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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months

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Pretty like the sun

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a/n This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

It’s been a hot minute so idk if any of you are still here with me🫣 we do have an Azriel pov here.

warning: nothing major, past trauma.

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Zofie’s pov:

She sat at the top of the steps for hours. Long given up on running towards the door with every scratch or creek that she heard. With her head resting against the railing, Zofie couldn’t help but let her mind consume her. Nit-picking at all of her choices. She had done the opposite of being a good daughter. And she too had promised to love Azriel forever, so what was shifting?

Her thoughts slithered towards Nyx, who had been claiming most of her mind now. She could see why Azriel wouldn’t want her with him. And maybe it wasn’t even him trying to protect her; maybe it was him trying to keep the high-fea bloodline clean. What did she have to do with the high lords? Nothing. She saw the high lord and lady from time to time, but she was way closer to Uncle Cassian.

Then her thoughts drifted to the fact that she didn’t know all that much about Nyx either. Zofie didn’t even know his other friends. How many were they? What if all he was doing was just being friendly? He could very well have a lover. A mate. Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts, Nyx’s voice ran in her ears. Of course, Rhys was no doubt looking for a match for his son. And what was she thinking? Letting herself dream that maybe one day…

The sound of the door clicking open made Zofie shoot up. Just with her lack of focus, the girl ended up hitting her head against the side of the railing. Whining in pain, Zofie quickly reached to press her palms against the aching spot, only to lose her footing as her ankle buckled and the center of gravity shifted. She managed to let out a yelp, but the hard fall never came. Instead, the endlessly soothing smell of night filled her senses.

"Zofie," her father’s worried voice made her look up quickly. “Look at me, hey, did you hit your head hard?" Azriel’s worried golden eyes tore through the last bits of her self-control. Without a second thought, Zofie scrambled to get closer. Hands messily tangling with Azriel’s leathers as she wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry," she whimpered, “So sorry." Azriel’s arms wrapped around Zofie’s frame with ease in an instant. “Breathe for me, Zofie; you will make yourself faint, baby girl." The calmness of his voice strangely unsettled her. He was supposed to be mad. Was supposed to be frustrated with her. Angry. “Why aren’t you upset? You should yell," Zofie muttered, pulling back, her black eyes filling up with tears. Azriel frowned for the first time since he walked through the door. “Have I ever raised my voice at you?" the spymaster questioned before sighing, “Well, besides earlier today, it wasn’t even at you. I wasn’t angry with you." He softly wiped the tears from beneath Zofie’s eyes. “I will never do it again. I will never see him, I promise”, she said, feeling her own body start to swirl with emotions flooding from all over the house. Fruition, confusion, pain, sadness, and dread. Gasping for air, Zofie looked back at Azriel, whose shadows quickly drowned out any distractions. Closing the two of them in the safety of cool darkness. “Breathe, little star," Azriel muttered against Zofie’s hair, “Remember how we do it?" His firm gaze met her frantically blinking eyes. One of the shadows settled at the back of her neck; the other two wrapped around her hands, cooling the main point of her anxious spell.

“You’re safe." Azriel slowly ran his hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her the best he could. “I can't," her pained breaths ripped at Azriel, but he knew that now any excess emotions had to be suppressed, “We’re in your safe bubble." With a fluster of his wings, Azriel wrapped them around the two of them. “Press your palms against me; let it out," and she would have, but suddenly it made her stomach twist. Because this man. Man who didn’t have to take her in. Would know that she had all of these thoughts. From hate. To frustration. All directed at him. All because she was being naive. “I can't," she said, pulling back and hitting her father’s leathery wings. “Of course you can; you’ll burn out otherwise," Azriel urged her, “Come on, baby." She knew that he was desperate for a reason. Zofie had sent herself into overdrive once, and it wasn’t pretty. She could barely stand for weeks. No speech. She could barely get food down. That had been the first time she had seen Azriel with a full stubble. He had refused to leave her, even for a minute. He had been there. Always been there looking out for her. Another painful cry slipped past her lips, and everything went black.

Azriel pov:

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Zofie’s limp body lying in bed. He had been fixing the throw covering Zofie for the past hour. One moment it seemed too high up, and so she no doubt had to be too warm, but then the other he feared that she wasn’t warm enough. Azriel knew there was no way to measure the impact of the outburst until morning. Till Zifie opened her eyes. And she would open her eyes because...

“You should get some sleep”, your soft voice made Azriel turn from the bed. Some of the tension eased. It always did when you were around. His beautiful mate. Mother of his children. “I’m not tired," he muttered, fingers lazily running up and down Zofie’s arm. "Azriel, you can’t fool me." The moment your hands touched Azriel’s shoulders, he instantly felt warmth seeping through his aching bones. “How are you doing?", Azriel knew what that question implied because he had a feeling that you were aware of where the roots of all of this were.

“How can she think that I don’t love her?", Azriel shook his head, “Had I seriously been so... shortsighted?” You cupped his face tenderly. “She knows, she’s simply confused. Emotions are running high…”, “That was days of amped-up frustration that I’ve caused, YN”, his tone was much higher, and the moment that hit Azriel, his hand instantly came to clasp his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay," you gently reached for both of his hands, giving them a little squeeze. “She’s growing up, Azriel. Things are strange and new”, leaning in, pressing your forehead against his, “She was scared that your yellow was fading," you admitted. “My love for her hasn’t changed," Azriel muttered. “I know, love, but your heart is now making room for Novie, and I think insecurities are running high." Azriel glanced back at Zofie. He never looked at her differently. Never treated her like a dainty porcelain doll. Yes, he protected her. Was ready to go to war for her. Because he had always seen her as his. He understood what having inner demons meant. To this day, Azriel had days when battling them got way too much. Hence, he had always craved to protect them so much. That desire to chase any doubt away fueled him because they deserved better. They deserve to know life in vibrant colors, not dim grays and blacks.

Azriel’s eyes fell on Zofie again. The girl had shifted slightly, curling deeper into herself. “Will you be good up there alone tonight?" Azriel gazed up at his mate. The raw instinct beat at him to go up to his bedroom and guard the new mother of his child, to be devoted to tending to them only. But it wasn’t Zofie’s nor Axel’s fault that the same blood didn’t bond them all. And Azriel had promised to protect them like his own, so as hard as it was, now he knew that he had to step down on the primal instinct and put his first children into the equation too. You smiled lovingly up at him and said, “I won’t be alone. Your mother is here, and Axel should be coming home soon." Stepping forward, you let yourself snuggle into Azriel’s chest for a heartbeat. Pouring as much love and reassurance into the embrace as you could. Azriel’s lips lingered on your forehead. “If you need me..." he muttered, but you instantly shook your head. “Stay with her, Azriel. She needs you," and that was all it took for Azriel to nod. His shadows carefully blew out a handful of candles lighting up the room. Leaving a bare minimum of light that wouldn’t bother anyone’s slumber, and if by any chance Zofie was to wake up during the night, he didn’t want her to open her eyes to darkness. As carefully as he possibly could, Azriel scooped Zofie’s tiny frame into his arms before climbing into her bed. Out of shared instinct, the spymaster started to hum the melody he used to hum to the two kids when they were younger, and nights of settling down were harder. His scared fingers carefully brushed her ink-black hair away from her face. Lips turning upwards as he let her way more mature features sink in. Never had he thought that he would be wishing the time would go slower. But it also filled him with endless pride that he too had played a role in making sure this tiny girl would slowly grow into a strong-minded young woman. With a deep sigh, Azriel pressed a loving kiss onto Zofie’s forehead, making the girl snuggle deeper into her father’s chest. “I’ll always love you, little star. As overbearing as I can be, I will always love you the most because you taught me what it was like to be a father”, he muttered, settling in to watch over her for the night.

Nyx’s pov:

Nyx had been looking through the window of his mother’s gallery for the past couple of hours. He rubbed his chest at times when the feeling of anxiety threatened to choke him out. His mind was running so fast that there were moments when he lost hold of it. Thought after thought, angrily beating at his consciousness.

“Are you antsy about going back?", Feyre’s voice made him grip the window sill tighter. He had forgotten that his mother had even been here with him for a moment. "No," he said bluntly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling if he was being honest. He haven't been able to keep up with any of the emotions for some time now. They all seemed so tangled up that he didn’t know where one started and the other ended. Or it was so chaotic that he was sure that he felt all of it at once, and the feeling sure wasn’t pretty. It was different with Zofie, though. For some reason, his inner chaos always subsided when she was close. It felt calmer. It was as if she was there, sorting through his mess for him.

“Really?", Feyre’s amused voice filled the room. Nyx loved his mother. She was an example of hope to him. Every time he lost faith in the future, he would look for her memory books, ones she had sat down with Rhys to write while she had been pregnant with him. Nyx just wished they would understand that now he wasn’t sure if his own story linked with his parents.

“It’s what we do as soldiers; we need to earn our rank," he answered sharply with an exhale. He didn’t want to fight with his mother. Nor did he want to make her upset. He just didn’t want to talk about anything regarding this court. “And if you didn’t give me a textbook answer?" Feyre dunked her brushes into the water, turning to face her sun. Nyx knew that while he could hide his inner battles from his father with anger. His mother was way harder to fool. Nyx simply shrugged, not knowing what exactly she was trying to get out of him.

“It’s okay to have things that you miss back home," her delicate hands inked with marriage vows cupped Nyx’s face as she gazed up at him. “You treat her well?" At those words, Nyx had gone ridged. “What?", he muttered, stepping away. “Do you treat Zofie well?", Feyre smiled at him. Nyx wasn’t surprised that she knew about their little adventure last night, but this seemed like a lot more of an intentional question. One that implied way more.

“Of course, I treat her well," Nyx grumbled with a frown. “What kind of question is that?" he asked, shaking his head in frustration. Why was everyone constantly assuming that he was out there, like some old creep following her around? It wasn’t intentional that their paths crossed so often. They just did...

“Do you love her?", That question had sent all the oxygen out of Nyx’s lungs. Making him gape at his mother as if she had grown a third eye on her forehead. “No, Mom, what even… We grew up together!", Nyx threw his arms up in the air in frustration, which suddenly washed over him. “And that’s supposed to be an issue?", Feyre simply smiled up at him. That kind of smile implied that she was up for a chance to change his mind. Nyx turned away, moving to glance out of the window once more. “Whatever. I’m not even going to entertain this conversation." His mother let out a knowing laugh, returning to her painting once more.

Nyx gazed out into the night. His eyes narrowed out on a figure that slipped out of the library’s back door. Leaning forward, he tried to identify the figure. He knew that whoever it was had to have a pass from his parents. “Is that…?", Nyx trilled off. It couldn’t be because they had separated and... “Axel? Yes”, Nyx gazed back at his mother, who hadn’t even lifted her eyes to look out the window. That fucking lying bastard. I’ll be heading home my ass. “Have you hired him to work in the library?", Nyx had frowned in confusion. But Feyre shook her head. “Gwyn is helping new girls settle into quarters. Axel kindly offered to carry boxes”, the high lady said as if there wasn’t anything else.

“Carry boxes, mhm." Nyx watched as Axel stopped in his tracks before waving up at someone. The princeling’s eyes followed the gesture, finding another figure, barely visible in the sixth-floor window, waving right back. Why was he always on the sidelines with everyone? Why hadn’t Axel said anything about this to him yet?

“He’s a sweetheart," his mother hummed in approval. “There was a girl who hadn’t left her room in over a week. Axel managed to coax her out in a day," no doubt a girl Nyx had seen slipping back into the library when he had bumped into Axel earlier on. “A charming young man," Feyre hummed, making Nyx shake his head. “I’ll give him your praise”, after a proper interrogation, of course.

Unfortunately, Axel’s adventures brought him little satisfaction. And quite honestly, Nyx had given up on trying to snoop around his best friend’s business. Because he knew Axel and knew that the deepest and most heartfelt conversation always struck out when they were up in camps. Nyx had been restless for the days to come. Hanging around all the places he and Zofie usually went to. He was waiting for an inkling of any deeper emotions that would drag him towards her.

They had gotten the call that tomorrow morning they would be going back. And he knew one thing—he couldn’t go back without seeing her one more time. The image of her teared up face had haunted Nyx ever since. He hated it when she cried. He hated it when she was upset. But it seemed as if she had just disappeared into thin air. Nyx had hoped to see her at dinner in the lake house last night, but Y/N had simply said that Zofie wasn’t feeling well. Had something happened afterward? Had her magic flared up once more? But twice in two days. That would be way too much. Or maybe she was just avoiding him?

Stomping through the high grass, Nyx let his mind consume him once more. He knew that Rhys had called a meeting that afternoon. Meaning that Azriel and Cassian were both in the office now. If he was lucky, the females would also be there, meaning that only Zofie’s grandma would be at the house. Nyx rounded the back of the house. He hadn’t made any plans. Hadn't thought of what he was going to say. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous to see her. They knew each other like the backs of their heads. Nyx’s movements halted when he reached the back garden, and his ears picked up on a light rustling.

But it took him a peek from behind the hedges to glimpse at the only source of light that he had for as long as he could remember. Zofie was humming quietly as she hung the wet clothes on the lining. Gently smoothing down the fabric. Hair messily done up. He frowned at the lack of warmer clothes on her body. The sun was way warmer today, but the yellow dress with a thick knit sweater still felt too little to keep her delicate frame warm.

She was hanging the last piece of baby clothes when Nyx stepped right behind her, making Zofie’s hands freeze in the air. Shoulders stiffening. "Zo...", Nyx didn’t even have enough time to finish calling out to her when she finally turned to face him. “What are you doing here?" A slight frown creased her brows. “I wanted to... We go back tomorrow”, he muttered under his breath, her slightly dismissive tone hurting him way more than he thought it would.

"Okay," Zofie muttered, turning to pick up the basket. “Okay? That’s all?", Nyx reached for her hand, but Zofie pulled it back instantly. "What…", Nyx breathed out, his heart racing in his chest. Making his throat feel tight. “Look me in the eyes," he demanded, way harsher than he intended, but this wasn’t them. She wasn’t cold with him. She…

"Go," Zofie said simply. “No, not until you tell me what’s going on," Nyx pushed. “It’s best if we don’t meet up for a bit," Zofie said, wrapping her arms around herself as the colder breeze picked up. Clouds covered up the rays of sun peaking out moments ago. Nyx instantly felt the urge to pull her closer and shield her from the icy wind. “Is Azriel...", “Don’t drag my father into this. You have no right to drag him into this and to speak for me," she said, pointing a warning finger at him. He knew that he had stepped on the line with his last interaction with his uncle, but... "Go, Nyx, have a safe trip," Zofie said, pushing the loose strands of her hair beneath her ears.

"Sunny," his words were barely a whisper, but she simply shook her head and said, “We are no longer children. It’s time we grow up." Zofie rested the basket on her hip. “My world and your world... they’re different," Zofie muttered, and Nyx swore he saw the way her lower lip quivered. “You fit perfectly in my world... You’re my best friend," Nyx called out to her as she turned to walk away, his feet carrying him straight to her without hesitation. His palms reached out to her, cupping her face, and a slight shiver ran through her at his touch. They were inches away. She was a breath away. Nyx’s purple eyes desperately searching for any clues as to why she was shutting him out. Zofie’s free hand pushed against Nyx’s chest as she pulled free of his embrace. “Have a safe trip," she muttered, her hesitant fingers reaching up to touch Nyx’s cheeks, but the moment he leaned into the touch, Zofie turned back, rushing towards the patio stairs. "Sunny," Nyx called out, but she was already at the door. So he stood there. He stood there until the sky started weeping alongside him. Taking to the skies with an angry cry.

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Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay @lees-chaotic-brain

#acotar x reader #acotar x oc #acotar imagine #acotar x you #nyx acotar x reader #nyx acotar x oc #nyx acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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marlynnofmany · 3 months

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Walkway Aesthetics

The door opened from the spaceport to the city proper, and I couldn’t help saying, “Oh wow.” I’d expected a regular walkway, maybe with a moving sidewalk or hovercarts, probably with ads and decorations. The last few big cities we’d visited had all been pretty bland in terms of entrance-way style.

This one was an aquarium. The long tunnel curved away under a domed ceiling with vast sea creatures undulating by overhead, and others darting about in flashes of scales. Subtle blue-and-purple lighting lit up both the benches alongside and the water above. Specks of phosphorescence danced everywhere like fairies under a starry sky. The effect was breathtaking.

I ventured out into the purple-blue wonderland. “Wow, this is amazing.”

Three of my coworkers followed, and were less impressed.

“Eh, it’s not very original,” Kavlae said with a flip of her frills. Under the lighting, her sky-blue skin was a shifting purple. “Water scenes are pretty tiresome, honestly.”

“You said it,” agreed Mur down from floor level. He tentacle-walked along like the opinionated squid alien he was, blending with the bluish shadows. “Once you’ve seen things swimming past, you’ve seen them all.”

I asked, “Are you serious? This is beautiful.”

Paint huddled close beside me, her orange scales turned an indistinct brown. “I think it’s scary.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

She clasped her hands, shaking her head. “That’s a lot of water, and a lot of creatures. What if the barrier broke?”

“Well yeah, that would be bad,” I admitted. “But it’s not going to.”

Paint walked faster. “Still scary. Look at that one! It’s so big!”

The alien whale or whatever that coasted past had bioluminescent swirls along its underside, and a cloud of the glowing water-pixies flitting along after it. Beautiful, and awe-inspiringly close.

“Ah, that’s so cool!” I said, turning in place as I walked to keep it in sight.

Paint just squeaked and scampered ahead, followed by Kavlae and Mur.

“C’mon, we’re leaving you behind,” Mur told me.

“I’m coming,” I said. There were glowing eels or something up ahead, and I jogged to get a look. The other three continued turning up their various noses the whole way down.

When we finally reached the other end, a family of humans were just entering the tunnel. Their awestruck expressions were vindicating.

“Ohhh, wow!”

“This is lovely!”

“Look at the size of that one! I can almost touch it!”

“Don’t smudge the glass, honey.”

“But it’s so cool!”

I joined my coworkers at the exit with no small amount of smugness. “See? They get it.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “That just shows that your entire species has poor taste in decor.”

Paint shuddered, stepping into the brighter light of the station. “I would feel much safer with solid ground on all sides instead of all that water.”

I laughed. “See, that would make me worry that it was about to fall down on me.”

“A proper burrow would never!”

Kavlae walked past us both. “You planet-born folk have the silliest ideas about these things. I’ll stick with my windows into space.”

The rest of us immediately jumped in to agree that the risk of a hatch blowout was scarier than any cave-in. But the view of stars and galaxies could be pretty dang beautiful, so it was worth it.

~~~

Inspired by this art by @ellohcee.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#short one today so I skipped the readmore #just a bit of interaction about something beautiful #to human eyes at least #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #my writing #The Token Human

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trinity0finite · 6 months

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Kiss Me - Pham Hanni

Pham Hanni X GN!Reader

Desc- You don't like Jay, but you like love his girlfriend

tags- highschool au, non!idol au, ft. jake from enha, jay from enha, jungwon from enha, hyein from nwjns

Warnings: underage drinking (drink milo instead), mention of smoking (dont smoke yall), some illegal shi, Yn is the second biggest hanni's simp (im first), cheating but he had it coming. I do not condone cheating or whateva 🙏

note- A lil snth while i wait for my brain to work i love jay boo sm he's my patootie but hanni is my pookie whle writing ths. as you can see, i continued writing on different days, took me a whole week to actually get this done. writing got better at one point of this one.

The school 'It couple' was standing at the corner of the party. Jay, the school's star player and quarterback. Hanni, the Stuco president. A match made in heaven was what everybody says and thoughts. Jay and his romantic antics wins Hanni over, the perfect girl who only hang out within her friends group.

Which you don't find romantic at all, if giving the girl flowers that wasn't her favorite but his instead, If taking the girl to expensive restaurants when she prefer quiet, peaceful places was romantic for you then pop off.

She's just your little cousin's friend, and Hyein would always talk your ears off about her, thats how you know, not because you were observing her of course. That would be, creepy.

The seemingly perfect couple was seen to be having an unusual couple quarrel. In public, house full of Hanjay's fans.

A smirk drifted onto your face, hand in your jacket pocket and another holding a soju bottle, you can't help but to watch in amusement.

Your face broke into a smile when you saw Hanni suddenly pushing past Jay, on her way to the entrance of one of your friend's house.

"Yn!" The said friend came out of nowhere placing his arm over your shoulder making you snap back into reality, back to the annoying party thrown by a rich highschool kid, that being Jake.

"Finish this for me will ya? Imma go out to have a smoke." You grinned at the blonde, pushing the bottle against his chest not giving him time to respond and make your way towards the entrance.

You frowned when you lost sight of the girl who pique your interest (you had been crushing on her since 9 grade). You take a few step, peeking here and there, trying to sight the girl. Squinting your eyes when you see a shadow a few feet from Jake's house.

"Fucking shit I swear if thats slenderman." You said aloud, tiptoeing to see better. A giggle came from the shadow makes you lose your cool.

Just because you act all tough doesn't mean you're not scare of creepypasta that Hyein used to scared you.

"Aye what the fuck?" You whispered, squinting trying to get a closer look.

"What are you doing here?" The shadow asked, it fake deepening voice.

"Uh, trying to find a child, about 5'2 she had long hair and bangs, have you seen her?" You restored, head tilted.

"Asshole! I'm 5'4!" Hanni broke her facade and marge at the taller, a cute unintentional pout on her face.

A smile broke onto your face upon seeing the girl that has been occupying your mind, living for free these days.

"Pews, I thought you had gotten kidnapped." You pretended to wipe your sweats on the side of your head making the shorter smack your arm.

You laughed, placing both of your arms back inside your jacket pocket, enjoying the annoyed look on the stuco's president face that soon turned into a smile.

Your breath hitched, seeing the way her cheeks pop up adorably makes you want to kiss her every time you spot it.

"What are you doing out here?" You asked, trying to be casual acting as if you weren't being noisy earlier at the party before grimace seeing the Pham trying to warm herself by rubbing her own arms. "and in the cold too?" You took off your jacket before throwing it at Hanni in the face for her to put it on.

"So romantic.." Hanni side eyed you before aggressively puts your jacket on not even offering it back like in those films.

You frowned, weren't she supposed to say something like, aren't you gonna be cold or something like that? You were right, those romantic films you had to endure for Jungwon were all wrong.

You got lost in your thought, not noticing the glares and side eye from Hanni, who had been hit in the face by your denim jacket.

"And.. i'm out in the damn cold because Jay refused to take me home.. saying he's having too much fun and that I need to take a stick out of my ass and let loose a little."

"Oh damn." You breathed out, god you don't like Jay at all, the perfect image, and he acts like a king doing whatever the hell he wants except when he's around you, he was tamed. He got ahold of this amazing girl and couldn't take care of her, what a prick. "Let's go on a walk."

The silent filled the comforting night, your legs carried you slowly, hands in your pant pocket trying to act cool as if you weren't bothered by the cold. You look at the girl whose head was tilted up preoccupied by the pretty constellations, and you thought, her eyes was as bright.

"Yn?" She softly called out, eyes still stuck on the beauty of the night.

"Hm?" You replied back as soft, eyes stuck on that beauty of hers.

The way she would try her best to act pissed whenever you teased her, the way her cheeks puffed out when she would pout, the way her voice would calm you down, the way she would side eyes you and look at you in disgust, you don't even mind, you treasured anything that was given to you if it was her.

"Yn? Are you okay?" She suddenly asked worriedly snapping you out of your thoughts.

You didn't reply, you stare at her dumbly, you couldn't hear or see shit other than the loud beating of your heart and the girl in front of you, you feel weak in the knees and your stomach . You don't know if it her or the ramen you've been consuming lately.

"Hanni.." You breathed out.

Hanni was slightly taken back at the way you intensely stares at her, she doesn't know wether to be scare or scare. She was lowkey scared. But the soft glint in your eyes quickly calmed her down, so does that soft deep tone of yours that reserved for her only, although she didn't know that.

She had always feel safe and comforted whenever you're around, the way you would put all your attention on her even when you're with your friends. The way you don't care about other people opinions on you, act as you want, and not cares what they would say, you didn't care, you were free. Hanni liked that about you, because she also felt free when she's with you.

Now thinking about it, Jay would pushes her aside and put his full attention on his friends, and he would walk her to class, and asking her on dates and never had a real conversation, he'd just take pictures and post them. Hanni was a trophy for Jay.

"Yeah?" She replied back, a soft frown on her face.

"Can I kiss you?"

She had been feeling things that she shouldn't feel for you for awhile, she would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't tempted, but she had a boyfriend.

"Yn..? You.. you know we can't." Hanni shook her head,

"I know you have a boyfriend and all but, I like you. I've always liked you, even way before you start dating that pretentious guy.. Fuck, I shouldn't have dump all of this on you." She felt a pang in her chest at the way you look down, your hand held your forehead, blaming yourself. "You.. ugh, you make me feel ways i've never even feel with my talking stages. And I know this is probably too late, and I should've kept this too myself-"

"Yn, are you drunk?" She asked, interrupting your rant, her hand went to cupped your cheeks to make you look directly down at her, and checking your cheeks for any tint of red.

"Huh? N-No." You babblers out, caught off guard.

"Kiss me."

Your eyes widened, air paused in your lung waiting for you to let them out, you scan her face to see if she was playing with you but you could see none on her face.

Seeing you taking too long Hanni pulls you by your sweater, making you launched forward, your lips meet hers, snapping out of shock, you slowly closed your eyes enjoying the way her soft plump lips move against yours, moving together like a puzzle and slowly but surely, you were addicted. You would give everything up just to feel her soft skin again. Her hands went to held yours, fingers intertwine. And when she went to pull away you chases after her, eyes stuck on her lips.

"Calm down." Hanni giggled breathlessly, trying to regain those oxygen you just took from her, her jaw almost dropped when she saw how dazed you looked.

When you saw the way Hanni is flushed red, trying to regain control of her breath, a small smirk grew on your face feeling satisfied and she just want to punch it off your face, or better yet, kiss it off.

"You better dump him, or Im dumping his body-"

"Oh my god!"

-> Bonus

Hanni: "Yn, you aren't drunk why are your cheeks so red?"

Yn standing next to her stupidly with tomatoes cheeks: "We just kissed!"

Hanni cackle: "You like to act all cool and tough but you're just a simp!"

Hanni went to peck her cheeks: "My Simp."

Yn holding her cheeks trying to hide from short Han: "SHUSH!"

#I'lltakejay #neverletyourpartnerstopyoufromfindingtheloveofyourlife

#Spotify #hanni pham x reader #newjeans hanni #newjeans #newjeans hanni x reader #newjeans x reader #hanni pham #tey's written

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momojedi · 19 days

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— HEMLOCK topic. hunter x gn! jedi! reader

type. loss, pt 3 note. uh oh, its a series now. warnings. imprisonment, creepy hemlock, non-con touch (non-sexual), just hemlock being the creep i perceive him as word count. 737 tag list: @ooostarwarsfandom501st @shadow-rebel-223

star wars masterlist || pinned post

I stare at the straw doll.

"Tha-," I gulp, running my tongue over cracked lips, "Thanks." The girl smiles at me, a genuine and kindhearted quirk in the corner of her mouth. "You're welcome." Her words are heavily accented and laced with so much authenticity, I can't help but flash her a tiny grin. "What's your name?" "O-"

"Ah, I see you two are bonding already." Before she can finish her answer, a cool voice interrupts her. We simultaneously turn our heads to the cell door. In it stands a man with dark hair and piercingly blue eyes. He's calm, perceiving us in a creepy manner as he scans her, the doll in my hands before then moving on to me. His gaze lingers on me for a second and the urge to shrink and disappear suddenly becomes very prominent. He turns to the girl.

"Dr Karr must be waiting on you," he speaks in a soft manner that yet radiates more cold than warmth, "move along." Hesitantly, as if refusing to leave me behind, she sends a swift glance my way. I nod. She wouldn't be able to do much for me, either way, especially not in my current state. Then, she slowly makes her way over to the man and slips out of the cell, though not before giving me on last wave. The man watches her disappear down the hallway, hands clasped behind his back. "She seems to have taken a liking to you," he hums, not looking at me.

I don't respond, no, instead I observe him until my thoughts drift over to what Dr Karr had said earlier. My brows furrow. "You're Hemlock," I realise, eyes widening. Was this the man responsible for my capture? Responsible for the weeks upon weeks of mental as well as physical torture? His low chuckle interrupts my thoughts.

"Well observed." Hemlock approaches me, taking confident strides over to me until he stands in front of me, right where I'm leaning against the wall. He's close, too close than I'd consider comfortable, caging me in to the point I can practically smell his breath. Minty. "You're [name], " He states, offering me a smile though nothing about it is kind, "You were a Jedi during the war. Commander, if I'm not mistaken?"

I bite my lip and glue my eyes to the polished floor. It's still sparkling from when the last maintenance crew cleaned up. Out of the corner of my sight, I notice a quirk in his lips. Hemlock has clearly taken notice of my reaction. My fingers twitch and I try my best to suppress the sudden itch I feel to knock him to the ground.

"Oh, the Jedi," he purrs, a hint of mock lacing his tone, "truly a bummer what happened to them." Hemlock sighs. "If only they hadn't betrayed the-" "They didn't betray shit," I bark, snapping out of my distant state. Hemlock looks taken aback for a second, a surprised glint flickering in his eyes, but he quickly gathers himself.

"Oh? That's not what official reports said." "That's because your official reports are nothing but a load of bantha fodder." I growl. He stares at me, his ice cold eyes meeting mine and a shiver runs down my spine. The sudden urge to tear my eyes away from him overtakes me and despite my defiance, I scowl yet lower my gaze. Hemlock doesn't like it.

"Look at me." I ignore him, shutting my eyes and shutting him out in the process. "I said," he breathes steadily, hot air hitting my face, "look at me."

The hand that finds itself at my neck knocks the air out of me when he grips my chin and forces me to look at him.

"You are alone. None of your Jedi friends will save you; not here, nor anywhere else in the galaxy. And you know why? Because they're all dead," he closes his eyes and sighs silently, his tone growing soft again, almost loving, when he rises again, readjusting the glove on his hand, "I'm giving you a chance here. A chance to survive, to be part of a greater purpose. It's up to you to take it."

Fixing him with a glare, I lean my head back to gather as much saliva as I can before spitting at his feet.

"My family will come for me. They'll save me."

At least I hope so.

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moonchildstyles · 1 year

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announcement and sneak peak!!

:)))))) hi guys!!!!

I know ive been taking a writing break for quite a while for while and have gotten a few questions asking when id be back and I finally have an answer!!!

starting on Friday, May 5th, ill be back to posting on patreon with an exclusive fic! I will be posting the first part on Tumblr on Friday, the 19th! It's an au where Harry is a guardian angel who's taking care of y/n and ends up falling in love of course:)))))

It's 6 parts long and I'm so excited to be back with new writing! I also have a Pinterest board up so you can get a good idea of the vibe!

If you feel so inclined to sign up to read this new piece, please wait until May 1st! If you sign up anytime before then, it'll charge you again on the 1st anyway, and I don't want that to happen!! Under the cut I'll leave a sneak peek of the fic, but if anyone has any questions you can def send me a message whenever!!

thank you all so much for being so patient with me and taking the time to read my stuff! A new Tumblr fic will be coming this summer :)

—————

Nonetheless, Harry could still feel his heart breaking as he gazed over her.

To anyone else, she may have looked like a girl resting after a long day, but Harry knew better. He saw all the signs. He'd seen the pile of dishes in her sink, her hair was thrown on the top of her head instead of her usual braid back, and her book of choice for the evening was a comfort novel she turned to when she was in need of lighter thoughts. Her heart had been broken today. Most likely by her own hand.

That was the hardest part, Harry thought as he swept across her floor with silent steps. Knowing that she didn't have to go through this if she was just a little kinder to herself.

Her strawberry shaped diffuser dispersed her favorite blend of lavender essential oil and vanilla fragrance through her room, the scent wafting around him with the help of the span of his wings. Another comfort, he knew; something to soothe the cracks in her heart she was able to ignore for majority of her day until she was left alone with the stars. It was harder for her when the sun went down.

With her wish echoing in his head, Harry took careful steps towards her bed. The melancholy in her house lingered with every step, his gaze stuck to her face to ensure she wasn't spiralling into any bad dreams. All he wanted was to comfort her.

That was the thought he had in his head when he sat down on the edge her bed, her legs just behind him, as he tucked his wings close to his shoulder blades. Ensuring he didn't jostle her as he settled on the mattress, he felt his breath seize when he saw the details of her face under the pale starlight. He'd been close to her before, but this was different.

Her tear tracks sparkled like the stars that lined his home in the clouds, casting pastel shadows over her face with cool blues and purples. The shape of her lips was even more pronounced given the length of her crying; though he didn't care for the cause, the effect was his favorite. Her skin shone like silk; delicate like the lashes lining her eyes, tiny creases and lines that showed that there still were days that made her smile. Despite the fact he was the one with wings pinned to his back, he swore she was the angelic one of the two.

Breathtaking; that was all that was running through his mind. She was too pretty when she cried, it wasn't fair.

His hands fisted in his lap as he wondered what it would feel like to cradle her cheek in his palm. Would she be as warm as he dared to allow himself to imagine, or would she be cool and dewy like the clouds above? Would it be such a bad thing to reach out and test his theories? Besides, he knew from the other guardians that sometimes the touch from an angel can help heal the ailments of their charges. While he doubted he could fix everything that was hurting her tonight, maybe he could soften the sharp edges of her broken heart.

Uncurling his fingers from the fist he had made in his lap, Harry reached out with a tentative hand.

Harry's fingertips touched her skin first, the warmth of her skin rivalling the sun at that slight brush alone. The pads of his lean fingers mapped the round of her cheek as he skimmed over her skin, his palm coming to cup around her face. She was soft like clouds and smooth like silk, a creamy warmth bleeding into his skin that Harry didn't think could come from anyone but this woman. His fingers breached her hairline, soft baby hairs curling around his digits while the curve of her cheek molded into the ridges and lines of his palm.

A platinum warmth was felt bubbling under his skin. That had to be what his friends had talked about—the healing touch of a guardian. It may not be a physical pain he wanted to save her from, but he hoped this touch might be able to soothe her some, even in her sleep.

Looking at her now, under the guise of pale moonlight with his palm holding her carefully, he wanted nothing more than for her to be able to feel the affection he felt for her. She had no idea how cared for and loved she was—even by people she didn't see all that often now that she had moved on her own. She had no idea how much he cared for her.

What a special girl she was, he thought as he tentatively ran the pad of his thumb over the height of her cheekbone. Half of her wish was about how much she wanted to give love to others, wishing that privilege upon someone else who he would bet would never really deserve someone quiet as divine as her; selfishness didn't even come to her when she was alone.

His wish was a hope that there was someone out there that could show her how much she was loved. Someone like him, even though he didn't dare linger on that thought for too long.

He would find a way to make her wishes come true. He knew he would, that much he'd promise even if he couldn't tell her.

A tiny smile crossed her features as (Y/N) pressed her cheek into Harry's hand. Pride puffed at his chest, his wings spanning behind him as if he could create a shield around their moment. Even if she wasn't aware, at least she could feel the way he cared for her.

—————

ahhhh thank you sooooo much for reading I really hope you guys are as excited as I am!

#other #mine.#harry styles #harry #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine

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dulcesiabits · 9 days

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the sun is also a star, p.2.

summary: this is not a continuation of the necromany au from the first part, but instead, this fic is about two drabbles focusing on mhin's and li's relationship! the first part is focused on taking a job together, and second part imagines what mhin's monster (painful) transformation might be like.

notes: 2.5k words, part one, violence, blood, body horror, biting, licking (of wounds, tears and also of someone else's saliva on your face)

iii. A Love Like Ours is Not Love At All

The way the blood trickles Li’s face looks holy, somehow, like water poured over the head of a newborn child in church.

It’s the wrong thought to think, sacrilegious, even, when her white shirt is soaked in blood, and there’s flesh from the corpse of a Soulless clinging to her hair. She is no god or saint, but there’s still something sacred about how she makes precise cuts with her dagger, skin flaying apart, before she reaches into the cavity she’s made and pulls. Pulls, until tendons snap and muscles break and crimson seeps under her nails and there’s a perfectly formed heart in her hands, and she holds it up to her face like she could kiss it.

But then she holds the heart out to them, and Mhin takes the thing gingerly. It’s still warm and pulsing, a vain attempt to keep living with each weak beat, before they slip it into a cool stone container and snap the lid shut, where it slides into place next to four other hearts, the bottom of the container wet with blood.

“That should be enough, right?” Li says, bouncing on the heels of her feet, counting off on her fingers. “One, two, three, four… five. Five hearts.”

“We would have finished sooner if you hadn’t insisted on pulling the hearts out yourself,” Mhin snaps. “You crushed half of them. Use your dagger next time.”

“But I like pulling them out myself,” Li says, pouting. “It’s more fun that way.”

“I don’t see what’s so fun about it.” Mhin gathers the container to their chest, fingers curling over frigid stone, some sort of ice spell imbued into its foundation to keep the box cold and the hearts in pristine condition. It came with the commission from Leander, though for what purposes the hearts will be used, they can’t say. They know better than to ask.

“It feels nice,” Li says simply. And it’s always this simple with her, as if she’s guided by animal instinct and base impulses alone, living from one whim to the next. It makes her both easy to read, and frustrating to understand.

“Let’s just turn these in,” Mhin mutters.

Without a word, Li lops up to their side, a small frown on her lips, gaze snagged on something on their face. When she brings a hand alongside their cheek, rubbing her thumb against the rigid line of bone beneath their skin, Mhin can’t move away at all. They should. They know they should. But her touch is as sudden and burning as the sun.

“It’s not rubbing out,” she mumbles. Her thumb presses against their skin, harder, a pain bordering on pleasure.

“Of course it won’t,” Mhin snaps back. “You’re covered in blood. You’re probably making it worse.”

“Oh, yeah,” she responds. Her hand stills, fingers absently stroking their cheek in feathery movements, her nails scraping against their skin. Any harder, and she might draw blood.

“Stop doing something so useless,” Mhin says. Their heart is a fluttering bird in their ribcage, wings beating wildly at the walls.

“It’s not useless,” she protests. “I’m doing it because I like you.”

It’s the way she says it– guileless, honest, as if admitting her affections is the most natural thing in the world– that finally gives them enough strength to pull away from her touch. Her hands lingers, outstretched, curved around the ghost of their face, and they draw their hood closer to their face, casting it in enough shadow that Li can’t make out their expression. Not that it would matter if she saw their expression or not; it wouldn’t deter her whatsoever, no matter what face they make.

“Stop saying that,” they say reproachfully.

“Why? It’s true. I thought you liked it when people were honest.”

“Because affection is useless, and anyone can stab you in the back. I don't know why you’re so adamant on confessing to me. It’s reckless of you.”

Li dips her head, and, as unaware as she always is, presses closer to them again, her hand on their chin, tilting their face up. No, unaware isn’t the right word. She’s not unaware, she just doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about any of their attempts to draw away, pulling close whenever they try to flee, like a dog with their teeth around their leg, biting so hard they can’t shake her off no matter what they do, a permanent extension of their own body.

“I say it because I want to, I keep telling you that,” she says, like they’re the stubborn one. “Besides, even if someone were to stab me in the back, it’d be my fault for being in such a vulnerable position.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” they mutter.

Li smiles at them. Her fingers trail to their cheek again, where they continue, in vain, to rub at whatever spot of gore she’s found on their face. “What’s wrong with doing what you want, because you want to do it?”

“It’s… stupid, to not be aware of the world around you. You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Then I’ll get in trouble,” she says cheerfully. “And then I’ll get out of it. Or I won’t. That’s how it works. Mhin, you’re never gonna get anywhere if you keep thinking like this.”

“Me? I think it’s more likely that you’re going to end up dead in a ditch with your attitude.”

“And?” she says unrepentantly. “You know, if you’re too afraid to cut loose, I can show you how.”

“I don’t need you to do that. I told you it’s better to stay away from me. We should keep our relationship in a professional capacity.”

“But I’m not going to do that. It’d be boring without you. Ah, but you know…” Li bends her head down, her nose trailing along their cheek. Before they can react, her tongue is lapping against their skin, a slow, gentle, wet trail. “You’re always talking like you don’t like yourself. But I like you. So, you could just give yourself to me. I’ll take whatever you don’t want. What about that?”

They jerk away from her, pushing her shoulders with enough force that Li takes a step back. Their cheeks are burning at her brazen words, her simplistic way of thinking, the innocent selfishness at what, to her, is a perfect solution.

“What the hell are you thinking? Don’t do that again,” they spit out.

She taps her own cheek. “The blood on your face is gone. I was just helping you out.”

“I don’t need your help.” They spin around and clutch the container tightly, winter digging into their chest, as if it could soothe their own heated body.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Li calls out cheerfully. “Same time and place, okay?”

Mhin doesn’t grace her with a response as they hurry down the streets. Li is obnoxious, selfish, oblivious, unaware, and doesn’t have any care for anyone outside of her own interests. It’ll be better to stay away, to stick a knife into her stomach until she learns proper distance.

They bring their fingers to their cheek, chasing the memories of Li’s tongue slicking against their skin. Their fingers come away wet; it still hasn’t dried, and they touch their fingertips to their own lips, to press the faint taste of saliva and blood to their own hesitant tongue.

Tomorrow, she’ll be waiting for them, ready to take on another hunting mission together. Her head will perk up when she notices them. And Mhin will never be able to do anything other than gravitate unwillingly towards her, once those intoxicating golden eyes fall on their face.

iv. Even a Well-Trained Dog Will Bare Its Teeth

Mhin, Li thinks, has always been beautiful. Beautiful when their face contorts with frustration and annoyance, beautiful when they ruthlessly slip their dagger into a Soulless’s vital artery on its neck, beautiful even when their breath comes in shallow pants and blood is slicking all over their body like a second skin and they turn their dagger towards her neck before they remember who she is in the heat of battle.

And they’re beautiful, even now, when their body is being ripped apart, the monster under their skin splitting their human form open, like an insect emerging from a cocoon.

Feather stab out of their skin, bursting with a rupture of blood and sinew. Their spine, cracking out of space, deforms into something elongated and strange. She can almost hear the twisting of their muscles, the cracking of their bones, the whistling of their blood, as their flesh loosens and sloughs along their body, bleeding their own entrails onto the floor. Blood rivers down their fingers as talons rupture pitilessly from their nails, severing their own skin.

Their transformation is heralded only by their own bitten gasps and low moans of pain, and the twisting of their body like the wind, the wind before a storm, glancing through hollow spaces in their bones and whispering warnings of something unnatural on its way.

All Li can do is watch, as Mhin turns one yellowed eyed at her, pupil dilating, voice raspy and hoarse. “Go away.” Those are the last human words she can manage to hear.

She takes a step closer to them, and their body, like some creature dreamt half-formed from a primordial nightmare, shudders, flesh rippling and feathers swaying as they push away from her.

And when she takes another step again, a taloned claw– scales flickering, talons still struggling to find purchase on once slender human fingers fusing together– flashes. It’s a warning blow, careless only with desperation and not malice. Li could dodge it, as she has dodged hundreds of strikes before it, but she doesn’t alter her path as talons slice through her shoulder. What would it be like for this form of Mhin’s to hurt her? There’s a sting of pain as her flesh parts pliantly under their touch, and it’s disappointing how Mhin holds themself back from doing worse.

Mhin croons low in their throat, a pitiful cry of a cornered creature. They turn their face away from her, but there’s nowhere to go in this dim apartment, where all the curtains are drawn and windows shuttered, as if Mhin could make a nest from their broken furniture and scattered feathers and hide themself away forever.

Their blows are frustratingly weak, and only get weaker when she’s close enough to kneel in front of them, like one of the gods that she’s never believed in. Li knows how cornered animals act, and if they really want to frighten her off, then they could do better than such half-hearted attacks. They’re taller than her in their monstrous form, which is a disconcerting feeling, but the way Mhin folds themself means she can still look down on them.

Li reaches out to their face, and Mhin lets out a guttural caw, an alien scream as they shove her hand away, nicking her flesh, a denial that only makes her heart sing. She smiles and reaches out again, even as they flinch from her touch.

She forcefully grabs their face so they can’t hide again, bringing it closer to her, even as their liquid eyes, dark as a galaxy, shiver, red pupils dilating and tears pooling down their face. Mhin looks like a facsimile of a human now, with their nose pinched and downy feathers coating their face, and a strange, faint growth on their lips, hard as a shell, a half-formed beak. Their face is covered in little black buds, feathers that are still straining to grow, and she runs a thumb along one.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, and a tremble explodes through their body as they thrash against her touch, as if the words are poison.

But Li won’t let them go, not anymore. She likes them too much to do anything other than press close to their side, even if they’ll hate her for it. How unfair of them, to want to run and hide from her in the first place.

Li runs her hands along their face and down their neck, feathers tickling her fingers. And then, she bends her head and lovingly sinks her teeth into the side of their neck, a sharp enough nip that Mhin stills at her touch. Gentle clicking rises from their throat, and Mhin slaps their hands against their mouth.

Li hums, licking at the teeth mark on their neck. It’s harsh enough to leave reddened imprints, but not harsh enough to draw blood, unfortunately. She could bite harder, if only to leave a permanent mark on them. It’s a bad habit to want to break beautiful things like this, but how else can she show her appreciation?

Gentle talons are pulling at her face until she’s eye to eye with Mhin. They bring their quivering mouth to her cheek, and press their hot tongue flat against her skin and lick. They’re lapping at the cuts marring her face, the ones caused by their frantic claws. There’s a methodical precision to their movements, even as their tongue pricks at her cut flesh.

It’s not an apology; Li wouldn’t know what to do with such a useless thing. But it is some sort of promise. Mhin pulls away, and lowers their eyes, retreating somewhere within themself.

“You’re not allowed to pull away. I told you that,” she whispers, and she curls herself alongside their body, as if she tries hard enough, she could be consumed by them.

The two of them are face to face again, and tears are still beading in their eyes. Mhin blinks them away, and she brings her lips to them and kisses their tears, licking the salt off their face. It’s a wordless, animal communication, the sort Li is best at. After all, words can fail and cloud meaning, but the body? The body will never lie, and she knows their body too well to be fooled by anything they do.

Li tugs at a piece of Mhin’s hair, covered in sweat and blood, carding through the strands with her fingers. They seem to melt at the gesture, even as their body pulses, pleasure mixing with pain, flesh and bones still creaking out of place, inch by inch.

She likes this, likes being able to run her hands along their body, to survey every new inch of them, her hands playful explorers.

“If you want, I can kill you,” Li says, arms encircling what she thinks is their torso, pulling them flush against her, tucking their head under her chin. “Okay?”

It would be lovely, too, to be struck down by them, to feel their talons crushing her windpipe and collapsing her lungs, for them to dig their claws into her heart and tear it out, the prize for a conquering victor. From Mhin, death would be sweeter than a confession, the holiest form of love Li can imagine.

No sound rises from Mhin’s throat, as if their transformation has finally tired them from communicating. The only sound she can hear is the wind of their displaced joints, and the irregular beating of their heart, a melody that will only ever belong to her.

But Mhin’s quivering arms, sliding cautiously along her back, claws grazing her skin, are answer enough.

#liya writes #liya’s ocs #touchstarved #mhin #li #literally I had a hard time tagging this #like . scratches head. sorry guys im a freak and li is also a freak

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lightwise · 1 month

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TBB S3E8 - Reactions

- Poor Echo—he really is not getting any screen time is he

- Crosshair’s look of concern when he tells Omega she should be staying away from Rex and Echo 😭

- Okay Omega’s guilt is so clouding her judgement at this point. Poor kid really thinks it’s her fault that all those clones died—no baby girl, the shadow assassin would have gone there anyway whether you were there or not. My heart aches for her

- Hunter 🤝 Crosshair: keep Omega safe at all costs.

- Hunter’s lil “come on” head tilt 🤩

- PHEE!!!! I have been waiting for you!!!

- Crosshair: Who!?! 😶 PRICELESS. EXACTLY WHAT I EXPECTED FROM HIM MEETING HER 🤣🤣🤣

- Not Omega serving as the narrative admitting that Phee is, in fact, much to our dismay, a pirate 🏴‍☠️

- I’M GETTING BOTH MY GIRLS BACK IN ONE EPISODE

- Just slipping a Tech mention in there, why don’t you stop ripping my heart out

- Fennec!!!

- And Cross has the same reaction to Fennec 😆 —he’s finally starting to learn about the life that his family has lived during their time apart

- Hunter being in full dad mode and also being very perceptive about Crosshair hiding his hand issues. He may not always be able to say this about himself, but Hunter admitting that ignoring something won’t make the problem go away is huge growth from him.

- Thank goodness Hunter can pilot. This would be a very short season otherwise

- Cool space station

- I love when Star Wars is grimy city underbellies and neon lights 🤩

- The guys look SO GOOD in purple. Jus sayin

- As does Fennec (Queen that she is)

- I’d let those boys hem me in a booth anytime

- Ming-Na Wen is really pulling out all the stops for Fennec’s voice

- Hunter in neon bar lighting is something so personal to me

- “Ruined one of my scores” lol Fennec is salty tonight

- “More than you’ve got” she doesn’t even know how much they have on them but she knows it’s not enough 🤣 but also where is that 30k credits that Omega won?? They could have used that?

- “We made a deal. I’m going to keep it as long as you hold up your end”

- “Ten? For THAT? That’s what I thought”

- Gosh that water looks nasty

- Wet helmet Hunter instead of WET HAIR HUNTER??? Fffffffsssss Jennifer *clicks tongue in disappointment*

- That is so many mines

- “Close doesn’t count” 🥺

- It’s really interesting to me that this show has been focused solely on the Batch as a family this season. We’ve been on Pabu multiple times and have seen hardly any other residents, no one trying to be neighborly or prying (even though we know Shep has tried to make sure Crosshair is comfortable). The focus is on the Batch themselves this time, not their dynamic with the outside world.

- “You don’t like anything” “true” at least he’s self aware by now lol

- Batcher’s like “you like meeee!”

- Hunter’s senses are back baybee

- Never knew I needed to see Wrecker yeeting space alligators until today. Glorious. Straight up punching them in the face 🤣🤣🤣

- Ohhhh Wrecker giving back her sass blow for blow!

- “So what happened with the kid?”

- I will die on the hill that Fennec cares about Omega deep down

- “Just…seems odd. Considering our past”

- Love that the atmosphere on this planet is orange and it’s Fennec’s episode

- “They thought Omega would be safer with you guys. Guess they were wrong about that” she is not pulling any punches

- “Money’s not everything” you right boy

- “That’s because you don’t have any” phewww 🤣🤣🤣

- Pulling the blaster across the throat in a kill motion?? Hunter what are you doing to me right now 🥵

- “Pretty much” lolol

- This dude is so creepy looking. Giant bug eyes were not what I was expecting

- “You heard me!!” Oh Wrecker is done, done

- Man this guy does not go down easy.

- Bug spit. Nuff said

- “I doubt that” oh Cross, honey, I know, I get it

- THEY HELD HANDS

- I REPEAT SHE HELD HIS HAND

- Sorry I’m having Kenobi show Obi-Wan and Leia handhold flashbacks 😭😭😭😭

- Okay okay I’m back. I think.

- “You’ve missed a lot” “I know”

- Okay just rip my heart out why don’t you

- That is one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen

- Pointy finger scrunched brow Hunter is the best Hunter

- “You can either fight me or trust me. Good choice” 😮‍💨

- Hunter getting tipped off that ramp is uh…is ummm…doing something to me. What, I’m not sure 👀🫠

- I also find it really interesting that they’ve barely had us on the Marauder at all this season. Foreshadowing?

- Both Fennec and Phee make the same two fingered salute to the boys after talking to them. Cute.

- Ohhhhh is she…is she selling them out?? Who is she talking to? Cad?

- Wait no she wouldn’t pass them over to someone else if any money could be gained on her side. I bet she’s talking to Ventress. I really wanna know how those two know each other 👀

- Wow. Things are really going to get interesting from here. Can’t wait.

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #some light ramblings #somelightramblings

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nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx · 29 days

Text

Helpless part 36, sorry for the wait, here is a long chapter as payment

Nico woke up after three hours with a splitting headache, he felt nauseous, where even was he? He spotted the blonde boy sitting on the chair next to him reading a book, he was surprised that he wasn't off with ten other patients by this point. "You okay Neeks?" Will said putting his book down and walking over.

"I've got a headache."

"Nauseous to?"

"How'd you know?"

"It's normal, I'll go get you some water." Will walked out returning with a glass and handing it to the Hades kid, he started taking small sips from it, letting the cool water run down his throat, when even was the last time he drank water? "Would you be open to talking to someone? I know you don't like opening up to people but it could help."

"Are... are you forcing me to?" Nico asked so softly Will could barely hear him, he sat down next to the whispering boy.

"'Course not Neeks, we just want you to get help."

"Please don't make me talk to people." He whispered back, curling up.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to." Nico mentally laughed at the irony of Will telling him that when he was being kept in the infirmary which he really didn't want to do. The son of Apollo grabbed the small boy's hand and started rubbing the back of it in circles, "You could try a journal? I've heard that helps."

"Maybe... can we leave this for now?"

"Sure, anything in particular you want to talk about?"

"Can we finish our game of twenty questions?"

"Okay."

"Who's your favorite siblings?"

"Don't you dare tell any of them but Kayla, Austin will kill me if he finds out." Will laughed, "Least favorite of the seven?"

"Valdez, he's annoying as fuck also I fucked him that one time so it just makes everything awkward."

"Wait what?!"

"We were both bored and drunk, we never talk about that day. Anyways, have you ever dyed your hair?" He decided to let Will come to his own conclusions on that one, especially because Leo was too drunk to actually remember it, or he was just a very good actor. He remembered that night, it was the anniversary of when Bianca had died, while he last memories with her weren't the best he still loved her. He still wished he'd died instead of her. He was drinking himself numb, standing outside on the deck in the darkness when Leo walked, well walked was being generous, stumbled down the stairs, so drunk he could barely stay up right. He remembers thinking 'well might as well do it, haven't got anything to loose.' He remembers grabbing his shirt and smashing his lips against his.

"Why are you so drunk Valdez?" He muttered into his ear, trailing up kisses

"None ya business Shadow boy."

"Fine." He pulled away,

"Hey!"

"No sympathy sex if you don't tell me."

"My mom died today."

"I'm sorry."

"Di Angelo I seem to realise you are also drunk, would you care to explain why?" His words were practically just slurs, fuck it, he thought, they'd both just never acknowledge it again.

"My sister died today."

"What? But Hazel-"

"My other sister, Bianca, died when I was ten."

"I'm sorry."

"Can we just fuck senseless I can't take processing this anymore."

"Fine by me." And then that was it, they never spoke of it again and went back to hating each other, honestly it was a disaster that they we're probably never going to unpack.

"Nope, I was going to dye it brown again when I saw my mum but then she didn't talk to me for years so never really did that."

"That is messed up but in a desperate attempt to keep this light hearted we will unpack that later. Now, I will be kidnapping you and dying your hair every colour imaginable."

"Can I ask why?"

"You're blonde, what else would I do?"

"Umm... okay then, have you ever watched Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"What! How? I'm putting Kay or Aussi on tomorrow night and we are binging all of Star Wars together."

"Please no."

"Too late Angel boy." Nico sighed in defeat, shaking his head but accepting his fate.

"Why didn't you tell me you could speak Italian?"

"I didn't know, I mean the song I learnt a while ago but actually speaking it's like how Aphrodite kids can speak French because it's the language of love, Italian's the language of music."

"That makes a lot of sense."

"Speaking of Italy, do you miss it?"

"Yeah, but when I went back there with Jason on the Argo II I didn't really feel anything, everything there changed so much, it barely feels like home now. What's something no one or only one person knows about you?" Will could tell him so many different things, he had so many secrets but was it safe to share them? He could do the easy thing and say that he glows in the dark, he could talk about his mom or the things he does at night when he's sure no one's watching him.

"I can glow in the dark." It was too soon, he'd tell him... eventually.

"YOU'RE A PORTABLE SUNSHINE!!!" Nico cringed at himself mentally but it was so easy to get lost in conversation with Will, just about fun shit, not worrying about everything all the time. I mean he'd had his fair share of hard conversations and lectures from the blonde boy but it was still so easy to relax around him. That wasn't good, he couldn't let his guard down, especially after those kisses. He said he loved him, he kissed him after the first one, he didn't pull away but that didn't mean anything. He would leave after realising that he was worthless and didn't deserve love, he wanted to let him in but his brain wouldn't let him, the only reason he'd said half the shit he had now was because of Reyna.

"Shut up Doom and Gloom." He laughed, messing up Nico's hair.

"Don't think I will, Care Bear."

"Really?"

"You love it, be honest." Fuck, he shouldn't be letting himself get this comfortable, he shouldn't be getting this relaxed with anyone. But it was living sunshine, cinnamon roll, Will Solace, he could trust him... right? Will rolled his eyes in defeat,

"...Will you be my boyfriend...?" Fuck, why did he do that? What if he- his thoughts were cut off with Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, ambassador of Pluto smashed his lips against his own, grabbing his blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around the small boy's neck, pulling him as close as he possibly could until they broke the kiss.

"I'd love that Sunshine." Here goes nothing, at least he'd be happy for a day or two, he didn't want to build hope of Will liking him for any longer than that, but at least there would be some temporary happiness. A moment of silence passed until Nico asked the next question "What's going on with your mum?"

"Well- Umm.." Will struggled to hold back tears,

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"I want you to know, it's just... hard."

"Take a deep breath, it's going to be okay." Will shook before a tear fell from his eye as started to talk.

"Well until I was eight she was amazing, honestly the best parent I could wish for. But then after that she became really busy, working two jobs to pay for the album she was writing. Then when I was nine she dropped me off a my aunts, said it was for a few days, three months later I ran away. Her house... it was a nightmare, constantly called the unwanted child, yelled at for getting in trouble at school and not paying attention. And for anything that went wrong... ever and well let's just say she wasn't the nicest overall. Food once a week and if I was in trouble once every three weeks and well she hit hard. I don't think mom knew how bad she was, at least that's what I used to think, now I'm not so sure. I ran away which is when I found camp, just wandering around aimlessly until I was attacked by symphalian birds and I just ran until they couldn't find me. I was in the infirmary for two weeks, which was when I met Michael... first time someone cared about my existence in a few years. I was claimed the first campfire I went to; I wrote to mom so much those first few months... poured my fucking heart out, never got a goddamn response. Well she sent me a letter yesterday... wanted to meet up next week, don't even know how she fucking found out where I was. Didn't even bother asking the fuck had happened." Will didn't realise he was crying until Nico wiped a tear from his cheek and kissed him on the forehead,

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm going to go there next week and say every fucking word I want her to hear." He said in a broken voice, he pulled him into a hug.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Will just nodded, sinking into the smaller boy's arms, slipping his hands into Nico's.

"Why do you always wear that ring?"

"Bianca gave it to me before she left, it was my mothers; nearly got it stolen at a club a when I was twelve."

"Why were you...?"

"Addicted to more things than I would be willing to admit, easiest way to get them. Cats or dogs?" A look over uncomfort washed over his face as he quickly changed the subject; Will knew he wouldn't get any more information on what had happened, at least any time soon.

"Cats and that is objectively the correct answer, also I already asked you that."

"Firstly, I don't care. Secondly, you're wrong. Thirdly, you are a golden retriever but you like cat's!? How?? Why??"

"Cat's are just better, and anyways you are the definition of black cat but preferre dogs."

"Cat's aren't 'just better' why do you think we have three headed dogs but not three headed cats?"

"Simple, a single cat is already perfect, why add two more when you've already got perfection?"

"Shush, dogs are still better."

"Whatever you say Neeks, just know that your opinion is wrong." Will teased, patting Nico on the head, covering his hand with his mouth to stop any protests. "Who's your favorite Mean Girls character?"

"Regina, what kind of a question is that? How much longer do you think Jason and Piper are going to last?"

"What?"

"His much longer will they last? It's doomed, my bets are another week or two before one of them snaps." Will thought back to the two of them, he didn't know either of them that well but he normally never would have guessed they're together.

"Umm... I haven't really thought about it but I guess another month maybe month and a half. Favorite book?"

"Ernesto, it was impossible to find and even harder to read since it was all in bad handwriting and dyslexia didn't exactly help. Also if I was caught with it I would have to spend months in the church but I still managed to get through it." Nico remembered finding the first page somewhere on the floor and picking it up, desperately trying to find out where it was from. It took him months to find one and about a year to read that one but he remembered the plot word for word. He could remember sneaking out at dawn to read it before anyone else was up, it was like that for half a year, waking up every morning to read it and then hide it from his mum and Bianca, he didn't know how he never got caught. "Do you like being in the infirmary all the time, I swear you never take a break."

"Yeah, I like being able to help people. Also I'm the only healer so I try to not put anyone else in the Apollo cabin have to be in here too much, I mean normally it's Kay and Aussi but sometimes we have other people in here. What's your favorite season?"

"Winter, I love the rain also I hate the sun."

"Heyyy!"

"Sorry Sunshine, it's the truth, when have you ever seen me outside willingly? What's your favorite song?"

"Probably... Pretend."

"Sing it?" Nico said laying down on his lap, looking up at him.

"Tonight my self-respect went out the window

It didn't stay for long

But I figured I'd be wrong

So, don't come close

My heart is rather clueless

I don't know why I do this But just once more

Let's close the door and play pretend

More than a glance

More than a friend

I'll close the door and play with you

Is that what you want me to do I'll do what you want me to do

Hit me up

It's fine, Mil pause my healing

It's all part of our truce

Oh, the sweet smell of abuse So, please don't go

My life is going backwards

No room in it for you But this bed fits two

Let's close the door and play pretend

More than a glance

More than a friend

I'll close the door and play with you

Is that what you want me to do I'll do what you want me to do

Why do I want it too?

I should be running from you

Why do I want it?

Oh, I want it too

Let's close the door and play pretend

More than a glance

More than a friend

I'll close the door and play with you

Is that what you want me to do

I'll do what you want me to do" Nico stared into his eyes, mesmerised by the blonde boy's voice. Will smiled, planting a kiss on his forehead."If you could have one wish, what would it be?"

"I'd bring Hazel's mother back, she deserves to see her again."

"Not your own?"

"I'd rather make her happy; do you play any sports."

"I love playing soccer but there isn't really time with being in the infirmary."

"You mean football?"

"No I mean soccer...?"

"Soccer is football, the abomination of a sport you have here that you call football is rip off rugby."

"I would argue with that but I really can't, there's basically no difference between the two sports. But it's definitely soccer."

"All Americans are dumb and that is the hill I will die on, you kick the ball with your foot, that's why it's called football. Where did soccer come from?"

"I don't know but it sounds better."

"It really doesn't Solace; just ask the next question, I can't afford to lose any more brain cells."

"Rude, but what's your favorite time of day?"

"Sunset, who's your favorite out of the seven?

"Probably Annie, but I talk to Leo a lot, mainly because he's here a lot."

"Can't imagine why." Nico said speaking in fluent sarcasm,

"What's your fatal flaw?"

"Holding grudges."

"How am I not surprised? Also that was the last question."

"Good, I was starting to run out of ideas."

"Same though," Will glanced down at his watch, "Neeks, it's almost lunch time. I want you to try eating just a tiny bit, stop whenever you feel sick, but could you try?" He half nodded, dreading what would come next.

***

______

Sorry again for the wait, I got distracted

I'll be honest I was running out of questions at the end

If you're still reading comment your Hogwarts house

May the odds be ever in your favour

-Siri

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rainroses45 · 1 year

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Sweet Dreams

(Jake sully x daughter reader)

☾description: you have a nightmare but your dad is there to help you through it

☾a/n: i’m so sorry for not updating. I got sick and went to the hospital so i didn’t get to write anything, BUT IM FREE NOW :) so here is some cuteness! warning: blood mentioned

☾song inspiration:Emotions -Brenda Lee

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Death, it surrounded you like the air you breathe. Everywhere you turned it showed with its lifeless eyes staring into your soul. You couldn’t escape it, run from it, or hide from it. You were forever trapped in this scene of bodies upon bodies of soulless caverns.

You screamed and cried trying to stop the flood of liquid metal coming from the young na’vi children. The environment around you lit up in angry red. You watched your home be destroyed in seconds, leaving nothing behind but wood splinters which would be burnt.

Oh Great Mother what have you done to deserve this? What led you to this? The world around you spun in fast circles, you felt like it was all crushing on to you.

“No! No, no, no,” an infinite amount of the same meaningless word being repeated over and over again did little to nothing, until you woke up in cold sweat.

The cool breeze of the night whisked your hair back as you let out deep breaths. Quickly turning around, you noticed your family resting peacefully. You took note on how their chests slowly rose and fell leaving you with a sense of reassurance. Quietly and carefully you shimmied out of the marui, and left to the isolated beach.

Shining stars danced across the sky trying to cheer you up, but they failed when tears began to fall from your eyes. The salty ocean greeted you with open arms after seeing their mistaken twin blemish your face. Her royal highness, the moon, simply guided your way letting you have your own space. Every step in the sand was brushed away by the wind, leaving behind no trace of your existence there.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, providing physical comfort that could only be given by another. Delicate breathes were released into the air, trying to calm yourself down as you took a seat on the wooden platform. Glowing little fishes swarmed at your feet, tickling you but only a sad, short, small smile came out. Trapped, you were utterly trapped in a body that wished to be free of its dictator. Your brain simply couldn’t let go of the past and move on with the future. It wasn’t just your brain that wanted to move on, but your heart wanted to stay away from the unexpectedness of tomorrow. The two wars happening in your body caused your emotions to become a shatter belt within you.

Once again you looked up at the sky, then down at the happy guppies and let out the sobs. It was a full house tonight, and everyone was dying to see you release the stress that accumulated over the passing days. Just like a good little girl, you gave the people what they wanted and let your tears fall with no shame.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jake turned over to wrap his hands around his little girl, but instead was greeted by the emptiness of a shadow. He slowly got up and checked his surrounding for any signs of his baby girl, but she was gone. Silently, Jake got up from his spot and exited the mauri, careful not wake anyone. He made sure to check every direction before heading off into who knows where.

It must have been a couple more minutes before he spotted you sitting down with your back towards him. You were radiating in the moon, the different hues of color compromised to make you stand out for your father. He remembered when you were just a little girl, with your soft smile and illuminating eyes. Your precious laugh was consider common back then, now it was in a museum of accumulated memories.

You didn’t notice your father coming from behind, you just continued to stare at the water as your feet loosely swayed in the motions. The tears stopped coming a long time ago, leaving you with blood shot eyes and the hiccups.

Jake slowly approached you, his heart shattering every second he witnessed his little girl suffering. The sound of the creaking wood alarmed you, causing you to turn around, quickly wiping any wet trails marking your cheeks.

“Hey it’s just me,” your dad tried to calm you down, placing his hands in front of him in surrender. You faced forward once more and looked down at your hands resting on your knees. Were these hands of a killer? Did they reek of grief and rotten flesh? The feeling of embarrassment filled you to the brim. You didn’t want to be seen like this in public, especially not with your dad in view.

“Can I sit?” He asked you not wanting to step over any boundaries. Jake understood that everyone needed time alone to cry, but it tormented him to know you were suffering alone and he couldn’t do anything about it. You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to invite him to your exposed bubble.

“What’s wrong babygirl?” He placed a hand on your shoulder. You simply continued your actions and pretended his presence was not near. Time passed by, and not a word was said, your father still had his hand on your shoulder soothingly rubbing it. All the strength in the world couldn’t stop the flow of tears, no matter how long you held them in. It was too real for you, so graphic and horrifically memorable that it caused you to speak up.

“Does it get better?” The simple question sparked many concepts in your father’s mind. You took a deep breath as you waited for your dad’s answer, each trickle of water hitting your leg cause you to shiver. Jake noticed this, he wrapped an arm around you as you leaned into his warmth.

“What gets better sweetie?” He responded back looking down at the fishes. They crossed over towards him, soon the area blossomed in orange light. The light was so bright and hopeful it made the moon feel jealous of the way it glistened on the cold statue of yourself.

“The nightmares, the flashbacks, the emotions of it all,” your head felt light, almost as if you could faint when you released your problems. Your weakened body always had a difficult time recovering from nightmares, even if they were simply glimpses of you falling, it took an enormous chunk of power to hold them in till it was safe to let them out.

Your dad stared at you in utter shock. He knew what it was like to suffer from tormented dreams and horrid reality checks, but never in a million years would he have guessed that his daughter, his precious innocent child, would endure this pain. That was his role, he was your father, that is what gave him meaning; that is why he risks his life everyday, so you and your siblings could be liberated of the world’s treatments.

“I- “ He took a deep breath, gathering his words as he looked up ready to lend his support for his daughter. “At first, it won’t seem like there is any hope or improvement, but with the right type of support and patience….yeah, things do get better - they always do.” Your dad finished off with a sigh, he so desperately wanted to erase all those memories and feelings away from you, but that would be cruel.

How were you suppose to grow without experiencing the pain? How were you suppose to guide others without experiencing it first hand? Yes, he doesn’t want anything to hurt his little baby, but he would help you get through this. He was your father, it was his duty to protect you from harm, that’s what gave him meaning.

“Come on Y/n, let’s go get some sleep,” he got up ruffling your already disheveled hair. You nodded your head, taking a deep breath you looked off to the mother of survival as liquid gold began to reflect from your irises.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep dad,” you stated, every one of your senses was living the nightmare all over again. The taste of blood and ash filled your mouth as the smell of burning flesh confiscated the air. The feeling of falling overwhelmed you causing you to stare around like a lost child. Everything was coming back so fast and visible, it wasn’t a hard decision to refuse going back to sleep.

“Hey, mamas hey, look at me. Look at me sweetheart, you are here. You are in the present. You are not there anymore.” You dad repeated the sentences over and over again until it became almost programmed into your mind. Your chest rose and fell with shaky breathes as you stood up. The little drops of water raced down your calves to meet with the wooden floor. Jake put his arms around you as you stood up shaking.

The two of you walked back to marui, your family laid oblivious to what just happened a couple minutes ago. Their dreams laid peaceful while yours laid bare with the truth.

Your dad wrapped his arms around you as he led you to lie down next to him and your mother who was currently cradling Tuk. You laid on your back as you stared up. It became harder to resist the night’s hobby. You so desperately wanted to close your eyes, but the constant pattern of waking up crying, praying, and begging for the world to stop creating these false allusions was tiring.

“Dad-,” you moved your head to face your father, him doing the same thing. He already knew what you were thinking, gently grabbing your head he placed it on his shoulder and began to play with your hair. You slowly closed your eyes giving into the soothing feeling.

“Don’t worry baby, your dad is going to protect you from your nightmares.” And with that sentence, you let your brain wander back into a dreamless sleep, letting yourself relax knowing your father would always be there.

#avatar #sully family #avatar way of water #jake sully #neytiri #fluff #tuk sully #nightmare #sweet dreams #dad jake sully #pandora

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crows-of-buckets · 10 months

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I have a theory about Neuvillette

Okay this screenshot doesn't show it very well, but in this scene as Neuvillette is walking down the hall the light catches on his face in a way that reflects prison bars

And when Clorinde walks past here, practically following directly in Neuvillette's footsteps, the light doesn't shine on her in the same way. Instead she stays cast in darkness.

So I have a theory that, for some reason, Neuvillette may end up imprisoned? Sure it may just be a coincidence, but hoyoverse rarely does coincidence tbh.

Besides, there's also this:

When Focalors is complaining about wanting to see a real twist, she holds up a burning picture which directly frames Neuvillette. This could imply that he was possibly framed for something?

I'm also wondering if the light in the hallways represents learning of something, as he goes from shadow to light. Perhaps he unearths something that Focalors doesn't want unearthed, which could be what lands him in jail.

Idk Neuvillette is really suspicious to me. I'm also wondering if he's possibly connected to khaenriah. Like for example

If you zoom in on his eyes here, his pupils look very sharp, almost cat like. They aren't exactly a khaenrian star, but he may only be part khaenrian

Here's kaeyas eye, where his star is much fainter than other khaenrians we've seen, implying kaeya MAY be part khaenrian instead of a full khaenrian

This is Neuvillette's eye (sorry it's so small I couldn't get it any bigger) I sharpened it a bit and it looks very similar to Kaeya's eye. The star isn't nearly as prominent as kaeyas, but it's still kinda similar

Also, Neuvillette's silhouette looks oddly similar to an abyss herald? This one is a bit of a stretch I won't lie, but I saw someone else point it out and it would make so much sense for him to be inspired by abyss heralds design, since kaeya, the only playable khaenrian character as of right now, shares similarities in his design with abyss mages.

Idk, I'm almost certain that Fontaine is going to have ties to Khaenriah, especially with how many times sinners and sin was mentioned in the preview. Along with all the khaenriah teasing we got in sumeru, id be really surprised if Fontaine didn't have anything to do with Khaenriah.

There's ALSO the fact that people speculate that Celestia is directly overhead of Fontaine. Fontaine and Khaenriah seem to be pretty similar in some ways, as they're both countries that push mechanical innovation (based on the machines we saw at the end of the 3.8 Livestream as well as the way other characters have referred to fontaine in the past- think Mikage Furnace). From what's generally told, Khaenriah was destroyed because of its danger as a technologically advanced society (I think that's bullshit and have my own theories as well), so it would make sense for Celestia to keep an eye on Fontaine. And idk having the head judge be part khaenrian would definitely push the similarities between the two nations.

Idk I'm very excited about Fontaine it looks so good :3. Arlecchino, Writhosley and Clorinde are all so cool and I want to try to get all of them. I also kinda want Neuvillette but it depends tbh rn I'm really wanting those three.

#Genshin Impact #neuvillette #focalors #Khaenriah #Fontaine #Fontaine teaser

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randomabiling · 6 months

Text

NaNoWriMo Entry #1

Bewitch

October 31, 1890

Though the rooms and halls of Duneagle were as familiar to him as Downton, on this night the shadows unbalanced his senses, and he felt less certain of his footing. Lit only by the tumultuous fires in hearths and the candlesticks flickering in a hundred jack-o-lanterns scattered about in the rooms, the walls seemed to dance, alive with each turn of air. With a glass of punch cooling his hand, Robert entered the drawing room. He squinted into the hazy darkness, the guests near the fireplace illuminated and orange hued, while those in the farther corners were faceless silhouettes, only a glinting of jewels or the outline of satin truly visible. Sighing, he stepped further in, to where a group of bachelors were pairing apples, looking into mirrors to see the ghostly forms of their future wives appear. Robert shook his head, and passed through the press of people, costumed and draped in elaborate pantomime, living out their fantastical interpretations of Susan’s theme.

The ruffle of his own sleeve, authentic and smart looking hours before as it flounced from the edge of his cuff, was stained with punch and wilting at his wrist. The brocade jacket, with its golden embroidery and many buttons had grown heavy and wearisome as the night wore on. Robert had consumed enough punch to be tired, and his desire to find Cora compounded his growing irritation. He’d always disliked a masquerade, wondering why people couldn’t just be themselves. But Cora had been so excited at the invitation, looking forward to her first British Halloween.

He’d been unable to say no.

In the library, Shrimpie was holding the attention of a large group, telling some ghoulish story that seemed to rely heavily on Bronte’s penned musings. If the listeners suspected the hero bore an eerie resemblance to Rochester, they hadn’t let on. Robert inspected each person’s face, their form, their costume, but none were Cora. It unsettled him that it took him a moment to pass from one party goer to another. It seemed he should know instinctually whether he was looking at his wife or not, even through the veil of darkness blanketing the entire castle.

Robert passed from the library into the music room, a lone pianist playing a doleful tune on the instrument. There were several card tables set up, with a crowd of five or six at each. Instead of playing canasta or spades, however, each table held a woman in robes inspecting an elaborate deck of cards. It took only a moment of scrutiny for Robert to see it was a tarot deck and he frowned. Were people really so silly?

As soon as the thought entered his head, he saw her at the far table. If he had been able to think clearer, he would have been pleased with himself, noticing he had known her instinctually as soon as his eyes took her in their vision. He was too taken by her presence to think such thoughts. She looked as fresh as when he’d gone to her bedroom door hours ago, ready to accompany her downstairs for the festivities. Robert stood and stared at her for a few minutes, waiting, and then finally her gaze darted up and around the room, stopping when her eyes met his. Even far away he could see the crinkle of her skin around her mouth and the uplifting of her lips. She spoke lowly to the others at the table before standing.

The long blue cape that she wore swirled behind her, the fluidity of the velvet like a living thing. And the sight of her again in her dress, the way the white lace of her bodice quivered as she moved, the angles of her delicate curves, made him choke against the restraint of the jabot around his neck. Sometimes when he saw her, he was again taken aback by her beauty, as though seeing it for the first time.

Cora’s smile widened as she came closer to him, and she stopped only when their noses were close enough to touch. Robert was mesmerized by the glint in her blue eyes, the shine that rivaled the diamond stars on her tiara. Between them, her hand grazed his chest before it settled back against the bone of her corset, covering the shelter of their secret. When he found his voice, it was high and unnatural.

“What were you doing over there?”

Cora’s eyebrows rose, a playful smirk making her features even more lovely. “Listening to my fortune.”

“Oh?” Robert took hold of her gloved hand and led her to the doorway. “Good I hope?”

“Hmm,” Cora’s throat vibrated with the sound. “I don’t believe in that stuff anyway, it’s just for fun.”

It was Robert’s turn to chuckle. “Is the American more sensible than the British when it comes to the supernatural?”

Cora stopped and Robert turned to her. She lifted herself up on her toes, her mouth just below his ear. “I make my own fortune. Shall I show you?”

Robert bit his lip hard. He squeezed her hand harder. “I think it most imperative that you do.”

#downton abbey #cobert #drabble #meh idk about this one but sure have it anyway

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slothquisitor · 6 months

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Dying Star

In which Astarion decides to one-up Mary Shelley. This is graveyard smut. It's been literal years since I wrote smut. Please be nice to me lol. Astarion x Liv, 4k. Not angsty for once!

Also on AO3.

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There is little time in the days following Cazador’s defeat for Liv to even catch her breath. Astarion remains quieter than usual, pensive at times. Their companions ask him how he is to try to check-in, but he shrugs off their concern with a joke or a haughty jut of his chin. Their group is well-versed in his fake smiles, in his cutting remarks, in what they hide. Still, no one presses him. They instead leave that to her.

She knows that this is a complicated thing. Astarion did the right thing, and she’s sure he knows it, but he gave up a lot in the process. Which is what makes it all the more noble, not that he’d appreciate hearing that. Ever since their night on the roof, he has spent every night in her bed, they fall asleep tangled together, but she always wakes alone. He spends every sunrise on the roof. She hasn’t asked, but she’s suspecting he’s counting how many he has left.

Perhaps they will still find a way for him to be able to walk in the sun even without the tadpole.

But that is a problem for later. For days when they’re not saving Gondians from the Iron Throne or blowing up the Steel Watch Foundry. Their group eats a celebratory dinner, loud and happy, and while there is still much to do, today has felt like a victory. Astarion even stays, drinking and joining in with their friends.

As the night winds down, he leans over and in a voice low enough that only she can hear, says, “There’s…something I’d like to show you, if that’s all right? Something out in the city.”

She takes his hand in hers. “Of course.” And they slip out of the Elfsong into the dark streets of the lower city.

As they walk hand in hand, it’s easy to pretend that they’re just another couple out in the city. That there is no Chosen of the Dead Three to deal with, that they can just be themselves. She’s struck with a vision of a future, of an after . She’s not really allowed herself to consider what it might look like or that they might have some chance at survival, but with him, she thinks that maybe there might be more than just a chance. That there might be something really worth fighting for.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows again, to dark streets and moonlit nights,” Astarion sighs, face upturned to the cool light of the moon. The moonlight suits him, casting his hair in liquid silver, his eyes a deep purple. He is a dying star, bright even in the darkness. But this is not the light he loves.

“Perhaps,” she squeezes his hand in reassurance. “But who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky? Find a way.”

His answering smile is a soft thing. “If anyone could, it’s you. Assuming we survive of course because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.”

She huffs a laugh at that. “Unfortunately, it's true.”

“I’d still follow you anywhere,” he whispers into her hair before kissing the top of her head. The words feel like a promise.

“How are you feeling, now you’ve had a little time?”

He sighs. “It feels ridiculous to still be thinking of Cazador. He’s gone, I’m here, I won. But I still keep reliving what happened. Playing it over and over again in my mind. And yet, I feel invigorated and terrified. And I’m still trying to understand it really.”

“I’m sure it will always be a complicated thing. I’m sorry.”

“I came so close to losing everything back there. To losing myself. Back at the ritual, all I could see was the power on offer and the safety it promised. I was so blinded by it, just as Cazador was. But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago. You saved me. I may not have appreciated it at the time, but I do now. Thank you.”

They had been close to losing him, but��he had chosen differently. “You saved yourself. I just gave you a push.” She knows that the temptation of that power had been so difficult for him to turn away from, but she had always believed he could do it on his own. As selfish as he often pretends to be, he cares too much and too deeply.

He stops, turning to her fully, shaking his head. “You did more than that. You believed in me, believed I was enough just the way I am. When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now. And I get to share it with you, as a partner, an equal. You saved me from myself, and let me walk a new path where I can be free, truly and honestly free. This is a gift, you know. Thank you - I won’t forget it.” She has never seen him this unburdened, this open, so very different from the man she’d met just a few short months ago.

She grins. “Partners, huh?”

He tucks her hand in the crook of his arm as they continue walking. “If you’d like.”

She leans into him, squeezing his arm. “I’d like that very much.”

He covers her hand with his. “Good.”

They’ve walked far enough that she realizes now where Astarion has led them, it’s the cemetery. It’s quiet, peaceful even. Astarion lets go of her hand, stepping forward to a vine-covered grave. For all his casual ease from before, he seems a little stiff now, nervous even, before he approaches the grave and clears the dirt and ivy away. She realizes even before the name is fully legible, that this gravestone is his.

“Two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. And when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until now.”

He spoke once about the pain of that transformation, about how his body became something that was no longer his. There was no reason for Cazador to allow Astarion to be buried, for him to suffer that way, except for the cruelty, the horror. Cazador deserved far worse. Two hundred years of suffering, but even afraid, he fought back and won. “You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.” He glances at her with a soft smile, with something that feels all the more precious for what they’ve been through.

“And what do you want?” she asks. It is a question she has been asking him even before she knew how important it was to him, and it is a question she will keep asking, keep pushing through her own fears because it is better to know than to wonder.

His response is quick, with no hesitation. “You. I want you.” He turns toward her more fully. “You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

The words fill up something within Liv, some yawning chasm that has been empty for years and years. He wants her . And not because of anything she can do or be or her magic. “I feel seen with you too. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

The moment hangs there, and she wonders if this is the moment she should tell him how she feels. But he’s clearly still working up to something, so she waits. He turns back to the gravestone. “Well, I should probably fix this.”

He approaches the gravestone, and for a time, the only sound is the scraping of his dagger on stone as he carves in a new epitaph. A life now his. He stands back after a minute, surveying his work before kneeling down on the grass. She joins him but doesn’t say a word, just holding this moment and all that it represents.

“I’ve been dead in the ground long enough. It’s time to try living again,” he says before turning to her and taking both of her hands in his own. “With everything life has to offer.”

The way he’s looking at her holds so much promise, hope. Her heart speeds up. “Meaning?”

“If a night of passion is on offer. I could be persuaded,” he says with a sly grin. She recognizes it for the gift of trust that it is. That he wants to try again, try with her.

She smiles. “I’d like that.”

He looks relieved. “You know, I didn’t care for you when we first met.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know. You made it very clear with every complaint and criticism of my-”

“I love you.”

She stops mid-sentence, looking into his eyes. He loves her? She grew up in a house where there were words missing. Words like love always sound funny in her mouth, as if she isn’t forming the words quite right. She has been cradling these words within her, holding them carefully as if they are fragile, unsure if she’s allowed to give them to him when she’s not positive she knows exactly what they mean.

“You do?” Her voice sounds small, full of disbelief.

Astarion’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” He reaches out, cupping her cheek, as he leans in.

“I love you too,” she says, just before his lips meet hers. And the words feel exactly right.

***

Liv is not the first person to tell him that she loves him, but it is the first time he has believed it to be true. It certainly isn’t the first time he’s said the words, he’d even said them to her once, in a streak of meanness following their first night together that he now regrets. He regrets saying the words to her the way he had, flippantly, and in a way to wound and hurt. This time when he says them, he’s cutting her off, surprising her. Her green eyes go wide with realization, and her whispered question tells him he needs to say it again.

He holds her hands gently, her warmth seeping into him. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” He cups her cheek, reaching for her has become instinctive, easy.

Her eyes are soft as he leans in, and he feels her words more than hears them. “I love you too.” The words light up something within him, casting some long-hanging darkness away. She loves him. Him. Not what he looks like or what he can do, certainly not his power. Him.

He closes the distance, capturing her lips. This kiss is deliberately not careful in the way so many of their kisses have been since Moonrise. Tonight, he doesn’t want to be careful. He wants to be brave, to throw caution to the wind. He wants everything she is willing to give him, and he is willing to give everything over to her.

He pushes her back into the grass, settling over her as he drags her bottom lip between his teeth. Her answering gasp is a lovely thing, and he drinks it down like starlight, hand skating down her side to her hip as his fingers pull her close. Her hands are tunneled in his hair, twisting in his curls, but they do not pull or direct, instead, they just anchor him here in this moment, with her. Like with so many other things in their relationship, she seems to be waiting for him to make the next step, to take the lead.

Well, he can certainly do that.

He rolls his hips into hers as he inches her shirt up, cupping one of her breasts. She hums into his mouth at the contact, and he breaks away to kiss down the column of her throat. She shivers as his teeth worry the skin at her neck, not enough to puncture, just enough of a promise that perhaps they’ll get there this evening. Her hands span the length of his chest, before deftly undoing the fastenings of his doublet, but then her fingers pause and she pulls back.

He leans back to meet her gaze, ready to provide her with whatever reassurances she needs that he does in fact want this. “Everything alright, love?”

“You, we….” She is so very rarely fumbling, and it’s rather adorable. “Here?”

Is she serious? “Well, this late our other option is with our nearest and dearest friends in the same room. And as much as I enjoy voyeurism as much as the next person, I think I’d rather not have them participating tonight,” he says, fighting a laugh.

“We could get caught!” she whispers. Her eyes are wide and guileless. She’s really not kidding.

He collapses into the crook of her neck, laughter overtaking him. “That, my dear, is part of the appeal. Could, but won’t. This place is quite dead this time of night.” He hates himself a little as he says it, but it’s worth it to get her laughing too.

It earns him a swat of her hand against his shoulder. “I just mean if we get caught, we could get in trouble!”

“I’m sorry, are you concerned about getting in trouble for public indecency on the same day that you blew up a government facility?”

“Apparently?” But even as she says it, she sounds far less sure than she did earlier.

He brushes her hair back behind the tip of her pointed ear, looking for some hint that this hesitancy is part of something bigger. “If you’re not comfortable, we can go, but I have every confidence that the very powerful wizard who destroyed the entirety of the Steel Watch can protect us both from anyone who might catch us here.”

Her eyes are bright, and she shakes her head. “You’re a terrible influence,” she says, kissing him fiercely.

“Gods, I hope so,” he murmurs as she eases his doublet from his shoulders and greedily seeks his skin with her hands. He melts into her touch, lets the world narrow to this moment and this moment alone, enjoying the feel her hands against his skin. He is surprised at how hungry he is for more, more of her, more of her skin against his. He wants to feel her. The genuineness of the desire catches him off guard, makes him feel unsteady.

There is nothing choreographed about the way they undress one another, sneaking kisses between discarding items of clothing. The fumbling gives way to a silliness and laughter he didn’t realize could be present in moments like this. He presses her back against the blanket of clothing they’ve made on the ground, unable to keep the smile from his lips as he kisses her deeply, tongues twining together. His cock is hard against the warmth of her stomach, and he presses his hips into her just to feel her intake of breath.

“I want to touch you,” he says against her lips.

She tightens her hold on him, as if she can’t get close enough. “Please.”

He reaches between them and gently parts the lips of her vulva before gently circling her entrance. She is wet and waiting, so he slips a finger inside her, his thumb circling her clit. She moans against his lips, back arching. He adds another finger and pumps his fingers, adjusting the pace while she falls apart in his arms. He kisses down her chest and over the swell of her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue while he continues to work his fingers inside of her.

For as difficult as Liv is to read otherwise, he has never had any issues reading her like this. Her sighs and moans, the way her body responds to him. He hooks his fingers as he circles her clit, is rewarded with a moan that sounds suspiciously like calling on the gods.

She tightens around his fingers as she comes, her cheeks flushed, eyelashes a dark smudge against her cheeks, his name a string of broken syllables as he strokes her through her orgasm. It’s a beautiful sight to see her undone like this, unburdened by responsibility or worry, simply here with him. Her eyes are dark, slightly unfocused, and she kisses him hard, teeth and lips meeting with an urgency that is still somehow careful.

Her hand is on his hip, fingers brushing closer to his cock, but not quite touching. He’s aching for her to touch him, to wrap her delicate fingers around him. “Yes,” he manages to ground out, his hips stuttering into hers.

Her gentle touch is his undoing. He buries his head into her neck as her fingers wrap around him, her thumb brushing over the tip of his cock before slowly, torturously sliding along his length. He shudders at the contact, melts into the sensation.

Against his ear he feels her lips. “I want to taste you.”

Gods, yes. He flips them so that she can crawl down his body, kissing down his chest and his stomach as she goes. She pauses just before she reaches his cock, eyes locking on his, waiting for confirmation. His chest is heaving with breaths he doesn’t need, but feels like he’ll drown if he doesn’t. He nods, and she smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into her mouth.

“Fuck.” The sensation is almost too much coupled with the way she watches him, honed in on his every reaction. He has been on the receiving end of partners before, enthusiastic lovers who hoped his enjoyment might mean deeper feelings on his part. This is different, an offering, a focus on him, his pleasure. It’s something he’s allowed, so he leans his head back, letting the sensation, the pleasure wash over him without worrying about what might come next, what’s expected after.

And it is good, so very good, until it is almost too good and he stops her with a gentle hand in her hair. “Careful, love, I’d still like to be inside you.”

Her answering smile is a smug thing, as if she is proud of the effect she’s had on him. He kisses her then, groaning as he tastes himself on her tongue. He rolls them so that she is back beneath him, and thrusts forward, his cock dragging through her wetness. They both groan, and he reaches beneath them positioning himself at her entrance, forehead pressed to hers. She cups his cheek, eyes meeting his, a silent question within them.

She is staying so very still, and he knows it is because she wants this to be entirely his choice, entirely up to him. He could stop things here if he wanted, they could go back to the Elfsong, and there would be no consequences. She would still love him either way. He slowly, carefully presses into her.

“Oh,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to move. The rhythm is slow at first, her fingers pulling him closer, as if she could eliminate all space between them. Her hips meet his every thrust as they move together at a languid pace, as if they have all the time in the world.

He can feel the way her heart races, the rush of blood in her veins. She is so vibrant, so very alive. He kisses down her throat, and isn’t at all surprised when she twists in offering. Some part of him wonders if this should have a place her, but she’s never shied away from his true nature, all of him. So perhaps, he shouldn’t either. He tries to be as gentle as possible, as he sinks his fangs into her neck as he thrusts into her, hoping the sensations might balance. Her small gasp tells him he’s been successful. He savors the taste of her blood, the way her warmth spreads through him, her fingers in his hair.

His hips stutter as her walls tighten around him. He knows she’s close, and he picks up his pace, sliding as deep as he can. He takes another sip of her blood before pulling back, tongue catching the excess. His face hovers over hers, breaths mingling.

Her eyes are soft as she brushes his curls from his face. “I love you,” she says before capturing his lips in a deep kiss. She orgasms with a shudder, and he follows her over pleasure’s edge, hips stuttering to a stop as he comes.

She’s breathing hard, sweat forming on her brow, but they stay there bodies entwined. Her nose brushes softly against his. “Feeling alright?”

But the problem has rarely been the actual act, but how he feels after. There is nothing about tonight he would change, but he finds himself still bracing subconsciously, awaiting the regret and the shame. Perhaps it will not come. He kisses the tip of her nose. “Yes.”

But she has always seen him, even when he wished she didn’t. “What do you need?” she asks, gently running her fingers through his curls.

“I…” he pauses, wondering what it is he needs, now in this moment. This is, for him, new territory. There were not often afters in sex that didn’t include putting clothes back on immediately or other far worse endings for his lovers. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps we just stay here for a while?” she says, the backs of her fingers brushing his cheek.

“And here I thought you were worried about getting caught,” he says, trying to mask how out of his depth he is here. It would be very nice to stay like this, to just be held.

She smiles. “I think you put it best when you said -”

He presses a finger against her lips. “Don’t repeat it. And if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it. Vehemently.”

“Come here,” she says, pulling him in closer. He lays his head against her chest, where he can hear her heartbeat. She runs her fingers through his hair, nails lightly dragging against his scalp, for a long, quiet time. He focuses on her heartbeat, on her steady breathing. He waits for the wave of shame or disgust, for his mind to twist this around into something else, but it doesn’t come, instead, there is…nothing, and it is a relief. He is sure that it will not always be this way and that there will still be days and moments where he cannot bear even her touch, but tonight, tonight he has reclaimed back a piece of himself.

“We should get you to a real bed,” he says after he notices Liv’s breathing begin to deepen, sleep making her eyes heavy.

“I think I’d prefer not to be discovered sleeping here by some poor mourning person come to pay their respects,” she says around a yawn.

He grins at the image as he begins gathering discarded clothing. “But it would be funny.”

“You’re terrible.”

He kneels back over her, brings his hand to her neck, and runs his thumb along her jaw. “And you love me.”

“And I love you,” she smiles against his lips.

And this, this is real.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x liv #baldur's gate 3 #bright lost things #tosses smut your way and runs #slothquisitorwrites

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birgittesilverbae · 1 year

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mary & bea - silence

Beatrice climbs the path above Cat's Cradle, her steps unsure on the uneven footing, dark clouds shrouding the setting sun, blurring the shadows that stretch long around her. She pushes off the path into the scrub, picks carefully through it with one hand outstretched in front of her. Her palm meets cool stone and she halts, reaches up over her head to grasp the lip of the outbuilding roof.

As she pulls herself up and swings her leg over the lip of the roof, one of the clay tiles scrapes at her shin through the soft fabric of her track pants. She bites her lip to stifle a groan and scrambling inelegantly the rest of the way onto the roof. She sits on the edge for a moment, one leg dangling, and pulls her knee to her chest, sneaks her hand up beneath the hem of her pant leg to feel at the inflamed patch of skin. Her fingers come away wet and she groans again, not bothering to smother it this time.

Beatrice tugs her pant leg back down, tucks the hem into the top of her boot, and sighs. She clambers the rest of the way up the slope of the roof and then stops, perched astride the peak, rear leg poised to swing over.

There's already a figure lying on the tile, wrapped as Beatrice is in a hoodie and track pants, a futile attempt to stave off the unnatural chill of the evening. They lean back on their elbows, tip their head back, and there's the tiniest glint of white against the shadowed planes of Mary's face when she gives Beatrice a small smile.

"Would you like to be alone?" She waits, braced hard against the rejection she fears is to come, but Mary shakes her head and pats the spot next to her.

"C'mere," she says, and Beatrice hates that she can recognise the sound of choked-down tears in the roughness of her voice.

Beatrice crests the roof peak and inches down to Mary's side, settling beside her and tucking her hands up inside the cuffs of her sweater. Mary's sweater, maybe, or Shannon's. She's long since stopped being able to tell the difference. She pulls her knees tight to her chest and wraps her arms around them, and beside her Mary pushes up off her back and mirrors her position.

"I miss them most at night." Mary rests her chin on her knees and sighs. "Something about it feeling too quiet, maybe. Not enough to distract myself with."

Beatrice makes a noise of agreement and hugs her knees tighter, resting her cheek on the shelf they form so she can just make out the slopes and valleys of Mary's profile against the near darkness. The silence of the Cradle has haunted her, too, and more than once she's found herself pacing the route from Shannon's door to Lilith's and back again, as if some small shred of her is holding out hope that they might swing open and let light back into her life. Let us help each other hold on, she wants to say, be my sound and I'll be yours, but even this shared moment feels almost more than she should ask of Mary, so instead she sits in the quiet of the night and watches Mary watch the stars.

#ask #'anon'#casper pvp #fic: tmtl #warrior nun #sister beatrice #shotgun mary #myfic #mywn

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ali-annals · 2 months

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it was all by design ('cause i'm a mastermind)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: G | Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ao3 | WC: 2.3k | TW: -

A/N: This is part of a series called The Eras Tour (Jasonette’s Version), a collection of Jasonette-centric fics I wrote for the Maribat discord server Maribat? Get In!’s 2024 Civil War event. Not beta’d.

Marinette schemes her way into becoming Jason Todd's girlfriend. He loves her more for it.

The crisp October breeze caressed the curls around the girl’s head, softly brushing them across her face with a cool kiss. She tucked them behind her ear, pinning them out of her eyes so she could better appreciate the night sky sparkling with diamond-like stars.

The fresh air of the balcony was a paradise to Marinette, who had been in the stifling ballroom of Wayne Manor far too long. It was full of people, socialites from Gotham and celebrities from New York all wanting to schmooze with the Waynes and other more-influential-than-they 1-percenters.

The noise of the live music and clinking of crystal and boisterous conversation eventually drove Marinette to the relative peace of the muted balcony.

She gave one last lingering look at the stars before patting her hair and dress down, drawing in a deep breath as she put her hand on the knob of the balcony door.

The noise that had been muffled on the balcony was a shock to her ears and she immediately began making her plans to escape ASAP. She’d talked to everyone she wanted and needed to, had thanked her host and his butler, and had eaten her fill in appetizers. All her evening’s boxes had been checked.

Sliding into the shadows of the edges of the room, she began making her way to the grand doors of the exit all the way across the room when her vigilant gaze caught on someone.

He was in conversation with a small group of young men around his age, at the side of the room, his face shadowed. She could only make out his profile, but what she saw made her pause in her escape, trailing her eyes down his body. He wore a red dress shirt under a tailored black suit, the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. She appreciated people who rolled their sleeves instead of just shoving the fabric up, especially on knits.

He laughed at something the redhead said, bringing his glass up to his mouth with a grin. Even from across the room, his laugh sent shivers through her; it was nice and warm, something she heard, focused as she was on his person.

His gaze turned slightly and met hers, then flicked back to his conversation partners.

A tiny bit piqued that he hadn’t even taken a second to appreciate how well her dress fit–which was her talking point for the night and something she was immensely proud of–she reminded herself that he may have a girlfriend or wife or boyfriend for all she knew.

With one last glance at him, memorizing his features in case she came across him at a future event, she continued on her path to the door.

She had some research to do, and it was better done in the comfort of her fuzzy jammies and a glass of wine than on her phone in the shadows of a billionaire’s ballroom.

~~~

A night of research later, Marinette had filled a page of her notebook with what she knew about her new target, formatted as her usual client information sheet. The next three pages were filled with half-drawn-up plans and scribbled over strategies to get to know him better.

Name: Jason Todd

Age: 28

Birthday: 16/08/1996

Primary Residence: Gotham, NJ

Features: Black hair [white forelock]; light eyes [specifics?]; tan skin, warm undertone; 1.83 m/6’0”; trapezoidal body type; warm undertones & colours best suited to skin tone.

Contact Information: -

Social Circles: Martha Wayne Foundation 20th Annual Fundraising Gala…

Relation(s): Wayne Family of Gotham; Head Family of Metropolis.

Marinette loaded her photo software. She often sent her assistant to the events when possible if she was unable to attend, having her assistant photograph the event so she could later analyze the fashions. The camera focus was on the clothing, not the faces, but she still scanned through her files in case Jason had been caught in the background somewhere.

The results surprised her. He’d appeared more often than she expected, though always in the shadows or on the sideline, and only at events that were either Wayne-business related or were for fundraising or charity. Any simply-social events showed not a trace of him.

She opened her carefully colour-blocked and organized planner. How many events had she been invited to that she’d not yet RSVP’d?

~~~

The gala was in full swing by the time Marinette arrived, having rushed to it after finishing her commission at the last minute. It was a fundraising gala in New York for the branch of the Martha Wayne Foundation’s Family Founders mission there, and she hoped that she’d calculated correctly that Jason would be there.

The little research she’d been able to dig up on him had made it clear that he was very much the black sheep and wild child of the Wayne family, with no one ever entirely sure if and when he’d show up in places.

She was dying from curiosity about what he could be doing in between public appearances. Whatever it was, she knew it would be fascinating.

She skimmed a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and headed deeper into the crowd, approaching Chloe. If she was in the middle of the room with her old friend, she could scour all the corners at once to see if her prey had arrived.

“Marinette, you look gorgeous!”

“Thanks, so do you,” grinned Mari, taking in the shimmering green dress she’d made for her friend. “Have you been here long?”

“Only since the start of the party,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Perks of being the head coordinator–you get to be there hours before and after the party happens.”

“Head coordinator?” Marinette looked at her friend in shock. “You didn’t tell me you got promoted!”

“I had to tell you in person, didn’t I?” asked Chloe, gesturing to her sparkling presence as if to say, “Look at me”. “Tina retired, so I was promoted last week. It’s a good thing I was already working so hard on this event, so I was prepared for everything.”

“Lucky you,” said Marinette, giggling a little at the inside joke.

Chloe rolled her eyes fondly. “Are you ever going to get over making those stupid puns?”

“Not as long as you keep reacting so humorously to them,” she replied, turning a little to scan the room.

“Looking for someone?” asked Chloe, catching her wandering gaze.

“Just…can you see who RSVP’d?”

“Yes…”

“Do you know if Jason Todd said he’d be here tonight?”

Chloe looked at her admiringly, whistling lowly under her breath. “Dang, girl, you’ve got taste! I believe the Waynes simply RSVP’d for four. I don’t know who.”

Marinette wasn’t expecting it to be easy, but when had she ever liked easy? She’d been a magical superhero while she was still in lycee, for kwami’s sake! The thrill of the chase was something she relished, planning out her moves and organizing her target’s schedule and pickpocketing phones to delete texts-

-okay, when she puts it that way, she sounds a little unhinged and obsessive and stalkery, but she really wasn’t that bad! If they didn’t like it, she backed off and respected their ‘no’, and she (usually) only got her information from publicly available sources that didn’t even realize the help they’d given her.

She just didn’t know how to initiate anything by any other way, having grown up scheming her way into friendships and relationships as easily as she breathed. A cleverly-worded plea here, a subtle cue she’d Pavlov’d into a friend there, and she was golden. Her lucky targets never even knew they’d just been played.

It had been so easy to out Lila, the little wannabe-manipulator. She couldn’t even research a believable untruth, or wait until her ‘friends’ had been lulled into trusting her fully before she overplayed her hand too fast, too much, too soon. It was always better to use little by little–it was more believable if they didn’t realise you’d been doing it for ages, like that frog-cooking analogy.

Marinette sighed faux-sadly into her champagne as she thought of her ex-classmate, whom she hadn’t seen or heard of in almost a decade. Knowing people was definitely the key to life.

Chloe nudged her arm. “The Waynes have arrived for their appearance. I think I see Todd among them.”

Marinette hummed an acknowledgement and drained her champagne, feeling like the bubbles were flowing through her blood as the thrill of the game began anew. Time to go on the hunt.

~~~

Jason Todd was indeed among the Wayne party of four, looking particularly edible in a well-fitted black suit layered over a black shirt. Marinette preferred to add colour and pattern to men’s suits when she could–why were they all so boring; that’s why she liked Jagged so much–but she had to admit the black-on-black really worked for Jason, upping the mysterious aura about him.

Making her way slowly through casual greeting, Marinette eventually arrived at a small circle of socialites chatting just beside Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, and Cassandra Cain, who were mingling with donors.

Bruce glanced over just as Marinette brushed her long hair over her shoulder, leaning in to hear a socialite’s joke. Her laugh was interrupted by her name being called.

“Marinette! I thought that was you! Looking stunning tonight, although you always are, what with having a personal connection to designers, eh?” winked Brucie.

“Bruce! Lovely to see you again. I see you’ve been cheating on me with Audrey,” she looked his suit up and down.

“When in Rome?” he laughed nervously. “Or I guess, New York. Oh! My children! You must meet them!” Collaring his three children attempting to make a stealthy escape, he introduced her to the man she wanted to meet. “Mari, these are my second- and third-oldest sons, Jason Todd-Wayne and Timothy Drake-Wayne, and my daughter, Cassandra Cain-Wayne. Kids, this is Marinette; she’s the designer that made me that suit I love–the one from that Times photoshoot the other year?”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” She shook their hands, letting her fingers rest a little longer on Jason’s than the others. “Your dad is one of my favourite customers.”

“Why’s that?” Timothy tilted his head like a bird.

“He lets me use the fun designs I’m dying to try–all the colourful or ‘different’ ideas. His suits aren’t just a suit off-the-rack or hand-tailored, they’re a challenge and a pleasure to work on.”

“So you don’t like a plain black suit then?” Jason raised his eyebrow, a small smile on the edges of his lips.

“I didn’t say that,” she assured him hastily over his siblings’ snickers. “You pull it off very well.” I’d like to pull it off you, she thought. “Not everyone can wear black-on-black without looking like they’ve still not left their emo stage.”

Several glances were exchanged among the family.

“Did you have an emo stage?” wondered Bruce. “I wonder what a fashion designer’s emo phase would look like.”

Marinette shivered. “We don’t talk about Emonette in my atelier. Anyways, it’s lovely to meet you all. Please ask your dad for my information if you’d like to step out of your shadowy comfort zone,” she winked playfully at Jason. “Well, I see Audrey waving me over, and now I have a bone to pick with her, Bruce. Ciao!”

With a wave, she left them, taking great pleasure in the feeling of eyes on her as she went.

~~~

“Marinette, why are you still up?”

She looked up from the embroidery she’d occupied her hands with while she waited for Jason to get home. “I decided there’s something you need to know.”

“Okay…” He settled onto the sofa beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “What’s up, Pixie?”

“It’s about the start of our relationship…”

“Okay?”

“The whole thing was a ruse. I saw you at a party and you intrigued me, so I stalked you and planned out everything, every time we met at parties after that, what we talked about, even when you approached me it was because I’d planned for you to. I don’t know how to actually express interest in a normal, non-stalkery way. It’s only because I’ve planned it out and prepared for it that I act like I do. I manipulated you into liking me and being my boyfriend, but I can’t live with this secret anymore.”

Jason was silent for a few minutes, breathing deeply. Marinette didn’t dare to look at him, too nervous to find out if it was because he was trying to keep his temper in check.

“Mari, look at me.”

She glanced up, catching a smirk on his lips. She took a second, longer look.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Mari, my innocent Pixie, I know.”

“What?”

“You know I do vigilante work, and I appreciate you waiting for me to tell you about it. Well, I’m the Red Hood. I was trained by Batman and the League of Assassins. My adoptive mother is the master manipulator of the League, and she taught me how to use it and recognize it. I’ve known from the first glance we shared at that party.

“You are absolutely a clever manipulator, Pix, and that’s honestly one of the things I like most about you, maybe because it’s familiar. You may have laid the groundwork for the beginning of our relationship, but you didn’t manipulate me into loving you. Know how I know? Because I love even the things you don’t, even your flaws, things you wouldn’t show me in case it ended your ruse. Well, that won’t work, because I’ve seen them and I love them and I love you, anyways. Good luck getting away from me, my Machiavellian mastermind.”

#jasonette #fic #ali writes #dcxmlb #mgi cw 24

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longeyelashedtragedy · 1 month

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day 8 (pls Ignore)

(warning: cousincest, drug use, uhhh...nutella in a sex act. references events that happen earlier. this is semi-set in a real place, but only the author needs to know where. part of a first draft.)

Louise wakes up and rolls onto her back to stretch.

The sun isn’t quite fully up yet. The roof of the Big House casts a shadow over the weak light like a cloud that won’t move. Louise can’t remember the last time she went into the house.

Louise recites the count that she has been doing every morning. She doesn’t know who put the words in her head. “Yesterday was Day Seven. Today is Day Eight. They said it would take nine days to reach us and bring us back to London.”

So Louise has one more day until They come, if the count is right. But she doesn’t remember who They are, if she ever knew. And she doesn’t think she wants to go back to London.

When she thinks of London she doesn’t think. She feels a pit open up in her stomach instead. What if when They come, she just says no? What if she says she’ll never go back?

And instead she watches them turn around, bound for the open ocean again, with her toes curling into the cool, wet sand?

That’s what she’ll do. She’ll stay here where she belongs.

The sunlight is so weak and sad this time of day. Louise does not like that. Weak and sad—reminds her of something, Reminds her of London, she thinks, and whatever it was about London that opens a pit in her stomach. She wants the heat and strength of noon and then the chilly, giddy relief of night, repeating over and over again for the rest of her life. If They don’t take her back she’ll spend the rest of her life here.

The voice in her head that sounds just like her interrupts. “Louise, remember, yesterday was Day Seven. Today is Day Eight. They said it would take nine days to reach us and bring us back to London.”

Louise frowns at herself. “Us?” She thinks she’s asked this before. The thought seems all wrong. She and Christine are all alone here, and they haven’t spoken to anyone else, haven’t asked to be rescued. She remembers them hooking pinkies together, just the other night it was, lying underneath the explosion of stars and the frightening column of the Milky Way.

-The stars are amazing, Louise, it’s so much more beautiful than London, isn’t it?

-So let’s not go back. We can do whatever we want here. I think this is the only place like that in the world.

Louise wants to nudge her partner in this new life awake so she can remember it all over again. She nudges empty space.

She turns her head. She sits up.

There’s no one beside her on the sand-stained blankets, no one standing in the cool morning water, no one sitting on the dark, wet rocks. She sees a scattering of empty glass bottles in the sand. Have they drunk this much, really? She is not supposed to be alone here. She doesn’t think she has been. She digs through the pile of clothes next to her for proof that she hasn’t been alone. It’s all summery clothes, beach things, but she can’t remember wearing any of it. A couple of the pieces are torn, deliberately, exaggeratedly, and Louise moves past them quickly. She can think about that later once this morning is sorted out. At the bottom of the pile’s a pair of lace underwear, very delicate, though dirty now from being half-buried in the sand. It’s not something you’d wear to spend your life on the beach, and the colors are bothering Louise very much. Royal blue, white accents. Royal blue and white. Louise feels like these colors are important together, but it’s hurting her head trying to remember.

Louise, today is Day Eight. Are you sure you can’t remember anything anymore? What will you do tomorrow when they come to take you all home?

“You all?” she asks herself, panicked, but herself is silent. Royal blue and white and she’s woken up alone.

She runs. She runs clumsily over the dunes, sand flying out from under her feet in all directions, slowing her down when she has to go fast. As desperate as she is she stops short, her heart pounding. She’s halfway to the Big House and she’s just now realized she’s got no clothes on. She doesn’t want Frank to see her naked.

“Frank? Who the fuck is Frank?”

She sees a freckled, round face in her mind, just for a moment, and then he leaves her, but Frank leaves something else behind.

A husband. She has a husband up there in that big fucking ugly house.

On his third run through the house Frank checks each bedroom carefully.

Really, it would be stupid to think there was anyone in the house but him and Jamie. There’s no one. The rooms are empty. He hasn’t seen anyone or heard anyone talking, and really, the proof is in the Nutella still dried to the kitchen counter. If there were anyone within a five-mile radius of the place they would have walked in on him and Jamie last night, seen Jamie high out of his mind painting Frank with Nutella, seen Frank draping his legs over Jamie’s shoulders and shivering from the cool of the marble countertop pressed against his bare back, seen Jamie’s wild, coked-out eyes as he went back and forth from fucking Frank to dragging his tongue through the chocolate hazelnut.

Frank is surprised Dad wasn’t banging on the fucking door by this point. I know what you’re up to in there!

But he feels like there ought to be other people here. It can’t be just him and Jamie. Dad wouldn’t let him and Jamie do this, even though they’re grown adults in their fucking 30s.

On his fourth run through the house Jamie is still drooling on the kitchen counter. He slaps Jamie’s pretty face a little, but in a loving sort of way. He wishes it really were only him and Jamie in the world, always, with no one to bother them.

Jamie groans.

“Jamie, come on. I need to stay fit and I feel like I was supposed to have a running partner. Get up.”

“Fuck you, Franko,” Jamie says, his words slurred. “...Trying to sleep.”

Frank leans down and kisses each of Jamie’s sticky cheeks. Jamie really is so beautiful. They must have gotten this house just for the two of them. A cousins’ vacation, just two lads. A honeymoon. He kisses Jamie’s mouth, in that case. Jamie groans again.

“You’re minty,” he says.

“Well, yeah, I’ve brushed my teeth like I do every morning. It’s our vacation, I wanted to get up and do something.”

“Look at you…little perfect GCSEs Franko. Give me an hour.”

Frank sighs. The strange honeymoon house with its glass stairs and views of nothing but sand dunes and ocean feels like it’s getting to him. He finds he can’t remember how long he and Jamie have been here. The kitchen just gets dirtier. The air is stagnant, heavy with silence.

“I’m going to go run on the beach,” he says. “Sand’s good resistance. Dad would be proud of me.”

“I’m proud of you,” Jamie gurgles.

Frank hears his own voice in his head as he has every morning as he jogs toward the front door. Today’s your last full day. They’re coming to take you all back to London tomorrow.

“Uh, can I take Jamie home with me?” he asks himself.

Don’t you know the answer? Think carefully.

Frank gets to the front door then. He swings it open and freezes–becomes frozen–with his eyes glued wide open to the path leading down to the ocean. There’s something blocking the path.

Don’t you know the answer? Think carefully.

Frank slams the door and locks it behind him and dashes like mad for his final lap. Lungs and heart and adrenaline working seamlessly together like the athlete that he is. Frank Lampard Junior. Jamie. The names he knows.

But there are two other names.

Two other names, two sets of eyes. One staring up at him from the bottom of the front steps. One wide and panicked on the path.

“Jamie, Jamie. Jamie. Wake the fuck up.” Frank doesn’t wait for him to move. He lifts Jamie’s head up by the hair to see what remains of the white powder. “You’ve got any more of this shit?”

“Yeah, in my suitcase. You have no idea the fucking crazy places I had to hide it. Louise would kill–”

And Jamie sits straight up, awake, sobered up and detoxed by just two syllables. “Wait. Who the fuck is Louise?”

“Jamie, I don’t know, but I also think she’s outside the house.”

“Why? Why is there someone named Louise outside our house? This is our house. Are we safe?” Jamie stands up and wobbles on his feet. Jamie Jamie anxious Jamie. Frank grabs him and holds him to his chest. “Shh, shh. Jamie, Jamie.”

“Are the steak knives sharp enough?”

“Jamie, it’s okay. I think. Louise is outside. She can’t get in, the door is locked. She has a…friend. Something. Someone’s with her. She was looking at me and I think she was crying.”

“Franko, I don’t like this!”

“They don’t have any weapons that I could see, okay Jamie? We’ll just stay in here, in our house. They’ll go away. Can you go get me some of this shit now?” He flicks the white powder off the countertop. “Not in the mood for your hiding spots.”

“Okay, but.” Jamie grabs one of the steak knives before he leaves the kitchen. It’s greasy even though it’s probably been washed. Maybe it’s been washed. Frank wishes he could have gone for his run on the beach, but the two women are probably still out there, both Louise, whoever she might be, and the one with tear-streaks down her dirty cheeks. He knows her name too, he thinks. But if he thinks it, he’ll probably remember why he felt a moment of guilt looking down at her. And maybe this is his and Jamie’s last day together. So why waste time, really?

Something is bump bump bumping against the door. “Christine, why are you coming back here? Our home is the beach, we said we’d never come to the big house again!”

Frank puts his hands over his ears.

#wir schlafen sicher bis zum morgen #fic saga #funnily i've written the day when the 'factions' kind of converge again #days 2-7 are Not like that #well day 2 starts 'normal' with Franko in Jamie's bed hahaha

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alcetryx · 2 months

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One by One, the Stars Blink Out

Spawn!Astarion, Astarion/FemDurge, Grief, Angst, Very Sad Oneshot, No Happy Ending, Post Canon, Character Death, Violence, No Smut/No Sexually explicit content

Word Count: 4.8k

Based on a prompt I received (@yumaroni), this fic absolutely devastated me but pushed my boundaries because I am not an unhappy endings type of person (though I do love making my characters suffer first).

Astarion hated it when Flora was away. The days felt emptier, the nights lonelier, as he grappled with managing life alone in the scrappy tent they called home in the Underdark for a little over a year. When she had gone to the realm of the surface - the place he could no longer follow her for extended expeditions - he could do nothing but count the days until she returned to his arms. Of course he understood the necessity of her absence… or he had at one time. It wasn’t right to hold her hostage from the sun forever. His perfect Flora deserved to walk in the sunlight, now free from the shadow of the urges that once compelled the Bhaalspawn. And yet, it wasn’t for herself that she chose to walk in the sunlight at all. No. Her absences were all for him.

The woman he loved had never given up on him - she swore to return the sunlight to him too, so they again might walk in it together. For months the sorcerer had been researching ways to cure Astarion’s affliction - and the result was that she would be gone for weeks or months at a time, chasing a lead. Sometimes a person who might know something, other times a magic item, other times a spell. Every time she would return empty-handed, crushed, and disappointed with her failures. Astarion had at some point stopped being disappointed with her- instead just happy to have her home again. Each time he saw her dejected face appear over the ridge, he would run to her, and hold her and kiss her as she wept. In her mind, she let him down again.

“You can stop looking for a cure, you know, darling,” he had said the last time she was preparing to head out again. He meant it. He didn’t know what she was up to this time - she never shared where she was going… only where she had been. A policy, to avoid getting hopes up.

He didn’t know how to tell her that he wanted her to stop looking. Didn’t know how to explain that a lifetime in the Underdark with her by his side was better than an impossible task that only left her absent and in danger. He could hardly stand to see her disappointment any longer.

Even if he had said those things, it would have changed nothing. Flora was a single-minded creature, determined in her task. She would stop at nothing to return the ability for her love to bask in the sunlight again, and to let it shine on his silvery hair. But to him, the warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the warm embrace of her arms. It was nothing compared to the feeling of her lips against his cool skin.

When she returned again… he swore he would tell her the truth. He wanted for nothing but her, for whatever remained of her fragile human lifespan. Running around Faerun chasing cold leads was wasting their precious years together - the lifespan of a human was nothing to him. If anything, it should have been him on a quest, seeking to bring his love the gift of immortality without the cost of vampirism.

Astarion didn’t spend all of her absences sulking, of course. No. Refusing the ascension and freeing the spawn left him with a whole headache of unexpected responsibilities that he was wildly unsuited for. Often, his siblings would joke that he and Flora were like the king and queen of the Underdark, with seven thousand mostly-loyal subjects. They were loyal to her, anyway. She was a hard woman not to like. Exceedingly kind and generous, and a confident leader. There were many times where Astarion felt unfit to take over in her absence. Everyone expected a great deal of things from him as an extension of her. Her love. Her partner.

These days he laughed at the thought of being considered any sort of king. Once he had craved power - but he never expected it to be such a gods’ damned drag. The uncomfortable realization was that he never wanted true power, or at least not power over people. That was far too much work, and too much responsibility. The power he had yearned for was the glamorous kind - the kind that impressed people and let him defend himself and those he loved. He ended up with the dreaded genie’s wish - the worst of both worlds. He had people who watched and looked up to him for guidance (save for his own past marks, who understandably still held a grudge), but also had no power to physically defend his love on her arduous journeys. Her crusades to restore what he had lost.

The reluctant “king” of the spawn still managed to accomplish quite a lot to settle a community of vampires in the Underdark. Although it could hardly be called a town or a city, it was a settlement. Most of the spawn had chosen to stay - though a few had run off into the dark, never to be seen again. They all slowly learned what to do with their freedoms again. Some began calling the settlement “Redemption” - and it was feeling more and more lively with every day that passed. Once some had learned to find alternate sources of food, progress leapt forward in full swing. Many claimed the creatures of the Underdark tasted better, as if specially crafted to the tastes of vampires - a concept Astarion was sour to. They must have been lying to themselves, as many had never tasted blood before escaping Cazador’s dungeon. Starving vampires would take any blood they could find, and the strange and unusual creatures the Underdark produced were the first taste of blood for most. It wasn’t the animals and monsters that tasted good… but the freedom. The ability to stretch their legs again, and to have a second chance.

Although he was slowly becoming more self-assured in his leadership abilities, Astarion found himself often relying on his siblings in Flora’s absence. They often grated on him, but some were more reliable than others. Dalyria had a particularly comforting presence, being much more reasonable, patient, and less insufferable than his other siblings. Much like Flora, the other spawn seemed to approve of her. He suspected it was in part due to her pushover tendencies, but of course he’d never say that to her face. She could stand to be more assertive after years underneath Cazador’s thumb.

Together, Astarion, his siblings, and Flora had formed a sort of council. It almost functioned like one.

“Astarion, some of the spawn are wondering about the possibility of going to the surface for building materials. Like tools. Wood, stone, things like that. We have some skilled workers here, though they may be out of practice. They want to start building proper shelters.”

He rolled over on his bedroll, eyes closed, acutely aware of the cold spot where Flora should be.

“Dalyria. Nice to see you still have no concept of announcing your arrival.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion, but you don’t make it easy to speak with you any other way.”

“Are there not trees and stone in the Underdark? We’ve built…. Some things.” Not proper structures, that much was certain.

Dalyria’s face tensed. As patient as she was with her brother… his callousness still could surprise her. Astarion pushed himself up from the ground, regaining alertness after his trance.

“They aren’t familiar with the materials. Trees that grow in darkness are an entirely different sort from those above ground… or so they say. I’m inclined to believe them. We don’t have many tools to assist. Collecting some from elsewhere would be a great help. We have no shortage of working hands and all of them are growing eager for some normalcy…. Given that we may be here for an eternity now. Everyone tires of camp life.”

Astarion was tired of it, too - but he wasn’t about to dirty his own hands. They weren’t meant for things like building or manual labor - he was a man of the softer things life had to offer. He would sooner burn down a house than build one. The only thing that had made this existence tolerable was Flora. He would have been happy enough to live a camp life for the rest of his life if she was there to keep him afloat.

And yet, he thought to himself, now that the opportunity was presented… didn’t Flora deserve better? This was his opportunity to prove himself. How proud she would be of him when she returned, to see a major building process underway. Yes. He would make her a real home here (well, not him, specifically - but he would oversee the process), a place where she would want to stay.

“They don’t need my approval,” Astarion finally said, concentrating his effort to make his voice sound controlled and gentle. He crossed his arms.

“No… but they seek it. After so many years of having their… our… every movement controlled and every decision made, it’s no wonder that they seek the approval of a leader.”

Astarion averted his eyes, pacing to the far corner of the tend, pretending to inspect a shoddy patch job. “Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m no leader - they don’t need me. They need Flora. She’s better at handling the… diplomatic things.”

“She’s not here though. You are. And I know she believes in you.”

“No one voted for me. It would be just as well for you to lead them.”

Power and leadership… two very different things.

“It’s a fine idea. Consider this my stamp of approval.” He waved his sister away.

It was no no avail, for she approached him regardless, pale lips curved into a frown. “Getting the resources will be challenging for us, on our own. Going to the surface is dangerous, when your entire population runs on a fatal hourglass.”

“What more would you ask from me, Dalyria? If I could do something about that, then Flora would still be here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You accuse others of not being ‘burdened with intelligence,’ and yet you can’t come up with a proper solution? Do you not remember your friends on the surface?”

“My friends?” Astarion scoffed. “What - why - I - what friends?”

“You didn’t defeat Cazador alone,” Dalyria reminded gently. “Your friend, the son of Duke Ravengard. Might he not be someone to ask? Perhaps we could come to some kind of agreement in exchange for supplies.”

“What could we possibly offer them?”

“Well, perhaps an army in times of trouble? Having a second wind of soldiers to operate solely at night might not be a bad deal.”

“Did you… did you think of this all on your own?” Astarion couldn’t hide his surprise.

Dalyria wrapped her arms around her torso defensively, prepared for him to mock her. “What? Why? I…” she trailed off, her eyes dropping to the pendant around her brother’s neck.

A magical pendant, and a gift from Flora - a tiny glass vial of her blood that Astarion kept hanging over his heart in her absence. Enchanted to never open, and to stay warm and red so long as she lived. A reassurance of her safety.

“Don’t get so defensive, Dal. Gods. It’s… a good plan. If only they’ll still speak with me. Flora has met with them since our final battle together, but I have not been so fortunate. Not since fleeing here to the Underdark.”

The blood in the pendant had begun to separate, the denser components creating a sunken layer at the bottom of the vial, leaving a yellowish-pink liquid at the top.

“Don’t look at me like that, it isn’t my fault - it isn’t like they’ve tried to visit m-”

“Astarion.”

“I’ll pen a letter to Wyll though, I’ll try to get it sorted out. I’m sure there’s something we can offer. The Underdark is teeming with rare spell ingredients after all, perhaps a tr-”

“Astarion,” Dalyria repeated more sternly. She cleared her throat.

He wasn’t listening, and had already turned to shuffle through his belongings, oblivious to the concern in Dalyria’s voice. He collected a scrap of paper and a pen and pushed aside some things on the crate that had served as a table for several months now.

“You’ll have to help me proofread it - Wyll and I have never been the best of pals, and I wouldn’t want to come across like too much of a bastard.” He paused before touching the pen to the paper, unsure of where to even begin.

“Astarion!” She repeated again, her tone panicked as it pushed the constraints of her usual volume. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Ugh. Gods, Dal. What?”

She didn’t answer, only pointed a trembling finger at the necklace that held his lover’s essence. Astarion knitted his eyebrows together in a moment of confusion, before desperately grabbing at it, yanking it up to peer at the contents of the tiny thing. He watched in horror as the liquid began to combine again, disturbed by the sudden movement.

“What?” His voice fell to little more than a fractured whisper, holding all of the fear of a little boy. “No. This is… no. This is a mistake. The enchantment. It must have worn off - it must have -”

***

“You can’t keep running off on your own, darling. Please. How will I know that you’re safe? I can stand to be apart from you, don’t get me wrong. But I could never go on if you simply never returned. It would be unfair to leave me wondering for the rest of my miserable immortal life if you were dead, or if you simply left me behind.”

“I would never leave you,” Flora smiled. Her thin fingers wrapped around either side of his face, cradling his cheeks. “I’ll always come back for you. You must know that by now.”

His hand reached up and rested on the top of hers, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. He looked into her crystal blue eyes that always left him with a feeling of serenity. Her love for him was an honest one and anyone could see it. Astarion could see it, though it was still difficult for him to believe. Saying “I love you” was simply not something that they ever did as a couple, but it was known. It was felt in the way that she held him, and in every small act of love she indulged him with. How was it possible that the woman before him had once been a Bhaalspawn? Now, free from the grip of her father Bhaal, Flora was finally herself. How she had become such a delicate, kind, and empathetic creature was a mystery to him. The stories of Astarion and Flora had followed similar paths, though somehow she seemed to heal from it all much more gracefully - as if somehow underneath it all she had always been good. Or perhaps she was just better at hiding it.

No one ever would have guessed of her past tendencies to murder indiscriminately in an amnesiac state. The idea seemed preposterous now. So preposterous that if Astarion didn’t remember the night where she almost killed him, resulting in him wrapping her in rope to stop her, he wouldn’t believe it himself.

She was deserving of far more than he could ever offer her. “You might. I couldn’t possibly blame you. Your life is just a blip in the timeline of mine… why shouldn’t you spend it in the sun?”

Flora shook her head, her soft brown waves bouncing around her shoulders. Even though there was no sunlight to shine down here, he could still recall the way her hair glistened like warm honey in the afternoon sun. How unfair it was to have her beauty dulled by the misery and gloom of the Underdark. She pulled him into a long hug, her hands lightly running his tense shoulders.

“Who needs the sun, when I have my star?”

The following day, before Flora left, she presented Astarion with her creation. The pendant. “As long as I am alive, the blood in this pendant will look just as it does in my veins. It won’t separate, and it will stay warm.”

He held the vial in his palm, the delicate silver chain hanging over the back of his hand. He could feel the faintest thrum of it against his palm - the softest echo of her heartbeat. It was nearly imperceptible, unless you were paying very close attention. He didn’t want to think about a world where it stopped.

“Don’t get any ideas now, either. No matter how hungry you get - you can’t open it. It isn’t a snack,” she joked.

Astarion didn’t laugh. Instead, he pulled her into another hug, kissing the top of her silky hair. “Thank you. Please be safe.”

***

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He ripped the pendant from his neck, snapping the chain with such force it cut the skin of his neck and his hand.

“No… no,” his voice fell to a hushed choke as he dropped to his knees. His entire world, gone in an instant. He hadn’t even been the one to notice.

Dalyria felt his pain and cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremble of his body. This was not the Astarion she knew. He had always been strong, preferring to play off his difficult emotions with humor or dry sarcasm. Now, he fought to suppress ugly sobs at the back of his throat.

“You could be right,” she offered optimistically. “It could have been a mistake - the enchantment could have failed.”

Even her optimism could not hide the truth - she is lying to him, and she knows it.

“It didn’t fail. She’s gone,” his voice spat in agitation.

“I - I’m so sorry, brother,” her hand gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It didn’t feel right to do anything more.

He pushed her hand away, detesting the feeling of being touched by another person.

“Get out. Get out of my sight.”

Dalyria backed slowly out of the tent, her eyes fixed on her crumpled sibling. His arms fell to the floor, fists banging against the floor of the tent. She hesitated before leaving him alone entirely, unsure of what he would do next.

For the next several hours after, Astarion stayed crouched on the ground until his knees burned, the pendant held still in his palm. He stared at the talisman, unblinking, willing it to return to normal. Praying that it had only been a mistake. Something temporary, that interfered with the magic. But as the blood remained in the same, ugly state, it grew colder and colder, leaving Astarion to come to terms with the knowledge that he would never get to put the body of his lover to rest.

He would never even know what became of her.

If only he had begged her to stay. If only he had told her how she was more important than the sun to him. He needed her. The spawn of the Underdark needed her. With him as their leader, they were surely all doomed. How could she leave him? She knew how helpless he was without her.

***

The pain does not ease with time, and Astarion took no visitors for weeks. He did not leave his tent. He did not leave her side of the bedroll, his nose buried inside of her pillow as he clung to the fading remnants of her scent. Soon, every part of her would be gone. Her few items were those of practicality, and so went with her on the road. She hadn’t had the time to appreciate an excess of things, and never hung onto anything that would hold her down. All that remained of her was the pendant, and the place where she once slept.

Many tried to visit the heartbroken spawn, but all were driven away by angry, incoherent yelling, as he drowned in the tide of his grief. Nothing would pull him back together again, not even as several of his siblings desperately tried to inform him of the string of bodies that had been found throughout Redemption. Several nights in a row, a spawn was found dead, left laying in a pool of their own blood. Of course it was not the blood loss that took their lives - the true cause of death remained a mystery. Spawn volunteered to walk the perimeter at all hours - but still the camp was under siege by an invisible threat. Whatever was killing them knew how to take down a vampire, but also was skilled enough to leave no trace.

Somewhere, Astarion eventually found a brief moment of clarity, where he forced himself to finally pen the letter to Wyll. It was what Flora would have wanted, and he decided it would be the last good deed he would do for Redemption. The way the letter actually turned out, the request for aid was secondary, an afterthought to the news of Flora’s death. With it, he pleaded for Wyll to try and find an answer to her fate. Wyll was a busy man these days, but perhaps he would find the time for Flora’s sake, if not for his. When the sun was setting topside, Astarion finally left his tend for the first time in weeks to return to Baldur’s Gate. The letter was deposited in the mail - Wyll would see it in several days’ time.

In the eerie quiet of the night, Astarion looked around at what had become of Baldur’s Gate. He hadn’t left the Underdark for long enough that much had changed. The mindflayer attacks had caused a great deal of destruction, but now there was little trace of them. The rebuilding efforts must have been going well. He wandered the streets aimlessly, wondering what became of his love. Where had she gone?

Had she been alone when she died? Scared? Was she killed, or did she die as the result of some terrible accident?

Before long, Astarion found himself standing before the Elfsong. The noise and music that broke free of the establishment cut through the silence of the streets, warm and inviting. The pull of the tavern called to him, begged him to drown his sorrows in drink - a pastime lost to him in what felt like another lifetime. He gave into the temptation, won over by the promise of the nightlife. As if someone else had taken over his body, he was soon sitting at the bar, throwing coin after coin at the bartender and knocking back drinks until he nearly forgot where he was. Forgot who he was, at least consciously.

No amount of wine could burn Flora from his brain. Drunk, broken Astarion rambled to whatever poor soul was unwise enough to sit next to him, successfully driving away several people in quick order. One man stayed a bit longer than others, a fairly attractive young elven man who wore clothing that suggested he wasn’t local. At first, the elf must have thought Astarion was flirting with him, for he stayed much longer than the others. But Astarion showed no interest back, only using him as a vehicle to vomit his woes. By the end of it all, the man could do nothing but slip away awkwardly after realizing it was no flirtation.

The dawn caught Astarion off guard, and as the sunlight began peeking through the windows and the candles started being blown out, he quickly sobered. He had spent too long indulging, and missed the window to return to the Underdark. He would have to remain in the Elfsong until sunset, and given that he was incapable of drinking himself to death, he would run out of coin eventually. Or the bartenders would grow suspicious. The only solution was to get a room for the day and recover from his wild night.

***

Only, the trance he took offered to rest. It didn’t give him the usual, blissful nothing that he was accustomed to. Instead, his mind filled with a terrible vision as his trance was infiltrated by some outside force.

Looking around, Astarion was transported somewhere chilling and familiar - the lair of Bhaal. Where Flora had faced Orin… and died for it. For all of the good it did now. Sprawled out on the sacrificial stone table was Flora, her limbs bent in such wrong directions that he thought she was surely dead.

He desperately tried to break his trance. This was wrong - he didn’t want to see this.

Flora was not dead. Her eyes blinked at him, tears running down her bloody face as she mouthed the word help, too dehydrated and wounded to speak it properly. Blood was pooled under her back - far more than should have or could have come from her petite body. Carved into her naked chest was a crude imitation of the scar that marred Astarion’s own back - a taunt to him.

The dark figure that stood over her turned to face him, and he was greeted by the twisted face of Cazador. He shouted in surprise, taking a large step backwards and again begging himself to return to reality. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to have a nightmare like this. Cazador’s gaze met his, fangs visible in a menacing smile that dripped with blood. Her blood.

It was Cazador, but not quite. Something was off about him, as if it were only someone wearing his face. But the vision was painfully real, and he could not escape it, through any methods he tried. He struggled against the trance, failing to pull free of it. Ending a trance was typically a simple thing - something he had done thousands of times before. The menacing laugh that filled his ears did not belong to Cazador, but instead some other sort of unholy being. Cazador turned back to Flora, and plunged a dagger into her stomach, standing to the side and forcing him to watch every moment of it. Flora cried out in agony, the sound ringing in his ears like a horrible song stuck in his head. Cazador’s voice might not have matched that of the original… but Flora’s voice was spot on and unmistakable. It was perfectly crafted to maximize his torment.

Astarion swallowed his disgust and fear as he willed his legs to run to her side. He reached desperately for her. He had no weapon, but it couldn’t matter now. He had to rescue her from the table. The light in her eyes was fading quickly. There wasn’t much time left now - she wasn’t going to survive.

She’s already dead. This isn’t real.

He found himself stuck to the floor, feet frozen in place. He could do nothing as Cazador dragged the dagger down her stomach, ripping her open, cutting a long gash from her pelvis to her chest. Flora’s gurgling screams would haunt his memory for months, if not years to come.

The gleeful smile never left Cazador’s face. He had always been a violent and vicious man, but even through all of that, a smile was not something he traditionally wore. This was a vision, and this Cazador was not real.

Flora was not real. So why did he feel himself crying out for her specter? Again he begged himself to wake from the trance. He pinched himself. He tried to picture the room where he had been when he slept, but the image was murky and unclear. He watched Cazador drop his hands to the table, cupping her blood in his hands. Then he slowly approached him, hands held open to Astarion, pushing it up to his face. It was so disturbingly real that he swore he could smell it - a familiar, coppery and flowery tang. But no, it actually wasn’t quite right when he paid closer attention to it. This blood was muskier. Less appealing. Wrong. Not hers at all.

This isn’t real. It isn’t her.

Finally he managed to break the trance, coming slowly back to reality - covered in an unusual amount of sweat. He didn’t sweat. As the world formed around him again, he realized that he was no longer in the bed he’d taken his trance in. Instead, he stood in another room of the Elfsong, lit by a sputtering candle that was beginning to drown itself out in its own pool of wax.

Astarion stood over the corpse of the same elf whose ear he had talked off earlier in the evening - the one who had initially thought he was flirting. He looked down at the familiar dagger in his hands, which were covered in the elf’s blood. A perfect mirror of what he had witnessed in his trance.

A perfect mess he would have to hide until nightfall.

#painful fic not for faint of heart #this one was an ouchie #i have an alternate reality version of this fic where it is multi chaptered and DOES have a happy ending #but it might stay a one shot forever unless people desire a continuation #I would say enjoy but I don't know if you will

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