#THEY CUT OUT THE 'what are you? an acorn' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

precious-little-scoundrel · 3 months

Text

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

#masters of the air #callum turner #john egan #Major John Egan #Bucky Egan x reader #callum turner x reader #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #Bucky Egan #mine #archive

317 notes · View notes

colliholly · 3 months

Text

Clover and her favorite 9' tall chainsaw robot

Finally got around to typing up Clover's backstory and how they met. Putting it under the cut for those of you who want to read the Clover and Chip lore :)

Clover is a reindeer Toon from Acorn Acres! She initially worked at Deer and Doe Construction Co. on Walnut Way as a project manager. The enormous logging company that moved in down the street piqued her interest (it's a little hard to miss, after all) and especially the large chainsaw-wielding Cog that works inside it. She noticed Toons frequently entering it and what sounded like battles raging on inside, and that same chainsaw Cog later coming out looking exhausted.

Clover, who had always been a little more than fascinated by the Cogs, was determined to get to know him better. Meanwhile, Chip was at a point where his job had exhausted him enough that he (albeit extremely reluctantly) allowed Clover to talk to him. Perhaps it was a mix of his changing thoughts on Toons, his questioning loyalty towards the company he works for, and a combination of frustrated rebellion and morbid curiosity. Very slowly over time, they opened up to one another, realizing they have more in common than they thought regarding their feelings about work and business. To Chip’s surprise, Clover eventually asked if he had any job positions open at the Logging Co. Having worked in both management and with lumber, she made for a surprisingly good fit at the company.

Being one of the highest ranking and most trustworthy (to their knowledge at least) employees at the company, it didn’t take a ton of convincing from Chip in order to get Clover hired. Clover currently works as a co-manager at CTTC Logging Co. and works alongside Chip, helping him with his managerial duties. The way the Cogs see it, she can help provide some intel on the Toons. She usually just helps out with paperwork and helping the logging company run smoothly, though. They even gave Clover her own suit name - Paperboy.

With Clover on board helping take some of the stress off him, Chip seems to have mellowed out just a tad. Of course, the override still looms over both of them, but miraculously has not occurred when Clover’s in the room with him… at least not yet. When an override does occur elsewhere, Clover helps him fill in the gaps in his memory.

Chip also appreciates that he can wholeheartedly talk to her about his work, one of his biggest interests. While Chip enjoys talking to Spruce of course, Spruce is much different in terms of personality. Some of his values differ (he “does not fit into an office environment” as mentioned in his interview, lol.) As a result, some of what Chip talks about with Spruce gets a little lost on him. He appreciates that Clover shares his interests, especially since they work in the same office and can relate and fully understand him. It makes him feel his work is more appreciated, too. <3

#toontown #corporate clash #chainsaw consultant #chip revvington #clover hulahooves #fanart #toonblr #toon tag #deerforestation #ttcc

371 notes · View notes

cleolinda · 7 months

Text

I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

#part one of two #me for some reason #story time with cleo #tl;dr my childhood home was fucked up and I was hilariously unbothered about it #insects cw #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #first look on patreon

239 notes · View notes

phoenix--flying · 1 year

Text

pjo characters as things my friend group has said

Hazel: I just kinda radiate towards caves

Nico: Breathing has been taken out of Nicos software

Connor: I can speedrun to your house when you're home alone

Cecil: raisins are dehydrated rats

Percy: It's a roller coaster where the only option is to die

Will: I just goooot- my jugular sliced open by a cat

Nico: We're going out tonight and killing all the homophobes. Call it a date

Will: Why am I so much taller then- Oh its cause im standing on a dead body

Connor: You're sooo welcome. I literally did nothing

Hazel: Just because your trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's called a trash can not a trash cannot

Piper: Cut my hair, I'll cut your throat

Thalia: Sometimes I do slap kids

Travis: When I grow up I'm gonna be a legal drug dealer

Beckendorf: I’m going to drop kick myself into space

Malcom: Briefly describe three applications that make use of the total eternal reflection of light Connor: The colour seven

Grover: Percys reaching old age, we should put him in a retirement home

Piper: Leo what did you do Leo: I may have burned down an orphanage and it may have spread to this site.

Lou Ellen: Travelling, usually done on the ceiling

Will: Imagine sitting on your couch watching TV and your phone buzzes. Reminder: Breathe

Austin: i just broke an acorn.. panic whY IS THERE AN ACORN IN MY ROOM

Nico: i feel like today happened yesterday and i just slept for all of tomorrow and woke up in the evening

Malcom: yeah i fell down the stairs and broke my spine in 3 places Connor: that's hot

Jason: Nitroglycerin. The forbidden smoothie

Will: I always look like trash. Annabeth: I know that's why I hate looking like trash

Travis: well we only have a few minutes left of class.. y'all wanna watch something explode

Piper: It sounded like you smoked 10 packs of cigarettes and then hit puberty

Jason: Imagine you get fired the day after you die

Nico: My stomach just like...started learning German

Nyssa: Leo if you don't leave, i'm shoving this desk fan up your ass

Jason: I slammed my foot on the accelerator, running multiple red lights at 220km/h, because I wanted to drive safe

Nyssa: When you go through the car wash but you forget the car

Drew: *points at trashcan* That looks like you

Nico: I only want chemistry between me and a coffin

Jake: Gotta put your wheelchair in 4Wheeldrive. Outdoor mode. Off-road mode

Leo: Murder is ok as long as its fine

Percy: Maybe if I fall asleep on my textbook I'll wake up with all the knowledge

Connor: Let's play spin the bottle but it's only you and me

Leo: Now how do we calculate the density if swiss cheese

Clarisse: I have to ask one of the experts Chris: Who are the experts? Clarisse: I don't know

Piper: Your mom is on vacation Leo: well- she's on a permanent vacation

Michael: AYO BITCH YOUR FOODS FLAMIN THE FUCK

Silena: If you're slow I'm a fucking snail

Jason: We need to hold a funeral! Percy: Here comes the bride

Beckendorf: Have you ever died? No??? Well here you go!!! Death simulator. It’s permanent!

*Annabeth and Percy sitting on a bench with drinks and a cop drives by* Percy: What if they thought we were drinking and driving Annabeth: We're not in a car

Will: I'm so smart Nico: Oh my god since when

Piper: *gives Leo a singular goldfish* Piper: Feeding the poor

Lou Ellen: Bless your soul Nico: What soul? Lou Ellen: ...good answer

Sherman: an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and anybody else if you throw it hard enough

Connor: I can see the veins in my eyes

Ellis: Whatever sinks your boat!

Cecil: You can't kill the gays if the gays kill you first

Will: dude sorry there's a knife in your grandma's face it grew wings and flew there :( Cecil: I’m sorry my knife flew out of my hand and slit that guys throat then burned it so he wouldn’t bleed

Silena: *playing Minecraft* I walked into your house and your birds started aggressively dancing at me

Lee: That's just so unfortunate for me. That is just so- oh I died

Percy: Wanna go to Toronto? Why drive just take the Earth Quake on natural disaster

Travis: The roof is just caving in on us it's fine

Michael: My arms are broken, my legs are broken, my lungs are broken, my knees are broken, I got decapitated when I was five

Connor: We're gonna die? No we're gonna beat the speedrun world record

Cecil: Hell to go down I there

Will: Mask to mask resuscitation

Travis: I may or may not have accidentally dropped a match in the building on purpose

Nico: Minecraft but I accidentally sets a school on fire

Percy: Minecraft but I die of hypothermia

Piper: Minecraft but I left my eyes at home

Jake: Minecraft but my legs are broken

Jason: Minecraft but I died

Lou Ellen: Minecraft but we're all gay

Will: If I die the game is homophobic

Cecil: Minecraft but I run my best friend over

Nico: I wanna hit a citizen with a baseball bat

Michael: Hey sir, you have Alzheimer’s. Would you like a side of bronchitis?

Silena: Why can't this be straight? Lee: Because you're not

Lou Ellen: mmmm i love my jesus fish Cecil: bro jesus fish Lou Ellen: ikr, jesus moment

838 notes · View notes

willyoubemycherryy · 1 month

Text

❁𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖...𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕊𝕌ℙ𝔼ℝ-ℙℝ𝕆𝕋𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝕘𝕗??

@ my bestie lil miss westie(^‿^✿) @eymie

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤🜚ミ★𖤐✬.• 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐨✊🏽, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨, 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ⚠︎︎MDNI⚠︎︎

“𝑺𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈...“

You honestly don’t know how he let people try him.

Tiger doesn’t even look like the pushover type. Tattoos, wild green hair, stoic face and stone jawline, 6 foot fucking 2, ripped jeans and muscle tees. He rarely even looked approachable. Punk rock and pissed off.

But… turns out he’s a sweetheart. Gentle eskimo kisses, slow kisses, helpful with the most menial tasks. Plus the adoring way he looks at you, to how tender and calmly he treats you; even when you’re upset…so it pisses you off when you see short, half court hairline, bald spot eyebrow ugglies talking down to him.

Like now when you look up from your seat in the car, waiting for him to come out of the gas station just to see some dirty old crypt keeper yelling in his face while your poor sweet darling Tiger just nods and looks uncomfortable. You do not hesitate to get out the car and march over there in your Chanel heels to stomp on fucking business bitch.

Tiger hears a door slam and looks up. Paling once he sees that it’s you…and that you do not look happy. He knows how this is going to end before it even starts as you stand in front of him, pushing the angry man back with one of your pretty manicured fingers.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?! Because I KNOOOOW it’s not him!” You’re yelling off the bat and the man is red in the face as he yells back,

“So what if I am! He needs to learn how to apologize after he bumps into people!”

Oh bitch.

“Are the people in the room with us??? Because all I see in front of me is the ghost of Father Time’s ashes.” Tiger bites his lip to stifle the laugh that bubbles up at your jab. Feisty as ever.

“Why you prissy little bit-“, you cut him off before he can even attempt to try it.

“Even if he completely knocked your ass over, he wouldn’t have to apologize for SHIT but I’ll tell you what,” voice low, blood hot, rushing so fast you look downright murderous as you stand chest to chest with the man.

“Talk to him like that again…and I’ll kick your nuts so far up your asshole that they’ll be acorns when they come out your mouth. I’ll turn you and every witness around into stains and mail them to your wife and kids.” He gulps at the dead look on your face and quickly shifts his eyes to Tiger.

“So, apologize right now and walk away from us before I decide to really rock your world.” You feel Tiger stiffen at the same time the asshole does before he mumbles a swift apology, he’s jumping into his car and peels off just as fast.

Grabbing Tiger’s hand you lead him to the car, to your door so he can open it and after he gets in himself, he looks at you. Amused.

“You’re a little bully? Y’know that?”, chuckling at you as you pout.

“You don’t always need to come to my rescue. Some people are just assholes and that’s okay”. He mumbles, pulling you from your seat to straddle his lap.

You roll your eyes before you lean down to kiss him languidly. Capturing his top lip between yours then his bottom lip, both your lips alternating with light sucks and you tilt your head and lick the seam of his mouth, making him moan as your tongues caress each other. Warm puffs of air wash over your faces as you kiss him senseless.

Heat licks up your body, a wet moan bursting out when you feel him aggressively suck on your tongue, his hand on the back of your head holding you in place. Reaching up you pull lightly at his hair until he breaks away with a smack and you peck his lips a few more times to calm down.

“Some people are assholes, you’re right. But if they think they can be an asshole to you on my watch? They’re dead wrong.” panting against his mouth as you give him your verdict.

“Now, let’s go home,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m wet”.

Grinding down on him for emphasis then swinging back down to your seat to watch his reaction.

Tiger looks down at where you were previously sat and notices the dark spot on his jeans, and looking back at you pupils completely blown.

“Oh fuck”, he groans. Hissing when you start palming him through his ripped jeans.

Squealing as Tiger speeds off so fast he almost leaves the tires.

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #the green room #Tiger x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #horror #fluff #smut #masters of the air #mota #x reader

85 notes · View notes

ride-a-dromedary · 3 months

Text

Wyll taking Halsin to the Wilden Oak after observing how much he was struggling to adapt to the City, thinking it would cheer him up *and* be special enough that maybe he can work up the nerve to ask him something important. Telling him about how he used to daydream about the stories it could tell him, and how it brought him comfort - how it may bring him comfort as well. And maybe he thinks he's talking too much, too fast, but it all pours out of him with heart-aching sincerity.

Halsin listening thoughtfully to Wyll's fanciful dreams of dragons and the Weave, and chuckling fondly at how eager he is; how whimsical he makes everything sound. Bubbling over with how happy it makes him to hear Wyll so beautifully matching the splendor of this tree with such fanciful tales, admiring it for what it is.

Wyll's face heating up, thinking he must be laughing at his stories, and ah, hells, he's gone and fumbled this, of course an Archdruid would think fairytales of trees to be foolish and childish. Mumbling it must sound silly to him.

Halsin frowning then, brought out of his affectionate thoughts. "Oh, no, not at all. I think it's wonderful. Here, let me show you something."

Halsin bringing Wyll's hand up to the bark of the tree and pressing it beneath his own to the ridges and grooves, encouraging him to listen closely again as he had as a boy. Telling him that trees speak to those who care to hear them, even if they cannot understand them. Wyll closing his eyes, flustered at how close they are, but - after a moment of quiet - hearing the barest tendrils of something touching the edges of his mind. Nothing he is able to understand, but he swears he feels it; more than he ever has before.

Halsin himself listening and catching the discernable memories the oak is able to give him amidst the transfer - the tiniest glimpses of generations and magic long past. Perhaps even a dragon cutting its lightning path through the sky, eons ago. He passes anything translatable gently off to Wyll, who listens, enraptured.

The Wilden reveals other things - other terrible things. Other sad things and tragic things, no where near the fairytales that Wyll spins. Halsin does not pass these memories on, but judging by the frown on Wyll's face, he senses it.

But there is something else - something closer to the heart - it calls Wyll "tree friend" - flashes of Wyll as a young boy, collecting its leaves from the ground. Of an older Wyll curled in on himself in the tangle of its roots, heartbroken; an even older Wyll turning his face to the dappled sun and smiling, little golden bands sparkling in his hair.

Halsin taking Wyll by the hand and bringing him deeper into the forest, scouting a good spot to plant the tiny wishing acorn Wyll had pressed bashfully into his palm with stories of his mother. Burying the seed deep into the ground so its roots may grow anew, just as glorious as its parent - waiting to bring joy to another a century down the line. Just as their lives have taken root within one another, tangled and new, but full of life.

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Wyll Ravengard #wyllsin #the more i think about it the more i can connect these romance paths thematically near perfectly - i can blend them #and it doesn't lead into halsin's romance scene - not yet - but damn it sure does kickstart it #(i'm connecting the dots - you're not connecting shi- I'M CONNECTING THEM)#i don't think they get married because that's not really something elves do on the regular if at all - especially wood elves #which may be a disappointment to wyll at first because he has all these fanciful notions of relationships and fairytales - but also?#i believe they'd stay together for the rest of wyll's life - like i genuinely bonafide can see that #and wyll would thrive because he would be *free* for the first time in forever - he'd blossom and live and have someone to come back to #who would love and cherish him as much as if they'd never parted for a single moment #no pacts no contracts just someone who loves him and somewhere safe to be - and when he's ready he has all the children he wants #also: wyll 'canonically chases after mermaids' ravengard + halsin 'i could attempt a kelpie' silverbough js

65 notes · View notes

queerofthedagger · 5 days

Text

to feel you like a knife

[Bagginshield | 23k | Teen+]

Written for @acorns-and-oakleaves 'Year of Bagginshield' March Prompt: Second Chances (very belatedly I'm sorry lmao <3)

Summary:

No words are spoken, but Thorin draws a rattling breath and steels himself. After everything he has done to Bilbo, he at least owes him more than this. “What happened?” Bilbo says, before Thorin gets there. “Did we make it to the mountain, did we find the door? The last thing I remember is Lake Town—I’m assuming the attempt to steal a bunch of weapons did not go well, then?” The words take a moment to sink in. When they do, Thorin finally understands what people mean when they say that the floor dropped out from right beneath their feet. --- Up on Ravenhill, Bilbo wakes a little earlier. It allows him to save Thorin's life, and almost—almost—costs him his own; which, as far as Bilbo is concerned, is a worthy exchange, no matter Thorin's own thoughts on the matter. If only the aftermath, and all that still stands between them, would be so clean-cut and easy to resolve.

#*mine #mona's writing #tolkien #the hobbit #bagginshield #fotfics #year of bagginshield #it's finally DONE i'm as shooketh as everyone else

37 notes · View notes

bonebabbles · 2 months

Text

Ok. Fun scooby-doo jokes are over. Time for a graphic birthing scene as Star Flower enters premature labor after being starved for days and running to get away from a bunch of stinky, dirty rogues.

The writers will see a woman character and ask, "Is anyone going to describe the pain and viscera in intense, obsessive detail?" and not even wait

*Shrek voice* she doesn't even get the birthing stick

(under a cut because eurgh)

It's gotta be super dramatic, to really tease the audience with the idea that Clear Sky might lose a third pregnant wife for his pain.

Star Flower has been put through such INTENSE torment to make Clear Sky feel bad and rally the cats to come together to help him out that it's taken me out of it completely.

Gray Wing also realizes he's been thinking about Star Flower too much, while she's bleeding out and giving birth several weeks early after escaping Slash's Torment Nexus, so he takes a moment to rotate his brother around in his head for a bit.

"He'd been so panicked about Star Flower that he hadn't thought about his brother," who is apparently going to get set upon by a band of Slash's angry rogues all alone in this fantasy daydream Gray Wing has conjured up in his head.

Like, apparently Clear Sky is going to leave the meeting with Slash, get told about the secret plan to rescue Star Flower which was happening concurrently (already happened; we saw this), then jump up and run from what everyone's told him, bolt towards a camp he doesn't know the location of, and a patrol of Slash's warriors are going to find him?

ok.

Anyway then all the women come together to midwife for Star Flower.

And then Clear Sky and Star Flower cuddle around the new kits and act all cute. The "pure love" in Clear Sky's eyes is focused on, everyone recommends he takes extra good care of his premature kits, etc. He's So Totally Changed Now, through the magic of wife and babies.

All I'm thinking about is how he kills one of these children later, by refusing to allow Acorn Fur to complete her training and throwing a tantrum about how "SkyClan doesn't ask for help unless we have no choice!" when she tells him she can't treat his son's fox-inflicted mauling alone.

One more patented brother moment between Clear Sky and Gray Wing

I'm just gonna be honest, man... I hear from a LOT of people that this tugs at their heartstrings, so maybe I just don't "get it." But this WHOLE series long, Gray Wing has pissed himself over how Clear Sky can't have possibly "changed that much" from when they were children, won't accept that he's a child-beating and woman-slaughtering tyrant, IMMEDIATELY jumps to his defense at every turn even when it's ridiculous, and here's the payoff.

Hugging and sniffing his Dear Brother and having a flashback to them being babies at their mother's breast, secure in the knowledge he was right all along.

That every time he downplayed abuse, shoved people towards a situation where they'd be in danger, or prevented others from recognizing Clear Sky as the threat he was, he was correct that Clear Sky, in contrast to the EEEVIL rogues, was a good boy. Nothing about Clear's behavior has actually changed besides having MORE children to endanger.

This is chapter SIX of the LAST BOOK and we already saw Clear Sky using abuse tactics earlier to try and manipulate Thunder into doing what he wants.

So, I can't sympathize with the "heartwarming" reaction. "Ohh it's so sweet that the dear brothers are having flashbacks to when they were 6" I cannot relate. Idk how you can watch AMVs of this without wanting to set them both on fire. Thunder should get a restraining order.

#Btw winner of funniest song is Sneaky Snitch #That wins #That is objectively the funniest song to play during that scene #Kevin MacLeod Wins #Btw I didn't really post or get into it because it was really generic besides like... leaf starts yowling as a distraction #Which I've chosen to interpret as his attempt at bird noises #Because it is a LOT funnier to imagine him going “CA CAWWWWWWWWWW” as the guards are just. deeply confused.#They break in to save starf and she's like 'there's two more guards!' and then there's two more guards.#Then they run. This was apparently a genius plan.#Meme of Thunder's two paws and he's holding TWO restraining orders #dotc hate #bones reads dotc

39 notes · View notes

buttercuparry · 7 months

Text

You know it always hurt how the actors who played their respective characters on the show, loved them so dearly but Maisie couldn't ever seem to get that footing when it came to Arya. Emilia loved Dany and Nikolaj loved Jaime. Sophie was obviously on cloud 9 regarding Sansa...but Maisie...every time she spoke about Arya, it seemed like she had nothing in on the character except for those popular misconceptions. I know that this is on the actor themselves but Maisie was so, so young when GoT aired for the first time. Granted she could have given those books a chance later, so maybe this is on her but as an actor she was given a script and whatever she had been given, she always nailed it. She trusted those scripts and it is not like even if she had read the books, she could have had a say in the ( lack of )creative decision of the directors. My point is that there was no love nurtured for Arya in the show. With the plotline where Arya spent so much time on the road, it was necessary for them to dress the actor in rags, but still love could have been nurtured with how one chose to tell the story. I know show only viewers of any series often criticize book purists by saying that not everything on page can be translated for TV and it is true, but that's why we have a team of people working on a show so that even when it becomes necessary to leave out certain things, the essence of story is preserved. Or to even bring the story that has already been told in a book onto new heights ( like I have heard them doing with Jacob's vampire show)...but with GoT and especially when it came to Arya, they cut her down to a deformed skeleton of what the character was actually supposed to be. I don't know if I am remembering correctly but Maisie didn't like those ragged costumes. She was in school and Arya's costumes when on run didn't help Maisie's self esteem, and I understand that the get up with the hair and all was a very important part of the story but Arya had other dresses even when on the run! You are telling me Ed Sheereen ( is that how you spell the name) could be an extra on the set but could not get anyone to play Lady Smallwood? You had Sophie in her #girlboss dress at Vale but not one dress for Maisie with acorns? That's Arya's song. Arya's song with Gendry whom Arya fucked in the show. Stupid ass needle costume for Sophie but not even a rich mummer's cloak for Maisie? You butchered her story, you won't give her more than the bare minimum when it came to costumes. You won't style her...how would she know how to love Arya Stark? I also don't know about her friendship with Sophie. Like that's their business but why blindly agree with everything Sophie has had to say about your character? Like I know there was no research done on Maisie's part...that always sucks. But if the narrative set up by the writers too is that distorted and with a friend whose whole personality during filming was of a Stansa...then yeah it is no wonder why she couldn't really love Arya.

83 notes · View notes

sotisha · 8 months

Text

Only one week until the Autumn Equinox, also known as Mabon, when night and day are at equal length. It is a time of great balance, a time to centre and ground ourselves to the earth.

Mabon is a Pagan festival called a Sabbat, it is the final harvest of the year, because after this day vegetation will begin to wither and die. Farmers will harvest their crops and fields will become dry and barren. The leaves on trees are starting to change colour ready to fall, while fruit and nuts start to drop from the branches. Even though it will begin to feel colder and get darker, all around us we are surrounded by the warm colours of fire such as reds, yellows, oranges and browns.

Mabon is also a time of making family feasts and stews and of sharing food with friends, family and neighbours, add lots of root vegetables with a choice of meat (leave out the meat if you're vegetarian) to a slow cooked stew and bread. Drink cider and apple juice, also apple, rhubarb, pumpkin, berry or meat pies are customary with a pentacle carved or added onto the pastry before cooking.

We celebrate Mabon by setting up an alter to honour the season. On the alter put anything you can find that will represent Autumn, such as fallen leaves or branches, acorns, pine cones and nuts. Add fruit and vegetables like pumpkins, squash, carrots, turnip, grapes, berries etc, Add apples by cutting them horizontally to reveal the Pentagram in their centre. You can also add corn bundles, wheat bundles or corn or wheat dollies. Light candles with Autumn colours of red, orange, white, purple and brown or gold. The alter will bring luck and protection, it will honour the season and the God and Goddess who bestow the gifts upon the earth. When lighting the candles ask the Goddess for her blessings and the God for protection for the colder, darker months to come.

This coming Mabon is a time to give thanks for the abundance of food and the harvest, to thank the God and Goddess for their gifts and their sacrifices. It is a time to appreciate what we have in life and give thanks for all our blessings no matter how small they may be.

#Mabon 2023 #mabon sabbat #mabon

83 notes · View notes

verai-marcel · 5 months

Text

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 10 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 3,876

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

Act I, Chapter 10 - The Monastery

1479 DR, 13 Years Ago

“Mother? What—”

Loud explosions, screaming, unnatural crunching sounds…

fleerundonotstoprunrunrunrun

You herded the younger ones into the caves, gave them lanterns to light the way so they could escape through the tunnels. But you were fifteen years old. You had to go back, despite what your parents had told you. Despite the fear that shook your bones and froze your blood.

Despite—

A body, lying face down in a pool of blood. Hair colored like yours. Once tall and strong, now fallen, unmoving.

Father—

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO RETURN!”

Mother—

You disobeyed.

You came back.

You saw golden light.

And that was the last you saw until the soldiers from the nearby city of Neverwinter routed the enemy and saved you, waking you up from an induced slumber that tasted of burned oak bark and acorns.

When you asked if they found anyone else—

They said there was no one.

***

1492 DR, Present Day

The heat from the campfire woke you up. Or at least, you thought it was the campfire, but it seemed hotter than that, almost as if…

Groggy though you were, you sat up immediately when your stomach felt like it was burning with acid. This feels familiar… Oh shit.

A swirl of white-hot infernal fire grew until a demoness appeared beside your bedroll. She glared down at you with cold regard.

You glared back up at the intruder, but you balked when she suddenly raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Oh? And what are you—”

“MIZORA!”

Wyll’s bellow drowned out whatever the demoness was going to say, and you were thankful for his interruption. His yell was enough to awaken the camp. Everyone else came out to see what was happening and stood by Wyll as he glared at the devil.

You scurried back behind the others as you watched the interaction unfold. Unease sunk into your spirit as the conversation went south. You felt the infernal power bleed into the air as Wyll’s form changed, horns growing from his head. The aura of infernal magic made you sick to your stomach, and you fell to your knees, holding back the urge to throw up.

When Mizora finally left, you took a deep breath. Looking up at Wyll, who was feeling his new horns with resignation on his face, your heart lurched with both relief and compassion. You forced yourself to stand and shakily walked past the others, reaching out and touching his arm to feel his emotions. You felt no regret, only a complicated emotion, a mix of anger and determination, tinged with a slight trace of despair that, to your surprise, was disappearing with every passing moment.

He looked at you and touched your hand in return, a kinder smile returning to his features. “I’ll be alright,” he said quietly, reassuring you. “But you look a bit ill.”

You blinked. “Now’s not the time to be worrying about me,” you said, though you could hear the shakiness in your voice and winced inwardly at your show of weakness. “You were lucky this was all you got.”

Wyll looked at you, an eyebrow raised. “How do you know?”

Severed limbs. A torso and head, still alive, still able to feel every inch of their body as the demon chomped down on their flesh like drumsticks. Wet, meaty sounds, the cracking of bones, and the high pitched keening filled the air.

You keeled over again. You heard your name being called out, but it all sounded a bit blurry. You wanted to forget, wanted to wipe the memory from your head.

But you couldn't.

“Five years ago. I saw a warlock break his pact.” You shivered, your voice barely coming out past your shuddering breaths. “The demon cut off each part of him, first a pinky, then a toe, until he was just a body and a head.”

You registered that everyone looked horrified, but the words just came pouring from your mouth as if a dam had burst. “He was still alive, and could clearly feel everything. He screamed until he had no more voice. There was so much blood…” You shook your head. “And the sounds of the demon eating him alive…”

You looked up at Wyll, who was now kneeling before you, his hands holding you by your upper arms. He looked pained, as if he could sense your discomfort. It must have shown on your face, because you could feel his concern for you in his touch.

“That's why I'm worried for you,” you finally said. “This could have been far worse. But as long as you're in that contract…” You didn’t have to say the rest. He knew.

“I've dreamed of getting out of it, but I have to outsmart her. Playing by the rules has gotten me nowhere.”

Karlach knelt down beside both of you. “Whatever happens, I'll be right beside you,” she told him. She reached out as if she wanted to touch him, but she pulled back. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”

Wyll smiled gratefully at her. “Maybe you can tell me how to maintain these horns.”

Her pained expression was barely masked by her wry smile. “Well, keep ‘em clean and dry, apply some seed oil now and again, and they’ll shine.”

You listened to them have a lighter conversation to bring some levity to the situation, and it helped make you feel a bit better, despite the dire circumstances. Everyone eventually went back to their tents, but you noticed Astarion lingering for a bit longer after the others were gone.

He sat next to your bedroll as you curled yourself into it.

“Are you on watch duty?”

He nodded.

You smiled. “Then I can sleep well, knowing you'll be here.”

Astarion blinked, but then he smiled, and it seemed genuine, though you were still not quite sure. Then, to your surprise, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. “Sweet dreams,” he said quietly.

He pulled away so quickly, as if he was embarrassed to be seen doing such a saccharine gesture, that you thought you imagined it. But he sat there, looking around and avoiding your eyes.

Oh, that was real. He's a bit cute when he's shy.

You closed your eyes, a smile on your face as you fell asleep, feeling safe with him nearby.

***

Morning came a few hours later, and the group made their way to the creche once more, while Halsin stayed behind with you. He spent most of the day patrolling the perimeter, on the lookout for any lingering kobolds skulking around nearby.

You spent most of the day making and setting traps for rabbits around the area, and also mending clothes and preparing all the herbs and other ingredients that everyone had been collecting. Looking at the pile of loot stacked on top of the traveling chest again, you sighed. You’d have to sort through all of that too.

With everything you needed to do, you didn't have time to dwell on your fragmented dream. You tried to never let yourself sink into your memories. You'd experienced it once, no need to do it again.

The day passed and the sun was beginning to reach the horizon once more. You were always surprised by how the hours passed you by so quickly these days. You used to have downtime, back when there were only four of them to take care of.

You were in the middle of cutting up some rabbits you had trapped for the night’s stew when you heard a rumbling in the mountains. Looking up, you saw a bright light shining at the monastery.

The base of your spine tingled.

Oh gods, what now—

The light grew so bright that you had to shield your eyes. The thunderous boom hurtled across the sky, so strong that you felt it in your chest. The rubble and dust that came afterwards was thrown far enough to nearly reach your camp.

Halsin came up to you from where he had been meditating under a tree. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, but pointed up at the smoking heap of rubble atop the monastery. “Is that…”

He didn’t say anything, only closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment before looking at you. “We should wait before we go searching. The ruins could be even more unstable after a blast like that. And perhaps they’ll make their way back before then.”

Staring up at the building, you clutched your chest. Whatever gods may hear, please let them be alright.

You continued to do your chores like normal, as if they were going to come back safe and sound, but you also worried yourself to the point of heart palpitations. Even Scratch and Owly came up to you and comforted you for a bit before you began to pace around the camp like a worried mother.

Out of both a need to distract yourself and because you saw extra rags in the loot pile, you created a makeshift tent for Halsin. It looked a bit… rustic, to be kind. When you were done, you took a deep breath. Your gaze drifted back to the monastery.

“Gods below,” you muttered. You couldn’t keep dwelling over the unknown. Halsin said he’d take you there to search tomorrow morning if they didn’t come back. But you were sure as hell you wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, worrying about them.

Looking over at Withers, who stood quietly at his post, you suddenly realized that he might know something, with all of his talk of fate and such. Walking up to him, you opened your mouth to ask him.

“There is no one to revive tonight,” he said before you could even make a sound.

“So they’re alright?”

“I only said there is no one to revive.”

You were about to argue with him before you realized the meaning behind his words.

“Oh gods.” You rushed off to make healing potions.

You were halfway through making a fifth healing potion when you heard Scratch barking. Grabbing the whole satchel of potions you had on hand, you ran over to the entry pathway. Halsin followed you, having seen you from where he was meditating under the tree near the outcrop.

The companions were walking slowly, arms around each other for support and stumbling towards you, but they were all alive. You breathed a sigh of relief, but immediately gave Shadowheart a healing potion and an arcane potion to drink. Then at least she could help heal the others. You scanned the others as you walked with them back to the campfire, wincing at all the cuts and bruises that the team had accumulated during this last adventure.

You passed potions out to everyone, making sure that they had enough to at least heal the worst of their wounds. When you handed one to Lae’zel, she quietly took the bottle from you, chugged it, and handed it back to you with just a nod. You watched her walk past you, and past everyone else, to sit behind her tent.

“Is she alright?” you asked the group.

Most everyone shrugged, but Gale, loquacious as ever, gave you an update on what happened within the Creche. Including the shaking of Lae’zel’s beliefs.

“I’d give her some time,” Gale concluded. “It’s not every day that your whole world view gets turned on its head.”

You nodded and left her alone. But as night fell and she still hadn’t come to the campfire for food, you began to worry. She was always very timely with her meals, and everything else for that matter. She practiced her swordplay, performed her stretches, meditated, and even bathed at the same time every day too.

She must be really down if she isn’t on schedule.

Taking an empty bowl and filling it up with some stew, you made your way to Lae’zel. When she saw you approach, she only spared you a single glance before continuing to stare out into the distance. Seeing her so subdued made you a little sad.

“I am not hungry,” she said. Her tone was flat, without her usual energy.

With her being so quiet, you decided you had to give her some tough love. After all, she wouldn’t want you to pity her or coddle her. You forced the bowl of stew into Lae'zel's hands.

"Eat," you commanded. "Regain your strength, and live to fight another day."

She stared up at you, a bit surprised by your harsh tone, but then the determination returned to her eyes, and she confidently nodded. She began to eat, and you left her in peace, knowing that she understood.

Eat. Live. Survive.

You returned to the fire, and everyone quietly gave you a nod, a tacit acknowledgement that you did good, and that they were worried about her as well.

Sitting down, you took a bowl of stew for yourself and dug in. After a few moments, you looked around and noticed Astarion was gone.

“Your vampire has gone hunting,” Shadowheart said with a sly grin.

You sputtered. “He's not my anything!”

Karlach laughed. “Could've fooled me. With all the time you spend with him?”

“I'm just feeding him, just like I'm feeding you lot,” you countered.

“And you used to grumble about him not eatin’ your food,” she replied. “Guess you found one way to feed’im, eh?”

Rolling your eyes and ignoring her, you turned to Gale. “Oh, speaking of… Did you need, um, a magic snack?”

He blinked in surprise, but then shook his head. “That's very kind of you to remember. I'm fine for now, but thank you.”

“Magic snack?” Shadowheart asked, looking between the two of you.

You explained what had happened before, and they started to wonder why no one else had tried. Shadowheart conjured a small ball of divine power and held it up to Gale's chest.

The symbol on his skin didn’t react at all. “Nope, nothing.”

Wyll tried next. Gale shook his head.

“Strange,” Wyll said as he stroked his chin. “Perhaps it's because mine is infernal and Shadowheart’s is divine?”

“Have you tried absorbing the power from another wizard or sorcerer?” Karlach asked.

Gale shook his head again. “No, I've only shared my condition with you fine folks. Not sure I'd broach the idea with anyone else, it's a rather”—he gestured helplessly—“delicate topic.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, nodding in understanding.

Then Karlach broke the silence. “Oh well, maybe a way to help you will come up later.” She turned towards you. “For now, looks like you're keepin’ us all well fed, eh?”

You laughed. “I'm just glad I can help.”

“Just like you're helping Astarion with his hunger?” Shadowheart said with a smirk.

You had a feeling she was insinuating something else, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure it out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Come now, he's flirted with everyone here,” she said.

Oh, that’s what she meant. You opened your mouth to argue, but were swiftly interrupted.

“He has?” Gale asked.

Wyll facepalmed. “You didn't notice, so he gave up on you pretty quickly.”

Gale’s shocked face made you laugh. “What? When?” he asked, the pitch of his voice rising.

The rest of the conversation deteriorated into everyone trading notes on how Astarion had attempted to flirt with them.

“You should have seen the look on his face when Lae'zel dismissed him. I would not want to be on the receiving end of her withering stare,” Wyll said, chuckling at the memory.

You looked back toward Lae'zel's tent. “Oh. I'd better go check on her,” you said, getting up.

The others nodded and continued their banter.

You returned to the quiet overlook, seeing her still sitting in the same position as when you had left her. Kneeling down, you were pleased to see that the bowl was empty. You picked it up and looked at her, just to make sure she was alright. She looked the same as before too, staring out over the canyon with a contemplative expression.

Just as you were getting up to leave her in peace, she spoke quietly.

"You may be physically weak, but your words are strong."

At this point, you knew she didn't mean anything by her blunt statements. She wasn't wrong; you were weak. You didn't even know how to properly wield the dagger on your belt.

You only nodded your head in acknowledgement. You didn't know what else to say. She turned back to her meditation as you walked away.

But you felt just a little bit closer to her tonight.

***

The soft pitter-patter of cold drops on your skin woke you from your sleep. You had not anticipated rain, with it being close to the end of summer, but you were also not used to being up on a mountain. The weather patterns must be different up here.

For the first time, you lamented not having your own tent, but you had used up the last of the random cloth and rags for Halsin's makeshift tent, and the party apparently hadn't found any extras as of late. Looking around, you saw that everyone was asleep, cozy and tucked away.

I shouldn’t bother them, they need their sleep.

But then your eyes rested on Astarion's tent.

He'd only be trancing, I could probably hole up in his tent for the night. He wouldn’t even be using it while he’s on watch.

You're not sure when you became familiar enough with him to ask such a thing. A few of the others would have let you stay with them, and gladly too. But for some reason, you wanted to go to him. Was it because you were so accustomed to being in his tent? Was it because you didn’t feel particularly guilty about bothering him? Was it because you had gotten comfortable with him?

Whatever the reason, it compelled you to gather your bedroll and head over to him.

You tapped the tent flap. "Astarion?"

"Hm?"

"Can I come in? It's raining out here."

"If you must."

You let yourself in and quickly dried off with a cantrip. "Thanks," you said, laying your bedroll next to his. You laid down and shifted around to get comfortable.

He glanced over. “Of everyone here, you came to bother me?”

“I don’t feel bad for bothering you.”

He sniffed. “I see how it is.” He turned his head away from you and went back to his trance state.

“Besides… your tent is the most comfortable,” you mumbled.

A moment passed in quiet contemplation. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re here,” you replied without thinking.

He was quiet. So quiet, that you turned over to look at him.

Astarion was staring at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” you finally said, and turned back around. “You’ll get a wrinkle in your forehead.”

You heard him humph derisively before softly chuckling.

“Sweet dreams,” you whispered.

“You as well, my dear.”

***

Fragments of a memory. A song being sung, strung with sadness and hope, hung on a melody that felt older than the stars.

A song you knew, a song you had sung over and over, a song you didn’t understand but knew the sounds, etched into your heart like carvings into stone.

A flash of light, golden and warm. Then you saw something so ethereal that you swear it was the hallucination of being a teenager in mortal peril.

Hair the color of the setting sun, skin the color falling leaves, a voice that sounded like the gods descending on Faerûn…

Then all went black.

***

You woke up reaching for the sky, your throat dry, your muscles straining to reach for something, you weren’t sure what. Taking a deep breath, you remembered that you were in Astarion’s tent, and quickly looked over at him.

He was gone.

Quickly getting up, you stuck your head out the tent flap to look around. The sun was shining brightly and everyone was already bundling up their tents. You grabbed your bedroll and rushed out, mortified that you had slept in. You freshened up, put on your day clothes, and got to work.

As you helped pack up the camp supplies, Gale came up to you.

“Are you alright?” He looked at you worriedly, and you guessed that his concern was probably due to an incorrect assumption. You glanced over at Astarion, who was taking down his tent.

“I’m fine. Just had a strange dream, so I woke up late.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I promise that’s all. He didn’t feed off me last night.”

Nodding, he patted you on the shoulder. “Alright. Just…” He paused. “You don’t have to take on everything. I know we agreed on a payment for your help, but I…”

He trailed off. This time, it was your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I also consider you a friend,” he finally said. “So if you’re not feeling well, or need an extra hand, you can ask me.” He raised one hand and wiggled his fingers. “I can cast mage hand, after all.”

You laughed. He was such a dork, but you enjoyed his awkward humor. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He smiled back and after being assured that you could handle yourself, he left you to it.

After everyone had packed up, you settled your pack over your shoulders and started to follow the group back down the mountain. It was then you realized…

“Hey, where are we going?”

“We’re still debating that,” Shadowheart replied.

Walking at the back of the group, you could overhear them debating the merits of going through the mountain pass or heading back to the goblin camp to find a pathway through the Underdark. Both were dangerous.

But there was one place you’d rather go…

“Erm…” You trailed off and stared at the ground in front of you.

I should let them decide. They’ll be the ones fighting off whatever we find. But the Underdark has fungi that I’ve only read about. I want to gather and study them…

You looked up to see everyone looking at you.

“Well?” Lae’zel asked expectantly.

You felt stupid, but you swallowed and voiced your opinion in the tiniest voice. “I’d like to go to the Underdark.”

Halsin nodded. “It would be the safer option.”

“Then it’s settled,” Gale said, sounding relieved that a decision was finally made.

Keeping your reasons to yourself for the time being, you followed the group all the way back to the goblin camp, picking past the dead bodies and foul odors until you reached a ruined temple within the goblin base.

You followed, staying close enough to be safe, but far enough back that you wouldn’t be in the way if the group came across any enemies, and after solving a floor puzzle and climbing a long ladder down, you had reached the Underdark.

As your party walked down the steps of what appeared to be an old Selunite outpost, you watched in horror as a minotaur came charging towards the gates, only to be fried to death by powerful beams of light from the guard statues.

Gods, I feel like I’ve made another poor decision.

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

Chapter 10 End notes: I know I'm about to skip a few events that occur on the mountain pass, but I'll have the party run into Councilor Florrick and the Zhents at a later time. I was debating cutting this chapter down, but I think at this point, longer chapters are what y'all want, right? Let me know what you think in the comments!

Tag list: @numblytemporary

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x f!reader #baldur's gate 3 #female reader #writing #bg3 spoilers #your hearth is my home

47 notes · View notes