karlach seemed to think that was a positive thing, she supposed. The apparently well-known Jaheira stopped in front of Áine, a green glow emitting from her palm that mirrored the aura of the vines. It was an improvement only in that this green resembled the lushness of a healthy forest rather than the sickly hue of necrotic magic they’d just evaded. 

Jaheira gave her a narrow, speculative look after taking in her companions, who all looked disarmed at their welcome and further on edge after Áine was ensnared. Áine grumbled as she tried to free herself, leveling a glower at the druid. 

“Just once I wish people would just say ‘hello’,” she muttered.

Almost pleasantly, Jaheira smirked at the bard and said, “Hello.”

Áine snorted and ceased her struggling, just aiming to stand up straight as she and Jaheira took each other in. Behind her, Gale quipped, “We save your Harpers and this is our thanks?”

“Kindness is too often a decoy,” Jaheira snapped.

“It’s okay, Gale, I’ll handle this,” Áine said over her shoulder, raising one placating hand. He inclined his head and fell silent, kneeling to check on Shadowheart instead as Lae’zel set her down.

“You most certainly will,” Jaheira agreed, her eyes back on Áine as she produced a glass bottle from her robes. Áine’s eyes fell to the bottle and her jaw tensed. There was an illithid tadpole inside. “This is why we’re here, you see. It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there’s one thing that we know…”

Áine stiffened as Jaheira walked closer to her, extending her hand holding the bottled parasite. “...it’s that it knows its own kind.” As if on cue, the parasite’s attention shifted to Áine and it swirled in its prison, thin razorlike teeth snapping at the glass. Her own tadpole pulsed with recognition. Bastards.

Satisfied, Jaheira stowed the tadpole again and glared at Áine as she slowly drew one of her blades. “You should never have come here, True Soul.”

Áine heard steel begin scraping free of its sheathes behind her as her companions readied to defend her and she held out both her hands between her party and Jaheira. “Just hold on, this isn’t what you think, I’m—”

“STOP!”

A shrill, familiar cry rose to Áine’s aid. She searched for the source, only to draw up empty until she lowered her gaze. A tiefling child with a bandaged eye scampered to the forefront, tail swishing agitatedly. Áine’s eyes widened. “Mol?”  

“What are you doing?” Mol demanded of Jaheira, her audacity seeming perfectly intact. “She’s the one who saved us!”

Jaheira regarded the child with shock and disbelief. “She’s the one who protected the Emerald Grove?” she asked. The doubt was palpable in her tone.

“Yup!” Mol chirped. “Didn’t leave a goblin standing! Not so bad to hang around with either.” She tossed a cheeky grin Áine’s way. “Saved two of my friends, too! One from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake.” She shrugged at Jaheira as if it were just that simple and the druid was the fool for thinking otherwise. “I’d pretty much trust her with my life.”

Áine was surprised and impressed that Jaheira believed her. “A True Soul with a mind of her own… How is that possible?” she wondered, looking back to Áine.

The bard’s lips pursed as she measured Jaheira’s expression, what she knew of the High Harper so far. Opting for a calculated risk, Áine reached into her pack, in a hidden pocket where the artefact rested.

“This is unwise,” the golden paladin’s voice droned in her head.

Fuck off, she thought back at the voice, still very much on the offensive when it came to the untrustworthy being in the polyhedric prism. 

The persistent “guardian” was helping her and her comrades, but the motives were still unknown and untrustworthy. She’d only for a moment considered trusting the guardian she met in the Astral and that had been when she’d considered the possibility that it could be the Oathbreaker Knight in another form. Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, she bristled every time she was reminded that the stranger existed.

Áine’s fingertips found purchase on the artefact and she slid it from her pack. She held it out for Jaheira’s inspection, only wary of it being snatched from her although it did seem to have a penchant for finding its way back to her hands.

Jaheira eyed the strange object with the glowing seams and symbols and produced the bottled parasite again, experimentally holding the bottle near the prism. The tadpole inside shuddered and beat itself against the glass a few times before falling into a state of inertness. Jaheira’s eyes widened. “What in the Hells is that thing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Áine admitted the half-truth. “So far though it’s been a lifesaver.”

“Hmph,” Jaheira hummed, satisfied enough to stow the static parasite and sheathe her drawn blade. “Well, congratulations. You’ve earned yourself the benefit of the doubt.” She turned to address her crew. “Hear me, Harpers! All clear. At ease.”

The vines dissipated from Áine’s legs and the Harpers around them put away their weapons and returned to their tasks. Lassandra shot Áine a relieved look and a nod as she passed them to lead her wounded troop to the inn.

“Are you alright?” Astarion whispered near Áine’s ear, startling her a little as she hadn’t heard him approach. Then again, when did she ever? 

Áine looked up at him and smiled, nodding. “I’m fine,” she affirmed, her hand finding his again like a magnetic pull. He threaded their fingers together in much the same way.

“I’ll not pretend to understand what that artefact is,” Jaheira said, addressing them again. “But I’m old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark.” She cocked her head a little as she took in their party again, with curiosity this time rather than caution. “Tell me, why have you come here?”

Áine smirked. “Would you believe me if I told you I was on holiday?”

Jaheira smirked back and Áine had a feeling she may have found a kindred spirit. “Well, lucky for you, you’d be just in time for happy hour,” Jaheira quipped, confirming Áine’s hope. She gestured behind her toward the buildings teeming with Harpers and tieflings. “Welcome to Last Light. There’s food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest. And aloe oil on the shelf in case the vines gave you a rash.” Jaheira’s gaze fastened anew on Áine. “Settle in. Then come join me for a drink. You just might be the godsend we’ve been praying for.”

She left them to their own devices at that and Áine finally let some of the tension fall from her shoulders. Áine glanced at Shadowheart, now upright and looking a little better. At her inquisitive glance, the cleric simply nodded her reassurance.

“Do you think Dammon’s here too?” Karlach asked suddenly as she, too, noticed several familiar faces in the crowd.

“It looks like a lot of the refugees ended up here,” Áine murmured, recognizing face after face the more she looked. They should’ve been to the city by now. “Gods above, what happened?”

The party divided—some finding a space to set up their tents to afford the other inn residents the beds inside and some accompanying Karlach to go look for Dammon. It left Áine, Astarion, Halsin, and Wyll to investigate the inn itself. 

It didn’t take long to lose Halsin to a side room, in which he apparently saw or heard something of interest. The remaining three found Alfira at the inn’s center and managed to catch up on the refugees’ troubles from her and another tiefling nearby, a paladin who had much to say about Zevlor and his abandonment of his people. 

Initially, Áine had been shocked to see so many of them here, but now that she really looked around her, she realized how few of them were left. Her insides twisted.

“If you are bound for Moonrise Towers,” Alfira murmured, her laugh lines lax in her terrified expression. She winced at her own words. “If you must go, please see if you can find the others. If they are still alive, they’ll be there.”

The name, as ever, sent a chill through Áine’s bones. “We will look for them and, if they’re there, we’ll get them out,” she promised. She half-expected to hear a scoff from Astarion behind her but was surprised when that wasn’t the case. 

“Thank you,” Alfira whispered, her voice cracking. “But please, please be careful. I can’t lose anyone else. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Áine smiled, gently squeezing Alfira’s hands before she turned to face her companions, only to find them both gone. A cursory glance around the inn revealed that Wyll had strayed to the bar and appeared to be chastising a very inebriated Rolan over his treatment of the nearby children. And Astarion…

Her eyes widened and she immediately started walking to the far side of the building. Her steps brought her closer to Astarion, who had his back to her, and yet another familiar face past his shoulder. This familiarity, however, was no friend.

“A proposal?” Raphael was musing as she walked over, seeming to raise his voice just so she could hear while on her way. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil,” Astarion snipped. His tone wavered as he explained, “My old—well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Áine asked, managing to startle him. She suspected he was more startled at being caught than at her presence. She looked to Raphael, who just smiled at her coyly as always. “And you. Are you following us?”

“Good to see you again, Áine dear,” Raphael addressed her silkenly, ignoring her question. “I’d ask if you’d made any progress with your little problem, but the telltale twitching of your eye is answer enough.”

“The last thing we need is your meddling, Raphael,” she warned him. 

The fire of her words just seemed to encourage him. “You wound me. I’ve only tried to be a friend to you—just as to the poor souls here, where hope hangs by a single thread. I can mend it or cut it…depending on what they ask for.”

“I suppose that answers my question as to why you’re here,” Áine murmured. “You get off on this.”

“Not quite, pet,” Raphael scoffed with a wave of his hand. “It’s simply sumptuous. My last contract here fed me for decades.” A faint sneer tweaked his lips. “Something you may know quite intimately.” Áine parted her lips to fire back, but he interrupted her, “Alas if you want to know more, I could work in the exchange of such precious knowledge into the terms of your future deal. But the time for quibbling over clauses and contracts hasn’t quite arrived. You’ll be limping back to me soon enough.” He smiled, relishing the image.

“Your business tonight lies with me, devil,” Astarion growled. “Not with her.”

Áine’s heart twinged at Astarion’s protectiveness and she leveled a look at Raphael. She didn’t like that Astarion was entertaining a deal with a devil, but she’d at least ensure he got more details. 

“I don’t think he knows,” she implied loftily of Raphael’s knowledge regarding Astarion’s scars, challenging the Infernal’s ego.

“Really?” Raphael drawled, the look he turned to her now devoid of amusement. He glanced back to Astarion and Áine almost shuddered at the look of hunger in the devil’s eyes as he addressed her partner. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter? A warning? A deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.” He sneered. “But, of course, you’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.”

Astarion scoffed. “You’ll ‘get back to me’?! This is important, devil!” He grappled with the situation for a moment before finally relinquishing and asking, “...When?”

“Don’t worry, I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories… I think yours might be truly exquisite.” Raphael smiled sinisterly at them both. “I’ll see you soon.”

The devil disappeared in a quick flash of light, leaving the couple on their own. Áine looked up at him imploringly and he avoided her eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… Are you mad?” she asked, worry plain on her face.

Astarion sighed. This was precisely why he’d seized his opportunity to talk to Raphael alone while Áine was discussing the refugees with Alfira. “I’m desperate, darling. There’s a slight difference,” he snipped back. 

“But why?” Áine asked. “I mean, of course you’d want to understand them, but so much that you’d contract with a devil? Why not ask anyone else first? Why not ask Karlach even?”

“I did,” Astarion said, turning to face Áine. The way he was looking down his nose at her made her want to flick him in it. “The dialect is too ancient. Even knowing some Infernal from her time in Avernus, she couldn’t make horned heads or forked tails of it.”

Áine sighed, giving him a doubtful look. “Why didn’t you mention it before? That you wanted to ask for Raphael’s help?”

Astarion felt cornered and acted accordingly. Beneath the irritation was the source of truth—he was anxious that he’d done something wrong or that, even if he hadn’t, he’d still managed to upset her. That truth was buried under layers of masking. “I was under the impression from you that I didn’t need your permission to go about my business,” he said with a sharp tone.

Áine flushed with chagrin and he felt the part of a true villain. It wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d always thought it would be. “You don’t,” she said coolly, her mouth drawing a thin line after she spoke.

Astarion huffed and waved a dismissive hand toward where Raphael had stood. “Right, well… What’s done is done. Now why don’t we stop talking about it and just get on with things?” he griped.

“Fine,” Áine sighed, not particularly liking the way this was wrapping up, but knowing she’d not make it any better by prolonging it. 

I wish you wouldn’t push me away, she posited silently instead, knowing what old learned survival instincts of his had brought those tones and accusations to the surface and still finding they stung. 

Astarion frowned, watching Áine lead them from the inn, presumably to go find Karlach and the others before they sat down with Jaheira. He knew they weren’t perfect—far from it. They bickered regularly, but fairly, and usually over her taking up odd jobs for little to no cost out of the goodness of her golden heart. He’d not been fair with what he’d thrown her way just now and he’d known that from the second he’d wound back to pitch. He’d still thrown the blow. And Áine was very good at holding herself back from fighting with him when that happened. He wanted to vent his frustration, he wanted to not be questioned, and she complied in the one way he couldn’t spar with. It was her checkmate and it worked every time.

For an instant, he mused over how long it had been since she’d last had to use it. He felt apologetic, but unwilling to apologize and potentially invite further pushback. He had to know what these runes meant. He had to seal that aspect of his past if he was damned to carry it with him physically for the remainder of his existence. Even if it necessitated a deal with a devil.

A loud hiss nearby snapped him from his reverie and he looked over just in time to see an offended-looking sphynx cat loping away from where Áine stood, stock-still and looking guilty. She straightened from her crouch and awkwardly rested her hands against the back of her neck, her expression disheartened but understanding. 

When she turned and met Astarion’s eyes, she looked sheepish. His sour mood melted some. “What on earth did you do to it?” he teased her.

“I just offered my hand!” Áine insisted, genuinely looking aggrieved that she’d been so viciously rejected. “I couldn’t help but try. It was a cat! I can’t remember the last time I saw a cat…”

Astarion couldn’t help the soft smile that eased his expression. He hesitated to move closer to her, but couldn’t help that either, and crossed the short distance to place a doting hand against her hair. The span of his hand nearly covered her crown. “I should have known you’d have a soft spot for cats as you’ve had for everything else mildly domesticated that we’ve run across,” he mused. 

“I kept you, didn’t I?”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His eyes flickered after the little bald beast that had fled their vicinity. “I would hardly call that a cat though.”

Áine peeked up at him from under his hand. “Don’t be rude,” she chastised him gently.

He chuckled and shifted his hand down to her shoulder, tucking her into his side as he resumed their path out of the inn. “It was rude to you,” Astarion reasoned and, as a sidelong apology, noted, “and I won’t have my little love’s feelings be wounded by some common mole rat.”

That got through to her. Áine smirked as she held back a laugh, dropping her head forward to hide her blush as she playfully knocked her shoulder against his side. Astarion chuckled and squeezed her close enough to drop a kiss on her head, stabilizing her through the little stumble he caused her in doing so.

The couple located the rest of their group, save for Halsin and Wyll, gathered near the stables, watching with bated breath as Dammon worked the infernal iron they’d gathered into a usable part and turned to hand it to Karlach. 

Áine noted the little sparkle in Dammon’s eyes when he looked at their beloved barbarian again—it wasn’t even close to the first time she’d seen it either. Every time they’d come to see him since Karlach joined their ranks, he had an extra glow about him that wasn’t just the light thrown off Karlach’s engine. It was very sweet.

A mechanical clank met their ears as they stopped near the others, the sound of the new part finding its home in Karlach’s chest. She paused heavily, seeming almost scared to ask, “Well… Did it work?”

Dammon smiled and the expression was nothing short of affectionate. “Only one way to find out,” he suggested. As Karlach hesitated and cast him a shy, questioning glance, Dammon chuckled and opened his arms. 

Áine felt the faint sting of tears at the corners of her eyes as Karlach moved closer, hesitantly at first and then more confidently when Dammon didn’t immediately catch on fire. Well, in the literal sense, at least. Karlach’s watery laugh of disbelief as she embraced Dammon—embraced anyone for the first time in years—was the bard’s undoing.

“You little sap,” Astarion accused her low in her ear when he caught her getting emotional. 

Áine just shrugged. She couldn’t disagree with his statement. She just leaned her head against his shoulder and was humbled yet again by the plights of her dear friends that, as much as she’d suffered in this world, there were still a great many things she’d never suffered that she’d always taken for granted. Despite his teasing, Astarion tightened his arm around her, his thumb tracing soothing paths against the curve of her shoulder.

Karlach had immediately started doling out hugs to anyone who would let her, babbling through heavy streaks of tears that rolled unevaporated down her beaming features. “My second family and I can finally hug you, I can’t believe it!” she half-sobbed as she held a very content Shadowheart and a confused but willing Lae’zel in each arm.

By the time she turned her gaze to Áine and Astarion, Áine was practically vibrating with anticipation. All the times she’d wanted to give Karlach a reassuring pat, hug, or squeeze up to this point (at times just barely remembering the peril before she laid hands on the red-hot tiefling) were accumulating into the voracity of the hug she was about to bestow on the woman. Astarion was a little less sure but unleashed Áine from his arm like a wolfhound to buy himself some time.

Áine and Karlach both squealed like schoolgirls as the bard ran and leapt into her waiting arms. Astarion chuckled at the display, thinking he might give Áine a tidbit of hell later for never being that excited to hug him. The thought alone surprised him—he’d come quite far from where he’d started in her company. Once artfully dodging every reason to have physical contact with anyone now that he was no longer forced to, he craved her touch in the simplest sense. 

He smirked to himself. How utterly strange.      

“Astarion…?” Karlach inquired carefully, getting his attention away from his musings. She was practically bursting with affection and it unnerved him, but she was waiting on his decision. Giving him the reins. 

A pang of dread lanced through him despite not being able to assign any rational reason to it. It was Karlach after all. She respected his boundaries. She was asking his permission with that puppy-dog look she always got in her bright emotive eyes. And yet still there was that fear deep down that would probably exist until he at least tried. That had been the case with Áine after all, he’d just had more of a drive to bridge that gap with her for both selfish and unselfish reasons.

His anxious gaze met Áine’s, who had since been set back down on the ground. She was observing them both and Astarion tried not to acknowledge that the others were watching them as well. Astarion cleared his throat, trying to pin down his feelings. He…wanted to hug her, he realized. He wanted to try anyway. And yet he was rooted to the spot.

Karlach was about to brush it off with more kindness than he believed was due, but Áine spoke first. “I think I have an idea,” she said with a gentle smile to the nervous vampire nearby. She could feel it rolling off him in waves, but she could also see the ache in his eyes. 

Astarion regarded her curiously and, as soon as he seemed open to whatever that idea was, Áine nodded for him to go up to Karlach and her still-open arms. He drew in a shaky breath out of pure habit and ventured in like a frightened animal, skeptical of there being any plan until he felt Áine step in behind him. Were it anyone but Áine, he would have felt boxed in, but he trusted her. Even so, Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what difference having her behind him would make until they were both folded into Karlach’s embrace and the tiefling’s hands rested against Áine’s back instead of his. 

A lump formed in his throat. She was shielding his scars.

As if to confirm it, Áine dropped a featherlight kiss to the leather of his armor, right over where they both knew one of the runes lay. Through that reassurance, Astarion found it in him to lift his arms and very lightly place them against Karlach’s sides, patting her back for good measure. It wasn’t his first hug in recent days, but it was his first time hugging anyone other than Áine in over two centuries. Still, Karlach was being very cautious not to crowd him, he noticed. Her arms were secure but didn’t feel like anything he couldn’t maneuver out of if he wanted to. 

Oddly, he found he didn’t want to. As it turned out, a friend’s embrace wasn’t so bad either. And even though her engine had been cooled considerably, she was still unbelievably warm. It was…pleasant.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he groused after a moment, softening it with a small smirk as he stepped back and the girls let him go without a fuss. He glanced between Karlach, who was somehow even more wet with tears, and Áine’s features positively radiating love and pride. “Both of you stop what you’re doing this instant. Avert your eyes if you must.”

“Oh, FANGS!” Karlach squealed with a little choked sob. “Thank you!”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” Astarion muttered back bashfully, refusing to acknowledge all the soft looks he was getting from the rest of their party. Bleeding Hells, he’d have to murder one of them to maintain his reputation at this point.

The high spirits dampened with unease when the group, gathered in full once again and approached Jaheira as requested. She was poised over a small desk, the surface of which was spread with maps and what looked like an unfinished battle plan. She carefully tucked the documents aside as she placed two goblets and a bottle of wine on the surface instead. 

“Please. Be welcome. Have a drink,” Jaheira suggested, her sharp eyes on Áine as she filled both goblets. She raised hers in a toast. “To your very good health.”

Áine smiled back at her and raised her glass toward her lips. However, instead of sipping it immediately, she inhaled the bouquet, earning a mix of strange and approving looks from her gathered companions. As anticipated, something was in hers. It smelled herby and, as she sifted through the potent aroma of the wine, familiar even. It was klauthgrass. A natural truth serum. One of many smells she’d been introduced to young and taught to avoid.

In truth, she probably still held some measure of tolerance to the stuff. She briefly considered drinking the spiked wine to let Jaheira think that she was under the herb’s influence while her body easily overrode its effects, but she didn’t want to start on that foot with this woman. If Jaheira wouldn’t be honest, Áine decided she would be.

“It doesn’t spoil the taste if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jaheira remarked with a knowing look, watching Áine all the while.

“Mm, it does spoil the trust though,” Áine said, setting the full goblet back on the table. By now any strange looks that had arisen behind her had faded, catching that there was something extra in the drink. While Áine was turned away from them, unable to see their faces, she could sense their tension ease away and she perhaps unfairly wondered what she’d done to still earn so much skepticism from certain members of her party.

You’re really going to judge them for questioning their leadership? You? she chastised herself, almost snickering at the irony.

“Humor me,” Jaheira pressed, her tone implying no room for leeway. 

“Add some to yours as well and I’ll be happy to,” Áine suggested. “I seek a level ground and I’ll settle for nothing less.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaheira said, sipping long from her own wine. Áine took a mental note that Jaheira hadn’t paused to entertain her suggestion of a compromise. Interesting. “Well over a century old and yet it still hasn’t lost a bit of flavor. Still not quite so sure about you though.”

Áine tilted her head. “In what sense?”

“Well, people tend to lose more than flavor when illithids get their hands on them. I speak from experience,” the druid explained, surprising Áine with her admission. She must’ve been a thrall in another time and had somehow survived it. Newborn respect settled in Áine’s gaze and Jaheira was pleased to see it although it didn’t curb her nerves. “There’s an air about you. Something…alien.” Jaheira’s brow furrowed and turned almost pleading despite her tone remaining firm and commanding. “Answer me true and do not lie: the parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

Áine considered her question with no intent to lie but with intent to give a fair answer. “From what we know, our parasites exist in a stasis right now. The artefact is keeping them that way when others would have transformed by this point,” Áine tried to explain. “There’s a tadpole in my brain. There’s no refuting that and there’s no refuting that it must be changing me somehow. However, past a handful of abilities I’ve seldom used, I feel that I’m the same person as when we began.”

Jaheira seemed satisfied with Áine’s answer. She wouldn’t have believed a firm “no,” but she did wish for it for the sake of those she protected. Jaheira gestured with her free hand toward the inn surrounding them. “Look around you—good men, good women. Stranded here with two feet in the grave. If we’re to survive, I have no choice but to trust you,” Jaheira stated. Her eyes narrowed. “Can I?”

“You can,” Áine said, “but will you?”

“I have every reason to be cautious. It is far from anything mirroring personal. I’ve traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way from here to Baldur’s Gate,” Jaheira explained. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading throughout the city—quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.”

Áine’s blood ran cold and she was glad someone else took that moment to insert a clever quip because she had none to spare.

“If he’s back, maybe you should’ve hit him harder in the first place,” Wyll implied, earning looks from Halsin and Karlach both. He quieted—that was an intimidating combination of scoldings to earn.

Jaheira was unoffended. “Believe me, he was well and truly dead. I locked his corpse in the Thorm mausoleum myself,” she said. 

The surname alone made Áine’s heart start to pick up its tempo. Yet again, only Astarion noticed her distress because he could hear it. He had questions, but he made mental notes of them all, reserving them for later away from Jaheira and the rest of their party. 

“He was a Sharran once,” Jaheira was saying. “Took to building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. Alongside the local druids, we made it our business to see him deposed. Dead and buried. But he has returned.” Jaheira’s expression became something nearing distressed. “Not only does General Ketheric Thorm live again, but it seems he’s no longer mortal. He has become, in fact, invincible.”

Ice in her veins. Thunder in her heart. Still, Áine found her voice. “Come again?” she asked. The trouble was that she already knew, as much as she could know, the answer to her own question. But she needed to ask it. Perhaps something had shifted with the arrival of the cult. 

“We met him on the road here. Commanding an army of the Absolute, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate. I put an arrow through his eye, myself, only to watch him pluck it out like a splinter,” Jaheira explained, pantomiming her memory of his movements. “He healed right in front of me. Chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there is always hope.” She sighed, looking almost sorry as she said, “You are that hope.”

“We’ve been hearing that quite a bit lately,” Shadowheart sighed. Áine wondered if her interest had been piqued at the mention of the Dark Justiciars.

“Protected by your artefact, you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers posing as a True Soul. Find out what it is that makes him invincible so we can strip him of his advantage,” Jaheira implored them. “Once Ketheric is without his shield, together we will assault his tower and put an end to this blight.”

Áine nodded slowly, sighing through her nose. What choice did she have? “Alright,” she agreed.

Jaheira was surprised by her response or at least her lack of pushback, that much was clear. “Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered, too. Yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us…,” she murmured. A crooked smile crossed her lips. “I like you.” 

Áine smiled back. “What have we got to lose, you know?” she asked. The question was rhetorical but somber, too, and that wasn’t lost on Jaheira.

The druid nodded. “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this. But any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it has to be at Moonrise.”

“What about the shadow curse?” Gale asked. “We need more than torches if we’re meant to be out in those shadows for any length of time.”

“You are not our only secret weapon,” Jaheira said. She nodded her head toward the upper floor of the inn. “Isobel—a faithful cleric of Selûne and a light in the darkness. She cast the moon shield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. She’s upstairs in her chambers—tell her I sent you and she’ll see you through the shadows safely.”

Isobel? Áine wondered. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence? Her gaze slanted toward the room Jaheira had indicated. It was heartening to her that, if this was the same Isobel, she’d chosen to resist the sins of her father. 

At least if her assumptions were correct, they already had something in common.

“Well, you’ve finally made it back to these godsforsaken lands, Halsin,” Wyll mused later, the bubbling of Gale’s stewpot and the grind of Lae’zel’s whetstone providing familiar background noise in their little setup beneath the dome of the moon shield. “How does it feel?”

Halsin smiled sadly toward the fire, running a hand over his scarred but handsome features. “It feels bitterly familiar,” he said. “What Jaheira said about the first time Ketheric Thorm was lain in the ground? I was there. I was among the druids who fought him back, who killed him only for him to come back unkillable. And he took the vitality of this land with him.”

“Do you think there’s any way to break the curse?” Gale wondered as he stirred their dinner.

“There must be. And I will find it,” Halsin said, not an ounce of his tone to be disbelieved. “Earlier before we spoke with Jaheira, I discovered something in the inn. A man. Near-comatose but somehow still very much alive despite, I believe, existing within the Shadowfell for quite some time.”

“Impossible,” Shadowheart said, her brow creasing. “No one could—”

“Just what I thought as well,” Halsin agreed. “He spoke of Thaniel repeatedly in his sleep. The spirit of this land, long lost to the dark. If there is a way to get Thaniel back, to trace where he may be in the Shadowfell, where I can only imagine Ketheric or his justiciars imprisoned him…then perhaps we can free this land of its malignance as well.” Halsin shook his head. “I need more information though. I must see this through.”

Gale had just taken up a ladle to serve dinner when his glance around the camp came up short. “Say, where’s Karlach? And Áine?”

“Karlach is off flirting with Dammon, I believe,” Shadowheart said cheekily. “And Áine… Well, I don’t know where she snuck off to. Astarion?”

The vampire’s vermillion gaze flickered toward the cleric at the mention of his name. He was lost in his thoughts, still parsing their conversation with Jaheira and also mulling over his exchange with Raphael, wondering when he’d be “graced” with the devil’s presence again. Not knowing what would be expected of him in their potential deal for a translation of his scars was putting him firmly on edge. 

To Shadowheart, Astarion said, “Resting by the water, last I knew. I intend to bring her some dinner.”

Gale nodded, setting up a bowl of stew packed full of fresh ingredients from the inn and fresh bread as well. Astarion took the food when offered it, feeling a little strange at handling actual food for the first time in who knew how long. He supposed since he’d sliced up that apple for Áine the morning after she’d let him drink from her for the first time.

“Bit odd for her to wander off,” Wyll noted, leaning back a little to try and see down to the dark lakeshore. “She’s been acting peculiar since we got here, has anyone else noticed?”

“Difficult to say,” Shadowheart said, her tone a bit pointed in defense of her friend. “Since we immediately ended up in a fight for our lives and were then threatened and interrogated and we’ve just been granted some respite. I don’t blame her for taking a moment to herself.”

Their debate faded behind Astarion as he took his spoils away from the firelit circle of tents. He glanced toward Scratch lying nearby and gave a quick whistle that captured the dog’s attention and brought him in step with the vampire as he sought out his lover. It didn’t take him too long to find her—she sat under a tree on a small ledge overlooking the water, her eyes fastened skyward on the moon.

Scratch pranced ahead of Astarion and snapped Áine out of her trance with a lick to her cheek, startling her. She smiled as she petted the dog affectionately but her expression didn’t touch her eyes. 

When she saw Astarion bringing her dinner, her features softened. “What have I done to earn such service?” she wondered, adding a thank-you when he bent to deliver the food into her hands.

Before he answered her, Astarion gave a scolding click of his tongue toward Scratch when the dog started to beg. “Not a whine out of you, you’ve had yours,” Astarion informed the pup, who exhaled the dog equivalent of a sigh and settled down at Áine’s side, placing his head on his paws. “Don’t believe him, Gale fed him plenty while he was cooking.”

Áine laughed softly and nodded, settling the food on her lap and resting her head back against the trunk of the tree. “Can’t blame him for trying.”

Astarion reclined in the grass beside her, looking up at her with his head propped up by his elbow. She looked pale. She made no move to eat and her eyes simply looked dull and melancholy. “You should eat, darling,” he urged her, nodding toward her cooling stew. “You haven’t eaten since our last suppertime.”

Áine rolled her head against the tree to peer down at him, her smile at least holding a bit of playfulness this time. That was an improvement in his eyes. “Keeping tabs on me, love?”

“As if it’s anything new,” he mumbled, squinting a little at the fathomless look in her dark eyes. He slid his free hand to rest against her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Áine’s features hardened the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”

Astarion’s brows rose at her tone, almost offended until he reined himself in. What he was feeling now was how she’d felt earlier when he’d spoken to Raphael, he wagered. Two could play her game then. He exhaled his frustration at her dodge and instead of fighting back, reframed his approach. “Don’t push me away, sweet girl,” he murmured, a silent “please” threaded into his words.

Her eyes rounded a little and she looked immediately guilty, her throat tightening as she looked away from him, down at her food. He watched her jaw work as she warred with herself and waited for her to respond. Maybe he’d just upset her more and thwarted his chance to pick her brain. He was halfway to damning his efforts when she seemed to reach a resolution.

Finally, Áine sighed and it looked like that single breath had taken the wind fully from her sails. “I know Ketheric Thorm,” she admitted, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not personally, not exactly. But enough. What Jaheira’s saying about him, the healing he’s able to do from what should be fatal wounds, is true. He’s indeed undead, but as long as he’s been undead, he’s fed off of two things to become essentially deathless: a relic—and the extent of my knowledge is that it’s a relic and that it exists—and a covenant.”

“The cult of the Absolute?” Astarion inquired, trying to follow before he began asking his questions in full. 

“Now, yes,” Áine said. He could hear her heart raging against its cage. “But not always. Not before… The covenant extends far past that. Generations of oathbound souls to feed his immortality through the gaps of what he’s siphoned from the relic and carry out his will. Slaughtering Selûnites, razing whole villages, silently slitting throats in the Gate’s upper city. Whatever he wanted.” She drew in a shaky breath. “And now that he has the cult as well, possibly supplementing him in both of those ways, he’s… He’ll be more resilient than ever.”

Astarion’s frown deepened. “How do you know all of this?” He had a feeling though that he already knew and was only just putting it together.

Áine’s throat worked and she closed her eyes, her features pinched with shame. When she looked at him, he could tell she was forcing herself to do so. “Because his covenant’s bloodline is mine,” she told him. “I grew up in these wretched, heartless lands. I was born to die in his service. My broken oath is the oath I took in service to Ketheric Thorm.”

Next chapter: Chapter 20, "Oathbreaker"

[karniss-bg3]

Perspective

I awaken. It is cold.

My eyes open to view darkness unending. The distance seems so short and yet I know it to be expansive beyond reason. I know not what was here before my malformed steps touched the earth but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Her light, Her grace. I feel Her with me at all times and Her gaze never leaves me. I am protected, I am loved, but why is it so cold? The chill burrows into my very bones gnawing at the marrow with its icy bite. My energy is drawn from my very flesh only to fade away into the aether, stolen from me without my permission. How much has been ripped away? How much more must I wither before my ascension? I will shepherd Her faithful, I will be worthy of Her light. Majesty.

“Hey, legs! Get down here!”

The voice, it rattles my ears and prickles my skin. Yet another of my Queen’s followers, a parasite that I will excise from Her ranks. Time, I still need time. For now I shall play along, I will do as I am told until only She and I remain. None will love you as I do, Majesty. Surely you must know that.

I retreat from my perch atop the tower and follow the nagging that beckons me. I keep your gift close to my breast, my Queen. None may touch, it belongs to me and only to me. I know that you have blessed me because of how loyal I am, how true. The rest are vermin, scuttling about spreading their vile diseases like the pests they are. I can cleanse them, fix them, make them valuable in your service.

There he is, the little worm. I see his smug smile, his proud stance, so very pleased with himself. I see him for what he really is, a low-born goblin with limited wit. He believes himself above me but I know better. Your mercy is endless, Majesty. But why spare this rabble? I do not understand what use they could be in the face of your magnanimity but it is not for me to know. Why is he smiling at me so? His yellowed teeth and scent of foot fungus offends me on every level, I wish he’d be quick about voicing his desire.

“Speak,” I say, so very impatient.

“What’re you in a ‘urry for, eh? Got all tha time in tha world, haha.”

Every word he speaks makes my stomach churn. I wish to rip his mocking tongue from his skull and crush it to paste in my claws. “We do not have time. Tell us what they want or leave us be.”

“Pfft, no fun you are. My request is pretty simple, open this for me.”

I see him hold out a jar. A jar?! What does this fool think me to be? I am not some simpleton nor am I the village idiot, but he wants me to perform menial tasks? I am a warrior, a fighter, strong and brutal. How dare he insult me, Majesty! “You wish for us to open a jar?” I can feel it, something crawling under the surface of my skin. I must stay calm, my Queen. Give me strength.

“What else are ya good fer? Ya just stand around all day, eyes glazed over n’ shit. Does yer brain float away an’ go on vacation or somethin’?”

I can feel my breath quickening. Every muscle is growing taut. Patience, my Queen. I need to find my patience. Open the jar and walk away, that is all I must do.

“See, yer doin’ it right now. Ya still in there, web-arse? Hellooooo!”

Patience, I must—no, anger. The cold is fading, replaced with a white hot rage. I feel the fury clawing through my chest and up my throat. My eyes burn, my legs tremble, I want to scream but the sound is trapped in my gut. I’ve forgotten how to breathe, the desire to kill stands above all else. My hand moves before I can will it to stop. I grab the jar and clutch it so tight my fingers feel as if they are poised to break.

“You wish it opened?”

“Well, YEAH! Those pigs feet ain’t gonna eat themselves.”

I see crimson, it streaks across my vision and drowns out all other hues. Forgive me, Majesty, but it must be done. He will learn respect. I grab his throat faster than he can react. It’s so fragile and soft in my grasp, I can feel the hastened beat of his heart throbbing against my palm. I take the jar in my other hand and smash it into his face, the glass shattering on impact. Pork hooves scatter across the ground while the remainder are smashed into the little bastards face. I twist my hand and burrow the chunks of glass and keratin into his cheeks and eyes. The sounds of his screams are drowned out in my ears as if my head was dunked under rolling waves. He isn’t smiling anymore and he will never be allowed to look upon my divine visage ever again. I don’t even feel the pain in my hand even though I am aware it is bleeding. Nothing else matters but making this wretch feel as disfigured as I do. A hard lesson learned but one only I could teach.

Time passes in bizarre ways when your focus is so intense. I know not for how long I spent decorating his face but I do know that it took the hands of many to make me cease. I drop the fool, or what is left of him. I care not if he lives, it wouldn’t be a true loss if he didn’t. I hear voices all around me but they are as muffled and inaudible as the pitiful cries of my prey. Perhaps I will be punished, perhaps I even deserve it. If this is your will my Queen then I will do as you wish. You can see how strong I am, how important. No one else can do what is necessary to enact your grand design. No one.

Darkness, I tumble into an endless pit. There is nothing, it all goes blank. Majesty, are you there? I don’t know what is happening. Words, voices, tightness around my neck. Is this death? I don’t wish to die. My Queen, my everything, please deliver me to salvation. I am still useful to you, I will forever be all you could ever need.

Do you hear me?

Do you see me?

Do you—love me?

Silence.

I awaken. It is cold.

[dfourc]

'Sometimes we bare our teeth to pain that makes us whole'

==

TW : Hints of stalking, Obsessive compulsions, gay people?? Dead dove do not eat... uh.. mentions of gore, implied relationship trauma, psychotic man, unhealthy behaviors.. and.. dunno more?

Summary : man has obsession, calls, more trauma, implied stalking..

HERES A VIBE WHEN YOUR READING MY WORK??

==

Silence used to fill the still air in the old creaky home. The wind howls and gently rattles the windows foggy with dirt and dust, Covered in a layer of grime. Birds chirp less and less as the sun creeps lower and dips below the horizen line, showering the old home in decrept, crawling darkness. The stars threaten to peak out against the peach colored and blue fuzzy sky. Clouds turning more and more into an orange haze of color.

Yet residing in the inky shadows, a face stares back, with the soft glow of a screen, and the gentle taps upon the worn out spots, My thoughts get the better of my fog fillled and hunger craving mind.

'Sometimes the world isn't as big as we hope it is.'

I've heard that line, over and over. Like a never ending rhythm, or a heart beating forever. Immortalized in people's brains. Like a tune you couldn't ever forget. Like that one ugly memory that still haunts you to this day. Like a snake filled with venom it can't use.

And yet. It persists. Clawing it's way out of my inky depths, eating through my skin. And devouring my bones.

The phone picks up with silence on one end before a meek voice, hazy with sleep and laced with cotton mouthed dehydration, I can't help the itch in my teeth at those said words.

"Hello?”

"I miss you."

My voice spoke back, Bittersweet laced memories tipping at my tongue, Like black licorice, you can't forget it. And my words sink deeper then a wolfs own maw intona deer's fragile veiny neck.

"..I told you not to call me again."

"I know."

I know I hissed back, Anger boiling in my blood, I could feel my heart in my chest, Black, potent hatred in my blood. Tainting my thoughts, poisoning my tongue, stabbing ny words and injecting a vile tone. I couldn't help but grip the armchair the flaking lesther crumbling under my claws, digging into the wooden frame.

You are supposed to be dead.

"So.. You continue to call me anyways.. You know- You can't do anything. Not this time."

White. Fucking. Lies. Seething out of their mouth, taunting my very essence, worming their way into my mind, Eating away the core of my very patience and wiggling inti the depths of my own thoughts.

"..You know you can't forget me. Like I can't forget you."

Not everyone can withstand the high that manipulation gives you. Like second nature it's a soothing coo, like a beckoning. It's almost natural to want what I'm speaking to. An obsession of mine. Like a snare for a rabbit, the bait was set. And I vould taste the iron from their blood like it was water.

It felt like ages before I got any response, With the grip of my jaw, I too waited. Aggitating minutes before an exhale, A stare into the void. I wasn't one to cave first. I never was.

"..I told you to leave me alone. It's been years. So what if I still care? You egotistical bastard. You're selfish for thinking I'm going to be back. You had no reason to even start this again."

Venom. Something definitely changed in the years of my absence.

"And yet you picked up. Hungry to hear more of me. To even see more of me. I doubt you even sleep at night knowing what you did wasn't enough. You know I'll always be around. Not that you can do anything to even remotely stop me."

And with my bite back the world stands at ease, with the winds dying down at a comedic timing. I feel alone. Stuck in an endless loop of wanting to rip out their vocal chords and eat them myself, Or find them myself like I did all those agonizing nights ago. A time I had fun. Real psychotic fun.

Something tells me this isn't over. Like some messed up dream that I'm not waking up from. And it fuels the hatred in my veins and the thickening haze of obsessive compulsions. To reap what was mine from the start, to finally kill the deer. To snare the rabbit and burn the burrow. To dig my claws into the freshly smoldering soil.

And it only just started for the both of us. All. Over. Again. Not that you'll see me before I see you.

====

heyo, publishing my first writing of two oc's of mine :)) not that I have much to do anyways lmfao.

[wild-karrde]

Karrde!! Congratulations on 400 babes!! 🥳🥳 I kept forgetting to send this, so sorry it’s a bit late.

May I request my favorite boy Fox with the quote “as you wish” please?? I’d love to see how you write him ❤️❤️

THANK YOU ERIN!!!!! It's completely fine. I know this line maybe should have been something sweet based on where it comes from, but I had a thot thought that wormed its way into my brain, and I could NOT shake it loose, so ummmm, here you go. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

Pairings: Fox x F!Reader

Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE - finger, PiV sex)

22:30. 

You push back from your desk, smoothing your skirts with shaking hands, anticipation causing the tremors rather than nerves. It’s been a rotation since you’ve returned from your diplomatic mission, but you’ve been counting the seconds to this moment since then. 

But you must be quick. Fox never wastes a moment on his rounds. You’ve got to be sure he sees. 

Your office door hisses shut behind you, and you key in the lock code. 

Twenty-three paces to the end of the hall and then a left. First camera is on the left.  

Your pace is unrushed but not leisurely, as if you have somewhere to be. 

It must be 22:32 by now. It normally takes him a minute to make it down to the command center to check in on his men watching the feeds. Two if he takes his time. 

You turn the corner, striding past the floor-to-ceiling windows that cover the left side of this corridor. You always loved the view on your side of the Senate building. Normally, you’d linger and watch the late night speeder traffic flow by in its almost hypnotic river of lights, but tonight, you’re in a hurry, even if you’re trying not to look like it. 

Around fifty paces to the fork and then turn right, in full view of the camera that covers the atrium.

You cross the dimly-lit atrium, eyes already on the set of lifts on the other side of the room that are almost beckoning you with their bright buttons that glow brightly in the dark. Your heels against the polished flooring are the only sound in the room. Well, that and the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. 

Your finger finds the summon button, and you press it, trying not to appear nervous as the lift hums to life. After what feels like an eternity, the doors hiss open and you step inside. 

The light inside the lift is much brighter, and you feel yourself involuntarily squinting as you move towards the control panel, selecting one of the lower levels of the Senate building. The chrono next to the buttons displays the time. 

22:35. If he’s still there, he’ll only linger for a few more minutes before moving on. 

You can’t stop yourself from glancing directly into the camera that’s affixed to one of the corners of the ceiling. 

Come and find me, Commander. 

To anyone else that might be watching the feeds now or in the future, you look like a Senate aid visiting the records room on the twelfth level. At least, you hope that’s how it looks. No one has any reason to suspect otherwise. 

You’re not ashamed of your relationship with Commander Fox, but you understand how much danger your relationship puts him in. The Senator you serve doesn’t have an unfavorable opinion of clones, but many of her counterparts do, and the last thing you want is you and Fox’s relationship being put on display for some sort of political maneuvering. 

You also understand that he has a reputation to uphold, one that he’s worked very hard for, and you’d never wish to jeopardize that and put his leadership into question. 

The agreement to keep things a secret had been mutual, and if you’re honest, the thrill of your clandestine meetings was something unexpected, but it made you eagerly anticipate them even more somehow. Even now, as the lift doors open, you wonder if he’s watching you, understanding where you’re headed and that you’ll be waiting for him. You’d arranged this system early on, knowing his rotation schedule and when he made the rounds to check on his men. If he saw you on camera, passing through the right displays to indicate you were headed to what had become your favorite place, then he knew to follow. It had worked flawlessly thus far, and you hoped for another repeat success tonight. You can almost feel him watching, his eyes burning into you as you exit the lift. You resist the urge to look straight into the lens again and wink on your way out. 

Thirty-three paces to the corner. Then no more cameras after that. 

You check that your keycard is in your pocket. You do need to visit the records room at some point. But for now, that can wait. 

As you turn the corner, you hear the echo of a stairwell door banging open in a different hallway, and you resist the urge to break into a run. You’ll beat him with plenty of time to spare if he took his usual route, but now your heart is about to leap out of your chest. 

You hadn’t seen him for several weeks, having been forced to travel with your Senator on a diplomatic mission. Fortunately, the negotiations had wrapped up amicably and sooner than anticipated, so you’d made it home a week sooner than planned. 

You hadn’t told Fox, hoping to surprise him. He was so rarely surprised. Another thrill. You couldn’t even imagine what a surprised expression might look like on his ruggedly handsome features.  

Your steps carry your right past the records room and to your favored supply closet. It was well off the beaten path, mostly housing ceremonial robes that were only broken out on the most special occasions, their thick and stuffy fabrics making for excellent sound-proofing. No one had any reason to be in it at this time of night.

Well, no one besides you and a very particular clone commander.

The door hisses shut behind you, and you smooth your hand through your hair one more time, trying to take deep breaths. You begin to count the seconds in your head, and after you get to a full minute, you wonder if perhaps you were wrong, that someone else was actually just working late on this level. Or maybe you’d imagined the noise completely. 

I was certain he was on tonight. He normally is. Maybe he just didn’t see me on the feeds. He wouldn’t have known to look. 

Perhaps this was a terrible idea.

Just as you’re about to talk yourself into giving up and going to the records room, you hear footsteps pause outside the door to the supply closet. You hold your breath. 

The door hisses open, and there he stands in his red and white armor, hands behind his back as he observes you from behind his visor. Heat rushes to your face as you lean back against a crate, letting him drink you in. After a few seconds, he nods, apparently finding your presence satisfactory. 

You’ve never said it aloud, but you hate that helmet. It does exactly what it’s supposed to do; it makes Fox an unreadable fixture and an intimidating presence, but that’s not the man you know, and you hate that the helmet affects you in that way. You want to see his eyes, the greying hair at his temples, the smile that he seems to save only for you. 

The door shuts behind him, and he strides forward, his armor rustling the ceremonial robes as he brushes past. He comes to a stop just in front of you. 

“I thought you had another week.�� His voice buzzes slightly from the modulator, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

You shrug. “Negotiations went well. Turns out, the Banking Clan was more open-minded on this particular treaty than they have been in the past.”

The helmet is growing more frustrating, so you turn your back to him. 

If he wants to be unreadable, then so will I. 

“Senator Korrrvan was quite complimentary of my work,” you continue. “Claims that the research I did and the brief I put together was most thorough. I appear to have anticipated most of the sticking points, and the alternatives I recommended were found to be favorable. In fact-” you turn back to face him, but before you can utter another word, he slams into you, and you grunt in surprise. The helmet is gone, as are his gloves, and his lips are warm and frantic against yours. He weaves his fingers into your hair, his other hand already working at bunching up your skirts as he walks you backwards, pinning you against the crate you were previously leaning against. His other hand finds your thigh, gripping you hard enough to bruise as your fingers frantically work at the clasp on his codpiece. The armor clatters to the floor unceremoniously just as he lifts you onto the crate, leaning you back. The fingers of one hand find their way under your undergarments as his other hand works at the collar on your dress, trying to undo just enough buttons to get to the skin of your neck so that his teeth can leave marks only you can see. 

Fox is nothing if not efficient with his time.

Your fingernails dig into the back of his neck as his fingers slip inside of you, and he groans against your neck as you gasp. clenching around him. 

“Missed you so much,” he mumbles against the skin of your throat. “Fisted my cock thinking about you last night. Would have saved myself if I’d known you’d be here tonight.” 

“But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of surprising you,” you joke, your voice breathy as Fox adds a second finger. You’re soaked and ready, and both of you know it. 

“If it’s pleasure you want, then I’ll give you that,” he rasps, and you feel his fingers leave you, replaced with the hot, blunt head of his cock. He drags the tip through your folds, soaking himself before notching at your entrance. “I should make you wait for teasing me like this, but I don’t think I can. Now how do you want it?” 

You don’t even have to think about it. “There’ll be time for softness later. I need you, Fox.” Your voice is a needy whimper, and you wrap your arms around his neck, digging your fingers into the black fabric of his undersuit, preparing to hang on for dear life. “Take me hard. I want to feel you tomorrow.” 

He smirks, pressing his forehead against yours as he enters you, sheathing himself to the hilt in one sharp thrust, already brushing against that place inside you that has you moaning his name. He chuckles. 

“As you wish.”

Thanks for participating in my 400 Follower Celebration!

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[sugar-omi]

(swiftie asker) EEEEEE YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY IT MAKES ME THAT YOU LIKE ALL MY SILLY SWIFTPILLED BRAIN WORMS… all your responses to asks that i’ve seen over the months i’ve been here are always hard-hitting and boy oh BOY did these hit me hard kajkjdsjfld so all of this to say. thank you for letting me ramble like this and actually taking my ideas and running with them??? i literally feel so honored aksjksfjd,, so please, feel free to match my writing freak and yap along with me because it’s always an absolute pleasure to see what you have to say about my ideas ehhehehe

PLEASEEEE THE DLC ALWAYS HURTS ME SO BAD, BECAUSE ONCE THE SILK-LINED CIVILITY IS GONE ALL HE CAN BE TOWARDS YOU IS BITTER, BECAUSE IT SEEMS THAT’S THE ONLY WAY YOU’LL LISTEN TO HIM EVEN IF IT’S NOT WHAT HE WANTS. AND WHEN THE DAY’S DONE HE KNOWS HE’D STILL RUN TO YOU IF YOU SO MUCH AS LIFTED A HAND TO BECKON HIM, KNOWING HE WOULD FIND YOU NO MATTER HOW LONG IT’S BEEN EVEN IF YOU WOULDN’T DO THE SAME GODDDDD IT HITS YA RIGHT IN THE JUGULAR

no because . the other night i was listening to the anthology and ‘peter’ started playing, and HOLY FUCK IF I WASN’T BAWLING MY EYES OUT BECAUSE BAXTER /IMMEDIATELY/ CAME TO MIND??? BECAUSE NOT ONLY DOES THE SONG ITSELF TIE INTO AND SORT OF CONCLUDE THE FOLKLORE LOVE TRIANGLE…BUT IN THE CONTEXT OF OLBA IT’D BE MC MOVING ON AND STILL BEING IN LOVE/WANTING BAXTER IN THEIR LIFE BUT BEING UNABLE TO WAIT ANY LONGER…because they spent five years hoping he’d call, and they’re just so /tired/ of it — they can give him their patience, but they can’t fix him…and they won’t waste their life trying.

“and i won’t confess that i waited, but i let the lamp burn” = mc trying to reach out and willing baxter to come back… “as the men masqueraded, i hoped you’d return” = mc wanting him to come back even as life goes on and they keep on keeping on… “with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’ve learned” = the fantasy of baxter finally putting down roots and /staying/ for once… “cause love’s never lost when perspective is earned” = mc still holding on to the memories despite realizing what baxter was really doing and how much they were hurt by it… “AND YOU SAID YOU’D COME AND GET ME BUT YOU WERE 25” = MC WAITING ALL THAT TIME FOR HIM AND HE NEVER SHOWED, BECAUSE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TEMPORARY… “AND THE SHELF LIFE OF THOSE FANTASIES HAS EXPIRED” = MC NO LONGER BEING ABLE TO SUSTAIN THEIR LOVE FOR HIM WITH JUST THE MEMORIES HE LEFT THEM… “LOST TO THE LOST BOYS CHAPTER OF YOUR LIFE” = MC AND THE REST OF SUNSET BIRD BEING JUST ANOTHER CHAPTER IN BAXTER’S LIFE TO BE SHELVED AND TUCKED AWAY IN FAVOR OF THE NEXT PAGES… “FORGIVE ME PETER, PLEASE KNOW THAT I TRIED TO HOLD ON TO THE DAYS WHEN YOU WERE MINE” = MC SEEMINGLY BEING THE ONLY ONE STILL HOLDING ON TO THOSE SUMMER DAYS LONG GONE, AND FUCK IF THEY DIDN’T /TRY/… “BUT THE PERSON WHO SITS BY THE WINDOW HAS TURNED OUT THE LIGHT” = MC FINALLY BEING FINISHED WITH WAITING AND BEING UNABLE TO KEEP HOLDING OUT FOR SOMEONE THAT WON’T SHOW… can you tell i’m absolutely fucking insane about tswift bridges. hhahhaha. i am so Normal and Ordinary about these songs i swear

good grief this message got long. i am So sorry for all the text i simply have many things to say and am the bearer of the curse (the curse being both olba hyperfixation and "swiftie since 2014" disease)

YESS I WOULD LOVE TO MATCH YOUR FREAK 🤭🤝🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

ALSO OMFG YOU REMINDED ME OF THE FIC I WROTE FOR ENGLISH.... I was your first idea but with derek.... and MC got tired of waiting on derek n ended up with cove. my teachers comment was so funny, he said he was hanging on the edge of his seat waiting for MC n derek to get together 😂

but I love the whole "I couldn't wait for you anymore" troupe with derek and baxter. it's so painful, but so true.

and omg I'm listening to Peter now and omfg.... my heart is on the FLOOR.

it's so baxter... "I thought it was just goodbye for now / you said you were gonna grow up and come find me"

MC holding onto the hope that he'd come back once he was ready for a serious relationship.

"when crossing your jet stream, we both did the best we could do, under the same moon" COMING BACK TOGETHER WHEN YOURE MARRYING COVE AND RECOGNIZING THAT YOU DID YOUR BEST TO "LOVE" EACH OTHER AND CHERISH YOUR TIME TOGETHER....

i cant help but wanna associate "words from the mouths of babies, oceans deep. but never to keep" with baxter because he is a babe. he's so handsome, so suave...

he never made promises, he knows he would be damned if he made promises he knew he wouldn't keep.

but when he smiles at you like that, holds your hand like that, kisses you so softly, that blush far too darling on his porcelain cheeks for your heart to not belong to him... how could you not think that this is love. and that him walking you to your door isn't a promise.

and when he smiles, so glad that you missed him when he suddenly came to let you know he's back from visiting a friend of his parents in the middle of the night. how could this not be more. how could this not be him gifting his heart to you on a fancy platter...

"please know i tried to hold on to the days you were mine" MC and baxter trying to hold onto the days they spent together, because even though baxter left and cruelly shrugged you off.. he cherished it so much.

fuck, he literally keeps the souvenir you get him/he buys himself in the tourism moment (I forget what it's called. i think that's it?)

you can't tell me he didn't look at the item and cry. I know I would. I know his heart clenched so tightly it took his breath away, I know his eyes stung and I know he guilt ate him up in all its gluttony and it swallowed him with a satisfied sigh, eager to eat him up again once he's picked up the pieces of his broke heart tonight...

and I know his insecurities hugged him to their chest and carded their fingers through his hand, petted his check and whispered in his ear until even in the morning he still feels the sick touch of it.

and I know the frustration at what you could've had by now, and all the things he's missed out on with you, all those pretty smiles you used to give him he's missed... who wouldn't be angry about that.

reminding himself how fucking stupid he is for not letting himself be weak just once. that you wouldn't have hurt him, and that what he did was so fucking stupid.

but still reminding himself that he wouldn't have been good enough for you, that he's too broken, that his relationships are too fractured and damaged and dark for someone so sweet as you.

that the walls around his life are too high for your light to shine and he'd only dim you down, keeping your light for himself...

that'd be too selfish. he couldn't be that selfish.

"but the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light" YOU FOUND YOUR HAPPINESS WITH COVE AND ARE NO LONGER LOOKING BACK AT HIM..... THAT YOUR FUTURE IS FINALLY IN FRONT OF YOU AND NOT BEHIND YOU....

anyway. imma go finish listening to loml bc "who's gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate" is DEVASTATINGLY BAXTER CODED AND WE GOTTA TALK ABT IT

[blessyourhondahurley]

Gender Roles? Sushi Rolls!

Date Night collides with Daddy Issues.

Suptober prompt: Fish Flufftober prompt: All the Hugs Fictober prompt: "Is this safe?" Inktober prompt: Fairy

(Read on AO3)

He can't help it. The words push their way past his lips again. “For real, though. Is this safe? Cas, are you sure this is safe? We're not gonna get brain-eating worms or something from this?” In the seat next to him, Cas only sighs. With a single gust of air he eloquently expresses both infinite patience and bone-deep irritation. Dean raises his hands in apology.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'll be quiet.” He clamps his mouth shut but his body language still speaks and Cas hears it, as usual. His face falls.

“Dean, do you want to leave? We can leave,” he offers.

Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas, I–” he protests, but his husband cuts him off.

“I'm sorry I suggested this. You said it was my turn to pick, anything I wanted to do, but I see now that I should have picked something else. Let's just go.” He starts to stand. Dean grabs his wrist.

“No, stop. It's fine. Sit down. I'm sorry. We're doing this. You want raw fish for dinner, we're getting raw fish for dinner. It's fine.” Cas settles back into his seat while Dean fiddles with the menu in front of him and tries once again to sort through the unfamiliar choices listed there.

“See anything you want to try?” Cas prompts.

Dean shakes his head. “Dunno what any of it is,” he admits with a grimace.

“May I order for both of us?”

He nods glumly in reply, eyes cast down. Suddenly, absurdly, he realizes he's going to cry. He has no idea why he feels that way, which sucks. But then a moment later he understands exactly where these tears are coming from, which actually sucks even worse. He sniffs.

“Love, what's wrong?” his husband asks, his voice soft.

“S'just... If Dad was here, he'd be so pissed at me.” Another sniff, and the tears are falling now. He swipes at his face with the back of his hand and continues, “Sittin' here in a sushi bar with my husband? He'd call me a fuckin' fairy and drag my ass outta here. Probably beat me black 'n' blue in the parking lot.”

Beside him, Cas growls, and Dean can hear his teeth grinding when he clenches his jaw. “Dean...” he begins. He picks up a pair of chopsticks off the counter and snaps them in half, lengthwise. Then he bundles the halves together and snaps them all neatly in half again. He clenches the pieces in his fists, then releases them and folds his hands together. “Your father was an asshole.” he states primly.

Dean is shocked into laughter. The awful sick pressure that had been building in up in his chest pops like a soap bubble. “Jesus, Cas, tell me what you really think,” he challenges, feeling almost playful in the wake of that tension.

“This is neither the time nor the place for me to give you my full opinion of John Winchester,” Cas assures him. “Suffice it to say, I acknowledge the struggles which shaped him, but I do not absolve him for his choices. He loved you and your brother very much, but the twisted, destructive ways he expressed that love? I cannot forgive him for any of it. You and Sam deserved all the nurturing care, all the hugs and kindness and support, that a parent could give. But your father chose instead to use you both as a dumping ground for his pain and self-loathing. He was an asshole, and he's dead, and you need to stop letting him express his shitty, uninformed, toxic opinions about your lifestyle choices from beyond the grave.”

Cas punctuates the end of this speech with a beckoning gesture to the waiter. They converse in fluid Japanese for a couple of minutes while Dean sits numbly on his stool, mouth agape, just processing.

After the server departs, Cas turns to him with an inquiring look. “Do you disagree?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Not in the slightest,” Dean admits. “I'm evicting John Winchester from my head.” He pantomimes grabbing something at his temple and throwing it to the ground. He has to admit, the action really does leave him feeling lighter.

His husband nods approvingly. “I'm glad to know it's just the two of us on this date for once.” The waiter returns with a squat ceramic bottle and two small cups. Cas pours each about half full, hands one to Dean, and holds the other up. “To us,” he offers.

Dean returns the toast, knocking their cups together gently. “To us.”

[eponymous-rose]

Fic: Boots on the Ground (OCs | G | 2000 words)

Written for a prompt from @sekritjay: "The lives of two ordinary citizens of Baldur's Gate intersect with the Brain Worm Troupe in ways they swear were deliberately contrived to irritate them specifically."

[read on AO3]

Boots on the Ground

“Look, Toddnim, life’s hard sometimes in Baldur’s Gate and you have to take what you can get.”

Toddnim scoffed, which only made the lines on Thepra’s forehead deepen. “Life’s hard for others, dear. We, the movers and shakers of the world, aren’t bound by such base clichés.” He planted his hands on his hips and looked the cart up and down, as though by so doing the shattered axle would spontaneously mend itself. “This is a mere setback.”

“Set us right back home, more like,” Thepra said, which was equal parts irritating and false, given that, without an axle, home was just as unattainable as Baldur’s Gate anyway.

Toddnim did another circle around the cart to be sure of its sorry state, and promptly stubbed his toe on something sticking out of the mud. “Ah,” he said, more to Biscuit, the baleful mule pulling the cart, than to Thepra. “Something left behind by all the crowds on this road. This must be what broke the wheel.”

“What is it?” Thepra called.

Toddnim scowled, dragging at the object with all his might and finally dislodging it. “A bag of some sort. Full of, let’s see, quarterstaves, daggers, longswords, and a great deal of cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“It’s gone off.” At a loss, Toddnim let the bag drop from his hands and stared ahead, down the road to the city. “Who drops this many weapons in the middle of the road?”

---

“We’ve still got more than we came in with.” Fortunately, the throngs of people flocking to Baldur’s Gate meant it had been relatively easy to flag down someone with a modicum of magical talent to mend the axle, and the gentleman in question had happily taken four quarterstaves as payment in lieu of gold. “We’re coming out ahead on all this, really,” Toddnim continued, and ignored Thepra’s exasperated sigh.

Baldur’s Gate wasn’t nearly as large nor as intimidating as his relatives had led him to believe. Hardly more than a bigger version of the town he and Thepra had grown up in, and that wasn’t so bad at all.

“Oh,” said the first shopkeeper they encountered, when they paused to ask for directions. “That’ll be in the city proper. This is Rivington.” 

She beckoned Toddnim over to the window, and gestured out at a terrifying array of buildings, sprouting from the hills themselves like some madness out of Pandemonium. “Ah,” said Toddnim, in a worldly and masterful way. “Well, uh. So it is.”

“Can we sell you some of our things?” Thepra, ever enterprising, cut in on his eminently brave and composed state of shock. “We’ve got a lot of decent weapons, sure to be of use in any coming conflict.”

“Ah, so sorry, but I’m rather stocked up at the moment. Adventuring party came through here not too long ago with some really prime stuff. Magical weapons, potions, all you can dream of. Cleared me right out of gold!” The shopkeeper laughed, then paused. “Actually, I’d better move this inventory before rent comes due. Didn’t think about that, before I spent all my gold.”

Thepra plucked at his sleeve. Something in the mood of the place had shifted, and Toddnim had no intention of sticking around to find out how much more it would change. “Well, we’ll just be on our--” he began, and turned to come face-to-face with a well-built human holding a dagger with an almost apologetic expression.

“Hey,” the shopkeeper said, “nothing personal, but we’re near enough to Baldur’s Gate that you should know: information ain’t free.”

“Ah,” said Toddnim.

---

“We’ve still got the cart,” Toddnim said. “And Biscuit the mule, and all the smokepowder Baldur’s Gate can purchase!”

Thepra sighed. “Sure. See how far that gets us without any coin. Didn’t have to take the weapons, too, did she?”

“You’ll see. My contact in the city is very powerful. Deep pockets, you know. Our social circles simply don’t deal in coin like the common folk.”

“No coin? So what’s he got in his deep pockets, then?”

“Er,” Toddnim said. “Power?”

“Huh,” Thepra said, but it wasn’t nearly as dismissive as her regular everyday ‘huh’, so he counted that a win.

They were a few steps into the city when Biscuit made an abrupt transition from plodding stolidly along the cobbles to emitting a very un-mule-like shriek and tearing off down a main thoroughfare. Toddnim scarcely had time to blink before the cart was pitching over and she was snapping free of her leads to bound down an alleyway.

“That horse scared her!” Thepra was marching straight up to a baffled-looking elven man astride the horse in question, drawn up to the pinnacle of her gnomish height in her rage.

“Pardon me?” the elf said. Toddnim hurried out to shoo curious urchins away from the overturned cart, scooping up what he could carry of the bags of smokepowder. “My horse did what?”

“He was nickering,” Thepra said. “Whickering? Snickering? Making some damn fool noise and that set poor Biscuit off.”

Toddnim turned back in time to see the elf’s baffled look fade with the light of understanding. “Oh. I’ll tell you what, as I was filing into the city, the oddest group of adventurers were pressed in line next to me, and one of them kept whispering something to my horse. Druid-speak or similar, I’d wager. Couldn’t shake the feeling she’d taught old Zephyra here some new and nasty curses.”

Thepra blinked for some time, but rallied quickly. “Your horse insulted my mule and she ran off! I demand compensation, to the tune of at least ten gold pieces!”

“Hm,” said the elf. “I have a counter-offer.” And with that, he snapped the reins on his horse and galloped away.

“Ah,” said Toddnim.

---

“We still have the smokepowder,” Toddnim said, apropos of nothing, since Thepra was stoically refusing to even look at him, much less speak. “And where there’s explosives, there’s hope, that’s what grandpappy used to say.”

That drew Thepra out, at least to the point of casting him a withering gaze. “Didn’t your grandpappy blow himself up experimenting in the privy?”

“Maybe. Probably felt very hopeful right about then, though.” Toddnim reached out to steady himself as the cobbles of the city rattled under his feet. “Damned strange about these earthquakes.”

Something about the quakes must have finally shaken Thepra’s tongue loose; she sighed and slung her sack of smokepowder down to the ground. “How sure are you about this mysterious contact of yours? The one with the funny name.”

Toddnim let his own sack drop next to hers, rubbing his hands to get some feeling back into them -- the bags really were damnably heavy. “Oh, him. Yes, I’ve made use of extensive connections - my uncle, the one who moved out here years ago? Bribed a man who bribed a woman who bribed a small child who bribed a-- Anyway, we’ve set up a meeting with him about supplying smokepowder to the city.” Toddnim straightened up with a snap of his suspenders, beaming. “Exclusively.”

“Seems like an awful lot of city to supply.”

Toddnim, who’d been happily ignoring thoughts along those lines, waved this concern away. “We’re a scalable operation. Haven’t I always said that?”

Just as Thepra was, no doubt, about to confirm that he had in fact always said that, the shockwave of a massive explosion caught them both in the chest, bowling them over to the ground. Toddnim registered the sound next as a roar, and for a moment he was certain all the tales of cityfolk cavorting with dragons were true. Then he realized a building ahead of them had gone up in flame, along with a number of oddly cheerful whistles that it took him a moment to register as fireworks.

One of the giant mechanical Steel Watch went sprinting past, followed by several members of the More Mundane and Fleshy Watch, bellowing about intruders causing magical explosions in a fireworks shop. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Toddnim watched as a cheerful little firework, shaped like a bird, did a couple of lazy circles before landing directly on their two sacks of smokepowder. “Ah,” said Toddnim, and everything exploded.

---

“We’ve still got my contact here,” Toddnim said, weakly. Thepra’s withering glare was only slightly downplayed by the newly forming bruise over her right eye and the bandage on her forehead, gifts (along with his own wrapped ankle) from a passing cleric who’d seen the explosion and come to help. Toddnim was fairly sure they were now technically pledged to some sort of cult in return, but that was a tomorrow problem, and he was extremely good at focusing on the problems that were the sole purview of today. “He’ll have had reports of the explosion; that should serve as a better sample than just a bunch of old powder, right?”

“Hm,” Thepra said, but her arm on his, keeping him supported as they limped through the city, didn’t falter more than once or twice, and anyway he got back up again both times without too much trouble. “Hey,” she said, and his heart swelled in anticipation of a heartfelt declaration of support for all of his harebrained schemes. “Didn’t you say your contact in the city was named Enver?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Enver Gortash. A Duke, I believe, or soon to be!”

“Not soon so much as late,” Thepra said, and pointed to a young man waving a copy of today’s Baldur’s Mouth. The headline swam in Toddnim’s still slightly blurry vision for a moment before resolving into “DUKE ENVER GORTASH SLAIN BY MYSTERIOUS ASSAILANTS”.

“Ah,” said Toddnim, and sat down heavily on the cobblestones. “Well, at least this day can’t get any worse,” he added, which was objectively a tactical error on his part, but he couldn’t have expected a bloody squid-ship to come screaming out of the skies, could he?

---

The battle for Baldur’s Gate was brief and, on the ground, mostly characterized by a wave of confusion. Later, people would tell stories of the small moments: a life saved here, an illithid bravely fought off there. From what Toddnim could see, though, the whole thing mostly involved a lot of running along with a crowd in one direction until someone at the head of the line screamed, then running along with a crowd in the opposite direction, and so on and so forth. He and Thepra had made it through utterly unscathed, and it was only in the following days that they were even able to begin to piece together what had happened.

On the plus side, being penniless and without friends in a city that had recently survived a tragedy was infinitely more forgiving than being penniless and without friends in a city under any other circumstances, and they’d found plenty of people willing to put them up for a pittance in a sort of we-all-band-together fellowship. That likely wouldn’t last, he knew, but in the meantime they had a roof over their heads and plenty of food to eat.

“And anyway,” he was telling Thepra, “we still have our lives.”

She rolled her eyes, clearing away his plate. She’d started working as a cook in the tavern where they’d landed, and she was good at it, too - confident in the face of overwhelming culinary requests, respected for the terror she instilled in the rats in the cellar. Toddnim had started helping out with their bookkeeping, and a part of him was hoping the current tavern-keepers might make good on their constant threats to retire out to the country and leave the place up for grabs. He was pretty sure that was how these things worked, anyway.

He sighed, pushing back the notebook of sums to reach for the latest Baldur’s Mouth. Emblazoned on the front was an etching of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate, a motley adventuring party who looked altogether baffled to be so featured. He wondered if their experience of the whole affair had involved a similar kind of running away from various screams. Still, they had a rather piratical, hungry look about them. Mercenary, dashing, brave.

He glanced over the paper to see Thepra looking at him. “Do you ever think about embarking upon the adventuring life?”

“No. And neither do you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed wistfully, letting his hand rest over the etching. “I just think it must be nice to know you’re making everyone’s lives so much easier, everywhere you go.”

Thepra marched up to the bar and, reaching out, tore the newsprint neatly in two. “Look, Toddnim, life’s hard sometimes in Baldur’s Gate and you have to take what you can get.” Her glare softened, and she tapped him on the nose. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me. That’s enough.”

“You’re right,” he said, unable to tamp down his grin at the spark in her eyes. “That’s more than enough.”

[odysseywritings]

Sweet Piper

The haunting music lured Haven and Reina to the abandoned slums where no human resided. They shuffled like zombies hypnotized by the calming wholesome strings and vocals coming from the basement of a decrepit apartment building. Alluring smoke wafted out to beckon the two like a counterfeit heaven on earth.

Their glazed eyes saw nothing but a destination surrounded by blurred peripherals instead of a white staircase descending into a dark void. The gospel rang nearer to their senses with each echoing foot right down to the last step. They turned and saw the den.

How cleanly painted the walls were, with pearly blues and precious whites, with warm smiles greeting them but never standing up, never moving, always staring. The two walked side by side awaiting the clutches of the comforting sounds until Haven stumbled on something missed by the vision. A mere crack caught him off guard, off the rails, onto the beaten path that was reality. A reality breaking the idyllic illusion where the blues and whites were rotted reds, and his logical brain peeled away the obscuring layers, and he could finally hear the harp turn into a mesmerizing saxophone. He shook himself awake and panicked when he knew where was suddenly transported to.

"Reina," he shouted and shook her. "Reina, wake up! We got tricked!"

He looked around and saw a child's skeleton among piles of bones leading to a serpentine being of the Trident; a pale white beast opening a bloody fanged hole under the black insignia for a face. He tried to get in front of her, but he was receding in his sanity, even plugging his ears was failing.

"You want noise? I'll give you noise."

He inhaled for seconds looking like a balloon and exhaled the only thing to overpower the heavenly hymn.

"I GOT NOoooOo BABY THIS SAHD OF THE RIVER!"

The Trident paused in confusion.

"MY BOOTS ARE GONE, WORMS ARE IN MY LIVER!"

The atonal, ghastly singing broke the foe's concentration, and the familiar amateur vocals gave Reina more awareness of where she was, and likewise struck her with shock over the horrifying reality.

"I'M THE OUTLAW WITHOUT A CARE IN LIFE,

"I JUST NEED ME SOME HAPPINESS AND A WIFE!"

Reina was now completely free and perfectly baffled by what Haven was doing, how absurd it was, and yet it kept them from being dinner. She joined his singing, with a voice only a tad cleaner than his, and they saw the predator shrink and cower while trying to strike its tentacles at the two to no avail. Haven slashed and blasted, Reina shot and struck. But the pained threat dealt the final blow by striking the roof. The collapsed wood, stone, and upstairs accessories battered on its weakened body before cutlery dropped on its neck and skull, flailing before succumbing to this world and disappearing into the nether.

Haven and Reina looked at each other and smiled in relief. They returned outside singing more of the nonsensical ditty with improvised lines and laughing at the inane results. A little singing helped the spirit, and a little humor helped the brain, and the rare accidents in life were celebrated this moment. They felt more human.

[poetryprose96-blog]

Youth is Wasted

My lips are the rusty gates

My teeth are the marble pillars

My tongue is the snake that slithers—

A gaunt-guard to my mausoleum body.

My cobweb lungs, my ash-heart havoc

My livid liver, stuck-stale-strung stomach

Autopsied aura, sickle-soul-sick— 

The cold came for a gaudy ghost still dressed in foolish flesh

The wicked waste I've brought at early dawn won't wait for sunset's creche

It's much too rigid, rough: intent to show its ableness to thresh—

I beckoned much too soon the worms emerging from the ground

To pick a carcass and t’ pick at it while it's still life-bound—

My eyes like hindsight fortunes, they concoct, devise, erupt

Reveal the real: the passage that raged in me to corrupt

To burn, to bruise, to bleed out seeds, dismantle, to disrupt

Until veins filled with Icarus, such parasites abrupt

Did weigh upon me night and day till all that had been cupped

Slipped from my hands, till Thanatos was all that’s left to see

‘n my rusty hands, wrinkled to death, that unavoided fee

For living wrongly: living free — but never Living Free

For spending all my time away as Jacob in his wrestle

Until death made its bed ‘n my dusty attic of a vessel—

My bones are the quake-caskets for all my goodness

My brain a memorial, a mosaic of my touch-desires

My skin is translucent, within but tar, I’m basking blind to it 

My greedy fingers, cold with gold of Midas, stole my reign

A coffin-concept wistfully whisked away, existing only in my own ethereal

Invisible now, inconsequential; left uninterpreted, what I could have— 

And so it is,

As ‘tis when youth is wasted through the thicket thick

And thicket has been swept by weeping whip of stick

‘Til wept of whipping, fall do all its love-safe leaves

And Waste, not goodness to desire, it Grieves 

‘Til goodness packs its bags one day and leaves.

(Not anymore, 

Though once it was

Though, Smile, it will be:

Not when goodness is Goodness,

Not when bad, hiding over it,

Deceiving-camouflage-depriving,

Is gloatingly gutted away with Perfection

Honed Host: O Honesty)— 

And so it is 

When the ruthless tasted the wicked wick

They begged for more, unlearning mortality

And thus giving it haste, stripping its meaning

For No, nothing true will be what it seems to be

After tombstone's tale takes chagrined charge of me— 

Soon, there’s naught left to unroot

Soon, no wrongs contain refute—

I beg too late to reverse my path to implosion

I wish I hadn't suckled on stray, cooed with chaos

Now, on the falling apart of cells and their shell

Now, on the disease of dismal death 

And its dis-ease, malicious breath

Now comes the truth’s time

To all deniers of time's truth:

My awareness sits in the depths of my core

Wearing a crown that holds power no more