#Eventually that's the goal anyway

[raynewolfegirl]

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt 2.1

Note: The writing bug bit me while wading through the comments and replies so you guys get more! 😁 Special thanks to @the-scarecrow-of-aus & @starlightcat04 for helping spark this continuation!

Also, so you're not confused, this part is from Kon's POV and backtracks to before the Bane incident to explain how Kon started going undercover in Arkham. Pt 2.2 has the Bane incident from Kon's POV.

~*~*~

When Kon got the call from Tim asking if he'd be willing to do a favor for him, he hadn't expected it to be an undercover assignment in the infamous Arkham Asylum itself.

"You want me to do what?" He asked staring at Tim in disbelief once he reached the Nest to debrief.

"Go undercover as a new guard in Arkham." Tim repeated with a deadpan expression looking over his shoulder at Kon from his computer chair. Holy fuck, his eyebags were bad. 

"Have you slept in the past week, Tim?" Kon asked, taking in his best friend's appearance.

Tim frowned at the question. 

"I don't see how that's relevant but yes." He answered, heartbeat unchanging. Which didn't really mean anything since it was Tim but Kon decided he'd believe him. 

For now. 

Kon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, I'll do it." He said. "Can you tell me why we need someone undercover at least?" 

Tim eyes widened, startled by the question like he was surprised Kon didn't know yet even though Tim hadn't told him yet. Okay, deep breaths, calm down, Tim clearly hasn't slept in at least two days. Kon coached himself as his temper flared up at the evidence that Tim wasn't taking care of himself again. All the Supers agreed: sometimes you just wish you could beat some sense into the Bats and make them take care of themselves like normal human beings.

"Ah. Right." Tim said, turning back to the computer and pulling up some files as he explained. "Two thing have occured within roughly fifteen days of each other that together are rather suspicious. First, Dr. Thomas Rylie, Jonathan Crane's undergraduate roommate and classmate throughout undergrad and grad school, was hired to work as one of the new in house psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum. They also got their doctorates from the same school during the same time frame and both focused on the impact fear has on the brain. Dr. Rylie's focus was on fear conditioning and Dr. Crane's focus was on fear responses." Well, that sounds suspicious. 

"Second, Gotham University lost their minds and began an undergraduate and graduate internship program partnering with Arkham Asylum." 

Kon went cold. They did what?

Pictures of the Asylum, University, and three people -presumably Scarecrow, Dr. Rylie, and a young woman- filled the computer screen now. 

"The internship program has only one applicant so far and she'd already started working at the Arkham. Her name is Jasmine Fenton and her background is...sparse, to say the least." Tim turned in his chair to face Kon.

"I'm too recognizable in Gotham and among the rogues to successfully go undercover in Arkham so I've set you up with an apartment and ID as 'Kyle Jennings.' You're scheduled to start work at Arkham as a new guard tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Kon said with a nod. "What do you need confirmed? What are the primary objectives?" He prodded Tim again since his friend's sleep deprived brain seemed to think that was enough information for debriefing. It wasn't. Definitely not. A lot was implied but it wouldn't be the first time Tim had completely different intentions than what Kon had understood from his briefing. Sleep deprived Tim frequently assumed others could read his mind or something. Sleep deprived Tim was wrong.

"We need to determine if Dr. Rylie is here working for Scarecrow as part of some new scheme. We need to determine if Jasmine Fenton is complicit. We need to know if Gotham U is also in on it. And we need to find out what exactly Scarecrow is the planning." Tim stated automatically as he ticked each one off on his fingers.

"Got it. Guess I'll head over to my new apartment then and start prepping for tomorrow." Kon said, heading towards the exit. Tim hummed in agreement waving a hand in his direction as he left. That dumbass was probably already absorbed in the next case. Kon sighed, hopefully Tim would at least pass out sometime later tonight.

~*~*~

Kon's first day at Arkham wasn't anything special. He didn't see Jasmine, Dr. Rylie, or Scarecrow. He didn't see any rogues or doctors at all. It was just a really Gotham kind of orientation. 

"This is where we keep a cache of stun grenades, long-range scope rifles, tranquilizer rounds, and rubber bullets." His new supervisor and guide through orientation, Alex Fhizer, said as he showed Kon how to access, inventory, lock, and re-conceal the cache. "Everytime you pass by a cache on patrol, you will check the inventory again and sign off on it with the date and time. If anything is different from the previous inventory entry, you will immediately radio the tower and the island will be put on lockdown." Greyish Hazel eyes peered out of a weathered face staring Kon down. "You will never neglect to inventory a cache while on patrol. You will never neglect to report an inventory discrepancy. The first time you do you will be fired immediately and you can count yourself damn lucky if that's all that happens to you." 

Fhizer was intense, man.

"Yes, Sir." Kon answered. Fhizer's hard look lasted another long moment before the older man gave a firm nod and continued showing Kon the ropes.

~*~*~

The second day was no where near as chill as the first. Hell, his brain was already starting to warp, there hadn't been anything chill about that orientation.

Kon started his second day by boarding the Arkham transport bus with the rest of the staff and early morning visitors to the island. That was where he saw Jasmine Fenton in the flesh for the first time. 

She has got to be part Amazonian, was his first thought upon seeing her. She was around 6ft tall with a thick mane of red hair tightly braided reaching all the way down to her waist. Jasmine was wearing teal stud earrings, a silver bangle type bracelet on her left wrist, a white blouse, black slacks, and black flats. She carried a small, clear purse that only held a small notepad, pen, house key, chapstick, and a thin teal wallet that presumably contained her IDs, debit cards, and a small amount of cash. Damn, she was tall.

Kon's concentration was broken by the quiet sound of metal crunching slightly beneath his fingers. He immediately loosened his grip on the hand rail, checking for damage with a wince. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he saw the damage was almost entirely unnoticeable to the naked eye. He'd have to mind his strength more closely. Kon was too used to the farm and facilities that were all reinforced to handle casual use from people with super strength. 

Tim's notes indicated Arkham wasn't reinforced for super strength anywhere. Not even along the outer walls. The facility had opted to use suppression collars on their meta inmates instead since they were cheaper and easier to repair and replace according to the official reports. However, Tim's notes had also mentioned that Arkham had reinforced the outer walls to account for super strength at one point. They'd poured nearly every dime the facility could spare into the project for months until the Joker himself had taken it personally. The madman had absolutely obliterated the reinforced outer walls until no part of them remained standing. Given Joker had destroyed the walls without having any meta powers at all and his history of viciously attacking -damn near mauling- anyone that tried to put him in a straight jacket, Kon didn't really blame Arkham for stopping while they were ahead.

Kon looked up as the bus jolted to a stop. The other passengers filing off around him. He watched as Jasmine Fenton was met by Dr. Rylie in front of the bus as he waited to disembark. 

"Ms. Jasmine!" Dr. Rylie greeted her enthusiastically with a broad open grin and beaming eyes. He reached towards her with both arms, hands open and she reached back. Their right hands clasped as their left hands landed on the other's upper arms as the two greeted one another openly. Kon wasn't very familiar with intern-mentor relationships nor what would be considered normal or professional for them, but it looked like a rather affectionate greeting for them having been strangers two weeks ago. That was strange, wasn't it? Was Tim right to be worried about them?

"Ms. Jasmine is the first and only applicant for Dr. Rylie, Director Keener, and Dean Byle's hairbrained idea to hire more doctors for this place." One of the older guards that had been standing just behind him on the bus explained having apparently noticed Kon watching the pair.

"They just seemed rather affectionate for Gotham." Kon shrugged dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder at his new colleague. The shorter man laughed.

"A bit, yeah." He agreed. "I think Dr. Rylie is just desperate for this program to work out." He continued as they finally managed to get off the bus. Dr. Rylie and Ms. Fenton were gone now. "Pretty much everyone's been treating her like a princess." 

"That doesn't seem fair to everyone else." Kon commented, dropping back a bit to let the older man lead the way to the guards room for morning debriefing and to get their assignments. He'd already memorized the layouts but 'Kyle Jennings' shouldn't have yet.

"Who cares about fair as long as it works?" The guard answered. "If treating her like a princess scores more interns for the program in the long run, and if one intern every year ends up interested in sticking around, I'll be happy to cater to every single one of them." He confessed, stopping in the middle of the hall to turn and face Kon directly. Kon glimpsed the name Ryans as the silver name badge flashed the briefly reflecting the overhead lights. "You non-gothamites just don't get it. We're desperate for whatever help we can get." 

"That's why I applied here." Kon lied. "Going to school across the bay, I heard a lot about what went down over here while I was in college. I want to help." 

Ryans gave a short solemn nod then turned and led the rest of the way to the break room. 

~*~*~

Day four undercover was when Kon officially met Jasmine Fenton. 

Everything had been going well so far with his undercover assignment. He'd settled in to the role of Kyle Jennings, been getting along well with his new coworkers including Ryans and Fhizer, and hadn't yet managed to screw up inventorying the caches during the outer patrol loops. That being said, Kon was having other issues.

The worst part of being an unstable Kryptonian clone was that his strength tended to fluctuate. It normally wasn't much of an issue when he was surrounded by reinforced everything in his daily life but here at Arkham it was becoming a problem. Case in point, Kon thought to himself with an exhausted groan as his freshly made coffee mug shattered in his hand.

"Oh come on." He sighed snatching a handful of paper towels from the counter and bending to wipe up the coffee and ceramic shards on the floor. At least he was the only one in the room when it shattered. The door clicked softly behind him and Kon jumped twisting to look. 

Jasmine Fenton stood behind him having just closed the door to the break room after entering.

"What happened here?" She asked, sounding bewildered with slightly wide eyes as she took in the mess on the floor. Thank God. She didn't see it.

"Guess I was a bit more tired than I thought." He said with a forced laugh in order to hide his nerves. "Slipped right through my fingers."

She nodded, accepting his words at face value. 

"I've done that more than a few times close to finals." She admitted. "You guys have 10 hour shifts, right? You must be exhausted. When's your next day off?"

"The day after tomorrow." Kon said. "This is day 3 for me since orientation doesn't count."

"You get 2 days off followed by an on-call day, right?" She asked.

"Right," Kon agreed. "AKA 2 days of freedom and a day chained to the Bowery." He joked.

"Absolutely terrible, they may as well put an ankle monitor on you." She cracked back grinning. Kon snickered. The door opened again.

"I see you found another non-gothamite here." Dr. Rylie said striding into the break room with a wide grin.

"Sounds like that makes three of us." Kon agreed. Outside of Joker, he had never seen a gothamite grin that wide in his life.

"Dr. Thomas Rylie, a pleasure to meet you." Dr. Rylie introduced himself holding out his hand to shake. Kon shook his hand as gently as possible, mindful his strength was on the fritz.

"Kyle Jennings, nice to meet you. I just started as a guard earlier this week." He said then held his hand out to shake Jasmine's.

"Jasmine Fenton, I'm an intern therapist. This is my second week here." She greeted with a warm smile shaking Kon's hand. She didn't say anything about being glad to meet him, Kon noted. It wasn't exactly strange behavior but something made him take note of it anyway. Like by not saying it she was saying she hadn't decided whether meeting him was a good or bad thing yet. Dr. Rylie didn't seem to notice anything off with the interaction though as he went about making his own coffee. The three of them made idle small talk as they made their own coffees. Once his new cup was ready, Kon bid them both goodbye and went on his way. While they were his main objective, lingering too long this early into their aquantiantship would probably be strange.

He had several other small friendly interactions with both of them over the next few days. Taking the time for greetings, small talk, and sharing small bits of casual background info from Kyle Jennings's past to encourage them both to open up to him. He also broke a clipboard, two more coffee cups, several pens, and a doorknob during that time as his strength continued to fluctuate. The doorknob had been particularly embarrassing. He had gone to open the door for Jasmine when he saw her with her arms full of files and somehow managed to twist it in such a way that the screws holding it in place sheered off and the knob came off in his hand. Collins, his partner for building patrol that day, burst out laughing hysterically as Kon stared at the doorknob in horror.

"No worries, man." Collins said, clapping Kon on the shoulder still snickering. "Someone else probably broke it and put it back so they wouldn't get scolded or something."

"Yeah," Kon said with a nervous laugh. "That must be what happened."

Jasmine's eyes flicked between the two of them then she grinned.

"And here I thought you just really hated that door." She teased Kon. He felt his face heat up as Collins laughed at him again.

"It is an ugly door." Collins agreed enthusiastically smirking.

"Terribly ugly. Hideous even," Jasmine said with a smile.

"Possibly even traumatizing to behold," Collins continued to smirk.

"You've got me. I have a deep rooted traumatic fear of metal taupe doors." Kon deadpanned ears burning. Jasmine snickered as Kon got the door open for her and they went their separate ways.

~*~*~

"What have you found so far?" Tim asked. Kon did not have the words to express how much he didn't want to be at the Nest at 3am on his first day off from undercover work. If it was anyone other than Tim he wouldn't have even answered the phone.

"Literally nothing," Kon said dryly. "I am still the newest of newbies at Arkham. I practically spent the whole week being babysat by senior guardsmen." He sighed, reminding himself that it wasn't Tim's fault that he was a little insomniac goblin and that Kon really did love his friend and would be sad if he hurt Tim's feelings. Eventually. When he woke up again in the morning. "I did start befriending them both though. It's slow going since we're in different areas but nearly being the only non-gothamites there seems to be helping me make some headway at least." 

There was one other non-gothamite on staff, a medical nurse named Sharon Earley. She was in her mid-thirties and the most sour and unpleasant person Kon had had the displeasure of meeting so far on Arkham's staff. Not that Kon could blame her for that. Not when she had several large ragged scars spanning from her chin and down both of her arms from when Zsazz had gotten hold of her alone after dark her second year at Arkham. It was a damn miracle she'd survived him. Kon didn't know how she managed it but he wouldn't try to find out either. Ryans had taken him aside right before he first met Nurse Earley and warned him not to stare or ask about any of it and then explained the bare basics of what happened to her after they'd left. 

Tim probably had a file with every detail of that night as well as information about Sharon Earley's life both before and after that night somewhere on his computer. The thought made Kon nauseous. 

"Good, good," Tim said absently as he updated the mission file on his computer. The keys clicked so rapidly that Kon again reconsidered whether or not his best friend had super speed. "Better to keep them from suspecting than to rush in anyway." 

"Exactly." 

Tim continued asking questions about every little detail he could think of concerning Dr. Rylie, Jasmine Fenton, and the rogues currently in Arkham.

"They don't let me near those guys yet. I'm too new." Kon said when Tim asked if Scarecrow looked to be plotting more than usual.

"They don't?" Tim sounded surprised, going so far as to stop typing so he could turn and stare at Kon. The clone was amused to note something about his statement had managed to wake Tim up enough to be visibly shocked instead blank-faced with exhaustion.

"Of course not," Kon answered trying to keep the amusement from his voice as much as possible. "As many times as your rogues have broken out they're leary of letting new hires near them in case they're goons in disguise." 

Tim sank back into his chair looking like Kon had uprooted his whole world by proving the Earth really was flat via actual science.

"That's impossible." Tim said sounding faint. "Everytime there's a mass breakout, we always hear that some of the guards helped them escape. How?..." He trailed off, eyes darting rapidly like he was tracking lines of an invisible conspiracy board in the air in front of him. Kon shrugged, uncomfortable with this new information.

"Scuttlebutt is that the people helping them escape are visitors. The guards get blamed because the goons visit wearing clothes similar to the guard uniform from a distance. All blue polo shirts and black pants look similar at a distance." Kon explained. "It also doesn't help that the guards can't really do much to stop the escape attempts since they only have stun grenades, tranquilizer darts, batons, low voltage tazers, and rubber bullets to fight back with. So as long as enough people are involved in the escape attempt at least some of them will make it out even if the guards manage to to tranquilize several of them." 

Tim still looked like Kon was blowing his mind. It was such a rare experience that Kon had to continue.

"Plus the tranquilizer darts and the rubber bullets have to be fired from different hardware." Kon told him. "Which sucks because you have to carry twice the amount of weight while chasing after the escapees which slows you down and it takes longer to swap between them."

There was something similar to mystified horror spreading across his friend's face now.

"Speaking if swapping between them, they have different ranges too." Kon continued gleefully. Half because it was fun wrecking Tim's worldview and half to actually impart the information. "Batons are short-range. Tranquilializer darts and stun grenades are mid-range. Rubber bullet riffles are long-range."

"If that's all it is, WE can fund then better gear to control the inmates." Tim interrupted turning back to the computer and swiftly typing out a list of things to send Arkham. Kon shook his head.

"That won't work." He disagreed gently. "They aren't failing because of the gear itself."

Tim turned back around to face him, confused. This was not going to be a fun conversation, Kon swallowed hard and forced himself to continue.

"The problem is that if you fire the rubber bullet riffles from mid or short range you could seriously injury or even kill the patient. If they get past mid-range, you'll miss them completely using tranquilizer darts or stun grenades. If you try to use either of those at short-range it'll be bad for you whether it's because they'll get hold of you before the tranquilizer knocks them out or because you'll stun yourself too."

Comprehension and trepidation began to dawn on Tim's face. He deflated in his chair, sinking lower and lower as he stared off into nowhere.

"You also can't hit them with more than one tranquilizer dart in a four hour window because you could accidently kill them that way. That also means even though you have a baton, you typically can't do enough damage to them to keept them from escaping because that might potentially kill them." Kon said completely solemn now as he relayed the information. "Because regardless of the reputation Arkham has or what the patients have done, it is still a hospital and they are still patients." 

Tim was staring directly at Kon now. Mouth open, face slack, eyes wide with a kind of numbed shock. Kon held his gaze.

"Yeah," Kon said after a moment. "Yeah, that's how I reacted too." He looked down, picking at his nails for a moment before forcing himself to stop and meet Tim's gaze again. "Phizer, my new 'boss', made sure to drill that into my head during orientation. 'Arkham's guards exist first and foremost to protect the patients. Arkham isn't supposed to be a prison. It's a medical facility. The patients are confined to the premises because their affliction has made them dangerous and they have to stay so that we can keep them and others safe from further harm. We are here to keep the patients and staff from hurting each other, themselves, or being hurt by people outside of Arkham's walls.' Not gonna lie, man." Kon said quirking a bitter grin as his did. "Hearing that kind of fucked me up a bit."

Tim sucked in a huge heaving breath then slowly let it out before he responded.

"I can't say I ever thought about it like that." He admitted in a soft strained voice. "Can't say I ever wanted to either." There was a bitter tinge to his words.

"Yeah, neither did I." Kon answered, shoulders slumping a bit. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? I kind of want to head back and sleep a bit."

Tim shook his head slowly.

"No, I think we're good at the moment." He said looking twice as exhausted and drained now as he did when Kon first got there. Kon nodded.

"Good night then. I'll see you later, man." He said, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against and heading for the door.

"Be safe, Kon." Tim answered softly turning back to his computer.

[teamsasukes]

the chunin exams arc was so interesting for how it portrayed sakura's potential and how people in her life influenced it. kakashi lying about the team-based enrollment criteria because he thinks sakura would be likely to sign up only to appease sasuke, and being genuinely surprised when she shows up anyway. naruto being completely oblivious when sakura was upset preceding the exams and also after she cut her hair in the forest of death. naruto literally dreaming about saving sakura from enemies, being the hero to her damsel-in-distress. sakura moulding herself into a perfectly feminine lady because that's what society demanded and what she thought sasuke would want. versus sasuke calling her out for focusing too much on romance instead of her skills like she should be doing. sasuke picking up that she was upset because she felt inadequate and reminding her of what she was best at -- maybe even better than him -- and never begrudging her for it. ino hacking into her mind because she was sure, not a single doubt in her mind, that sakura would know the answers to the impossible questions on the written exam. ino and sasuke both stepping in to save her during her fight with the sound nin, but only after being spurred on by the brutal beating she took. ino and sasuke getting frustrated with naruto when he commented on how her haircut looked because it made sakura trivialize her experience and offer a fake explanation about women being fickle. the flashbacks revealing to us that ino affirmed that she would one day bloom into a beautiful flower. ino and sasuke serving as a catalyst for sakura to get stronger before pt 1 and pt 2 respectively. idk do you see what i'm seeing

[astrolavas]

he'll figure it out—

[cccotard]

lily dump 📣📣📣

[butnodamage]

Hello, hello, I have been tagged by the lovely @wylstarion ❤️

Rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words.

So. I haven't posted fanfiction in...maybe 8 years. But the BG3 brainrot is real, and, uh, I've been cookin'. I'm feeling extra and benevolent, so here is the first chapter from my current WIP, in which both Astarion and Cazador get tadpoled, and many fun times ensue.

Tagging a few mutuals: @anniecrestaodairs, @m3rricat, and @undercover-cactus

Feel free to share anything you're working on (but no pressure!!).

CHAPTER 1 - ASTARION

For the first time in two hundred years, Astarion woke to the sun’s raw, golden warmth caressing his face.

So, of course, he started screaming.

A chunk of wreckage thrust up from the sand nearby. He lunged for it, squeezing himself into the deepest, darkest corner, and buried his head between his knees. A minute passed. Maybe an eternity. Once the immediate panic subsided, Astarion realized something else was wrong.

He was not in pain.

There was the hunger, of course, an ever-present, nauseating ache, a bruise on his being. But his skin remained attached to his body. His fingers flexed and straightened at the correct angles. His ribs sat in orderly rows in his chest. And where all that raw, unfiltered light had raked his bare flesh, he was not burnt.

There was only one way to be certain. He inched forward, creeping a hand toward the shadow’s edge. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he thrust the hand out.

Warmth.

Enveloping. Embracing. A heat that didn’t sting or cut but instead cradled him gently, sinking into his flesh to wrap tender hands around the very marrow of him. A soft, gasping cry escaped Astarion’s lips. Water stung at the corners of his eyes.

Panic gave way to sudden, heady delight.

The sun did not burn him.

Then something behind his right eye began to squirm.

Images flashed. Fragmented memories, sensory impressions.

Shouting. Fleeing. Yellow eyes and groping tentacles. The slash of a silver sword. A half-elf woman screaming behind a pane of glass, hammering useless fists against the confines of a mindflayer’s fleshy pod.

More flooded in, memories of the night before. Clawed fingers fisted in his hair, dragging him across the derelict courtyard of the Szarr Palace. Cazador’s fury, choking, all-encompassing, tight as fingers around his throat. Astarion’s desperate pleas falling dead in the dirt, the rising sun a throbbing golden specter, those first damning golden rays teasing the palace’s walls.

Astarion had failed to secure a mark that evening, had opted to race back to the palace and risk Cazador’s wrath rather than be incinerated by the coming sun. Cazador had decided to correct those priorities. They’d made it halfway across the courtyard to the post, half in shadow, that Cazador used for punishments, when monsters had started falling from the sky.

Astarion came back to himself doubled over and panting.

So. The good news.

He was not chained to a post in Baldur’s Gate, contorting his body to escape the creeping advance of the morning sun. He was, seemingly, impossibly, at least momentarily, safe.

The bad news.

Astarion had not been saved. He’d been infected. And if he didn’t do something about this little unwelcome infestation soon, then who knew what would happen? (Astarion had a guess what would happen. It was not particularly inviting.)

Well. He’d take it all the same. The tadpole had given him the sun, hadn’t it?

Perhaps it could give him more.

Buoyed by this knowledge, he stood, dusted off his doublet, and turned to head further up the beach, only to freeze.

Cazador.

Cazador lay in the sand.

For a moment, Astarion knew only terror.

His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of it. Cazador was here, not in Baldur’s Gate. Cazador was here. Which meant Cazador had also been abducted by the mindflayers. And wasn’t that a delicious thought—his master pinned down, impotent, as the tadpole was crammed into his wide, panicked eye, the sting of its teeth as it burrowed deep, Cazador’s screams—

No. Oh, no.

Because bad things for the Master only meant worse things for Astarion. Cazador had only been infected because of Astarion. Because Astarion had failed to bring back prey. Because Astarion had to be punished. And there would be no mercy, no forgiveness for a mistake like this. It’d be another year in the tomb, two years, Hells, a century, Gods, he was so, so fucked—

Cazador did not move.

The panic faltered enough that Astarion could look at his master, really look. Cazador’s eyes were closed, his hair and fine robes disheveled, caked, Astarion noted with some satisfaction, with illithid slime. He looked like a scrap of wet laundry that had blown off somebody’s line, trampled along the roadside.

He looked—well. Dead.

Astarion should run. He knew it, his body knew it, muscles screaming to turn and flee before Cazador saw him, caught him…

But another part of him had to know. Had mindflayers accomplished what countless monster hunters and political rivals could not? The very thing that Astarion had fantasized about for the past two centuries?

He crept closer. As he did, his fingers closed around a scrap of driftwood, small enough to tuck against his palm, and ending in a jagged point. His hands shook. The fear surged up again at his master’s proximity, primal, instinctive. Astarion choked it down.

His mouth set in a grim, determined line.

Fate, luck, a mindflayer kidnapping, whatever had brought Astarion here, it didn’t matter. There was only him, the stake clenched in his trembling hands, and the man stretched out before him, for once no chains or commands to stand in Astarion’s way.

One thrust, and he’d be free. Truly free. But only if he moved now. He hefted the stake.

Cazador’s eyes opened.

With a sound part scream, part sob, Astarion rammed the stake down.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Because though they were both battered and bloodied, crusted in slime and debris, Cazador was a vampire lord, and Astarion was a weak, pathetic, useless spawn, the runt of the litter, and he hadn’t eaten in a tenday.

Cazador caught his wrist, stopping the stake inches from his chest, and broke the fragile bones with one clean, practiced jerk. His grip tightened—Astarion shrieked as the shattered bones ground together—then Cazador’s other hand caught Astarion’s collar and shoved him into the sand. Astarion barely had time to do more than flail his limbs like an overturned beetle when, a second later, a boot slammed down on his chest. With one final crushing application of pressure, and another scream from Astarion, Cazador pried the stake from his hand, tossing it into the water.

“Stupid, foolish child,” he said, his voice sounding a touch slurred, and raised his boot.

A sharp pain lanced through Astarion’s temple. It threw him backward, out of himself, into an enormous cavern of turquoise stone, scrawled with archaic symbols. A feeling of anticipation flooded him, of hunger, of triumph, of centuries of plans finally coming together, Woe a wicked weight in his hand and, painted over everything, the sweet, salty tang of hot, fresh blood—

Astarion reared back into his own body once more.

 Cazador stood over him, clutching his head. Through a tangle of hair and claws, Astarion glimpsed a single livid red eye, fixed on him. Then Cazador jerked Astarion toward him and bit down—hard—into his neck. Reflexively, Astarion went limp (if he struggled, he’d make a mess, and Cazador hated mess) as Cazador tightened his hold, pulling Astarion flush against him. Tears scorched the backs of his eyes. It’d been so long since he’d fed. He couldn’t have more than a few meager swallows in him. Cazador took them all the same.

Once he’d drunk his fill, Cazador released him to tumble gracelessly back onto the sand, cleaning the excess off his lips with a thumb.

For a moment, Astarion thought that Cazador would leave him like that, discarded with the rest of the Nautiloid’s detritus.

“Get up, boy,” Cazador said.

So, Astarion got up, and followed.

***

And so the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day begins.

In other news, I am also writing the BG3 X The Thing AU we all need.

[aurosoulart]

the GREAT PATREON SMUSH

I was going to make an advertisement for this with bright colors and maybe animated sparkles but 1) I hate making ads and 2) we are all so exhausted by bright ads vying for our brain chemicals that I just don’t want to do that to you anymore!!!! I’m TIRED of things grabbing for my attention in an unending assault on my senses and I’m sure you are too!!!!!!!

if you’ve been doom-scrolling and need a break (a nice beverage, a stretch of the legs, etc.), take this as a sign to do so now. if you’ve got the energy for a little reading, though, and want to learn about my work - keep going!

ANYWAYS I’ll get to the point: ALL of my patreon benefits are now available to the lowest ($3) tier.

in fact, there ARE no other tiers anymore. they’re gone! scrunched! smunshed! stirred up all together into one big super tier soup of everything I offer now and will offer in the future!

everyone now gets:

over 100 4k desktop wallpapers

early access/wips

25% discounts on prints

livestream voice chat

art votes & art suggestions

commission slots

and access to the Art Grotto discord, a friendly and chill server with a small community of creative folks. we share art, writing, pets, memes, and also come up with fun art ideas together! 🌈

why am I smushing the tiers and giving up the higher pledge amounts?!

because capitalism sucks, we’re in a recession, and I’m lucky enough to have a full-time job that allows me to make art without being reliant on Patreon income. anyone who has sat in on one of my livestreams knows that I try to be a calming force in an often-chaotic world, and that I’m always looking for ways to make art more accessible to everyone. I want my Patreon to be a place where I can give back to those who are supporting me in this mission!

this tier smush is just the start of how I hope to transform this space! I have a bunch of fun ideas about stuff I want to do in the future, so keep an eye out for more announcements like this 👁

that’s all!!!! thank you if you’ve read this far, and here’s the link to the Patreon if any of this interested you!

[kuroshirosb]

Didn't you know? Our champion is favored by Arceus.

[chouettecrivaine]

dead woman walking

Fandom: @shepherds-of-haven ! A little drabble of my MC who I have grown unexpectedly attached to and now she dances around in my head all of the time

Characters: Trouble/OC

Notes: 1.6k, angst, depressing introspection, the world's most OVERDRAMATIC girl has the most OVERDRAMATIC kiss

Summary: Lark has decided that the best course of action is to go on the mission alone, even if fatality is certain. She plans to leave in the middle of the night when nobody can stop her, but first there are some feelings she needs to put to rest.

Even if the trip from her room to Trouble's was familiar, Lark couldn't help but slow her steps as reticence pulled against her on every step. The magelights lining the hallway, for once, didn't seem as warm and homey as before - instead, Lark could only focus on that one spot of darkness between each fixture. It didn't matter how far the warm light stretched; the shadows always made their way to her.

She stopped just outside the door to Trouble's room, standing perfectly still and taking a deep breath. In the stillness, time didn't exist to her. Lark could pretend that she wasn't heading off to her final battle, a one-woman army marching straight into extinction. Maybe this was the battle she was created for - or maybe she was damning everyone by throwing herself away when she knew her reality couldn't be remade. Either way, the thought hollowed out her body and filled it with ice, the way she had been before. Somehow, Lark always knew she was going to die alone. At least this way, she could save anybody that she had tricked into caring for her from riding straight into the maws of death for her sake.

Lark had made peace with it, as much as she could. Her time in the Shepherds had reminded her all too well how to want to live, but blind hope wasn't something she had been able to afford for a while. This was her last stand, and she could accept that. It was bound to happen eventually in this line of work. There was just one thing she needed to do - one box left to check - before she could leave her loose ends in the hands of others.

Finally composed, Lark turned and knocked on the solid door, each in rapid succession of the last. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage and rising into her throat with every beat. Her mouth went dry, though she couldn't figure out exactly why. She heard a soft shuffling on the other side of the door and forced herself to swallow, determined to keep up with her own façade. 

Trouble opened the door, more alert than Lark had expected, and gave her a friendly once-over. Despite not being bleary-eyed and half asleep, he still blinked a few times as if to make sure it was Lark in front of him. Easily, he smiled at her, unsuccessful in keeping his gaze covert as it lingered on her untied hair. During the day, Lark kept it in two braids circled around her head and pinned closely to her skull. She only ever kept her hair down when she was sleeping, and the few times Trouble had seen it, he'd been silently fascinated. Without fail, the attention would send a wave of excitement through her body, but now her apprehension was too strong for even that to shine through. Still, she smiled back at him.

"What're you doing here, Birdie?" Trouble asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. He only stood there for a moment before hurrying to make room for Lark. "Oh, I mean, you're welcome to come in. If you want."

Lark shook her head. "No, that's alright. I just needed to tell you something important."

Though he kept the mood light, Lark noticed how Trouble's face immediately softened. She noticed that when he was happy to see her - so, normally - his eyes seemed to sparkle as if the golden rings around his pupils were pure ore. Now, everything was warm seawater and honey. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

Lark's heart stopped beating, only to grow so quickly she thought it might burst out of her chest. God, she wanted to stay. An overwhelming affection flooded her senses, choking her up and forcing her feelings to well behind her eyes. Lark gripped at her nightshirt, trying to blink away the tears before they became too obvious. She thought heartbreak was supposed to be a shattering of glass as someone tossed her heart aside; maybe it could be your own heart tearing at the seams and spilling out all the love you were foolish enough to hide, too.

"Well, I have to tell you the second half later." At the end of her sentence, her voice trembled, and she covered it up with a shaky laugh. Trouble didn't seem to notice.

"Alright, then what's the first half?"

A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Lark wasn't normally the type to be at a loss for words. She never felt comfortable unless she had a plan at hand to lie her way out of - or into - a situation. But Trouble made her honest, and the truth didn't seem survivable in that moment. Not if it was to be spoken aloud in a voice that would hurt Trouble the most.

So she stepped forward instead, brought her hands to his face, and pulled him down to her height so she could kiss him.

For a brief, terrifying second, Trouble went entirely rigid. Lark couldn't tell if he was staring at her, bewildered, or if his brow was furrowed as he tried to figure out how he got in that position. It didn't matter, because both were endearing, and neither would have stayed for long. His surprise melted away and his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close against his body. Lark almost sagged in relief.

Beneath her gentle hands, she felt his face gradually warm, certainly a few shades darker than before. In fact, she could feel his warmth all over, radiating from him and almost burning where their skin touched. In this moment, she could have anything she wanted, and she could delude herself into thinking it would last. In this moment, Lark was safe. Loved.

She wasn't ready for Trouble to pull away, yet he did. It was only an inch, and the many questions he undoubtedly had died on his tongue, but she could feel it. The ground was fracturing beneath her, and reality was swallowing her whole. Lark could only think of two things, and their certainty dug into her like claws: she loved him, and she was going to die.

So, even if it was selfish, she pressed her lips against his again, desperate and rough and scared. This kind of emotion, passionate and raw, was more up Trouble's alley. He kept her ferocity, yet held her with the care he'd give glass, like she was to be wrapped up and kept safe forever. Maybe he should've. Or maybe he should have kissed her breathless. It would have been a far kinder fate - but her fate was never meant to be kind.

Lark hoped that he could tell in the way she held his face, in the ease with which she leaned into him. If she was worth protecting, he was worth cherishing, and even if she never said it she hoped he knew. Trouble was always dense, but he had his moments. Now that she realized simply wanting him wasn't enough, had never been enough, there was nothing she could do but hope he was getting it now, and ignore her desire to stay ripping through her soul.

When they parted for a second time, neither of them said anything as they tried to catch their breath. Lark kept her lips parted, knowing that if she closed them it would be too obvious that she was trembling. Trouble didn't realize it,but even through his crimson fluster he was positively giddy. It was almost enough to convince Lark to stay.

But that was dangerous thinking. So she slowly untangled herself from him, her fingertips trailing down his shoulders and to his arms until there was nowhere left untouched. As he sorted his thoughts, Trouble's arms fell slack to his sides, a metal filament falling when the magnet attracting it moved away. Lark bit her tongue.

"So, uh…what does…this mean?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck if only for something to do. Bashfulness wasn’t something Trouble was well acquainted with, yet he couldn’t look Lark in the eyes all the same. 

“That’s the second half,” She answered quietly. “I’ll have to tell you later.”

Trouble narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he knew Lark was keeping something from him. Void of any heat or anger, it was more of a way to make her feel guilty than get her to actually admit anything. But he let it go. This was something they had been dancing around for a long time; a little while longer wouldn’t hurt.

Clearing her throat, Lark reluctantly backed away from Trouble and towards the door, keeping her eyes on him. It was difficult to swallow and even harder to breathe, yet she twisted the handle anyway. The hallway air rushed in, cold enough to send goosebumps down her arm. The moment she left this room, it’d be the beginning of the end.

Just before she turned around completely, Trouble interrupted her. Looking at him over her shoulder, Lark could tell that he was worried about her. “You can stay, if you want. You’ve done it before.”

An arrow of regret shot through her chest. “No thanks. I need some time to calm down.”

Trouble chuckled at that, muttering something small and proud about the effect he seemed to have on her. Then, lifting his head, he nodded once and let Lark take two steps backwards, his gaze undeniably fond. “I’ll collect you tomorrow, then. We can go to breakfast together.”

Lark nodded once, firmly, and put on her best, brightest smile. “I’d like that.”

It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. She would like that.

If only she’d be alive to do it.

[perchingominouslysmwh]

Send in the artillery pls I need to pull myself together TODAY OR SO HELP ME--

[aces-and-angels]

WIP Wednesday

on a saturday- bc time ain't real 😗✌🏼 ty @starlight-starfury for the tag!

i've got a few that have been in the vault for quite a bit- might as well unleash them out into the wild. here's a few snippets for abel x mc, jocelyn x mc, and lincoln x mc:

---

abel x f!mc:

"Did she like the conchas?"

Abel had his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, his hands occupied with grading his latest batch of term papers. "Yes, Mercedes, she liked them," he chuckled faintly as he marked an error he found with his red pen. "How many questions are you gonna ask me?

"As many as I can think of! I can't believe you told Cesar that you had girl over before you told me," she whined.

"He called home first. And I did not 'have a girl over,' I just had a friend visit. That's all."

"At night," she added suggestively.

"She went home."

"But you wanted her to stay, didn't you?" She teased in a sing-song voice. He took one second too long to respond. "Ha! I knew it! You like her."

"I do not!" Abel felt his cheeks grow warm despite his protests. Suddenly, he was very thankful that they were talking over the phone. After a beat, he spoke again, his voice a touch softer than before. "But...What if I did?"

A high pitched squeal rang through his speakers, making him jerk his phone away from his ears.

---

jocelyn x f!mc:

“You really get up at 4 AM... to run?” Rowan stared at Jocelyn, perplexed. 

“Yep,” she answered plainly.

“Every day?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, taking a sip from her water bottle. 

“On purpose?”

“Burke, do you have a problem with how I spend my day?” Jocelyn spat out defensively. 

“N-no,” Rowan squawked, “I’m just- y’know, impressed.” 

She cocked an eyebrow at them. “Why?” 

“Most people don’t have that kind of discipline.”

“Most people are idiots,” she countered flatly. Rowan laughed at her dry tone. Jocelyn quickly turned her head away, but not before Rowan caught sight of her lip quirking upwards. “I, uh- I gotta get to class,” she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulders. “See you around, Burke.” She waved over her shoulder. 

“See ya,” Rowan mumbled, watching Jocelyn's hair bounce slightly with each step. 

---

lincoln x m!mc:

“You never went to prom?!” Rowan shrieked, his eyes wide with disbelief. A few heads turn in his direction at his sudden outburst. He shrunk back into his seat, mouthing ‘sorry’ to the disgruntled restaurant patrons. Clearing his throat, he lowers his voice to a more appropriate volume. “Why not?” 

Lincoln simply shrugged, unbothered. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. I spent the last half of my senior year at a military school. They weren’t big on throwing social events. Or any events really.”

“Oh. I guess you’re right,” he mumbled, averting his gaze. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth- he hadn’t meant to bring up such a sore subject. Especially not while they were on a date. The familiar weight of Lincoln’s palm on his cheek brought his eyes back to him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s just one night. Now c’mon or we’ll miss the movie.” He slid out of the booth and offered his hand expectantly. 

With a small smile, he laced his fingers through his. “Alright, let’s go.” Hand in hand, they made their way out to his motorcycle parked out front. Like clockwork, they both slipped on their helmets and swung their legs over the seat. 

“Hold on tight, love.” Lincoln’s voice is slightly drowned out from the roar of the engine revving to life, but Rowan hears him just fine. Wrapping his arms around his frame, he pulled his chest tight against his back, relishing the warmth of his body. Only when he gave him a small squeeze did Lincoln pull out of the parking lot to drive to the theater. A comfortable silence fell between them, which allowed Rowan’s mind wander as the sounds of traffic faded from his focus.

Memories of his own prom night come up to the surface. Originally, he hadn’t planned on attending. But Amalia’s persistence was a very powerful weapon. He smiled to himself as he remembered how she all but dragged him to the mall to buy a suit. 

“No best friend of mine is missing out on senior prom. Especially not one who helped me plan the whole thing. Now go try this on.”

The punch was watered down, most of his song requests were ignored, and his suit was hemmed one inch too short. But he loved every second of it. For one night, he was a regular teenager; Someone who danced the night away with his best friend until they were both tired and sweaty. It was the first time since that day in the mountains where he really believed he could have a normal life too. 

Then his thoughts drifted to Lincoln, the man he truly adored. He was sweet...

“Oh!” A small yelp escaped from Rowan’s lips as he felt a pair of cold hands slide underneath his shirt.

“Sorry,” Lincoln chuckled softly, kissing his cheek multiple times but making no move to remove his hands. Instead, they wandered aimlessly over his bare chest as he continued to cook breakfast. His lips moved from his cheek to his jaw, then his ear, before finally seeking purchase in his neck. “You’re warm,” he mumbled into his skin. 

“And you’re distracting,” he teased affectionately, leaning into his touch anyways.  “You should be in bed.”

“Mm, you weren’t there,” he yawned. His nose nuzzled further into the crook of his neck. The stubble of his beard tickled his skin. “Can you make my eggs over-easy?”

“Already on it, babe.”

Supportive... 

It was 1 AM. A single lamp lit up the otherwise dark living room. Several opened textbooks were scattered on Rowan’s study table. He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to focus on what he was reading. But finals week had him running on fumes, so the words jumbled together on the page into a haze of black and white. Groaning in frustration, he buried his face in his hands. The sound of something being set on the table caught his attention. 

“I made you some coffee,” Lincoln whispered, moving behind him to rub his shoulders. He let out a soft moan as his hands kneaded his tense muscles.  “How’s the studying going?”

“Terrible,” he complained. “There’s no way I’m retaining any of this crap.” The notes he had been taking got progressively sloppier the longer he studied. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to read his own handwriting.

“Don’t say that. You still have two days left.”

“But babe, I’m so behind. I can’t-”

“You can,” he cut him off before he could spiral any further. “You’ve been working non-stop for a week. You’re smart, capable, and you’ll do just fine.” His tone was sincere, absolute. Like he wouldn’t entertain any arguments. Rowan’s heart felt warm in his chest. Taking off a hand from his shoulder, he placed a tender kiss to his knuckles.

“Will you stay up with me?” he asked softly, holding his hand close to his chest.

“Anything for you, love.” 

Sexy...

Rowan’s eyes were glued to Lincoln’s muscles as he continued to deadlift weights in front of him. The veins on his arms had become more prominent, which only made them look more enticing. A tendril of sweat rolled down his face, dripping down to his sharp jawline. The low grunts he made each time he lifted his weights had Rowan thinking things that he shouldn’t while they were in the middle of a public gym. “Babe?” 

“Yeah?” he huffed, slightly breathless. He lifted up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, exposing the abs underneath. Another thrill shot through Rowan’s body. His mind was made up: he wanted him. Now. 

“We should get going,” he urged. Hastily, he packed their things into his gym bag and made his way over to the weight station. 

“Why? I thought you wanted to- mmph-” Rowan’s lips crashed into his before he could finish. 

“I just thought of another way we could get our workout in,” he whispered suggestively in his ear. A knowing smirk spread on Lincoln’s face.

“Lead the way, then.” He laughed as he eagerly dragged him by the wrist out of the gym. 

And made him feel just like he did on his prom night: happy. He only hoped he made him feel the same as he poured himself fully into every kiss, every touch, every I-love-you. But there was always some part of him that wanted to do more; something a little extra to make him smile the way he only did when they were alone together.

“We’re home.” Lincoln’s voice broke him out of his trance. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t realized that they were no longer moving. 

---

passing the torch to @linkysmommy, @saibug1022, @lovehugsandcandy and anyone else who sees this and wants to air out some ol' wips 🖤

[all-chickens-are-trans]

on my knees praying that scheming bitch rebecca makes a comeback, but this time the chaotic good version. just her working her ass off to make Richmond better so she can rub it into Rupert's face when they win against West Ham

[tvrningout]

sometimes i think about chiyo wearing a top that exposes her shoulders and collarbones so you can just see her tattoos swirling along her skin and i 👁️👁️ ya know

[tinylittlebab]

ill be skinny. it will happen. ive been trying for so long now. once it was just trying to eat less and be smaller but not much real focus on my physical appearance. now its all about that. 11 years of my ed and 7 years of wanting what i want now. i dont live with my parents anymore. i have more control. i will achieve it.

there was a time where id eat 300-700 consistently. ill get that back. i will.

[jennicatzies]

Repost because tumblr keeps fucking up the image order no matter how many times I edit it,,,

Look at my big sharp cutty thing

Isn't she lovely

Extras under the cut 💥

Progress images 👍

Also here's some uh

Appetizing paint water [ disclaimer, not carrot juice ] [ do not drink ]

Edit: geez tumblr really doesnt like my image ordering huh

[jaypgartifacts]

october is coming. which means, of course, that it is time for the horrors. tfw the dream self must confront the Nightmare Self

[bitchfitch]

Idk. it's all fun and games until the price check on a project comes out to over 1 grand.