#unlucky-misfit

[kategorema]

came to the realisation Donnelly is the inverse of Lo and i dont know what to do with myself

[somewhat-bored]

Ridley:  In honor of it being Friday the 13th, I’ve gathered all my friends to watch some corny horror movies.

Theo:  No, no, stop-don’t go in there you fool!  The crescendo is rising!  Oh, great, now you’re face to face with the murderer BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW MUSIC THEORY!

Leila:  If I were in this film, I would either be dead by now because I’m so naive or I would have already devised a Scooby-Doo-style trap to capture the bad guys.

Izzy:  If we were in a horror movie, Olly would protect me!

Olly:  No, I’m gonna make you fend for yourself.  I’m gonna hide in a bush at the start of the story and I won’t come out until enticed by a snack.

Theo:  Really sticking with the Scooby-Doo theme here, aren’t we?

*Jumpscare*

Carter:  Not today, not today.  *Exits room, taking the popcorn with him*

[squidles-64]

Misfit!

He’s from this really cool webcomic, you should totally go read… 🔫 right now. Here https://m.webtoons.com/en/canvas/the-misadventures-of-misfit-and-mieko/better-luck-next-year-pt-1/viewer?title_no=570572&episode_no=1

(Side note: some of the #’s are a reference to the comic)

[littlelamy]

Could you do Reader meeting Drew at carnival or something? Reader is there with her two friends and Drew is there with his, Odessa and co. Both groups are in odd numbers, meaning someone always has to sit with a stranger during a carousel ride. This time it is Reader’s turn to sit with a stranger while her friends sit togehter. Same for Drew. Reader and Drew get put together in a ride. Some awkward tension, attraction and cuteness. As soon as they get off the ride tho, Odessa runs up to Drew hugging him, so Reader gets the impression that he is taken and is like ‘’Oh…guess I won’t ask for his number…..:/ ‘’ and walks off. But then at some point Drew sees her again at the carnival and well…….

hope you like it !!⭐️ the air was thick with the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the sounds of laughter and screams from carnival rides filling the night. you, along with your two friends, were making your way through the throngs of people, the vibrant lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors around you. your friend jenna was already eyeing the ferris wheel, while casey was determined to find the most ridiculous hat she could wear for a photo op.

“can we please go on something that won’t make me want to hurl?” you joked, clutching your stomach as you passed a spinny ride that looked like it could launch someone into orbit.

“oh, come on! where’s your sense of adventure?” jenna teased, giving you a playful shove. “we’re here to have fun!”

just then, you caught sight of a group across the way: a guy with tousled hair, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, surrounded by a couple of friends, one of whom was waving her arms like a lunatic. you couldn’t help but smirk; they looked like a band of misfits, and the guy—drew, you overheard someone call him—had an easy charm that was hard to ignore.

as you wandered toward the carousel, the sound of cheerful music inviting you closer, drew’s laugh carried over to you, loud and unapologetic. he had that kind of laugh that made you want to roll your eyes, but you also found yourself grinning. the carousel was in a weird configuration: you and your friends were odd-numbered, meaning one of you would have to sit with a stranger. guess who that unlucky bastard was? you.

“looks like it’s you, champ,” casey said, nudging you forward as jenna giggled. “have fun with your mystery date!”

you shot her a mock glare before stepping up to the ride. meanwhile, drew was being pushed by his friends toward the same ride, and you both ended up on the same horse—his a little to the left of yours. great.

as the carousel began to spin, you shot drew a sideways glance. he looked at you, and for a moment, everything blurred into the background. “so, this is fun,” you said, trying to fill the awkward silence. “i’m thrilled to be your carousel buddy.”

“thrilled? oh, it must be my lucky day,” he replied, his smirk making your heart flutter. “what’s your name? or should I just call you my new favorite stranger?”

“y/n. and you’re drew, right?”

“guilty as charged. so, what brings you here? other than the joy of being awkwardly paired with a stranger on a spinning ride?”

you laughed, the sound a bit louder than you intended. “just here for the chaos, i guess. you know, cotton candy, overpriced games, and the constant threat of nausea.”

“ah, a connoisseur of fine carnivals! i like that,” he grinned, leaning closer. “i, too, have a refined taste in fine cotton candy and the thrill of potential vomiting on a carousel. it’s a true art form, really.”

you shook your head, laughing. “you’re ridiculous. but in the best way.”

the ride continued, the two of you exchanging jokes, the initial awkwardness fading into something more comfortable. you caught yourself sneaking glances at him, taking in the way his lips curled into a smirk and how animated his expressions were. he was cute—like, really cute.

but as the ride slowed to a stop, reality came crashing back. you were both about to disembark when suddenly, a blur of energy rushed up to drew. “drew!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him. it was odessa, the friend from earlier, and the two of them looked way too cozy. your heart sank as you realized that maybe drew wasn’t available after all.

“oh… guess i won’t be asking for his number,” you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile as you stepped away. you could feel the bubble of attraction deflate like a popped balloon. you waved goodbye to your friends and started to walk away, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment.

time passed, and the carnival lights danced around you, but your mind kept drifting back to the moment with drew. you were beginning to think you’d never see him again when, out of nowhere, he came sprinting back into view. his friends were trailing behind him, and he was looking for something—or someone.

“hey!” he called, spotting you. you turned, a little surprised he even remembered your name. “you didn’t get my number!”

“yeah, well, you were kind of busy being hugged by odessa,” you replied, crossing your arms defensively.

“trust me, it’s not what it looks like. we're just friends,” he said, rolling his eyes. "want to grab some cotton candy together? i promise to share, but only if you’re willing to do it like true adults—by faceplanting into it.”

your heart did a little flip at his invitation. “okay, but only if you promise to eat it straight off the stick like civilized humans.”

drew laughed, his eyes lighting up. “deal! and who knows, maybe we can find a ride that doesn’t require sitting next to strangers. unless you’re into that. i’m not here to judge. my friends and i have a running bet on who can make the most ridiculous small talk on rides, and i could use some competition.”

he led you through the carnival, weaving between the crowds, his hand brushing against yours like he was testing the waters. your heart raced as you made your way toward the ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a galaxy above you. “this is the best ride for some real fun,” he said, leaning closer as you waited in line. “you get a killer view of the carnival and the chance to make out in the moonlight if you play your cards right.”

“oh, really?” you shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, though your cheeks felt hot. “is that a guarantee?”

“i’m just saying,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “i can be pretty persuasive. or maybe it’s just the cotton candy talking.”

as you climbed into the gondola and it began to rise, the world below you shrank, the lights of the carnival twinkling like stars. you could feel the excitement building, your heart racing not just from the height but from being so close to him. drew leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you know, this would be the perfect time to kiss someone,” he murmured, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“oh, is that right?” you replied, challenging him with a smirk.

“absolutely. i mean, who wouldn’t want to steal a kiss while overlooking a carnival filled with chaos?” he asked, leaning even closer until your lips were mere inches apart.

in that moment, everything else faded away. the noise of the carnival, the lights, the world—it was just you and drew, suspended in that gondola. you could feel the heat radiating between you as you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly turned hungry. he tasted like cotton candy and adventure, and you lost yourself in the moment, the kiss deepening as you melted against him.

when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he grinned like he’d just won the jackpot. “so, how was that for some carnival fun?” he teased, clearly pleased with himself.

“definitely more exciting than a roller coaster,” you admitted, your heart still racing.

“well, the night is still young,” he said, his grin widening. “let’s see what other trouble we can get into.”

as the ferris wheel creaked to a stop, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of a wild night filled with laughter, chaos, and maybe a few more kisses.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 13

Summary: You are kidnapped in the middle of the night while the two of you are camped out a little too close to fiend territory. Cooper finds you and makes them pay the price for taking you in the first place.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst and Violence. Dark themes. Cooper is not a happy camper. Forced drug use and sexual assault but no rape. Blood and death.

Part 2 -> HERE

Masterlist

It's been a week since the fiend leader Motor Runner and his crew of misfits had captured you. It'd been in the middle of the night, Cooper asleep and you on second watch. Your mind was already drowsy, and you hadn't been paying the best attention to your surroundings when you'd wondered off to take a pee that night. Four of them had jumped you, stuffing a dirty sock in your mouth and spraying some type of chem in your face that made you pass out within seconds.

Since then, they've kept you hopped up on a concoction of drugs. It was mostly a mix of jet and med-x, drugs that made you feel calm and foggy brained. Motor Runner had learned quickly that he couldn't touch you unless you'd been double dosed and restrained, wrists lashed behind you as you kneeled by his throne made of human skeletons They'd taken your clothes early on, leaving you in nothing but the thin underclothes to protect your modesty.

Cooper had woken that morning and found you gone, but your things still left behind. Panic and anger had set in immediately, and the ghoul gathered everything up before he started to follow the tracks that led into the destroyed city that surrounded the Strip. It was slow going. The ruins were rife with all kinds of surprises, and he'd had to fall back more than once after getting overwhelmed by a gang of fiends.

However, he'd finally arrived at Vault 3, and nothing was going to stop Cooper from getting you back.

You swayed side to side, high as a kite, and so drugged up that you weren't sure which was was up and which was down. The world spun around you, making you feel sick as bile curdled in your stomach. Motor Runner was saying something, but you couldn't be bothered to pay much attention. Your hearing felt muffled, but you could feel the vibrations of some type of explosion going off further up the Vault.

"Hear that, bitch? Sounds like someone actually tried to come save you. It's soo fuckin' bad that they'll never make it down here."

A gritty hand grabbed your jaw, and cool metal was pressed to your temple, digging in hard enough that it cut into your flesh. Blood wells up and drips down your chin to mix with the other disgusting fluids and gunk that stains your front. Your jaw aches, but you know better than to fight against what the fiend leader wants from you.

Cooper tosses another grenade down the hall, a terrible grin on his lips as the fiends scream in pain, shrapnel shredding through their flesh and sending blood splattering the walls. His side arm flashes in the dim red lighting of the vault, and Cooper relished in the carnage that he leaves behind him. The fiends deserved worse than death, and he would happily be the one to deliver their silence.

They put up more and more of a fight the deeper he went inside the Vault. The ghoul ducks into an abandoned room and quickly reloads, sliding rounds into the chamber with steady hands before he ducks back out into the hallway to blow away three unlucky men that'd been charging down the hallway with pool sticks.

One of them gasps for air, but he's still alive, so Cooper stops for half a second to haul the man up, slamming him against the wall. The bounty hunter's face is stained with red, and the fiend howls in agony when Coop digs his his finger into the bullet wound on the raiders' side.

"Where the fuck is she?" He spits and shakes the man when all he can do is cry, "Answer me you son of a bitch!"

"Down! Motor Runner has the bitch!" the man eventually screams and Cooper puts him down like he would a rapid dog. On he went, dropping fiends and tossing explosives when he could. The walls were painted red by his actions, and the entire vault looked like a murder scene by the time he'd made it to the lowest level.

Tears fell from your eyes as Motor Runner used your mouth, his heavy cock sliding in and out as he takes pleasure in using you. He grunts and moans like an animal, and you have never felt so shamed and disgraced before in your life. You gag around his length, and a sick combination of precum and drool drips from the side of you mouth to mingle with the blood already there.

This is the scene that Cooper arrives to, his features pulled down into an awful snarl as he points his hand cannon at Motor Runner. He takes you in, your bare chest, and the thin panties you wear that hardly cover anything. The fear and broken, defeated look that you wear across your beautiful face.

"Ha! Nice job gettin' down here, Rotter!" The fiend leader hisses and snaps his hips, vulger curves spewing from his lips, "Just in time to watch me cum down your cunt's throat."

Cooper hears you whine and watches you clench your eyes shut. He can hardly see through the film of red that covers his vision, so raged filled that his hand shakes from how tightly he holds his side arm. Motor Runner still has a pistol pressed against your temple, smart enough to not take any chances.

"She ain't yours, Fucker," Cooper snarls right back and takes a couple of steps forward, only to stop when the raider jerked you around to kneel in front of him, on display like come kind of fucked up prize. The fiend scoffs at him.

"Doesn't look like it's your cock in your mouth right now, does it?"

Even drugged and out of it, you can still register what's going on, and hateful shame fills you up to your core. With a vault full of fiends, fighting back had felt hopeless, but seeing Cooper made rage build up and bubble over. Motor Runner had made a mistake when he pulled his attention away from you, and you took your change the second You felt the barrel against your temple go slack.

Cooper watched as Motor Runner's face went white, a silent scream falling past his lips as you bite down as hard as you can. Your teeth pierce his dick, and blood wells up in your mouth as the fiend rips away from you. You fall back, jaw aching at you hit the ground with a thud. You grunt when the back of your head hits the concrete floor, and you see stars.

The ghoul dashes forward, grabbing you the arm to haul you to his side while the fiend wallows on the floor, his hands grabbing at his dick that hangs limp between his legs. Cooper fishes out his knife and cuts the rope around your hands, and you move before he can make sure that you're okay.

You fling yourself on top of the fiend, pinning him down with your knees on his shoulders as you wrap your hands around his throat. You use every ounce of strength you have left, squeezing and watching the life fade out of the man's eyes before you roll off his cooling body, laying on your back as you cry and stare up at the ceiling.

Cooper carefully picks his way over to you, crouching by your side and gently gathering you up and in his arms. You don't fight him and only cry harder when you pick up his familiar scent when you shove your face in the crook of his neck. You shiver and shake, relief filling your body as your ghoul holds you tightly.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you, babygirl," Cooper rumbles, but you shake your head. You didn't care, the ghoul had come for you, and that's all that mattered. He gathers your frame up and stands with a soft grunt.

"Let's get outta here."

[sadshlyapa]

I don't really get why some people are upset at Rook just being some random shmuck in the middle of a conflict they have no business being in, and beating, frankly, the impossible odds. That's... That's literally every Dragon Age game?

The Grey Warden is just some recruit, one of the few unlucky souls Duncan picked up, fresh from the Joining, knowing nothing and surviving simply because Flemeth and Morrigan needed any male Warden, and Alister was conviniently nearby.

Hawke's story is, granted, more personal, but still, they're at the core just some ferelden refugee, who wanted their family safe from the Blight and got thrust into conflicts and politics they wanted none of.

Inquisitor is just some guy/girl, who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They weren't really the Chosen one. That's, like, a major plot point in the game. But since they've stumbled upon these powers, they stepped up and stopped a God in the making.

Rook was one of the agents Varric has recruited to stop Solas. If anything, they're second only to Hawke in the terms of agency over how and why they're in this story. It's their actions that released the Gods, caused Solas' imprisonment and binded them to the Dread Wolf. Solas said it himself, it's now Rooks mess to deal with.

Is Solas a more personal antagonist to Inquisitor, than to Rook? Yeah, but so was Corypheus to Hawke. Is Inquisitor more equipped to deal with Solas and the Gods? Debatable. But that's not what Dragon Age games are about. They're about the little guys picking up misfits along the way to pull a David and Goliath and save the world. I don't understand why it's suddenly a problem now.

[sonicthehedgehoglover2]

Unlucky Lucky AU (MMHOPH)

Remember that AU I was talking about a couple of days ago? Well. here it is! Real quick, this AU is based off a great webtoon comic called, "The Misadventures of Misfit and Mieko." The webtoon follows two cats who are cursed with good luck and bad luck. Together, they are on a journey to break their curses and, you know, save the world along the way. I definitely recommend it! So, here's my MMHOPH AU:

Mao Mao comes from a long line of legendary heroes. Heck, even his older sisters are well on their way to becoming the greatest heroes of their generation. More than anything, Mao Mao wants to follow in their footsteps. However, there's just one small, itty-bitty problem with that plan. Mao Mao's cursed with bad luck.

Then, there's Badgerclops. Badgerclops' having trouble with his family, and he's kind of involved with a group of thieves, but he's doing fine. You know, except that he's cursed with good luck. Mao Mao and Badgerclops meet, and they decide to travel together in order to break their respective curses.

Along the way, they meet Adorabat, a young strangely blue bat, who's trying to find her way home and promise to help her. Except, Adorabat's looking for a place that doesn't seemingly exist. Oh, and apparently, they're all destined to save the world.

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

Control, Chapters 1+2

Halsin/Tav (Named Original Male Character)

Dayan | Seldarine drow Ranger

Rating: Explicit 18+

PWP, D/s, Sub Halsin, Bottom Halsin

CW: Rough Oral (hair pulling, deep throat, gagging), Light Bondage

Kinks: Scent kink, face-sitting, face-fucking, biting, scratching, knotting, inappropriate use of Polymorph

Read Chapters 3+4 on Tumblr

Read on Ao3

Approx. 5300 words

Dayan (Tav) needs some time to himself after the victory against Ketheric, the win a bittersweet one after learning the truth about the Absolute. His lover Halsin goes after him however, reluctant to leave the troubled drow alone. They decide to relax together and share a pipe --though due to Dayan's special blend, relaxing soon becomes the last thing on their minds. Dayan decides he wants to give a bit more than receive this time around, and Halsin obliges happily. Dayan takes time to indulge in his lover's body in way he hasn't gotten to really experience -- at least, not for a very, very long time.

Light D/s fic where Halsin gets to experience submissiveness in safety and love and Dayan gets some catharsis for the very, very difficult month he's had.

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Dayan knew he was in desperate need of a break.

There was a restlessness under the ranger's skin that no amount of exertion or excitement could quell; not the fighting nor hunting nor near-death misses of Reithwin, nor victory beneath Moonrise, nor even the difficult hike to Baldur's Gate. Whatever physical exhaustion he pushed his body to, Dayan’s heart and soul remained gripped in anxiety.

It made the drow feel unsettled and ill at ease even in camp, even in this quiet moment when his beloved group of unlucky misfits could set down tents and relax without worry of goblin or githyanki or cultist attack. At least he was rather good at keeping his discomfort hidden from his companions, for a little while.

But when the stalwart little family finally made it through the trials of the shadow-cursed lands and arrived at the abandoned outpost on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, Dayan found his usual calm mask cracking a little. It was quiet their first night there and when the moon rose, he found himself standing atop the outpost's makeshift tower, staring out over the Chionthar. Watching and quietly shivering in the dark.

The twinkling lights of the city illuminated sparkling dots of gold and silver across the wide river, stretching far into the distance until they were swallowed up by black. Dayan thought of how far they'd come and how far they had yet to go...and what was awaiting them on their arrival. A chill ran down his back, brows furrowing as he stared at the huge expanse of civilization. Rows upon rows of buildings and streets and people, so crushingly close.

His fingers twitched, a jolt of sudden claustrophobia making his nerves hum uncomfortably even as he was surrounded by nothing but crisp evening air and stars overhead.

Dayan turned away quickly and got himself back down to solid ground. The view was causing bile to rise up in the back of his throat; his skin felt like it wanted to crawl off. He didn't say anything though, knowing everyone was struggling with their own thoughts. There was no need to add his own troubles.

Supper was quiet, conversation dying after a few words, giving over to the crackling of the fire. When everyone finally bid each other good night, Dayan just nodded in turn with a forced smile and slipped into his tent without a word.

Tonight he was sharing it with Halsin, the two’s dark history driving them closer than Dayan could have hoped for during the fight to free the shadow-cursed lands. The drow smiled to himself, thinking of it. Halsin on one hand, and Astarion on the other -- his past and his (hopeful) future come together. Dayan and the vampire were already in the midst of their complicated dance when Halsin came along, but he joined the steps easily. The three of them fit together like a well-worn puzzle – most of the time – much to the delight and teasing of their friends.

However, Astarion was in his own tent tonight. They learned quite quickly they couldn't all sleep together in a singular tent without elbows and knees in uncomfortable places -- or even collapsing the thing entirely, to the hilarity of everyone else the first morning they tried. Dayan had taken to bed hopping, which suited for now. Sometimes though, they all snuck away to the edge of the camp and slept together under the stars.

He was going to sorely miss that.

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Dayan sat on his bedroll as the moon waned overhead, waiting in silence for a bit until he was assured his companions were asleep and Halsin was deeply in trance, then slowly rose. He slipped out of their tent quietly, gathering his weapons and his pack before heading away from camp towards the river, alone.

At first Dayan just wandered the woods, thinking of nothing much at all. Breathing the air, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees, the crickets, the night song. The trees gathered thickly together down the barely-forged path, and he inhaled deeply, smelling pine sap and loam. The canopy overhead made the moonlight shine though the leaves in narrow beams that lit everything with an ethereal glow. Something about it reminded him of home and he felt oddly homesick, despite their recent adventures reminding him so starkly why he left the Underdark long ago.

Pine slowly gave way to birch, and he smiled as he wove between the narrow white trunks, realizing at last he'd been idly meandering his way closer and closer to the sound of rushing water. Instinct, honed sharp by his years as a ranger; or perhaps a stronger desire. He felt pulled by the lazily moving stripe of darkness that bisected the land below them.

There was a break in the treeline right at the edge of the steep incline to the river, the far off mountains visible in the distance. They were faint through the haze of moisture-laden fog, the air pleasantly chill and crisp. Dayan beelined straight for it and crested the edge of the drop, dew-wet leaves slippery under his boots.

The hillside sloped sharply downward, ground soft and uneven beneath tangles of mossy roots; but the ranger was sure footed and confident as he skipped his way down, following the scent of algae and cattail. He didn't notice the large shadow that appeared at the rise of the hill behind him, nor saw it ease itself down the hill, following his laid trail with matching dexterity, though slightly more restraint.

Dayan sighed as the calm silver water finally slanted into view, fingers already undoing the buttons of his leather breeches before his boots hit the muddy riverbank. He dropped his bow and quiver beside an ancient fallen tree that had settled deep into the embankment as a permanent fixture, its skeletal limbs jutting out over the water. His scimitars came next, points plunged into the earth so they could be snatched up in a moment's notice, just in case. He set his pack down, his jacket flung carelessly over the trunk, gloves following moments later.

Behind him, that shadow came into relief, revealing an extremely tall, broad frame that slipped in behind the fallen tree, glimmering eyes locked on the drow.

Dayan gripped the waistband of his breeches, whipping the garment down his narrow hips to the tops of his boots, then lifted to try and pry his boot off along with the pants, too eager to feel the cool breeze on his skin. He hopped awkwardly in place, then heard a throaty chuckle behind him that made him spin around, his skin prickling in sudden warning. He'd been followed?!

"Who's there! I'm not to be trifled wi--wooAHH--!!" He'd made to reach for one of his scimitars, forgetting his legs were still tangled up in pants and half-removed boots. His arms pinwheeled as he lost his balance, falling hard to the ground with a muddy splash, wind knocked out of him. "Oof!!...Oww.." Whoever had chuckled burst into full laughter now and Dayan blinked, recognizing that warm laugh anywhere. "Wh--Halsin!"

"Hahaha...I am sorry, my heart! I didn't intend to startle you." The tattooed face of his favorite druid popped over the fallen tree, hazel eyes aglow with mirth. His hands rose in surrender and Dayan noted curiously he was, apparently, shirtless. "Are you all right?"

"Tch!" He halfheartedly glared at Halsin as the wood elf chuckled cheerfully, then sighed and laughed himself, giving in. "Sneaking up on me like a thief in the night, sunstone? Astarion's been a terrible influence, I see." He took the opportunity to sit up and finish peeling off his boots and pants, leaving only his smallclothes.

Halsin grinned and walked around the tree, revealing that yes, he was indeed only clad in his leather tights, even barefoot despite the chilly ground. He bent and reached for Dayan, offering a hand up. "You underestimate the cunning of an old druid; I've more experience in skullduggery than you would believe."

Dayan grumbled but took the hand, unable to hide the smile that played over his lips. "I doubt that. I can believe a great many things about you."

He was hauled up with ease, huffing as he got his footing and surveyed the mud caked over him. Well, this wasn't the first time he'd been covered in mud in only his underwear. It hardly bothered him and he turned his attention back to the much taller elf. "What are you doing here?" His eyes flicked up to meet Halsin's, pursing his lips a little. "Were you following me?"

"I...I was," Halsin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders raised almost sheepishly. "I awoke when you slipped from our bedroll, out into the night. I apologize for not calling out to you, but when I saw you take your weapons, I was...well..."

"Worried." Dayan finished for him and then exhaled a long breath, his brow furrowing a bit. “That explains the lack of dress – did you hurry out right from the tent?” His expression softened a little as he stepped closer and put a hand on one of those broad forearms, squeezing it affectionately.

"I'm sorry,” he continued sincerely. “I never meant to worry you. I just -- I needed to go for a walk. Be away from camp for a little bit. Be..."

Dayan trailed off and then gestured around them, hand sweeping around as if presenting the wilderness and the lake and the night. He smiled when he saw full understanding in Halsin's eyes, and a knowing smile on his lips.

Not for the first time, the ranger thanked the Moondancer that Halsin was there. He loved Astarion, truely, with his whole heart, but getting the vampire to enjoy the wilderness with him was somewhat of a challenge most days. But Halsin was someone with whom Dayan could run free when he felt savage and wild, understanding when walls became too close and confined.

The drow lifted hands idly and began to undo the bands that held his hair in a tight tail. "Thank you, though. For worrying," he said softly, his gaze flicking back to meet those wise hazel eyes. "It means you're here now, and I'm glad for it."

"Something has been troubling you, my heart," Halsin replied, his tone low and gentle. He watched Dayan struggle with the tangle of his wet hair, the leather strips of his bands knotted tight, and lightly nudged his hands away to take over. Deft fingers worked the knots out as he slipped Dayan's hair free of the leather straps wound around it and then began to comb fingers through to smooth the long silvery-white strands. "I can see the tension in your shoulders and neck even now. You've felt like a cord stretched taut and vibrating."

Dayan sighed, long and soft, though from Halsin's words or the gentle motion of his fingers through the drow's hair, was unclear. "I feel like a cord pulled tight," he replied quietly. He started to rub his upper arms with his hands as if he was cold, though he wasn't. "Uncomfortable and thrumming. I'm restless under my skin, I can't get comfortable. I've begun jumping at shadows, been unable to sleep or even find true rest. Ever since we left the tower--" his words spilled from his lips, tumbling over each other. A lot to say built up over time, he supposed, and nobody to say it to.

"--Ever since we found out the truth." He gritted his teeth and tilted his head back, feeling that surge of nervous energy in his limbs. He bounced on his toes, fighting to keep down the sound that wanted to explode from his throat, not knowing if it was going to be a growl or a strangled scream.

Halsin stopped brushing fingers through his hair and placed a hand on his shoulder, but Dayan twisted away from it and grabbed his wrist, holding it aloft, tightly. Their eyes met, the druid's brow furrowed; Dayan stared into the wood elf's gaze a beat and then let out a slow breath, lids lowering.

"I'm sorry. I don't think --" He paused and sighed, his grip easing. "I feel like an electrical storm, sparking and dangerous to be near." He paused and then slid his hand up grip Halsin's and pressed his lips to his knuckles. "Stay though? Share a pipe with me. I was going to sit at the water's edge and smoke, try to...clear my head. Maybe calm my nerves a little, if what I brought helps." Dayan chewed his bottom lip, dark brows rising as he fixed Halsin with a soft beseeching look. "Only if you wish to, of course."

Halsin's smile was warm. "I do. I sought you out because I knew you were troubled. I would not abandon you now." He chuckled at the visibly relieved look on the drow's face and followed Dayan to his pack, craning his head curiously to see what 'help' his love had brought to ease his mind. A pipe, thinner and more elegantly curved than his own was produced, along with a leather bag, drawstring tight.

“Come,” Dayan murmured, taking one of those big paws in hand, fingers curling to hold it tight. He drew Halsin to a rather comfortable looking perch of mossy stone surrounded by cattails overlooking the river. The top was worn smooth by eons and covered in a soft bed of green. He lay down, clothes be damned and waited for Halsin to climb up and join him before he started packing the pipe. “This is your blend, that you gifted me,” he said softly, smiling warmly at the memory. “But I added a little something special.”

Halsin sniffed it discerningly and blinked. “Is that – Dayan, is that a reverie stick?”

The drow grinned, glancing up to meet his eyes. “I knew you’d catch it. Do you still want to…? I won’t be offended if you say no. It is something better shared, but I don’t mind flying solo. So to speak,” he chuckled.

Halsin laughed, himself. “Mmh, it has been a bit of time for me, but – perhaps just this once. We’re safe enough.”

Aye, I’m with you, sta kha'sik. Safe as houses. “Well then…” When he had packed it properly, Dayan slid the end of the thin elegant pipe between his lips and leaned close to the druid, the only one between them with fire at his fingertips.

“Light me up~”

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“Oh, I think –” Halsin sat up suddenly, his voice slightly breathless. “I think that might be enough for – for one evening.”

His hand moved to clutch Dayan’s upper arm in an effort to steady himself. The drow was perched at the edge of the rock, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out over the water. He didn’t know how long they’d been relaxing here, sharing the pipe between them, but the moon was directly overhead now. The whole river valley was awash in gentle silver-blue light. It was so peaceful and serene, his favorite time of the night. Dayan wished some of that peace had found its way into his restless veins.

The pipe clenched in his mouth, Dayan looked to Halsin, smoke swirling lazily from between his teeth. His bear had been stretched out and contentedly staring up at the stars until now. He wondered if anything was wrong.

“Too much?” Dayan asked gently, shifting a knee down to turn towards his lover and grip his arm beneath the elbow supportively. Halsin gave a soft laugh.

“Not yet, but I’m getting close, I fear. It has been a while since I’ve indulged. The usual euphoria is leading to…a different kind of intensity,” he finished in a low mumble and Dayan blinked and looked Halsin over, slowly grinning as his eyes flicked downward and found the cause for the druid’s concern. The stark outline of his erection bulged beneath taut leather.

“Where did that come from, all of a sudden?” he teased, sliding closer to Halsin and settling on his knees beside him, plucking the pipe from his lips a moment. Dayan’s skin had begun to prickle under the cool breeze coming off the river, but as he pressed closer to the huge elf he instantly felt warmer.

Halsin’s hand lifted to Dayan’s cheek, their eyes meeting. Dayan felt his face warm at what he saw there, his own amethyst gaze glistening as he blushed like a schoolboy and lowered dark lashes. He wrapped Halsin’s hand in both his own, bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss over the scarred knuckles.

“You,” Halsin said simply, and Dayan’s lips twitched into a smile he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. “The moonlight, when it touches your skin...the fine lines of your back in glowing relief…a sight so beautiful before my eyes, my words fail to capture it.” His tone was gentle, reverent; husky with need and desire.

“And – well, my heart –” Halsin chuckled low and sultry. “Your smallclothes are rather tight you know.”

Dayan bit back a laugh. Halsin was pressing even closer and he could practically smell the druid’s rising pheromones – that heady musk that was such a perfect mixture of sweat and heat and woodsmoke and something intrinsically Halsin, it always aroused him instantly.

“When you sit like that, there is very little I cannot see between your spread thighs.” Halsin’s voice was an octave or two lower, a rumbling that Dayan could feel quake in his own bones. The larger elf was nearly whispering in his ear as he pressed closer.

“You may as well be presenting for me…”

Dayan shivered but not from cold. He met Halsin’s eyes and gave him a slow, languid grin.

“Perhaps I was,” he mused, then lifted the pipe again.

“One more?” he asked hopefully, and after a moment of thought, Halsin nodded. Dayan exhaled a sound that could be a noise of agreement, or could be a moan. Either way he felt Halsin’s reaction, fingers twitching against his arm.

Dayan took a deep inhale of the pipe, breathing the smoke into his lungs, and held it. Then he turned to Halsin, gripping his jaw in a clay-colored hand, and gently pressed his thumb over his lips to keep them shut. He leaned in and blew the silvery smoke into Halsin’s nostrils, as the wood elf sucked it down deep, in an almost shuddering inhale.

After a beat, when he felt those powerful lungs expand and hold – Dayan’s thumb slipped into Halsin’s mouth and gently pressed, urging his lips to part until Halsin exhaled their shared smoke in pale, glimmering swirls that disappeared into the night sky.

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The reaction was instantaneous.

Dayan felt Halsin’s arms grip his hips, yanking him onto the druid’s muscled thighs. His own had to spread wide to straddle them and he gasped, Halsin’s tented bulge pressing right into his own soft groin – well, it had been soft, but he was getting hard, quickly, only the thinnest cloth separating him from Halsin’s grinding. Not even enough to keep Halsin’s warmth away as the druid’s big hands cupped Dayan’s ass and squeezed two big meaty handfuls of plump cheeks. The drow groaned, dropping his pipe in the wet mud and wrapping his arms around Halsin’s shoulders.

The dreamy euphoria of a reverie stick only enhanced the sensation of everything, Halsin’s fingers nearly burning through the cloth of Dayan’s smallclothes. He felt a hard grip, the fabric stretching tight against his skin, and then suddenly there was a snap and the pressure fell away, a quick snaking of cloth between his thighs revealing the reason as Halsin yanked him free of any confines with a muttered apology.

Dayan gasped against the druid’s lips and moaned, not even bothered by losing yet another pair of underthings to his bear’s passion and need. His cock was free now and that felt much better, after all. They rutted with soft grunts for a moment, Dayan’s fingers scrabbling at Halsin’s waistband to free him of his own annoying barrier.

But something here, in the heat of Halsin’s mouth on his, their tongues together, those hands on his bare skin – muscles sliding beneath his legs, even in the euphoria he felt, something was not quite right…

“Mmh…” He groaned against his lover’s mouth and exhaled a sharp breath. “...Wait…” His voice was barely audible, but Halsin immediately stopped groping the drow’s pert ass and slid his hands to Dayan’s waist, pulling back from their heated liplock. The druid’s cock trembled, trapped and poking up beneath a waistband half-yanked down. Dayan’s mouth practically watered as the scent hit his nose and he exhaled a hard breath.

“My heart…?”

“This – isn’t what I–” He pulled back a little and Halsin’s hands left his waist. Dayan frowned and grabbed the right one by the wrist, pulling it closer. “No, I – I want you close, I want your touch, I do. I just–” He dropped his head and sighed, shaking it slightly. How to say what he really wanted? How to push past the conflicting sensations in his body to know?

He felt calming fingers in his hair, brushing through the long strands and gently rubbing the prickly fuzz of his undercut. He looked up and the care and love that stared back at him made his throat feel thick.

“Speak as you will, beloved. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, not a step.”

Dayan relaxed, his head turning a little to rub his cheek against Halsin’s palm.

“Even now, with the sky above me and you in my arms – I still ache for solid ground. I, I want you! I want this," he clarified. "But I – I can’t – I don’t think I want to be–” He paused and then closed his eyes, easier to speak from the dark well of his mind.

“I feel bereft of any control," he mumbled, lifting his hand to press against Halsin's that still lay resting on his cheek. His head turned, lips pressed to the rough, warm skin and then slowly bit into the fleshy mound of his thumb, hard enough that it drew a gasping breath from the druid. Halsin's lower eyelids twitched and Dayan watched them him bright eyes, easing his teeth off when satisfied and slowly drawing his tongue over the ridges they left behind.

"Gods I wish I could wildshape," he continued, his voice lower, husky in his throat as he leaned closer, pressing to Halsin now, still holding onto his wrist. The taller elf was looking at him with heavy lidded eyes, his breath shuddering again as Dayan pressed a firm hand into the swell of his muscular chest and squeezed, forming half-moons into the tough skin. That hand then slid upward, slow and firm, making Halsin shiver as it planed his collarbone and wound around the back of his neck to grip his hair.

"This nervous skin, this fear would be silenced if I could run through the trees on all fours."

"My silver wolf," Halsin murmured, his lips curling, smile edged and trembling with a rising heat, a need Dayan could practically scent. The drow grinned as he watched his lover's pupils expand and felt that trapped cock grow even harder and thicker against him as he pressed closer. It made his own twitch and he angled his hips so Halsin felt the hot, firm press of his length. The groan that pooled in his bear's throat was like a song. He felt a slick wetness slide against his shaft and had to swallow down his own moan and instinct to grind.

Dayan exhaled a slow breath and let go of Halsin's wrist, hand moving to join its twin in his hair, tangling around thin braids and golden brown locks. His thumb grazed a strong jaw. "I love you," he said, so softly, and slowly drew the druid close, bending him like a willow sapling.

One hand clenched in Halsin’s hair, Dayan moved the other to press lightly beneath that finely-cut chin, his thumb braced against a bottom lip as he pressed closer.

"Everything's a mess, sta kha'sik." My light in the dark. "Nothing feels stable, nothing feels solid," he whispered against the druid’s mouth. His eyes locked onto Halsin's, the spring green of his eyes a narrow rim around lust-blown black pupils. Dayan wondered if his own were as wide, a black void circled with amethyst.

"I need something I can direct and shape without uncertainty. I need something I can control," he whispered.

"Then you have it, my heart," Halsin said, his next utterance a breathy groan. "You have me. Take me...shape me as you will, direct me and I will obey." There was a pause, Dayan’s eyes locked onto Halsin’s, searching deep. He saw nothing there but love and desire, in equal measure. No shadows haunting his words.

”Please…” Halsin whispered and Dayan almost groaned at the sound of so much need.

He exhaled and bit the druid's soft lower lip, gentle pressure turning to sharp pain as his teeth clamped, drawing a copper taste and making Halsin twitch and gasp. He suckled on the lip, practically feeling the heated throb in it and let go. Halsin groaned, mouth still parted and slightly panting, his eyes hooded.

Dayan grinned then, mischievously and pulled away suddenly, causing Halsin to sway and have to grip the rock to avoid tumbling forward after him. He actually whined a little at the drow, which nearly made Dayan change his plan and push him down in the mud right here, after all. He inhaled to get control of himself again and then gave Halsin a smirk over his shoulder.

"Let's get the blood pumping, shall we?” He crooked a beckoning finger and chuckled as Halsin blinked, and then matched his grin as he scrambled down off the rock and paced after. He couldn't help but notice there was a subtle stalk in the druid’s movements. The bear stirred, it seemed.

“You’ve roused my blood hotter than you know, my proud wolf,” Halsin said, his voice a soft, low near-growl.

Dayan smirked and met the advancing elf, catching him between hands gently cradling his head. Halsin instinctively sank to his knees and Dayan murmured approvingly, bending to kiss him deeply, fervently. Even on his knees Halsin was tall enough the drow barely had to tilt to meet his lips, but even this small difference was arousing. Halsin kept his hands down and a thrill went through Dayan. He knows the rules.

“Patience, sunstone,” he whispered against Halsin’s bruised bottom lip, tweaking it with his teeth just once.

“There's an islet out there, see?" he cocked a thumb back towards the water. There was indeed a small hill of land a little ways out from the edge of the river, a few clinging trees visible. "Race me, and if you win -- I'll do one thing you want. A request," he teased, though they both knew he was already going to do many, many things Halsin would absolutely want. The druid perked at the idea of making a special request though.

“Now?” Halsin asked, breathless, and Dayan nodded. He kissed his forehead and let go, stepping back.

“Now.”

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Dayan didn't even have to count off. Halsin stripped in seconds -- Dayan felt a brief pang of regret, making the druid strip for him would have been enticing -- and barreled toward the water.

The drow laughed and darted to the fallen tree instead, jumping up on it gracefully and running down the length as it jolted beneath his pounding feet. He heard Halsin let out a growl of annoyance as he waded to deeper water, Dayan's little trick giving the drow a good head start. Dayan grinned wider in triumph as he neared the end of the makeshift springboard and jumped, diving smoothly into the river with barely a splash.

The two of them were both excellent swimmers, Dayan's lithe form against Halsin's powerful strokes. The ranger could hear Halsin gaining on him off behind to the left, churning up much more water than he was. He smirked and put on an extra burst of speed, the islet already in sight.

That is, until he heard the unmistakable sound of channeling magic behind him, and felt the water suddenly violently ripple, something darting below and almost pulling him down in its powerful wake. Water surged up his nose and he had to stop to cough and clear his sinuses, stinging eyes lifting just in time to see a narrow fin rise from the water.

"Whu--" Dayan blinked and then shouted in frustration, slapping the water with both hands.

"For the love of--!! HALSIN!! A shark is CHEATING!" He growled and kicked into a sprint, huffing. Druids!!

His eyes narrowed as he saw the fin quickly approaching the bank of the little islet and in a flash of golden, leaf-strewn light, Halsin splashed out of the water. He was red-cheeked and laughing, joyous at his certain win.

Dayan muttered an incantation just as his feet hit rock and suddenly with a spray of water, the ranger misty stepped just as Halsin spun around to look for him. Dayan dropped atop the druid and with their joint momentum sent the bear man crashing into the mud, the smaller elf landing atop him.

"Cheater!"

Dayan growled softly down at his love, eyes narrowing as he watched Halsin bite his lip to try and keep more laughter from bubbling. Dayan was straddling Halsin's abdomen, all his weight propped on his hands, which were pinning the druid's wrists to the slick mud of the isle's shoreline.

The river lapped at their legs as he grinned like a wolf down at his prey, both of them panting, flushed...and growing hard despite the chill of the water they just left. Dayan's cock was nudging into Halsin’s body as he straddled his ribs, adjusting his grip on his wrists subtly.

He wasn't as thick as Halsin -- he didn't know anyone who was -- but Dayan was fairly lengthy, slightly curved, with a small plush cockhead already half-exposed past a thin foreskin. The swim only heightened the heat pooling in his loins, and Halsin’s felt so warm Dayan almost expected the water dripping from his body and hair to sizzle when it hit the druid’s skin.

His love lay beneath him, flushed, breathing hard, and beautiful -- beads of water and sweat both glistening on his skin, his hair come undone, a loose wild mane framing his face. Wet tendrils clung to his forehead and cheeks and Dayan had an urge to run his tongue along those snaking strands.

"Misty Step? Who's cheating, now?" Halsin rumbled and Dayan had to laugh.

"Fair enough. We both win."

Suddenly his lips were on Halsin's in a heated, hungry kiss, tasting deep and claiming the druid's mouth for his own. He nipped and bit those lips until they were tingling and swollen, then pushed his tongue past them. Halsin moaned, a husky, rumbling sound that made Dayan's belly flip and his head swim. His cock pulsed and dribbled a few drops of precum onto Halsin's chest. When he finally pulled away to let the wood elf breathe, the tips of Halsin’s ears were pink, his face ruddy and warm and lips parted as he panted softly.

Gods, he was so lovely Dayan could weep.

He moved his lips to Halsin's ear. "You remember the words, the signal, if...?" he breathed and Halsin nodded. "And this is all right?"

"I want you, my heart," the druid moaned quietly. "I want–”

“--please," he broke off suddenly, a soft desperation seeming to seize him. "Take me, Dayan." His eyes flicked to meet the drow's, dark and liquid with desire. "Roughly. Harshly, even. Give me claws and teeth…break me if you must…but I need you…I’ve needed you for so long."

“Gods," Dayan groaned and let go of Halsin's wrists to grip his hair in both fists, body dropping flush to Halsin’s to kiss him fiercely again. Stocky arms made to embrace him but he yanked on those thick brown locks, jerking Halsin's head back as a warning, making the druid's breath catch.

"Ah-ah," he whispered. "Hands down. Keep them there." Halsin obeyed immediately, his arms dropping back in place. Dayan smiled and kissed his jaw. "Good boy."

That got a moan and Dayan swore he felt Halsin's cock jerk against his naked rear. It'd have to remain neglected for now.

His hands needed to be busy elsewhere.

[rotworld]

10: Motel Hell

(previous)

desperate to get out of nelton, you make a risky decision and find somewhere to stay along the road.

->contains gore, graphic description of corpses.

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Home is west. Northwest now, so far away it feels like the edge of the world. 

You’ve tried to get there a few times. Every now and then, you’ll get lucky. The Drift will have mercy and you’ll end up so close you think you can taste it, the pull urgent but not so taut and uncomfortable. Somehow, it’s always eluded you. You get turned around, your inner compass spinning haywire. The road spits you out just east, too far north, not at all where you mean to go. Lost—that’s what you are. But you never feel that way until you try to find home.

And even if you ever reached it, would it be worth the trouble? Would anyone see you as kin, or would it be a town full of strangers? You don't try anymore. Home is best left abstract and distant.

Night is falling. The shadows grow. The sign seems to lunge through the fog, sudden and vicious. “DRIFT INN. NEXT EXIT.” It’s not close enough to spot off the highway, but you do see a spatter of streetlights and neon. Not enough for a town, just a small place between things for the unlucky and desperate. Anything is good enough for you now. The exit is an uphill zigzag, a silent intersection with a light that takes too long to change. 

You see two long gray slabs with red roofs. Nothing around but concrete and tufts of hardy grass growing in the cracks. The parking lot is sparsely occupied, a couple windows aglow behind drawn curtains. Still, you hesitate. Your recent misfortunes have left you somewhat wary. You consult your map. You’ll make the final push for the University tomorrow, get there by dusk. South, then east? Or start heading east now? For once, you find yourself hoping there’s no town in that vast distance, no unexpected detours. 

Something flits past the window as you’re planning your morning route. It’s gone when you look up but you were sure, for just a second—

And then you see it. Another, drifting silently into your windshield. Landing on the glass and melting to nothing. The sky is the color of a coming storm. Your heart starts to race. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: SATURDAY NIGHT BY THE MISFITS]

The automatic doors wheeze open. A single fluorescent tube buzzes overhead. The floor is grimy-looking tile and the walls are off-white. Nobody’s sitting behind the check-in desk. All you can hear is the whirr of an electric fan in the corner and a crackling radio on the counter.

A tiered shelf against the wall displays travel brochures coated in a fine layer of dust, advertising the orchards and public gardens of Green Valley. These must be old. There is no Green Valley anymore—it’s been called the Stillwoods since before you were born, although the occasional antique road sign marooned along the highway might still bear the old name.

The doors open again behind you. There’s a woman standing there, hands in the pockets of a gray peacoat. She’s wearing heels and her hair is meticulously pinned into a neat bun. 

She gives you a quick, appraising look. “Hey there,” she says. “Checking in?” You nod and she slips behind the check-in desk, noticeably keeping her distance and never turning her back towards you. She doesn’t give you a price or ask how you’ll pay, simply reaching for a room key off the back wall and setting it on the desk. You don’t think there was a courier sign on the door. Your visible apprehension makes her grin. “So…I don’t actually work here. But I saw you pull up and thought you might appreciate a hand. There’s four of us here tonight.”

You take the key, the plastic tag attached reading 108. “Is the place abandoned?” you ask. That wouldn’t surprise you. This motel was clearly attached to the Stillwoods once upon a time, but now it’s out here in the middle of nowhere. That happens sometimes, during a particularly violent shift or an anchorware malfunction. That’s how the University became its own city, too.

The woman makes a noncommittal sound. “Not exactly. At least, it wasn’t when I got here. It’s like this, see?” 

She leans back and turns the handle of the door behind the desk. As soon as it’s cracked open, the smell of blood comes rushing out. She opens it just far enough for you to glimpse the back room and the body inside: head so badly bludgeoned that you don’t realize it’s lying face-up for a while, jaw broken and wrenched open so wide the mouth is more like a gaping wound of teeth. There’s blood pooling on the floor and arterial sprays arcing on the walls. Fresh enough to drip. 

The woman yanks the door shut again. She looks unbothered, you think, unusually cheerful considering the situation. She adjusts her small, rectangular glasses on the bridge of her nose. “See what I mean? Kind of a mess. I’d have taken off by now if not for how the sky looks. Rather take my chances here than out in a Drift storm.” The snow is heavier already, a thin layer blanketing the pavement outside. “Anyway, wanna get settled in? 108’s right with the rest of us. Gotta keep an eye on each other, after all. Hard to say who’s a mimic and who’s not.” 

You frown. A mimic wouldn’t waste that much food.

The woman is friendly, at least, and endlessly talkative. She’s a University graduate. She’s been living in Splitrock Junction for the past few years, testing the water and soil for “intrusional particles,” but she’s looking for a career change. “Anchorware! That’s where the money’s at,” she tells you. “That’s the future of the Drift, you know. It’s caught on in all the major industries but it’ll get more affordable later. The lab where they build that stuff makes the University look Stone Age. God, if I could get my hands on some of that equipment…” 

You barely say a word as she leads you outside and across the parking lot to the adjacent building. Four rooms are occupied in a row, lights on, muffled voices coming through the doors. You walk up in time to catch part of a conversation—an argument, more accurately. They’re talking about mimics.

“So you’re telling me the one that’s see-through and foggy like frosted glass isn’t called a glass mimic?” 

“Glass mimics are literally made of glass, man. Or something kind of like it. It shatters if you hit it hard enough.” 

“Kind of like it? So they’re not actually made of glass. They don’t even resemble glass.” 

“I didn’t name them, okay?” 

The woman pauses to knock on 106. “We’ve got another,” she says. 

106 opens just slightly, the door halting on a chain lock. The face that peers out at you is obscured by a surgical mask and a pair of sunglasses. “Shit, Chatterbox made it back in one piece,” he mutters. “So either it left you alone or you’re the mimic.” The doors on either side of him creak open. A man pokes his head outside of 105, looking nonplussed. Nobody comes out of 107 but you hear a quiet huff, a quick exhale of laughter.

“Well, this is all of us,” the woman says. “We’re a little short on trust right now so you’ll have to settle for nicknames. That’s Newbie in 105. He’s from outside. Like, outside, you know?”

“Outside the Drift?” you ask, startled.

Newbie frowns. He’s blond and clean-shaven, wearing an open suit jacket and loosened tie. “Couldn’t we have picked our own nicknames? God, it’s freezing all of the sudden.” 

“This totally normal, not at all suspicious guy lurking in 106 is Glasses.” 

“Bite me,” Glasses snarls. “Half the mimics out here copy faces. You’re not getting mine.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Shrug is in 107. He’s kinda quiet. Second most likely to be a mimic, if we’re making accusations.” 

107’s door opens slightly wider. The man standing there doesn’t show his face, keeping his head down and his hood up, hands stuffed in the pockets of an oversized sweater. He’s on the shorter side. “Hm,” he says, and shrugs.

“And I guess I’m Chatterbox.” The woman laughs. “I’m in 104. The walls are really, really thin, we mostly just yell at each other. Nobody else around so it’s not like we’re bothering anyone.” 

You unlock 108 and find a small, musty-smelling room. There’s stiff, crusty carpet, a single bed with sheets that feel like packing paper, and a closet-sized bathroom. You put your backpack on the bedside table and add the Drift Inn to your map.

“So what are we calling you, stranger?” Chatterbox yells. She’s right, the walls are really thin. Four rooms down and you can still hear her fairly clearly. 

“Courier,” you say back. 

The wind picks up outside, growing from a whisper to a vicious howl. You peek through your curtains and find your footsteps in the snow have nearly been filled in already as more blows across the motel parking lot. You scan the row of cars parked out front apprehensively. The one you saw in the blizzard was an SUV, you think. Silver. Hard to make out in the haze and all the white. You don’t see it out there now. You’d like to tell yourself that those two things can’t possibly be related, but there’s a corpse behind the check-in desk, beaten so badly the face barely looked human.

You don’t want to think about it. You let the curtains fall back into place and sit on the edge of the bed. “Newbie, you’re from outside the Drift?” you ask. “What made you decide to come here?”

You hear him clear his throat nervously. “I’m doing market research, you could say. There’s a lot of interest in developing the Drift, getting it connected to the rest of the world. You guys are missing out on a lot of things. Phones are only local, right, so you can’t call Prismville from the University. And mail takes forever since you don’t really have a reliable delivery service. Uh. No offense, I mean.” 

“Didn’t some outsider company already try getting a foothold here a while back?” That sounds like Glasses. “Like a decade ago or something. Putting all those cables in the ground, then acting surprised when they got fucked up after a couple shifts.” 

“Ohhh, that’s right! They started growing skin and then they all slithered off,” Chatterbox says.

“Is that what those are?” you ask. “I’ve seen those before. They’re farm pests, mostly. They really like eggs.” 

“Mhm,” Shrug adds.

“Can I ask about that? What’s up with the eggs?” Newbie says. “Why are they everywhere? I keep seeing people eat them raw, shell and all.” 

Chatterbox laughs. “So those aren’t actually eggs.” 

“You’re pulling my leg.” 

“No, I mean, they look just like eggs, right? So we call them eggs.”

“Oh, so these get called by what they look like, huh?”

“Okay, look, there are different kinds of shifts, right? Depending on how things are intersecting, or if they’re intersecting at all, and sometimes—”

The wind shrieks and the windows shake in their frames. Snow drifts under your door, melting on the carpet. Through the space beneath the curtains, all you see is white. “It’s getting bad out there,” Glasses says quietly.

“I, ah, thought the Drift didn’t get snow?” Newbie asks.

“It doesn’t,” Chatterbox says. “Unless the Road Ripper’s around.” 

There’s a pause. You’re holding your breath. Glasses is the first one to speak up again, scoffing, “That shit’s an urban legend. Nobody could live out on the road that long.”

“Hm,” Shrug agrees. Or maybe disagrees. You’re not sure.

“What if he doesn’t, though? What if he does come into town sometimes, drifts in and out before anyone realizes who he is?” Chatterbox insists. “It’d be easy. He could slip out with some couriers and nobody’d know. Maybe he is a courier.”

There’s another, longer pause. “Wh—really?” you say, incredulous. “I’m not a serial killer.”

Chatterbox makes a thoughtful sound. “Well, a serial killer would probably say that.” 

“I was the last one here! How could I have killed somebody?” 

“Not saying you did it, just saying maybe you should leave first in the morning,” Glasses mutters. 

The idea of falling asleep here unnerves you, but your car won’t be warm enough. You consider shoving a chair under the door. It’s flimsy, certainly nothing that’ll deter somebody hellbent on killing on you—somebody with the kind of strength you saw—but you’ll hear it fall over at least. You take a quick shower and crawl into bed, too tired to care how stiff the mattress is. The others are loud but the wind drowns them out after a while and the conversation dies down.

Maybe you won’t sleep, you think. You’ll just lay here on your side, facing the door and the windows. Listening for footsteps in the snow, or a car pulling up.  Just a few hours, you think, checking the clock. A few hours until dawn, at least. Maybe the blizzard will have moved on by then. You try to keep yourself moving, shaking your foot or tapping your fingers. The room is frigid, the heat barely able to keep up with the cold air seeping under the door, but exhaustion is slowly gaining on you. It becomes a struggle to keep your eyes open.

“…I heard that’s a thing he does,” Chatterbox is saying, sounding muffled and far away. “He picks somebody and follows them around for a while, but he lets them go a few times before he actually kills them. And it’s not like he just leaves other people alone, but that’s kind of different. It’s like he’s whetting his appetite or something. Picks off other people so can hold himself back from whoever his main target is. Maybe it’s a mimic thing? Do you think he shapeshifts? I had a friend back at University who specialized in mimics, I think some of them do similar stuff…”

Your eyelids flutter. Just a few hours, you remind yourself. A few hours and then…

You can’t breathe. 

It’s dark, a deeper black than night in every direction, and you can’t breathe. There’s something—something around your neck. Squeezing too tight. Wanting to split you open, wanting to tear into the soft flesh of your throat. It wants to, yet it never does. But even when it lets you go, uncoiling slowly, slinking out of sight, your lungs are on fire. You heave and you choke and you try to scream but you can’t get any air, can’t breathe. You can’t remember how.

There’s something in this darkness with you. You can’t see it but you can hear it breathing in deep, echoing sighs. You can sense its vastness, the crushing weight of its attention. You’re trying to run but your legs are weak and sluggish, flailing, going nowhere. The air ripples and it’s here, above and all around you. Silent. Observing. Your neck throbs where it touched you, skin tender and throbbing with your heartbeat, and still you can’t breathe. 

There is a dark moon above you. It’s a misshapen pearl, a silvery stone with a hole punched through its center. It’s growing as it sinks from the sky. It’s bigger than you, bigger than your car, so close you think you could reach out and touch it.

It blinks.

You gasp and jolt awake. It must be morning. Weak light trickles under the curtains. You’re cold, but not as cold as you were last night. The stench of blood is thick and cloying. Your door is open, the chair you wedged under it knocked aside. 

You sit up slowly. The room is red. Every breath draws in the smell of rust and rot. There’s hardly a surface in the room that hasn’t been spattered in gore. The walls are glistening with it. There are dark red puddles hardening into the carpet. The bedspread is soaked through beside you because there is a body there, posed atop the sheets as though it climbed into bed with you. It doesn’t have a face, just a head so badly bludgeoned that it could be a split pomegranate, soft and gooey and oozing chunks of meat through cracks in its skull. 

It’s wearing a peacoat, gray wool spattered with blotchy red stains. 

You scramble out of bed, lunging for your shoes. The carpet is so saturated it squishes wetly under your steps. There’s another body curled up at the foot of the bed in the same unsightly condition, intact except for the gristly paste where a head should be. Blood and brain matter spill across the floor in a pinkish smear, bits of vertebrae poking through the taut, torn flesh of the neck. Newbie’s tie is half-submerged in the slurry, tightened into an uncomfortably small knot.

The third corpse is propped up against the door, seated with its back against it. You shove it aside. You try not to look. But you see red, you see a scalp split apart and a broken shell of skull fragments underneath, little white slivers floating in a soupy clot. A gush of thick, partially coagulated fluid spurts out when it thunks against the ground in your haste to leave, dislodging the sunglasses folded neatly in its lap. 

The morning air is crisp. It’s just cold enough that some of the snow has stayed, the shallow layer left revealing the spotted prints of snowboots, a trail of blood, and smooth drag marks. Every door is wide open, a mess of red slush inside. The gruesome trail wanders out of your room and then rounds the corner, vanishing into a section of the parking lot you never thought to check. Nothing is parked there now but you still feel nauseous with fear.

Strangely, 107’s snow is clean. You notice as you’re leaving, starting your car, headlights flashing into the open rooms. Everything else is slick and splattered, dark red puddles frozen to the bed, except 107—the room right next to yours. The footprints, you notice, come out of that room clean. They go only in one direction; only leaving. 

You try desperately to remember Shrug’s face but you never saw it. He was careful, keeping his head angled down and his gaze lowered. Maybe it’s just hindsight, fear coloring your memories, but thinking back, you thought he might’ve had a small smile on his face when you looked at him.

(next)

[dawnlotus-draws]

LOOK UPON THEM. MY BELOVEDS. my player characters I play the most often. This isn’t even close to all of them. Anyway.

Transcript to the text image and Non transparent art version below the cut ^^

Just 6 of my character collection I fit on a page.. I play so many TTRPGs all week it’s crazy.

Please. If you want to know anything about them, send me asks :3

They will also be on ARTFIGHT so if you will be on the battlefield stop by and say hello!!! :D

I apologize for the Alt Text being a mess, mobile is fighting me on formatting right now, but here the transcript to the image below!

From left to right

Name : Alice Adalhaidus | TTRPG : Vampire the Masquerade | Chronicle : New Orleans by Night | Party name : (work in progress) | Clan : Toreador | Occupation : Cabernet owner | Age : 130 yrs | Personality : ‘Judgemental’ | Summary word(s) : Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss

Name : Eloise Fulva | TTRPG : Pathfinder | Campaign : Cityfinder | Party name : Corwyn Office | Class : Barbarian/Healer | Occupation : Grade 5 Fixer | Age : 50 yrs | Personality : Stoic | Summary Word : Diplomat

Petra Ichor | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : One shots | Party : N/A | Class : Grave Cleric | Occupation : Guide | Age : 106 yrs | Personality: Apathetic | Summary word : Puppet

Sparrow Temerity | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : The Bounciful Band | Party : The Bounciful Band | Class : Fighter | Occupation : Tank/‘wallet’ | Age : 30 yrs | Personality : Optomistic | Summary word : Unlucky

Grelinda Teakettle | TTRPG : DnD | Campaign : One shots | Party : N/A | Class : Fighter (6) Rogue (2) | Occupation : Sniper | Age : 21 yrs | Personality : Caffeinated Teenager | Summary word(s) : Hero in training

Xiao Hua Ya (小花呀) | TTRPG : Call of Cthulhu | Campaign : London and Literature | Party name : Edith’s house for Misfits | Class : Recon | Occupation : Orphan | Age : 14 yrs | Personality : Nosy | Summary word : Gremlin

[cloud9v]

i made fakemon based on my oc

(yea i know the names suck ass i cant name things for shit)

(read more for full info)

Miskit (misfit/misfortune/kit) Category: Unfortunate Normal/Dark Type Ability: Unlucky (Secondary effects and Critical hit chances are locked to 1%) Miskit are scrappy and naive Pokemon that often get into all sorts of odd and inexplicable incidents. Despite this, they are always energetic and ready to get into all sorts of adventures.

Miskit evolves into Meowfortune at Level 24

Meowfortune (meow/misfortune) Category: Misfortune Dark/Fairy Type Ability: Unlucky These solitary Pokemon radiate an uncontrollable dark energy that creates chaos and misfortune where ever they go, regardless of their actual intent. Gaining the trust of one is a difficult task, as they are highly distrustful. If any Absol are particularly stressed, there is a high probability that a Meowfortune is nearby.

[ofyorkshire]

thinking about post-apocalyptic aus again and turning over characters, thinking how they'd react, and deciding that bj would survive an apocalypse but only by the definition that he is Still Breathing. fate seems to enjoy making him the world's luckiest unlucky human in existence, by which i mean it doesn't matter what it is, he always seems to come out alive (albeit with a few pieces missing).

so bj would be alive. and to a degree, he would still be himself. but he would learn to use his teeth and he would be vicious. he would let the world turn him into what he needs to in order to live, bc it is all about survival.

half of me would love to see him as a loner no-one messes with because he's Mean and Off-putting and Hey, There's Rumors About This Guy, You Know?, but the other half thinks it'd be really cool if he grew to be a leader of a ragtag bunch of nomadic misfits and absolutely no one expects that he's the head because he doesn't talk big, or loud, and doesn't exactly command a room with his presence. he's kind of... invisible, really. maybe they all are. but he's learned to use those unsuspecting, easy-to-dismiss manners in their favor.

i think they'd be a band of thieves, mostly, probably. bj'd have started by taking in troubled teens and kids that he saw himself in, took care of them, and then as they grew older, they took care of each other.

[spnmusicalbang]

SPN Musical Theater Bang Masterlist

As the curtain falls on this year's Musical Theater Bang, let's have one more ovation for the amazing writers and artists who contributed! You can revisit their original cast recordings below.

Truth, Beauty, Free Will, Love by @Tossukka with art by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes Summary: Dean is a courtesan and the star of a nightclub longing for a normal life and a chance to find his brother again. Castiel is an angel living in the shadow of his siblings, wanting a chance to make his own choices for once. One night their paths cross. This story is about truth, beauty, freedom but above all things, this story is about love.

Phantom of Midsommer's Nightmare by @Kyra_Kiara_Elizabeth_Mai with art by @zybynarx Summary: During some downtime at the bunker: Cas is worried about Dean it has only been a few months since Dean was cured, the mark is draining him everyone can see it, and desperation leads him to a long shot. Sam is using this time for research, his own personal interest. Until Donna calls him with a conundrum. Dean is trying to lay low, relax, and not let everyones worry get to him.

Sugar, Butter, Flour by @raimykeller with art by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes Summary: Dean works in a diner in a small North Carolina town and is a genius at creating unique pie recipes. Without any family of his own, he has carved a space for himself in a little group of loving misfits who work with him at the diner. When fellow waitress – and Dean’s best friend – Kelly finds out she is pregnant by her deadbeat husband, and their diner loses one of their line cooks, Dean’s quiet, but boring life is changed instantly. Join Dean as he falls in love, protects his found family, and bakes a lot of pie.

As One In Love of Chess by @Raven_Fuchs with art by @lotrspnfangirl Summary: Drama student Dean Winchester has a lot riding on the university’s annual big musical. Not only is his graduate thesis tied up in the production but if he’s cast as one of the leads it will be his graduate showcase as well. The choice to produce selections from the musical “Chess” means that there really are only two male lead roles up for grabs. He never could have imagined how his life could change when he meets a blue-eyed music grad student. While the characters on stage are unlucky in love, can the actors avoid a similar fate?

Oh He's a Curious Cat by @preetkiran1016 with art by @hexentaenzerin Summary: It’s Dean’s last year at Juilliard’s school for the performing arts. He’s almost done, ready to jump into the acting world- when Professor Balthazar takes a year sabbatical. Castiel Novak filling in as his substitute makes surviving the year a hell of a lot more difficult, Dean’ll tell you that much. Between learning to dance in a lycra cat suit, dealing with his friends and their constant teasing, and Novak staring daggers at him every second- Dean’s not sure he’ll make it.

Three Little Pigs by @hectatess with art by @lotrspnfangirl Summary: What happens when the fairytale ends? When the curtains are closed, what becomes of the characters? Well, those that survive lead their lives. And sometimes those lives collide again. Like with one little pig and a big, well, only slightly larger than average, but still bad wolf. And their offspring…

Oh, Lover (I'll Cover You) by @lotrspnfangirl with art by @deancodedcastielenby Summary: Nearing Christmas, when the city was frozen, a group of friends found the warmth they were missing. 

My Unfortunate Protuberance by @whaddyameanno with art by @aleriya-darling Summary: Dean and Cas have been in a long-distance relationship for two years, and Cas always goes to Dean’s opening nights, knowing just how important it is to his boyfriend. When plans fall through and he isn’t able to go anymore, Dean gets upset. Will this spell the end of their relationship? Or will Cas find a way to make it to the show and make it up to Dean?

[chronicallybloodless]

Heavy to Hold - Chapter 4

Can You Be Honest

Pairing: Astarion x enby!tav Status: in progress Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Genre: angst/comfort | slow burn Alternating second-person POV Contains spoilers for the whole game basically TW: it's an astarion fic: descriptions of trauma, abuse, sexual violence, etc. | smut | full tag list on AO3 Read from the beginning: AO3 | Tumblr Listen to the Playlist

“Well, I would hope none of us had any encounters with Lae’zel before.” Astarion mused, eliciting a scoff and glare from the Githyanki. “So, I suppose that just leaves myself and Tav. Surely we could have bumped into each other in a tavern at least once or twice?” Now he was the one looking at you expectantly. He seemed to really expect the answer to be yes, but you couldn’t recall seeing him a day in your life before he had literally put a blade to your neck.

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr ↓

Tav's POV

You weren’t really sure how you got yourself into these kinds of messes. You had woken up on a Mindflayer ship, infected with a parasitic tadpole that was threatening to sprout tentacles from your face. You managed to crash said ship with the help of an cross-dimensional warrior who seemed to think that people from Faerûn were barely sentient and a cleric who really needed to listen to some bards that weren’t actively mourning the loss of their one true love.

You then found an elf whose first instinct was to put a knife to your throat (which was a reasonable response given the circumstances, but still, quite rude), a wizard who got himself stuck in a portal, the legendary Blade of Frontiers himself, and a Tiefling with a machine for a heart. Oh, and some kind of mummy. He wasn’t really with the group, though. He just sorta….hung out at your camp.

Needless to say, this group of misfits was having a bit of trouble getting along. And as a bard, you had a professional obligation to bring this unlucky band of adventurers together.

Which was the nice way of saying that you were tired of trying to keep people from stabbing each other.

“Alright everyone, gather around!” You called out to the group, earning mostly annoyed groans in response. “I have a nice stew prepared, so let’s all have a lovely dinner and get to know each other a bit better.”

They didn’t seem enthused about the last part, but the promise of food was enough to get everyone’s attention. Soon they were all contentedly munching with no threats of violence.

“Okay, I’ll start. I’m Tav, and I’m a bard from Baldur’s Gate. I mostly play flute.”

“We’ve all been inside each other’s minds at this point, do we really need to engage in such a meaningless exercise?” Lae’zel scoffed between bites.

“Well I wouldn’t say getting to know the people we have a shared fate with is meaningless.” Gale offered, “I’m from Waterdeep, but I spend a lot of time in Baldur’s Gate as well. Sometimes the shops there are the only ones with the right tomes, you know.” He held your gaze while he spoke, as if the rest of the group wasn’t present.

“I’m from the Gate as well originally, but I haven’t been back there in quite some time.” Wyll added.

“Hey, me too!” Karlach added as she hungrily added another portion of stew to her bowl.

“Indeed, it would seem most of us are from Baldur’s Gate” Shadowheart mused, “How peculiar.”

“How exactly is it peculiar?” Astarion asked, “Baldur’s Gate is the only real form of civilization in this area. Of course that’s where most of us are from.”

“The Nautiloid could travel between dimensions in an instant.” Lae’zel responded, “It could have picked up anyone from anywhere.”

“Huh, so it is a bit odd for this group to have all been abducted, all survived the crash, and all been resistant to the power of the Absolute.” You added, proud that Lae’zel was willing to participate at all.

“Odd, but ultimately meaningless. Pure chance, nothing more.” Shadowheart stated with a sigh as she returned to her stew.

“Never discount the effects of chance, some of life’s most beautiful moments stem from it.” Gale added, again staring right at you.

“Speaking of chance,” Astarion interjected, “Given that we were all mostly from the same place, what are the odds that any of us have met before?”

“I spent a decade in the Hells, so I’m not sure I’d remember to be honest.” Karlach said as she leaned towards the stew pot for thirds, only to find it empty. She frowned for a moment before Astarion rolled his eyes and passed her the remainder of his bowl. She beamed at him before eagerly chowing down. You hadn’t expected him to be the generous type.

“I’m in much the same position.” Wyll nodded in agreement.

“My studies kept me fairly busy.” Shadowheart added, though she seemed somewhat guarded in her choice of words. “I didn’t really get out much.”

“Well, I would hope none of us had any encounters with Lae’zel before.” Astarion mused, eliciting a scoff and glare from the Githyanki. “So, I suppose that just leaves myself and Tav. Surely we could have bumped into each other in a tavern at least once or twice?” Now he was the one looking at you expectantly. He seemed to really expect the answer to be yes, but you couldn’t recall seeing him a day in your life before he had literally put a blade to your neck.

You knew you were lying when you introduced yourself as just a bard, but you had a feeling that “Hi I’m Tav and I’m a professional whore who men pay to step on them” wouldn’t have been the first step towards comradery that you were going for. Astarion’s expectant gaze suggested that he at least thought he had seen you before.

You sincerely hoped that he hadn’t been one of your clients at some point. Surely you would have remembered him if he had, given his striking appearance. He looked otherworldly in much the same way you did, with delicate elven features set apart by pallored skin and piercing red eyes. You of course were from another world—the Underdark. You wondered how a surface elf like Astarion ended up with similar features; perhaps he had Drow parentage as well.

Regardless, you would have remembered if he had ever paid you a visit at Sharess’ Caress, and from what little you knew about him, he seemed like someone who would be on the giving end of the kind of treatment your customers were after, not receiving. Maybe he had visited one of the other hosts, or had seen you around town and just remembered what you looked like. You hoped that if he was familiar with your professional work, he would keep it to himself.

You realized you had been lost in your own thoughts without answering. Astarion was still looking at you, his head cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, those taverns can be so busy, who’s to say? I don’t think I recall meeting you before now.” You finally said, trying to play off the tension.

“Oh.” He said, sounding every so slightly disappointed. He didn’t push the issue further. “Well, that was a lovely meal and conversation everyone, but I think I will take a short walk before bed.” He stood, giving a slight bow before turning and heading into the woods beyond camp.

“Should someone go with him? Gods know what kinds of trouble lie out there in the dark.” Gale asked.

“No.” You replied. “I think he probably wants some time to himself. You all get some rest, I’ll clean up here and take first watch."

[stqrgirlie04xo]

HANA | Profile

Solo

Concept photo for HEAT (November 2023)

BTS

Concept photo for Poof (September 2022)

Birth name: Choi Haneul Hangul: 최한얼 Hanja: - Stage Name(s): Hana (하나) Nickname(s): Bangtan's Princess, Han, Gummy Birth date: September 6, 1997 Birthplace: Dundine, New Zealand Height: 5ft. 5in. (165 cm) Weight: 49 kg (108 lbs.) Blood type: A Sign: Virgo MBTI: INTP

Occupation: Rapper-songwriter, record producer, co-singer Instruments: Vocals Genre: Pop, R&B, Hip Hop Group debut: April 29, 2015 (BTS) Solo debut: November 23, 2023 Years Active: 2015-present Awards: Hwagwan Order of Cultural Merit (2018) Agency: Big Hit Music Associations: BTS

Choi Haneul (최한얼), better known by the mononym Hana (하나), is a South Korean rapper-songwriter and record producer under Big Hit Music. She is a member in the co-ed group BTS, and has the positions of rapper alongside Suga, RM, and j-hope.

As a solo artist, she has released three self-produced digital singles, "NOBODY" in 2016 "Rain" in 2022 and two mini albums "ON/E" in 2016, "Killing Me Softly" in 2020 and "h" in 2022. She then made her official solo debut with her first studio album "HANA" on October 23, 2023.

Being the only female member in the group, Hana was not enlisted in the military and has since focused on solo career until further detail on BTS coming back.

Hana is set to make her first solo tour on November 2024 titled Choi Haneul | Hana.

Early Life

Choi Haneul was born on September 6, 1997, in Dunedin, New Zealand. Her family consists of her parents and a younger sister. She initially wanted to become an owner of a cafe in Seoul, but was later influenced to become a singer by watching Hyuna perform "Roll Deep" and "RED" on television, aspiring to be like her as well as BOA.

In 2011, Hana auditioned for the South Korean talent show Superstar K during its auditions in Dunedin. Though she was not selected, he received casting offers from three companies. She eventually chose to become a trainee under Big Hit Entertainment, however it is unknown as to why she that company to train under. She was well-liked amongst the company due to her dancing and rapping skills.

2015-present: BTS

On April 29, 2015, Hana made her debut as a member of BTS with the release of the mini album The Most Beautiful Moment in Life part 1 Under BTS, she released two solo tracks; the first was a pop track entitled "Never" on the 2016 album Wings and the second, an alt and rap track entitled "Zemblanity" on Love Yourself: Answer, follows Hana as she defines the ability to make expected, unlucky, and unhappy discoveries by design.

Hana (together with the rest of the BTS members) was ordained with the fifth-class Hwagwan Order of Cultural Merit by the President of South Korea. members of the group.

2016-present: Solo Activities

In June 2016, Hana released the song "NOBODY", for free on platforms such as YouTube.

On November 29, 2022,

Hana released the single "Rain" ahead of her first award show performance at the opening ceremony for the 2022 Mnet Asian Music Awards in Japan.

On August 18, 2023, Hana announced that she will begin solo activities beginning September 2023 and onward.

Discography

Studio album

HANA (2023)

Digital Singles

NOBODY (2016)

Rain (2022)

Mini Albums

ON/E (2019)

Killing Me Softly (2020)

h (2022)

misfits (2023)

polar (2024)

Filmography

Film

2018 | Burn The Stage: The Movie

2019 | BTS World Tour: Love Yourself in Seoul

2019 | Bring The Soul: The Movie

2020 | Break The Silence: The Movie

2022 | BTS Permission to Dance on Stage - Seoul

2022 | BTS Permission to Dance on Stage - LA

2023 | BTS: Yet To Come in Cinemas

2023 | j-hope IN THE BOX

2024 | The 8th Member: HANA

Variety Shows

2023 | Suchwita -- Guest with Jungkook (Ep.15)

Others

2016 | "Never" -- WINGS short film #8

Concerts

Choi Haneul | HANA (2024)

~~~

Trivia

She is 26 years old in US age and 28 years old in Korean age

[nixliz]

location concept for a potential future rpg i wanna make - THE PITS. the absolute bottom of the city, the metaphorical puddle all the gutters empty into. home to the poor, the misfits, or those who are just plain unlucky enough to end up down here