#writing my little tumblr fanfictions

[heartpascal]

guys i have a bunch of exams coming up and yet i keep finding myself on here writing away 😭 I NEED TO BE REVISING. if you see me being active pls tell me to go away </3

[erraticprocrastinator]

Nothing feels more amazing as a fanfic writer than finding the fandom, the pairing, the trope, that reawakens not only your love of writing, but also the joy that comes with just being hopelessly and unapologetically invested in something.

[eightcure]

Some Danny phantom sketches for the void

[doraminatook]

Schrödinger's Sheen

[familyofpaladins]

Saw a poll thati implied people only read fanfiction for shipping. And I KNOW that's not true. but now I'm curious to what the ratio is

Ship fics are referring to any fic that is about two or more characters and their romantic/sexual relationship, where the story revolves around that relation ship, or takes a good chunk of the story

Gen fics refer to any fic where the main plot/story is NOT focused on the romantic/sexual relationship between two or more characters (gen fics can include ships, like if there is an established relation ship, but the fic is not focused on the ship)

The main point though is, do you go looking for ships, or other reasons

[soulless-bex]

was listening to music while driving, as one does, when my brain, the silly little thing goes:

wouldn’t it be funny if dick grayson killed the joker (who stays dead because he deserves to be) for killing jason and goes through a whole breakdown over whether or not jason would approve of what he did, ultimately deciding that no, jason the happy robin would not be happy with his big brother, no matter how strained their relationship may have been before his death, killing a man out of revenge

cue jason as red hood, pre identify reveal, asking nightwing about what happened to the joker (because of course bruce had it covered up, because in his twisted little mind, a vigilante permanently taking out the mass murderer who is singlehandedly the number one cause of death in gotham would break the gothamites’ trust in them). nightwing admits, because since the joker is dead jason doesn’t have a reason to push the dramatics as much, he’s just fucking with the bats and keeping crime alley safe, and jason has his turn at a breakdown because he just found out someone actually avenged him

emotional reunion. everyone is happy. the end.

[lavenderauthor]

Title: "Kidnapped" by A Teenager by LavenderAuthor, Incomplete (RIP Constantine's Sanity) (16.5k)

Rating: Teen

Fandom: Batman, Danny Phantom

Relationship: Danny Fenton & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Danny Fenton, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Batfamily Members (DCU), Danny Fenton & Frostbite

Summary:  It was supposed to be a simple outing for the various members of the Wayne Family— legality notwithstanding —but then a simple message was sent in the group chat by Jason upon his disappearance's notice: "Going to Doctor's. Might be back by dinner"

Was it sudden? Yes, given he had come to the mall with them, but they tried not to worry. This was Jason, after all. The man probably had "crime lord" business to handle that allowed him an easy out of socializing.

It only became worrying when dinner went by and he was seen walking into a camera's blindside at the mall with a teen but not exiting the mall.

[youling-the-ghost]

mornings with him – a ditch ficlet

Derek found comfort in his strange yet endearing morning routine. word count: 800

A ray of sunlight peeped through the curtains and cascaded itself onto Derek's bed, jolting him awake. The clock on the wall indicated that it was 6 AM. Derek groaned and dragged a hand down his face, cringing at the stubble that covered his chin—he felt like a teenager, all gangly limbs and awkward changes to his body that he hadn't quite grown accustomed to yet. It was comforting, in a way.

Derek sat up—or at least, tried to sit up. He almost succeeded before a pair of arms dragged him back into the bed, snuggling him into the pile of blankets and pillows. Derek let out a muffled cry of protest, but the arms didn't relent.

"Love," Derek said, the words buried in an airy laugh. "I need to make breakfast."

Titch groaned and leaned his body onto Derek's so that there was basically no space between their bodies, nestling his face into Derek's neck.

"Breakfast can wait..." he murmured. "I'm cold."

"It's August," Derek deadpanned. To be honest, he was overheating in Titch's arms and the blankets.

When Titch showed no signs of letting go, Derek sighed and resorted to his contingency plan; he grabbed the arms that held him hostage and pried them open, which proved to be quite a difficult task—despite what his stature might suggest, Titch was incredibly strong.

In the sliver of time that he bought himself, Derek lunged forward and dove out of the bed, landing on the wooden floor with a soft thud.

Titch mumbled some nonsense, incoherent and jumbled by a half-conscious brain, in protest. Derek planted an apologetic kiss on Titch's cheek and ruffled his blonde hair, which had a golden sheen from the sunlight that peeked through the curtains.

Derek snuck one last glance at his lover, whose face smoothed into a tranquil expression as he presumably returned to dreamland, and found himself smiling. He had come a long way, both of them had. It felt like just yesterday when Titch was lighting candle after candle, refusing to sleep until the first crack of dawn peeked through the night.

Derek grimaced at his reflection; his hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was in desperate need of a shave. He patted his hair in a vain attempt to school it, but the pile of curls immediately stuck back out again. Derek sighed in defeat and decided that he'd bother with his rebellious hair some other time, instead shifting his attention to everything else that needed fixing.

Shaving was something that caused Derek intense annoyance and euphoria in the strangest of oxymorons. The act itself was tedious, and if he had the option to, Derek would absolutely choose to never have to pick up a razor again.

But in a way, the razor in his hand and the shaving cream on his face represented progress that he never thought would be possible. It was a symbol of his growth, his comfort in his own body, which was beautiful despite all the tediousness.

Derek flinched as an improperly-angled movement caused a shallow gash across his cheek. He could do without all the blood that he had drawn in the process of learning this strange aspect of manhood, though.

The shaving cream washed off his face with a splash of water and Derek dragged a hand across his now-smooth skin. It felt like velvet between his fingers. Derek smiled. He was proud of himself.

The pink apron was an essential part of the cooking process, and this was only partially a joke.

Strangely enough, all of Derek's best and fluffiest flapjacks were made while he donned the frilly baby pink apron that James got Titch as a joke for Christmas one year. It was a strange phenomenon that was difficult to explain every time someone asked why he was working in the fields while wearing something that looked like it belonged to a Barbie playset.

Lost in thought about aprons, Derek barely noticed the arms that snaked around his waist.

Derek chuckled. "Good morning, love," he said without turning around. "So you finally woke up, huh?"

"Mornin'," Titch mumbled into Derek's shirt.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that the Titch currently clinging onto him like a koala on a eucalyptus tree was the same standoffish, emotionally closed-off Titch that he was first introduced to years ago.

Derek didn't bother shrugging Titch off. He didn't mind the physical contact; he quite enjoyed it, actually. The two stayed like that in silence, with the only noise in the room being the ambient sizzling of the pan and whirring of the range hood.

"I love you," Derek said as he placed a finished flapjack onto a plate.

"Yeah."

Derek knew that it was Titch's way of saying, "I love you too."

[cyraclove]

posting my wips that I’ll probably never get around to writing to free myself of them part 1

untitled high school musical (not the movie) au

“I got it! I got it!”

Eddie turns his head to see Dustin bounding into the black box, a delirious smile on his face. He skids to a stop right in front of the table, chest heaving as he rests his hands on his knees.

“I got it,” he wheezes. “I got…I got it.”

Crossing toward Dustin, Eddie grins as he crouches down to look up at him.

“Breathe, dickhead. You got what? The clap? Heard that’s making the rounds.”

Dustin snorts, coughing out a laugh.

“No, asshole,” he says. “I got the part. I’m Seymour.”

Eddie stands to hook an arm around Dustin’s neck, tugging him into his side as he pulls the brim of his cap over his eyes. Dustin cackles wildly.

“Fuck yeah, you are,” Eddie beams, holding Dustin in a headlock while he tries to wriggle free. “That’s fucking amazing, man.”

Dustin’s hat falls to the floor as he manages to slip out of Eddie’s grip. He shoots him another toothy smile before pulling him into a hug.

“Congrats, kid,” Eddie says as he claps him on the back. “And you thought you bombed that audition.”

“Shit, I really did,” Dustin says, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it. Freshmen never get cast in lead roles.”

A familiar voice comes from the other side of the room.

“They do if they’re right for the part.”

Ms. Shapiro stands in the doorway leading into her office, leaning against the doorframe. A willowy woman fond of flowy scarves and big banana clips, she’s hard to miss.

She peers at Eddie through her green-rimmed glasses as he stares down at his feet, silently hoping that she hasn’t graded his tech theatre exam yet.

The look that she’s giving him tells him that she probably has.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Shapiro,” Dustin grins. “This is, like, a dream role for me. Oh, man. I just…you have no idea.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ms. Shapiro replies with a soft smile. “You gave a great audition. We’re lucky to have you.”

Dustin grins even wider, still flushed and starry-eyed.

There’s a warm tug inside of Eddie’s chest. Precious little bastard. He’s not sure he’s ever seen him this happy, not even after winning a campaign.

“You can come by and pick up your script and libretto whenever you want,” Ms. Shapiro tells Dustin. “First rehearsal is Monday right after last period.”

Nodding, Dustin hoists his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I gotta go call Steve,” he says, turning to Eddie, “but then I’ll be right back to play.”

“Hey, no rush,” Eddie assures him with a lazy wave. “I’m still settin’ up. Go bask in it, Streisand.”

Eddie crosses his arms as he leans against the table, chuckling to himself as Dustin all but sprints out into the hallway.

He and Ms. Shapiro exchange glances.

Expecting her to disappear back into her office, Eddie goes back to busying himself with getting ready for that afternoon’s game. He dares a peek in her direction out of the corner of his eyes.

She’s still there. Just staring at him.

“Sorry for the, uh, noise,” Eddie says with a sheepish chuckle. “Kid just got excited. Dreams coming true and all that.”

Ms. Shapiro hums in agreement but stays right where she is.

“You won’t hear another peep out of me,” Eddie continues, pulling an invisible zipper across his lips. “I mean, uh, until everyone else gets here.”

“I was hoping to have a word with you, actually,” Ms. Shapiro says. “Got a minute?”

Panic crawls down the nape of Eddie’s neck.

“Uh, sure,” he answers, nothing in his head but Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck. “What’s up?”

Ms. Shapiro walks briefly back into her office to take something off of her desk before making her way over to Eddie. She pulls out a chair and takes a seat, placing a crumpled sheet of paper on the table in front of her.

“I have your last exam right here,” she says calmly, sliding it towards him. “I have to say I’m surprised that you even showed up to take it, considering that I’ve marked you absent for almost every class this year.”

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach as he looks down at the exam, a big, fat 27 glaring up at him in red pen. He huffs a laugh, running a hand across the back of his neck.

“I really tanked that one, huh?”

Ms. Shapiro cuts her eyes in his direction.

“Yes. You did.”

She sighs, sitting back against her chair.

“Look, I know that my class is the last period of your day. You’re a senior. And it’s a class that you don’t really care about.”

Guilt sticks in Eddie’s gut like a knife.

“I never said that I don’t—“

“But unless you’d like to be a senior again,” Ms. Shapiro interrupts pointedly, “you have to pass.”

He’d been busting his ass cramming for O’Donnell’s exam that he completely forgot about Shapiro’s. Eddie had walked into her class that day without so much as a pencil.

Eddie’s shoulders slump as he flops into the chair across from her, his face buried into his hands.

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles. “Fuck.”

Ms. Shapiro clears her throat.

“Sorry. Shit.”

“Listen, Eddie. I like you. You’re a bright kid and I don’t want to see you stuck here another year,” Ms. Shapiro starts. “But we just don’t have a lot of time left in the school year, so you don’t have very many opportunities left to make this up.”

She absentmindedly toys with one of the figurines on the table. Eddie clenches his jaw as he resists the urge to snatch it from her hand.

“That’s why I have another option for you,” Ms. Shapiro starts. “Something you can do to fix your grade.”

Eddie studies her closely, eyes narrowing. “Like…extra credit?”

“Sure.”

“What exactly are we taking about, here?”

“I only had three men show up to audition for Little Shop of Horrors,” she explains. “Three. The only one worth listening to was Dustin.”

Ms. Shapiro pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose before tenting her fingers in front of her.

“I had no choice but to cast the other two, but there are four male roles. I’m short one.”

They stare at each other. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“No. No. Nope, not me,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’ve got the wrong guy. There’s no way in hell I’m doing a musical. I don’t sing.”

“You’re in a band, right?”

“I play guitar!”

“Oh. Well, it’s really just talk-singing, anyway.”

“I don’t act!”

“Give me a break,” Ms. Shapiro laughs. “I hear you in here, Eddie.”

“This is dif—“

“This,” Ms. Shapiro cuts in, sweeping her hand over the table, “is acting. And you’re good at it.”

Eddie rakes an anxious hand through his hair.

“Ms. Shapiro, I will do anything,” Eddie pleads, “anything else. You don’t…you don’t want me in your show. Trust me. I’ll f—muck it up.”

“I doubt that.”

Groaning, Eddie runs a hand over his face.

“Please. Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not,” Ms. Shapiro clarifies. “I’m simply giving you an option. It’s this—a guaranteed A in my class—or a failing grade.”

“Are you even allowed to do this? Is this illegal? It feels a little illegal.”

“Like you said, it’s just like extra credit. A lot of extra credit. I’m perfectly within my right to give my students opportunities to improve their grades.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. The last thing he wants is to rot in this pit-stained cesspool for another year because of his grade in an elective.

A fucking musical, though. A singing, dancing, jazz hands-ing onstage spectacle. What better way to draw the unwanted attention of a bunch of brain dead meatheads than to step into a literal spotlight and make an idiot out of himself?

“Ms. Shapiro—“

“Hang on a second,” she says, cutting Eddie off as she goes to stand.

Eddie watches as she rummages around on her desk for something before walking back over to the table. She holds out another sheet of paper, thankfully not a second failed exam.

“What’s this?”

“I thought you might like to look at the cast list before you make your decision,” Ms. Shapiro answers, an unsettlingly pleased smile on her face.

Cocking a brow, Eddie takes it from her.

“I don’t know who else I’d know besides Henderson, but o—“

Eddie chokes on a breath as he stares down at the list, an all too familiar name typed out right beneath Dustin’s. His pulse pounds at his temples, the paper shaking a bit in his hands as he reads it over and over again.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Looking up at Ms. Shapiro, Eddie opens his mouth but no words come out, his tongue like a wet piece of cardboard. He swallows hard.

“I was surprised to see her at auditions,” Ms. Shapiro says as she takes the cast list back from Eddie. “I knew she’d be perfect for Audrey the second she walked in, though.”

Eddie’s blood rushes in his ears, his brain a useless pile of goo. He suddenly finds himself looking down at a thick libretto with the name Orin Scrivello scribbled across the top in black sharpie.

“Totally up to you,” Ms. Shapiro chirps, offering him the book.

After a beat, he takes it from her. It’s like being handed a hammer so that he can pound the final nail into his own coffin.

God, he’s so fucked.

“When’d did you say the first rehearsal is?”

[glitter-stained]

Some of the posts I see here y'all gotta stop seeing fanfics as "bad dc takes". Like, it's perfectly fine to not like a trope that's popular in fanfic, but you gotta stop seeing it as character meta is what I'm saying. Fanfic writers are not canon writers, they do not owe you canon compliant, and you don't get to assume that what they're writing comes from a place of ignorance when there are so many reasons to include/not include something in your fic.

Like, allow me to use my own fics as example since they're the only one I have background info on the knowledge and motivations of the author:

-I wrote a fic with Lazarus Rage in it once. Do I know it's not canon? Absolutely. Do I think it's necessary for the understanding of Jason's character? Not at all, I think canon Jason is more interesting without the pit rage. I just wanted to write it once because it looked cathartic and you know what? It was. It was super cathartic. I wanted to write a story about the progression of a depressive episodes and using pit rage to talk about the feeling of loss of control with intense anger issues and sensation of loss and deep self-hatred afterwards, and i thought writing this is gonna feel good and it felt good, for me and for the readers.

-I'm also currently finishing another fic, in which I've simplified Tim's relationship with Jason's a lot (basically Tim is still haunted by Jason's ghost and Dick is still his favourite Robin but the victim blaming is much less intense and there's an intense, genuine admiration for Jason and happiness to get him back). Is it because I hate canon and its complexity? No, I love it, I love when character relationships are fucked up and they make a mess. I'd love to explore that in a different fic, even have the prompt already. But I'm writing a really intense fic about trauma, taboo and lack of communication around sexual abuse, and there are so many characters pov and things happening and I have to do this right because we're talking about things that happen to real people and not being accidentally insensitive or sending a shit message is more important to me than perfect canon compliance, and it's just not the place for it. This story isn't about tim, and it's not about victim-blaming. It's a fascinating can of worms to open, but I'm not gonna open it if I don't have the space to deal with it because I'm not gonna let worms roam freely all over my fanfic when I can choose not to include the worms in my story, because it might rely on base material but it's still a finite story that exists within its own scope because I'm not a comics writer, I'm a fanfic writer and my story doesn't exist as a pure extension of the comics and I don't owe you canon compliance. And how boring would that be if we could only write canon compliant stuff! No more coffee shop aus, no powers aus, fantasy aus, no more non canon ships between characters that hated eachother until the day they died (but had so much sexual tension)... Fanfic is not one single entity that takes place in a simplified version of the canon universe complete with consistent lukewarm tropes and watered down understanding of characters. Fanfics are rich and diverse and yeah canon compliant is great and i want more of it but the universe is so much wider and that's what makes it rich! Do some people write fanfic and also don't interact with or know canon? Sure, plenty of them. Does that fanfic reflect their opinion of canon? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. You don't know that. In the meantime, people are still creating extra content and enriching the fandom experience and if you don't like it, genuinely, the filter tags button is right there. That's not to say there are no racist or classist or sexist tropes in fanfics, but again that exists within the scope of that story. Bad writing exists in canon, and it exists in fanfics, and sometimes a story is canon compliant with a terrible message and sometimes a story is canon divergent with a terrible message and pushing away everyone who writes things that aren't canon compliant is not going to fix these issues in the dc fandom. Telling people to "not write the character at all if you're going to write them ooc" assumes your understanding of what is essential to the character is perfect and The Right Way to interact with a fandom and it's patronising and not only do you take the risk of looking like a moron the second you make a mistake, it is actual gatekeeping and the reason many people find getting into comics/fandom intimidating in the first place. (And it also shits on the potential of AUs like dark reflections, mafia etc. Of course Mafia Bruce who kills people is deeply ooc. These stories are still fun and it's not wrong to write them!)

"This story really should have addressed that thing that happens in canon" did it happen in the setting of the fic? No? Then shut up and let the fic tell its own story, it doesn't have to "address" anything it doesn't have space for. Again, don't like don't read is a thing. Fanfic enriches the fandom, it doesn't take away from it, but you know what can? Canon writing. I'm way more concerned with what dc is having batman represent nowadays than with fanfic I haven't read because I knew I wouldn't like it.

TLDR: It's understandable to be upset when people who don't interact with canon material at all try to assert their opinion on canon as the truth, especially if they call any attempt at disagreeing with the mischaracterization gatekeeping, but that doesn't make you immune to being a gatekeeper. Assuming you know a writer's knowledge and opinions on a character because of that one fic of them is naive and a misunderstanding of what fanfic is. Fanfic writers are still real people who give you cool stuff for free and you don't have to like it but you still have to be respectful about it, and all that negative energy you spend on rants about "bad character and" you've read in fanfics would be so much better spent on bad canon writing because these people do have the power to fuck your favourite character over and they do owe you canon compliance, and with the amount of effort some fanfic writers put into their fics compared to some of the writers who get payed to write canon, you guys could stand to be more respectful about fanfics.

[agent-44mc]

ATTENTION RARIJACK SHIPPERS!

i have written a 30,000 word rarijack human au fic where Rarity moves back to town after having a traumatic experience with fame (she was a famous designer) and she stays on the Apple family farm. no spoilers but theres only one bed. also enemies to lovers because of course. anyways.

it may be the best thing you've ever read or the absolute worst but we don't like that scenario and i'm working on self-confidence.

that's all. heres the links. go crazy.

(you might want to save bc im deleted this tumblr post soon)

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Astarion x Tav

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

request: for @aristenfromwarsaw

Fangtastic days of our lives

➹summary: a comforting day/evening in the life of Astarion and his love Aristen after post-game settling down, takes an unexpected turn as Astarion while enjoying his new found life and love, sees something of interest…

➹pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Aristen by @aristenfromwarsaw)

➹content/tags: fluff, comfort, romance, smuty flirting, fun, slice of life, little tiny bit of angst and guilt

➹word count: 5,036

➹cameos: @evander-jane Devana Lysander @alpydk Ragnar @goromimii @pinkberrytea (by order)

➹a/n: another belated birthday present for @aristenfromwarsaw  Thank you very much for all the great photoshoots you always did for me, just like that. Such things really fill my heart with joy. I hope you like it. Thank you for trusting me with your Tav Aristen. I take writing other OCs really serious, because an OC is very personal thing and it is way harder to get them in character. I used the infos/backstory you gave me once about Aristen for the best I could.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

Fangtastic days of our lives

Teak, mahogany, oakwood, dried tobacco with the hidden essence of vanilla. From somewhere the sweetness of honey and roasted nutmeg.

These were impressions of antique wood, boiling kettles, clanging beer mugs and laughing voices that filled the Elfsong tavern.

It was like a honey-colored, subterranean, starless sea.

A sea of ​​people, scents, voices and music.

A sea of ​​life that would envelop the coming evening when the sun would have completely disappeared, making way for the aurora again after the starry night.

Astarion was acutely aware of his surroundings. Perception meant survival.

But not today…not anymore.

He could simply explore and enjoy his surroundings while he waited for his beloved:

Aristen the storm sorceress and former daughter of Bhaal. She was able to walk in the sun and as a vampire spawn he had to wait until the sun had made the rays that were fatal to him disappear.

That didn't matter to Astarion. He was used to the night.

But he never wanted to go back to that cold, lonely life.

The Sorceress, along with the other companions, had freed him from slavery once and for all. But it was she alone who had given him back the vision of his eyes, of his entire senses. Astarion could sit in the tavern and just be, taking in the surroundings of life.

No more looking for victims. No more fear. Never again.

The Elfsong Tavern was full of life and he was part of it.

So after hundreds of years, Astarion could finally taste life again. See it. Hearing it with his pointy ears and feeling and smelling it warmly with the scent of pumpkin, butterscotch and spicy beer.

A quite pretty bard with white freckly tattoos on her face and braided crimson hair beneath her Tiefling horns played the lyre on the Elfsong stage. Astarion noticed dagger-shaped earrings on her pointed ears. The Avernus fire of her origins blazed in her blue eyes as she sang:

“Empty kisses, shallow words,

Fiery passion only hurts

When the sorrow takes an oblivion hint

Will you cure and begone with the wind…”

Astarion continued to look around while the sadly whispering voice reached his elf ears.

“I hope someone sings a song like that for me too. Such expressions of love really manage to make me weak,” sighed a tall black-haired woman, whose face bore at least as many tales of adventure as freckles.

"Me too. But I really hope that the ballad has a happy ending,” replied a long-haired beauty at her table. The human woman's wavy, light hair framed a gentle face with captivating blue eyes.

“Oh you heard that? Oh no! ", the adventuress, ashamed, put her hands on her head with her side-braided hair and covered cringing with embarrassment one of the green eyes. "I should stop talking loudly to myself."

The other woman laughed a little and her wavy hair swayed on the shoulders of the long, light dress with floral embroidery: “It’s all good. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She winked briefly.

“But tell me…” she took her hands away from her face with the little different eyes, “…you’re not from Baldur’s Gate either, right? You also speak with a different accent than me.”

"Correct. I come from the East..."

“What did she say? Sêlune guide me?”

Astarion was distracted by an almost desperate voice that sounded at least as concentrated and angry as it was beer-soaked.

He saw a barbarian sitting at the next table, holding his beer mug almost too tightly.

The raised dark blonde hair did not distract from the piercings and black war paint, which Lae'zel would certainly have approved of.

“Okay, can I memorize this Sêlune prayer or not?” he muttered to himself and downed the beer in one gulp.

Astarion had seen him before and that evening he had stared at Shadowheart the whole time. Was the barbarian building up – or drinking up - the courage to speak to Shadowheart next time?

The vampire was distracted from the barbarian when a pale woman walked past his table accompanied by a brown-haired man. He noticed them because they both had scars on their faces. But no, that wasn't it at all. Something else drew his attention to them...they smelled somehow, almost reeked of...swamp? No magic.

That same hidden scent of feymagic that came from the black haired adventuress with the freckles.

The woman's pale face was friendly, almost cheerful. She enjoyed the music and the sad ballad. Did she know the feelings and sad love that the Tiefling woman sang about?

Astarion was all the more struck by the face of the dark-clothed man with the scarred hands who accompanied her: he was rigid and joyless and his eyes had an almost malicious shimmer. He didn't seem to suit her. He walked rigidly like an aristocrat or a trained soldier, or was he rigid because of the blade - that was clearly visible to the Rogue - that he wore under his clothes?

The man's gaze fell on the bard's dagger earrings. But not only the brown-haired human looked at the earrings, but also a white-skinned, tall elf who walked behind him. Astarion didn't know what was more noticeable: his large deadly sword, the long white hair, the black tattoos on his face, or...or the earrings in the shape of a dagger that hung from his ears.

He nodded almost imperceptibly to the bard and she returned his nod briefly.

Frowning, Astarion averted his gaze and looked around the taproom.

Many of the guests listened attentively to the ballad. Couples in love held each other tightly and some wiped a tear from their face.

“…in the dark of the night I see your tears

Rubies glisten full of pain

Rage and misery

Don’t get lost in brandy, bergamot and rosemary”

The ballad finished gently and the bard stood up.

"Thanks! And now for the bard duet!”

With a wave of her hand, she invited her partner onto the stage.

Wild white hair adorned the scarred drow face. It looked like survival for Astarion.

She could be young and old at the same time, that's how it was always with the elves. Young pretty faces and centuries behind them. Sorrow, suffering, joy. Everything was possible.

The narrow waist with the subsequent curved hips and thighs with short pants was adorned with a weapon belt with a sword and a flute.

The skilled hand whirled out a shiny silver flute and the duo began to play:

„Two bards do the trick, because bards do it better

Drow or Tiefling, it doesn’t matter

Shiny white hair, or wagging tail

Their persuasion will never fail“

They quickly changed the melancholic mood and the silver flute had a captivating sound, as if it were a homage to a goddess.

“One plays the flute, the other smashes lutes

Buy us a drink and we’ll tell you who is who“

A Tiefling whose rosé colored hair matched her white pink frilly clothing cheered enthusiastically to the tavern song.

Astarion heard her applaud with a giggling laugh. Cute little laughs with a sweet smile upon her light face.

It was that kind of sweet laugh that told the vampire how innocent, unspoiled, kind and naive the person was.

Yes, the delicate Tiefling woman was a sweet, innocent thing, Astarion could tell that with just a sideways glance of his red eyes. The sweet and naive kind of girl that immediately fell for him. Who he easily ensnared and seduced for Cazador. Or was she one of the people he would have avoided because they were so naive...innocent, undeserving of it? He would probably have avoided her if possible because such a sweet, lovely person didn't deserve to fall victim to the vampires.

Astarion closed his eyes briefly and grimaced at the emerging memories that he immediately wanted to repress.

Thanks to his beloved Aristen, he no longer had to do this.

He was free.

Cazador dead.

All of Baldur's Gate saved, saved from the Empire of the Netherbrain and the Mind Flayers.

Yes, thanks to the blonde adventuress whose fate was forever intertwined with his and all her other companions, he had escaped his fate as a slave. Their courage and their determination, with the help of the other fighters, allowed him to defeat Cazador.

But not only that, the storm sorceress had also given him love and patience. And the confidence to be better than Cazador. He didn't need blood-soaked, soul-eating power to be safe, to be worth anything.

Astarion would never have to hurt innocent people against his will again.

All thanks to her.

And yet Aristen did not consider herself to be good, nor to be lovable.

She loathed herself for her actions as a born Bhaalspawn, which she only dimly remembered. No one could hate her more than she hates herself.

And perhaps it was even worse for her, imagining every day what atrocities she had committed in the name of the God of Murder instead of knowing for sure.

She didn't see herself as a lovable hero, a savior. Astarion wished so much that she could see herself through his eyes just once. Then she would finally forgive herself.

The problem was that the sarcastic vampire had never said that to her and perhaps never would. There would always be something gnawing inside him, at his battered heart, that would prevent him from casually revealing his innermost, deepest feelings. What if he did lose her to someone else one day?  If it would not be an arrow or observer to steal her from him? How could he then pretend that his vain heart had not been destroyed for all eternity?

Darkness crossed Astarion's face at all the thoughts and he shook his head with his white curls to drive them away.

Once again he let his gaze wander over the audience, while his pointy elven ears only casually listened to the singing of the bards. It was only thanks to his beloved Aristen that he was able to recognize the diversity of the guests gathered. To be recognized again.

It had once been a faceless mass. At some point, after all the years of slavery under Cazador, the people in the taverns had become nothing more than a uniform mush to him. Victims, cattle like sheep, to his master. Criminals who hurt him and whom he hurt in return and they became victims of the vampire lord.

Dark, blank faces.

Without eyes, without soul. Just like Astarion himself had felt.

But after Aristen came into his life - with the craziest tentacle adventure of his life - everything had gradually changed.

First he recognized her blue eyes, then her face. The smile of her lips plagued by guilt and bloody ghosts of the past. The same smile as his own.

Then he saw all the faces, the people, their stories and lives again.

He saw the colors. The differences and the similarities. He heard the voices, the laughter, the music. He noticed the scents and smells again. Astarion saw joy and life again.

A scent that stood out from the rest of the tavern's smells suddenly tickled Astarion's nose.

Orchid drifted discreetly from the front door.

A slightly tickling shiver ran over the tips of his elf ears, while Astarion was already peering towards the door with large, round eyes.

Like the true epiphany she was, a blonde woman made her way through the elven song. Her appearance truly stood out from the rest of the tavern's audience:

Her delicately pinned hair and a ladylike, sweeping blue dress made her truly look like a lady of name and rank.

Astarion smiled as he looked at Aristen's appearance.

She always made an effort to look chic and beautiful, no matter what the circumstances. Like a true lady who belonged in a ballroom and not a tavern.

A ballroom, not a bhaalroom.

But Aristen loved all facets of life and also sat in the meadow under a tree in the forest with her fancy dress on.

If Astarion had his way, then very soon she would be pressed into the grass beneath him with the dress rumpled.

He chuckled dirtyly to himself as he couldn't help but think of that thought. And before he even thought about the first visit to his grave together, he shook his head and pushed it all away from his white curls.

"Darling..." Astarion stood up after Aristen made her way to him, having spotted him with a smile beaming with joy, "...you give me all sorts of ideas as always."

“What do you mean?” the high elf asked in surprise and blinked in confusion because she couldn’t follow him.

“Nevermind little love,” Astarion grinned mischievously and briefly kissed her delicate hand in greeting. He gently stroked Aristen's hand again as he slowly lowered it.

“The sun has already set enough for you to go out, Astarion,” his lover informed him. She would pick him up when it was safe for him outside.

"I've already run errands from a few merchants," Aristen spoke as the two left the tavern.

"Nice. Then we can now buy the rest together. Have you got everything so far?” asked Astarion.

The blonde nodded as they stepped outside.

Astarion sucked the air outside the elfsong into his lungs. Had breathing changed since he became a vampire? After all, he was undead.

Astarion didn't know. He couldn't remember, it had been too long.

In addition, the past no longer counted - smiling, he glanced furtively at Aristen who was carrying the basket with the purchases - only the present and the future counted.

“Yes, I did the grocery shopping that wasn’t of interest to you,” the blonde laughed and winked knowingly. “There was wonderful blossom honey, I couldn't resist,” enthused the sorceress, rolling her eyes heavenly at the thought of it and licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of the honey.

“Then I can taste it from your lips and tongue,” Astarion whispered seductively.

"What?"

“Oh, nothing…” the pale elf just grinned again.

His pointed ears were suddenly tickled by the brush of her lips as she leaned in very close to him.

“I heard you very well, my dear,” she whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling meaningfully at him after she leaned back and gave him a knowing smile.

The vampire laughed. It was a serious laugh. It went from its sonorous, seductive, dirty murmur to a deep rumble before dying out in a high-pitched spike.

“I saw such a beautiful pair of earrings in the window at the Glitter Gala,” sighed Aristen languidly after she continued the story.

“So why didn’t you buy it, darling?”

Aristen shook her head: “Because it’s not necessary. I prefer to save our money for important things. After all, magical artifacts are expensive and the most important thing is that we find something that makes you immune to the sun.”

Yes, that was the ambition and current mission of Aristen and Astarion: to find a way for the vampire spawn to walk in the sun again.

Their friends also kept their ears and eyes open.

Gale read every book that might contain useful information.

Shadowheart, as well as Lae'zel on her travels through the astral planes, always sent them messages when they heard about mysterious artifacts.

And Halsin and Jaheira also reached out to all their acquaintances from near and far.

"If you hadn't used so much of our gold to rebuild the city and help its people, then you could afford any jewelry you wanted," Astarion nudged her with his shoulder and winked knowingly. The slightly accusatory tone was just an act.

“You know I wanted to try to somehow make amends for my actions when I was under Bhaal's control. This will never work, I know that. I can't bring back the people I killed. But I can at least try to help those left behind. It's too little. It’s no consolation…but at least it’s something.”

There was sadness in the blonde's voice. The look in her blue eyes was sincere before they slid slightly to the ground.

Astarion didn't like that, so he decided to cover up the whole thing: "I don't know what you're doing with this penance and compensation anyway."

He casually folded his arms behind his head and sounded as indifferent as he could.

“But…” he grinned playfully at the blonde Sorceress, “we could visit The Counting House again with Minsc. Then we have enough money to play benefactors and buy jewelry and beautiful clothes.”

Aristen raised an eyebrow with an amused grin: "You want to volunteer to do something with Minsc, really?"

“Now that you mention it…argh…better not. You may find him amusing, but he's always bursting in to chatter about his hamster at the most inopportune times. The guard almost caught me picking the lock of the Tabernacle when he suddenly stood loudly behind me, screaming my name and his hug almost broke every bone in my body.”

“What did you want at the Stormshore Tabernacle outside of opening hours?” Aristen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing!” Astarion quickly dismissed the topic. Too fast.

“What’s next on the list for today?”

“We really have to go to the Devil's Fee. It has finally opened since the devastating battle against the Netherbrain and the reprocessing. If there are special artifacts or information about them anywhere, it’s there!”

Astarion nodded eagerly and the two elves walked quickly through the streets of Baldur's Gate.

"Oh no! No no no!” Helsik shouted from afar as her eyes saw Aristen.

The Sorceress blinked in confusion at the violent reaction and she looked around to see if anyone else was behind her, as the shopkeeper thought she might be.

“Not you!”

"I? But…"

“Nothing but!” Helsik cut her off. “After last time, I already told you that it was too hot to be seen with you and that the store was off limits for now. After the fuss you caused with your little friend and the black-haired fuzzy head.”

Astarion grinned briefly. He knew exactly who the saleswoman was talking about. After all, they had learned of Bhaal's daughter's past and how she had been involved in the Grand Design.

“I have new business partners, so I don’t need loud attention, after all, hell operates quietly.”

“We don’t want to cause any problems, I swear!”

The vampire let his eyes wander over the lavish and devilishly mysterious display while Aristen soothed Helsik.

“We just want to buy an artifact or information. Nothing improper, nothing complicated, nothing dangerous. Just good old Mammon.”

“Child, you will never have as much gold as I want from you so that I can burn my fingers again because of you.”

"Are you sure? I'll pay any price...whether it's gold or otherwise. We're just looking for a way to break the vampire curse of being vulnerable to the sun. Please."

Helsik laughed briefly, compassionately, not maliciously: “Deary, at the Devil’s Fee we don’t break curses, it’s more about the other way. That should be clear to you from the name.”

“My Love…” Astarion slowly tore his eyes away from the display cases and stood next to Aristen again, “…let me talk to her. I think I can convince them better with less…emotional involvement based on old stories.”

“Are you sure?” Aristen asked, unconvinced.

“Of course, baby…” he was already pushed the Sorceress toward the exit, “…you go do the other errands in the meantime and leave this to me.”

Aristen left the devilish business and made her way to the large square of the lower city wall. She visited the arms dealers and her thoughts continued to dwell on the fact that if even devils couldn't find a way to free Astarion from his curse, who would?

She would never give up hope. Anyway, Helsik was probably right: if it was about help, then hell wouldn't be a good negotiating partner.

Maybe they should trust in nature, magic and clerics. The gods may not have heard Astarion then, but perhaps they could now request divine intervention?

The vampire could walk in the light of the Moon Maiden, perhaps Dame Aylin and Shadowheart could ask even more of Sêlune. Maybe she could expand her moonlight.

Perhaps…

“STOP IMMEDIATELY!”

Aristen was snapped out of her thoughts and the blacksmith who was stationed across from Sorcerous Sundries just handed her back Astarion's freshly sharpened dagger.

“COME BACK IMMEDIATELY!”

From the direction of the Devil's fee came rumbling, loud voices and, above all, lightning and sparks.

“Stop the criminal scum!” shouted a city guard. “Subject, let him stand still!”

“Where for?”

“That way!”

“Or rather there?”

“I thought I saw something in that direction…”

“Then I here, you there,” the steel armored guards rumbled.

The clatter of steel armor slowly faded from the blonde Sorceress's ears, but a perfume that differed from her own scent of orchid and rose reached her nose.

Aristen smelled cherries, musk, palmarosa, black pepper and…

“Does this belong to you, little mouse?”

…sulfur.

Raphael's slightly tanned complexion stood before her. His brown hair was done to perfection with meticulous work, as were his clothes. Large, sparkling brown eyes regarded her, both sublime and mischievous.

The devil in human disguise had the white-haired vampire in tow, holding him by the collar like a naughty schoolboy.

"Raphael..."

“So you still know my name. Ah…very good. Tell the wizard of yours that too. Hopefully he’s still looking for my crown?”

Aristen nodded: “We defeat the brain. The crown will then be at your disposal. That’s how it was settled.”

“Excuse me…” the vampire groused

The devil released Astarion, who grumbled and moved his shoulders.

“Stealing from a shop that has connections straight to hell, very very naughty.”

As was his style, Raphael moved his hands theatrically while his voice whispered mellifluously. The reprimand was more than just played as amusing.

“Anyway, you were there in vain. There is nothing to buy there that could solve the vampire's little “problem”. Otherwise they would all be walking around here freely in the sunlight. Or not?”

The devil made a sweeping gesture and looked around ostentatiously before laughing.

“I'll talk to Helsik and smooth things over, after all you don't sleep well in unmade beds like in clover. But tell your magician that it is my crown. When he finds it, he has agreed to hand it over to me immediately. Not to Mystra and he certainly shouldn’t get the foolish idea of ​​using it himself.”

“He is not my magician,” Aristen clarified briefly, “Gale belongs to no one but himself. Mystra also has nothing to command him.”

“Does he see it that way too? Or does he like to be walked on a leash? He always just does what others tell him. After all, his own decisions are the stupidest I've ever seen...and I've literally seen it all."

“You mean as stupid as wanting to rule the crown of Karsus?”

“Haha…careful, little mouse,” laughed Raphael. “Just make sure I get the crown as quickly as possible.”

“When Gale finds it, you get the crown. That was the deal. We stick to that. But you'll have to be patient. It wasn't intended that the crown and the stones would be lost again, but it was hard to prevent it when the Netherbrain fell into the sea during the fight."

“I'm surprised you're so relaxed about this. You can't put me on a leash as easily as you can put the vampire spawn on a leash. Or was it rather the other way around and you Astarion put the former Bhaalspawn on a docile short leash?”

Mischief sparkled in the brown eyes of the human-shaped Cambion. There was a subtle, biting, malicious provocation in his words, which he spoke with a sonorous purr, as always.

Astarion's face contorted a little and the vampire barely suppressed a roll of his ruby-colored eyes. For a moment he seemed like a disgruntled cat.

"I think I liked you better when you just rhymed all the time," Astarion replied sassy.

Raphael laughed briefly, unimpressed: “Whatever. Less dawdling and making long fingers, but more diving for the crown,” reprimanded the devil with a raised eyebrow.

The devil wrinkled his nose slightly at the vampire spawn before turning back to Aristen and giving her his full attention.

“By the way, greetings from your fiery friend Karlach and her rapier-wielding colleague Wyll Ravengard.”

“Why are you ordering greetings from Karlach and Wyll? Have you met them?”

“Well, those two made themselves quite a name all around Avernus,” Raphael smiled in his smug way, “furthermore, I greatly welcome their actions against Zariel’s forces.”

He made one of his swinging hand movements with his manicured fingers: “I would like to invite you all to my House of Hope to linger, relax and chat. So you can catch up. You know, the Crown of Karsus is the key that grants you access. And until that happens…fare thee well, little mouse. I hope I will see you soon, knocking on the door of my house.”

As was his style, Raphael bowed expansively and his scent of leather, cedar, lily, rose, oud, vanilla and sandalwood disappeared into a swirl of sparks and sulphur.

“He hasn’t forgotten his flair for great performances. I don't know whether I should admire it or whether he's starting to get on my nerves with it," Astarion sighed briefly before straightening his shoulders and straightening his doublet with a quick tug.

"Anyways..." the vampire turned to another topic, "...I think it would be a good idea if we get out of the immediate area while the city guards are wandering around here."

The elf touched Aristen's elbow to encourage her to leave.

“What did you want to take from the store anyway, in the first place?” Aristen wanted to know from Astarion, curious and skeptical.

“Well…” he started to press and scratched the back of his white curls, “…I saw something…”

"And what was so terribly interesting that you would risk to be arrested by the Flaming Fist?"

“Well...it reminded me of you...and...I thought you should have it. But Helsik is really a cutthroat bitch with exorbitant prices.”

Aristen smiled good-naturedly: “Oh Astarion…”

“However…here…”

The vampire held out a white silk scarf to the storm sorceress.

Aristen's eyes widened. You could see from the shimmer and the way the fabric fell that it wasn't just silk that was woven there. It was definitely the weave itself and more that was at work there. Depending on how it fell and how you moved it, a golden blue shimmered.

“The scarf reminded me of the one you told me about. You know, the scarf with your name on it that you were found wearing as a baby in the Bhaal Temple. It’s one of the few memories you have left.”

The vampire took out a borealis blue thread from his pocket and began to embroider “Aristen” into the scarf.

“I wanted you to have something that you could never lose, that could never be destroyed, that had your name on it. Because if something ever happened again that made you forget...that made you forget yourself, at least you would always have your name with you. Then you know that you are Aristen. Not the daughter of the murder god. Not the chosen one of Bhaal. No Bhaalspawn. Just you. You are Aristen.”

The vampire began to embroider an “&” sign into the scarf.

“And well…” Astarion began to shuffle uncomfortably again and focused entirely on his work so that he didn’t have to look his lover in the eyes, “…if you ever forget something again, then you’ll know that we belong together. I don't want you to ever forget me. And so you also always carry my name with you.”

The vampire finished his work and the white scarf now embroidered with new memories read: "Aristen & Astarion"

“There is nothing in the world that would ever make me forget you, Astarion,” the high elf spoke softly.

She closed the distance between the two of them and kissed Astarion. The elf slowly closed his eyes as their lips met. His cool, hers warm. He felt her breathing life into him as they kissed.

"Thank you so much," the blonde said after they pulled away from each other, "you can't imagine how much this means to me. I love you, Astarion."

Aristen held the silky, white and blue scarf in her hands, stroked the pale elf's blue embroidery and smiled. "I think this used to be the color of your eyes too."

She smiled softly, as soft as the silky fabric of the scarf felt on her soft hands. Hands too soft for the crimes they had probably committed earlier in the name of Bhaal. In a previous life.

Aristen raised her eyes, which were also blue, and caught Astarion by surprise. Speechless.

That rarely happened.

Very rarely did the vampire find himself without words.

“Ah, I…” he took a breath to say something, but he lacked a suitable response, so he could only hold his breath, taken aback.

The gentle look in his lover's eyes and her words had triggered something in Astarion that he still couldn't handle: affection, sincere love.

Towards him and in his own heart.

The white-haired vampire exhaled and smiled just as gently at his beloved Aristen.

He reached out his cool hand to her and placed it against her rosy cheek. The blonde nestled herself a little in the vampire's hand and her gaze lingered lovingly in Astarion's now ruby-colored eyes.

“You never stop surprising me,” his whispering voice sounded sincere and just as genuine was the smile he continued to give her.

It was a smile that acknowledged how happy he was, partly surprised, partly just realizing that he wasn't really surprised anymore. And perhaps that was what surprised Astarion the most.

It was a day like any other.

A day like any other.

One day in the rest of their life.

Their life together.

And it was beautiful.

And he would never want it any other way.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

➹a/n: i just gave my own Tav Saulus a little cameo guest appearance  😉 in the style of AU I also inserted aristenfromwarsaws other OC Devana, like a little, what are all the other tavs doing when not being the main character

the great Tavs of my lovely mutuals also did a tiny cameo:

Nala Hartwick of @evander-jane

Thomas Rosewood and Nana of @alpydk

Lovely Vierith of @goromimii jamming with my Saulus, best bardic duo

Mavka of @pinkberrytea

I hope I did the slice of life good justice and you all could taste, feel, smell, hear the life through all the description of scents, etc.

[joker-and-the-queen]

i think fanfictions should have little dedications at the beginning like books do. ₊⊹ 💌 ₊˚

i think that would be so sweet.

[goosecastle41]

Been watching the campaign Icebound from Legends of Avantris and I’m so normal about Skrimm Stabbaskotch. Might write some things later.

[serenescribe]

Day 5 of ficlet requests~

Do you like time travel shenanigans? I hope you do because uh oh! General Vanrouge is in the present!

What’s that? His friends child is here, at NRC? Weird. Baul has a HALF HUMAN GRANDCHILD? Weirder. There’s himself with a *human* who he’s speaking to so casually and kindly? UNACCEPTABLEEEEE

[✐] ficlet frenzy

As of a week ago, all NRC students have been barred from entering the woods behind campus. All except a select few, at least — namely a select number of students from Diasomnia, of which the group includes its housewarden, vice-housewarden, and a few others.

The reason for this? Well, it was astoundingly obvious to anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear with. A week ago, there had been quite the explosive commotion, a spell gone horribly wrong. And what had entailed but utter chaos, and the sight of a much-younger Lilia Vanrouge rampaging around campus grounds?

Any attempts to quell the man’s panic and rage fell utterly flat, his scathing words striking fear into the hearts of countless students — from the meek and introverted of Ignihyde, venturing out to survey the commotion, to the bold and brash of Savanaclaw, who’d actively picked a fight with what they perceived as an easy target.

That, in the words of the older Lilia Vanrouge, his ancient age now revealed to the students around him, was “a horrible, senseless idea.”

“Are you sure you’d like me to accompany you today, Father?” Silver cannot help but voice his concerns as he trails after Lilia, the two of them winding through campus grounds, making a beeline for the throng of woodland behind the school.

“Why do you say that, hm?”

His brows knit together. “It’s just… the General—” as he’d learnt to call him, a way to differentiate the two, “—does not seem fond of me in the slightest. Would it not be more prudent for Lord Malleus to follow, given how he is the only one he can tolerate?”

At that, his father merely laughs. “Well he’s going to have to get used to you someday, dear!”

There’s a fire going in the woods, contained by a thick circle of magic, constantly crackling and never growing nor dissipating. The figure seated near it glances up as the two of them approach, and Silver feels his throat dry at the sight of those cold eyes, the same crimson of his father yet lacking the warmth that has been there throughout all of Silver’s life. Not for the first time, he wonders what must have gone on in the past to warrant such callous coolness from his father’s younger self. To a similar extent, Silver wonders what must have occurred to mellow him out into the man he is today; together, they are like night and day.

“Good day, little me!” Lilia greets, beaming cheerily even as his younger self’s lips curl into a frown. Dumping the basket that has been swaying from his arm onto the ground, Silver’s father rests his hands on his hips, merry as ever as the General eyes the basket warily. “It’s merely a peace offering,” he explains, when still regarded with suspicion. Lilia arches an eyebrow. “Do I truly look like the kind of person to poison my younger self?”

“If you feel anything like I do towards you, you would.”

Silver grimaces, but Lilia only laughs. “Oh, you! I do forget how serious I acted back then…” Still, he gestures at the basket, at the cloth covering it. “Why not take a gander, hm? I guarantee you that you’re certain to enjoy what I’ve brought.”

Different as the General may be — cold and dismissive towards Silver, outright startled and disbelieving towards Sebek’s entire existence, constantly annoyed and frustrated by his older self, and only ever satiated by being around Malleus — there certainly are some things that remain the same. Silver recognises this well when the General slowly pulls off the cloth covering to reveal, to Silver’s utter horror, a heaping pile of rodents and lizards.

“See?” Lilia preens, smug and satisfied at the sight of his gobsmacked younger self. “I told you you’d enjoy it!”

Abruptly, Silver turns to shuffle away, to escape from this forested clearing where the General has made his home before he can get roped into this.

If there was anything else he wishes changed over hundreds of years… it would definitely have to be his father’s… acquired taste in what he considers food.

[bravo4iscool]

simon riley witnesses a terror attack

this randomly came to my mind and i though i’d share it with you lol.

this is only a headcanon (!!), i won’t force anyone to believe this and i’m well aware that he’s fictional (since i’ve got so much shit for my last ghost headcanon😍)

this is inspired by the story of “obi wan nairobi”. in 2019 christian craighead, a SAS-operator stationed in kenia, witnessed a terror attack in kenia and decided to act before the police arrived. he had his gear with him, neutralized two of five terrorists and saved multiple civilians.

(masterlist)

if there would ever be a (terror) attack or a hostage taking, in public, while simon “ghost” riley is off duty and he’d witness it, that man would drop every fucking thing, rush to his car (he’s keeping his gear there. you never know) and he would walk into that bloody building like he’s fucking immortal, eliminating threat after threat.

precise shots and inaudible footsteps. this man is almost floating through the building, becoming one with his callsign. he’s becoming a ghost.

his vest is stacked with grenades and rifle magazines, the hand gun strapped to his leg as good as weightless.

adrenaline is pumping through his veins but his head is clear. he saves hostage after hostage, tugging them behind him and urging them to just run. he’d be extra careful with kids, talking to them to assure them that the man with the scary skull mask is actually there to safe and not hurt them.

by the time the police arrived almost every hostage is safely outside and the threat eliminated.

but before anyone can identity the SAS-operator who saved all those people and neutralized the threat Ghost is already gone, walking past the crime scene without his mask. He stands behind the striped police tape and listens to one of the hostages telling a police officer about the skulled ghost who saved them.

simon can’t help but smirk at that.