#a potion of decay

[mumblesplash]

don’t you hate it when your civilization flees deep underground to escape the wither only to find yourselves trapped down there with something even worse. anyway surprise! i can still draw

[small-spark-of-light]

heres some thoughts on Infectat from evadare!! i dont think he can talk, so he uses sign language :0

[sirenetica]

Saw some others posting their artfight sonas this year and figured i should do the same :) introducing river dweller soup! In a world where lands of decay and foliage are divided only by rivers and streams, rhis shapechanging fish wants to see what the world is made of!

Im on team Bloom this year!

[captainicequeen555]

INKTOBER 2022

Potions

Day 16. Magic Powder

Gods

Day 16. Kalma

Finnish goddess of death and decay

[professionallyhomosexual]

had a dream where I was in a video game and I drank a potion, but just a little sip, and I left the potion behind and went on a few levels. Then I noticed it's effects wearing off, so I ran back to try and drink more. But as I ran the levels decayed around me and I knew I was waking up but I kept running and running and running and

[the-fluffy-folio]

Leek Lich – Tiny plant, chaotic evil

Even the pumpkin hags are afraid of creating the crude abomination that calls itself the leek lich – a grotesque blend of rot and growth held together by vile magic beyond understanding. This bizarre undead bends to no one, much less to the evil caster that accidentally pushed it into its cursed unlife. As soon as the leek lich’s pale eyes see the light of day, they try to hide away from it. In silent darkness it ponders to forge its own plans of decay and its sinister schemes to corrupt all living.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 220 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[twstjam]

Lost Invitation (Part 1) - Rain Check

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!! and happy en glomas day everyone! :D To celebrate, here's part 1 of a new fic I started writing on impulse <3

Characters: Yuu, Grim, Malleus Draconia, Heartslabyul (mentioned) Word count: 2.8k Summary: You're committed to helping Riddle Rosehearts and his card soldiers in a war against followers of the Jabberwock looking to usurp the rulers of Red and White. You're also in love with a stranger you met in the woods who wants you to run away with him. Whoever said that love and war weren't so different might've been onto something. In your experience, they're both equally difficult. Nobody ever said that you had to choose between one or the other though. Ao3 Link Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

If you were asked two years ago whether or not you wished to fight in a war, your answer, reasonably, would most definitely have been a big, fat NO. You would be quicker to pack up all your things and vanish with Grim before the enemy army could even begin their march to the Boardfield, the traditional field of battle for the Queendoms of Roses and Lilies.

Though the Rosehearts and Whitelily families are infamously known for their quarrels, it's not unheard of for them to unite in times of peril. Even when currently under the leadership of constantly-conflicting young rulers Riddle Rosehearts and Wystan Whitelily this isn't untrue. When the Jabberwocks declared war on the Whitelilies, Riddle had been quick to offer his assistance.

And as someone working for the Rosehearts family, that had meant your assistance as well.

And you didn't want to be involved in a war. No one did. All of this had nothing to do with you, a magicless outsider who couldn't contribute meaningfully if you tried, so really it was best that you got out of the way as soon as possible… but who would you be if you didn't at least try to help out your friends?

You don't know when it happened, but the card soldiers and Riddle himself have become almost like family to you.You have no obligation to stay and help, even Riddle had assured you of that, but you're still not sure if it's your lack of self-perservation or sheer stupidity that had told him you wouldn't leave.

Even if it was expected, being a part of a war was hard and stressful and the days seemed to stretch longer and longer. You spend practically every waking and sleeping moment working tirelessly near a cauldron, brewing potion after potion for the use of the card soldiers. Your alchemy skills had been taught by famed alchemist Divus Crewel himself, but they can only take you so far.

You barely get full eight hours of sleep. You don't even want to imagine how Riddle and Wystan are faring. You barely see your friends anymore, let alone in a peaceful environment, and every time they head out with the troops there's no guarantee they would return.

Your days are hectic and unpredictable… but, at the very least, you have something to look forward to. Something to ground you and make you feel at ease. Or more accurately… a someone.

----

Potion ingredient runs are your favorite to do. At the very least, you do them once a week, but if potions are burnt through fast then the travels to gather herbs become more and more frequent, to your delight. Stressed as you are, you're not eager to do work as much as you are eager to get out of your cramped room cluttered with books and scrolls and herbs that is also more often than not reeking with the mixture of smells of dozens of different potions. You spend so much time in there though that you barely notice until you're walking out of a magic mirror into the open outdoors lush with greenery and colourful with blooming flowers of sweet fragrances.

Being surrounded by the beauty of nature is only one of the upsides though. As your horse brings you and the wagon deeper into the quiet but lively woods, tall, decayed stone walls slowly come into view. So many plants have made themselves at home in the cracks between the stone that from a distance it's not recognizable as an aged structure forgotten by time.

Once upon a time it was a grand tower home to a reclusive mage and alchemist. They kept their research hidden away and secret from the world… that is, until, other mages discovered their body in the tower about a decade after their death.

A majority of folk are scared to even speak about the tower, let alone visit it, and maybe once you would've been the same, but living in a haunted mansion for a few months sort of desensitizes one to the presence of any kind of ghost.

Ace and Deuce had gotten concerned when you bragged about it once. They were probably right to be, but it's not like it'd be any good even if you were afraid of ghosts. Instead of the phantom of a paranoid, lonely mage, when you had visited the tower for herbs for the first time you had instead encountered a very alive mage instead, though he's not any less lonely and secretive.

Your mysterious horned friend, whom Grim had creatively dubbed Tsunotarou, had been haunting the old ruins one night while you were gathering some rare nocturnal herbs. You had gotten spooked by a pair of reptilian green eyes peering at you from the dark, but Tsunotarou, though he was tall and horned and wrapped in elegant robes made out of the night sky, had seemed more wary of your unassuming human presence garbed in a stained alchemist's uniform. He hadn't been expecting someone else to be there. At least that made two of you.

Despite the surprise of an unwanted companion at his beloved abandoned ruins, Tsunotarou had come back, and the two of you had struck a conversation. Considering the oddness of both of your choice of location to spend your evenings, it wasn't hard to think of things to talk about. Somehow, this had led into a friendship forming between the two of you, and now when you go on your trips for herbs, it also means seeing Tsunotarou. It means cosy evenings picking herbs while he talks your ear off about the most niche topics, at the same time staining his own gloves with dirt and tearing them on briars as he helps you.

You never ask him to help. He had simply commented once that it seemed like tiring work, at the same time asking you what herbs you needed before kneeling down and gathering them for you. It's become routine since then for him to assist you, and neither of you say anything about it as you work in the comfort of each other's presence.

In a hectic life, Tsunotarou has become your anchor, your safe space. Your home away from home. The closeness you feel with him sort of just crept up on you one day, and before you know it he's made himself at home in your heart. You don't know—can't know if you're as important to him and you'd never ask, but he's become close to you like you've become close to him and you're angry at yourself for it because now your stupid heart wants to do anything for him like it does with Riddle and the others and you definitely don't have enough space on your shoulders for it.

So it's painful when Tsunotarou looks at you, no doubt taking in the sight of your paled skin and sunken eyes and says, "Come home with me."

You know why he asks. Had asked it before, and it had hurt just as much the other times, but he keeps asking, persistent. It's something you've learned is part of his non-human biology, something that comes with his horns, his tail, his eyes, his ears, and his fangs. It's part of who he is to want to keep people close, like his grandmother, his parents, his caretaker Lilia, and now you.

"I can't," you say, every time. You want to but at the same time you don't. You're curious and eager to see more and learn more about your dear friend (perhaps even his actual name one of these days), but your heart also belongs with Riddle and the card soldiers and you won't abandon them. "You know I can't."

"And you know I cannot bear seeing you so overworked and exhausted," Tsunotarou says, gentle but also stern as he caresses your cheek in his hand and despite your refusal of his offer to care for you, you lean into his touch, your heart yearning for comfort after denying it for too long.

"You also know your mother doesn't like humans," you remind him.

"I will hide you, then," he says, insistent, despite how the idea is so childish to the point that you laugh.

"That's not going to work and you know it."

"You will not believe the fabrications my mother would believe if they were to come from me," Tsunotarou boasts, his head tilted up in pride at being a mama's boy. You huff a fond laugh.

"Still, no matter how much she loves you I don't think she would appreciate you hiding a strange human in her home without her permission." You cradle his hand on your cheek with your own and lower it away. You're immediately mournful at the loss of his touch, but thankfully you have the impulse control to be able to release his hand and begin the walk back to your wagon, where you would then go home with all of your gathered ingredients and… go straight back to work.

Tsunotarou catches your hand before you can get far. You don't have to look to see the pleading expression on his face and you don't want to, instead smiling sadly at your feet.

"We shall get our own place then," he blurts out. "Just the two of us. Nobody can bother us ever again. There will be no wars. You will not have to work a day in your life. Let me take care of you."

You're too stunned to speak. His words leave you breathless, pondering if he knew the weight behind saying something like that, the implications. If he knows that his touch sends goosebumps rising through your skin, makes you yearn and ache as he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes.

You don't notice him sidling up closer behind you until he is. He tugs on your hand and turns you around with his other hand on the small of your back. You're face-to-chest with him, having to place your hands on his firm chest and crane your neck to look up at him. It's a mistake, because the desperation in his eyes frighteningly makes your resolve falter.

"Please," he whispers in a tone perhaps unbefitting of someone so imposing in appearance but to you could not be more fitting for your gentle, caring friend. "Stay with me."

You're helpless as he curls gentle clawed fingers around your jaw and leans down. Hot breath ghosts over your lips. You shudder, and the urge to close the distance is so overwhelming—

You pull away. Blink. Squint your eyes shut to force away the images that crop up in your mind of him. Him and you. Together.

"No," you whisper. "I… we can't."

He doesn't have to ask why. It's obvious enough based on the confused and hurt furrow of his brow.

There are many reasons why. You're afraid. You don't know his name. He loves his mother and his mother would hate him. He's noble-blooded and you're not. He's a mage and you're magicless. He's something much greater regardless of whatever kind of being he is. You're just you. You're useless. Can't even help your friends enough that they won't have to deal with all the bullshit with the Jabberwocks anymore and live peaceful lives again.

"It's… not the right time," you say with a small squeeze around his own hand. "We both have responsibilities that we have to put first."

You're not fully confident that the opportunity will arrive. Who knows how much longer the war will last. Tsunotarou might even find someone actually worthy of him by then, so you don't want to get your hopes up. At the very least you can reject him in a way that won't squash his, and you're relieved when his eyes brighten.

"Someday, then," he says, and it's not set in stone but still he sounds as if he's convinced it's written in the stars. Someday. Someday.

Tsunotarou bends at the waist and kisses your knuckles. Warmth gathers in your face and you have to force back a lopsided smile. Maybe it isn't so bad to have something to look forward to…

"Someday," you echo back.

----

You're startled awake by an odd sound.

You look down and realise you'd fallen asleep on your desk again. There's drool staining the page you'd been reading, a complicated recipe on a type of energy elixir you're trying to memorise. You wipe the corner of your mouth, no longer concerned at being annoyed by being woken up from a nice dream that's already fading from your mind, instead relieved that there's no one (Ace) around to make fun of you for drooling on invaluable books again…

Wait, where's Grim?

You remember that he had been dozing off in a corner of the desk, curled up on top of an open book with the excuse that he was "helping" (he does help, bless him, but sleep was calling to him in that particular moment) but he's not there. You sit up and look around. His bed by the window is empty, and so is every other surface in the room he could to lounge on regardless of whether or not it was a book or a scroll and you needed it.

It's not unlikely for him to wander off of course, but a part of you feels strangely antsy at having found yourself alone. Technically, you're not alone. Riddle and the others aren't around again unfortunately, having left to meet up with Wystan and his own soldiers with your fresh potions, but there are the ghosts of the castle lurking about somewhere or other and the castle staff, too. None of them are around at the moment though, so your surroundings feel eerily quiet and lonely.

That's likely why you feel so unnerved, you think, as you get up from your chair to begin looking for Grim. He's likely to be in the kitchen, the gluttonous thing. You stretch out your sore limbs and your stomach rumbles. Grabbing a snack doesn't sound too bad.

You fix the pouches on your belt that had gotten a bit crooked and leave your room. There's no one around that you can see. It's not unusual; it is a big castle, but for whatever reason you feel tingles go up your back, your body wary of a nonexistent danger behind you. You take a step forward—

"*FGNAAAAA!!! Unhand me! Myah! Henchman, *help!!!*"

"Grim?!" You whirl around at the sound of his voice and sprint in its direction. You skid to a stop, blood going cold when you see five people dressed in uniforms with the emblem of a creature with eyes of flame, rough hands trying to get a grip at Grim's wriggling body.

Jabberwocks. And they have Grim.

"That's the alchemist!" shouts out one of the Jabberwocks trying to secure Grim. The three currently unoccupied immediately lunge towards you and you barely slip away.

You almost trip over your feet as you try to reach into your pouches while at the same time evading the intruders. Grim is hissing and yelling. You grit your teeth and, with conviction, pull out a small bottle of translucent orange liquid. You toss it at their feet and the splatters of liquid that fly up into the air come to life and cranky fire lizards climb up their bodies and burn through their clothes. As they scream and try to throw off the lizards, you run past them with another potion in hand, ready to aim it at Grim's captors.

One of the two trying to keep him still intercepts your throw, grasping your wrist and twisting it painfully behind your back until you drop the potion. You yell out in pain, your vision blurry with tears as you're forced down to the floor.

"Get your hands off of my henchman!" Grim yowls. He leaps out of the grasp of the Jabberwock and blue fire spurts out of his mouth and catch on the clothes of your assailant.

He breathes in for a stronger burst of fire but the other Jabberwock grab him and frantically lock an anti-magic collar around his neck.

You kick and struggle beneath the Jabberwock on your back. You reach desperately for the other potions on your belt, all the while screaming a lot of choice words in a voice you hope is shrill enough to deafen or call other people to come to your and Grim's rescue.

You're quickly silenced with a gag, blindfolded, tied up, and unceremoniously slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You continue to kick and scream, but it's useless as magic swirls around you and both you and Grim vanish from the castle.

[just-existing-as-you-do-blog]

Listen on Ulysses > Ven < Icarus

I adore this one actually. It's just Ven with two morally grey mad scientists on leashes OR in the current situation it's Ulysses with two people who want to raise the dead on leashes (which the angst. The drama. The toxic thruple of it all.)

Plus I think Ulysses and Icarus should be friends. I wish desperately that they were friends, can you imagine the conversations they would have?

"I killed Hayley and kidnapped Athena and have tried to murder my brother many times. I'm letting a very powerful bring die because it's only ever brought me trouble and I don't care to save them."

"I tortured a recently dead god and made Aax from his still decaying corpse and I used lost sailors in horrible expirements."

Or conversely

"I drank Rae's eye in a potion."

"Oh? What did it do?"

I'm desprate for them to talk they'd be either the best or worst thing for each other. The parallels between their charecters drive me insane.

So like if they were both dating Ven, I'm just saying I would eat up that fanfic.

Plus Ven and Ulysses and Icarus gossiping together? Immaculate. Perfect.

Ulysses and Ven would vibe while Icarus info dumped about potions. Icarus would nap in the room while Ulysses and Ven hang out. Icarus would hype them both up whenever they make a new fasion choice.

Anyway the vibes of this one are immaculate.

[wild-e-eep]

Bog beacon - Mitrula paludosa. A bright little spring - summer fungus which grows on waterlogged decaying plant matter.

Also available in Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, where it can be used to make Shield, Restore Magicka, Damage Personality and Damage Endurance potions.

[aaaaaaallljffourrhodri]

Scars

A @libraryraccoon prompt

It was now a week since the whole STYKS fiasco and Grim was now back to Ramshackle living his student life to the fullest... however there was something bothering Grim... "Why does this place fill empty?" Grim hadn't seen his henchman since his return to the school grounds.

In his room the prefect was still unconscious recovering from the last overblot fight; the phantom had made him hit his head by throwing him to a wall.

When Yuu finally woke up ramshackle was surrounded by silence; "It's probably school time I shouldn't worry about it too much" after struggling a bit the prefect got up leaning onto the desk that was near his bead. Suddendly the mirror gave him a crude sight of reality: a black and blue scar ran trough his left eye.

"Oh right Grim..." The prefect murmured with sorrow before sighing "It would be better if I cover this up..." After a quick patch up his left eye was bandaged and hidden to everyone's sight with his black hair.

A week had passed again. Things were back to normal, and Yuu couldn't be more glad to see Grim finally happy! However there was something bothering him... why even after all the medication he took the scratch was still there? Didn't that potion cure scars? Why is it still there?

Lost with his train of toughs, Yuu didn't notice his legs took him to one place he dreaded the most: the botanical garden.

Yuu knew if he met the sleeping lion his cover would be blown and make Grim and the others far too preoccupied for his sake.

Panicking, he tried to exit the place, making as little noise as possible, only to be betrayed by a twig on the ground.

And there he was standing in all his majestic stance thr sunset savanna Prince, observing with annoyed eyes the now panicked prefect.

His look then softened before he scrunched up his nose without any word spoken he wrapped his hand around the collar of the prefect's shirt "Herbivore you stink."

The prefect tried to play it dumb

"Thanks, Leona..."

The lion growled. "Do you think I'm stupid Herbivore? Don't play dumb. We both know what I'm talking about the fact that you smell of decaying flesh." After his hand moved Yuu's hair out of the way, revealing a patch of bandages.

"Listen, Yuu, I'm not gonna tell anyone if that's what you want... however, I was not kidding when I said it smells like rotten flesh you should get checked by that dog trainer but for now I'll patch you up." Releasing his grip on the prefect he whipped out his magic pen casting a healing spell."This should keep things at bay for a while." Yuu swallowed before looking down not saying a word Leona hears were now flat on his head "You know I didn't want to say this but... that scar... reminds me of when I overblotted... the tought of me hurting you is now a nightmare to me so please get it checked."

Leaving the prefect stunned by this sudden confession, Leona started to head back to his dorm before turning one last time "Also; don't worry about that furball I'm sure he will understand that you forgive him if you tell him and you know.... having a scar is not something to be ashamed off" the lion said before pointing to his scar."For me, this is a reminder ofa successfull hunt, for you it will be a reminder of how much you endured since you came here..."

The prefect smiled softly thinking of Leona's words before heading back to the school ho owned everyone an explanation afterall.

(This was supposed to be super agsty but I made it fluff- o well. Sorry if it's not what you imagined @libraryraccoon but we'll enjoy? I guess?)

[honeydippedwaffles]

Smallest Drop - Part 5

Summary: Tav is beginning to struggle with her fate and the Underdark really isn't helping with that. Astarion is... really bad at comforting people.

Content Warnings: She/Her Tav

Word Count: 3.1k words

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

The Underdark lingered on her skin uncomfortably. Not even the strongest glow of their torches helped her feel safe beneath the cave ceiling. She never realised how much she loved the sun until she couldn’t see it anymore.

Though the mushroom forests intrigued her, she couldn’t shake the fear of assassins, drows, and everything else. They lurked in the shadows and watched even when she tried to shake free.

But she had no choice. If this route truly turned out to be easier, she couldn’t keep her companions on the route through the mountain pass. Enough had already happened there during their brief visit and Lae’zel hadn’t been handling the betrayal of her fellow gith very well.

They simply had to find the path forward.

“So, do you actually know where you’re leading us or are we simply walking and hoping for the best?”

She gave Astarion a sharp look. Though she knew he only wanted to tease, the day really hadn’t been working in their favour. After being attacked by a beholder of all things and getting catapulted into a wall by an exploding mushroom, she really didn’t have time to listen to his complaints about everything else. The lack of sun, the array of strange creatures, the general darkness… she’d heard every comment.

“Halsin wouldn’t lie to us,” she reasoned. “It may be a maze but we’ll be able to find our way through even if we need to take some time to look around.”

“Will that be before Withers finishes decaying?”

She rolled her eyes and continued to lead them back to camp. Her only lead was the destroyed village not too far from where they’d set up. After a night’s rest, she planned on exploring there a little more.

But first, they needed to rest.

Once everybody disappeared back to their chosen spots, Astarion included, she finally took the moment’s break to head for a small stream. Blood and dirt washed away in the cool water as she took some time to finally breath. Her body still ached from being thrown into the wall but at least she could distract her mind.

Every day that passed, they crept closer to becoming mind flayers. She’d started struggling to sleep for fear of waking up with tentacles sprouting from her mouth and her jaw dislocating.

Not to mention, she felt incredibly weary of the strange dream visitor who kept encouraging her to consume tadpoles like potions.

“You should avoid wandering off by yourself, my dear. There are plenty of critters who I’m sure are dying to take a bite of you.”

She jumped a little but Astarion’s casual demeanour soothed her somewhat. He appeared mostly clean of blood – the Underdark suited his fighting style well – so she imagined he hadn’t followed her to wash.

“I’ll be alright,” she reassured.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t like a little company to watch your back?”

She chuckled, somewhat uncertain still. “It depends. Are you going to complain about everything or will you sit there and look pretty.”

He preened under the casual praise and found a rock to lean against. “I’m always gorgeous. It isn’t much of a challenge.”

She suspected Astarion came through to ensure she remained safe. Despite his usual blasé attitude towards most of the group, he’d become more protective of late and even checked on Shadowheart after she’d taken a nasty sword wound across her leg.

Honestly, she’d be impressed if she wasn’t so worried about everything.

She continued to wash the last of the blood from her hair before she straightened. The droplets chilled her skin where they fell over her back and face and she shivered. She really missed the sun.

And then she turned and he was right there.

His fingers danced over her neck before he caught her jaw and led her into a soft kiss. Her breath caught in her throat; her eyes fluttered closed. He trailed a hand over the front of the armour, dipped into all the embellishments and fastenings, and her heart pounded in response.

He made it far too easy to fall into him. He chased every thought from her mind as he split from her and fluttered kisses over the side of her neck.

“You shouldn’t run off like that by yourself,” he said. “Whatever would we do without you there.”

He’d paused so close to her pulse point. It said something about how he’d conditioned her to tilt her head further to the side and allowed him access to her throat.

“Have you eaten recently?”

“Why do you ask?” he murmured. “Are you offering?”

She never minded when he needed to feed from her. It had turned infrequent after the first few times and the blood loss caused her to nearly get disembowelled by a gnoll. Down in the Underdark, it may be dangerous but she supposed he had few other opportunities to feed.

“If you need it, I don’t mind,” she said. “But only what you need. My reflexes are vital in these fights.”

And he may as well eat from her while possible, she supposed. It wouldn’t matter much if they could be mind flayers the day after.

He made a pleased hum against her throat and she shuddered when his fangs brushed against sensitive skin. “You really spoil me. I’m going to have to make it up to you, no?”

“You don’t need to.”

“But I want to.” He pressed a kiss right over her pulse point. “I can’t possibly take your delicious blood from you without giving something in return. Especially if it makes you a little lightheaded the day after.” He placed another one just beneath her jaw. “Believe me when I say, you won’t regret this evening at all.”

She wanted to let him make good on his promises. After all, what would it matter if she could die at any moment. Not to mention how Gale’s new plans involved blowing himself up and that might kill not only him but everybody on the Sword Coast and she didn’t trust Mystra’s word at all.

“You’re overthinking something,” Astarion said. “Why don’t you focus on me? I’ll make it up to you for annoying you today.”

She stepped away, suddenly confused by what he meant. A flicker of irritation across his façade only confirmed her suspicions. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make you feel better.”

“Do you even know what’s upsetting me? It’s not you.”

“Well, that makes it all the better. I couldn’t be a more perfect distraction for you, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want you to be a distraction.”

His lip curled. “Why not?”

“Because you mean more to me than that,” she said, not sure how she could express it without offending him. “I want to make you happy as well and I can’t do that when my mind is elsewhere.”

He shook his head as though she’d said something wholly outlandish. “Well, you can always make me happy some other time. Isn’t that the point of this whole, more thing, hm? I’m here for you and all that?”

“No.”

He moved back into her space and ran his fingers down her cheek. “You’d rather I left you to wallow?”

“No,” she sighed. He was trying to find a reason. First, the offer of a thanks for the blood but when she hadn’t shown interest in that, then an apology for what he perceived as irritation. Now that he realised why she was upset, a distraction.

“You can stop being the hero for one moment,” he promised. “You can be selfish every now and then. After all, we’re growing close to the center of this cult, aren’t we? We have something to consider there. Instead of doing the ‘heroic’ thing… maybe there’s another option.”

Her brow furrowed and her eyes flickered to his. “What do you mean?”

“I know you always want to do the right thing, save the helpless orphan, pick up the puppy, slay the monster, all of that,” he said and the words sounded slightly bitter. “But maybe we can find another solution and take some of the influence for ourselves?”

“You want me to take over the Cult of the Absolute?” she asked, confused entirely by the direction of this conversation.

“At the very least, consider it.”

She shook her head. “The cult is kidnapping people and putting mind flayer parasites in their heads,” she argued. “I cannot let that continue. Whoever these people are, they are behaving far worse than any monster.”

He looked unimpressed. Had he really thought she would agree to take over a cult? She despised the Absolute for everything it had done to her and her companions though… well, Astarion so far felt only the positive effects of their affliction. It wouldn’t be beyond him to want to keep it.

“Well, you’ll still get to be the hero,” he finally said. “You can help save me from the worst of my curse.”

“You’re really trying your hardest,” she said. “One day, I’m going to start taking offense to the hero comments.” He’d been getting worse with it as time went on, especially after she offered assistance to groups like the myconids.

Astarion looked almost pleading as he gestured at what was around them. “It wouldn’t be the first time you gave a ‘monster’ a pass, would it?”

“Are you speaking about yourself? Or about the owl bear?”

“Well, I don’t think the owl bear has killed anybody. Yet. If anybody could tame that thing though, I’m sure it would be you.”

She crossed her arms. “Killing people isn’t what makes somebody a monster. I’ve done it myself.”

“Not unless you had no other option,” he scoffed. “I saw you try and speak to a gnoll to convince her to nicely leave you be.”

“Exactly but that’s no different to you? I mean, I suppose I don’t know what you do in the evenings but I wasn’t aware it was running around and murdering children. If we let the Cult of the Absolute continue, they’ll destroy everything.”

Astarion mimicked her pose, defensive and defiant. “Oh, I’ve made the decision plenty of times. Do you really think that when I led hundreds of poor, innocent souls back to Cazador, I didn’t choose? He always gave me the option. I could spend the night with him or I could prowl the streets. A decision I made time and time again.”

“Do you consider that a choice?”

“What else is it? I chose to go out, watched the crowds until I found the perfect soul to drag back to his mansion, knowing all the while that they would die.”

“And what was the alternative? Because from what you’ve told me about vampire lords, they’re not exactly the best company in the world. What option did you truly have where you wouldn’t suffer for your choice?”

He tensed and she already had her answer. Perhaps he did blind her somewhat but she understood the position he’d been placed in better than he thought. How could she hold survival against him? That was exactly what she was trying to do currently with this tadpole in her head.

“I’m not going to take over the Cult of the Absolute,” she said. “Yes, it might give me power but I don’t want anything like that. I just want to be free of this.”

She stepped away from the riverbank to find a log she could sit on and stare up at the cave ceiling. The people she’d met on this adventure had truly been amazing. In a way, she’d actually been having fun. But now it felt as though the end lingered nearby, just out of reach.

Astarion watched her and she waited, not sure what he would say. Eventually, he settled on something separate from the cult.

“You would have made for the easiest prey,” he said. “If I had met you in the first few decades, it would have been simple to get you back to him.”

She chuckled sadly. “I’m not sure how well that would have worked. I’m rather immune to your charms.”

He smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t have flirted with you at all. All I’d need to do is convince you that I was in danger and you needed to come help me. Just like that, you’d follow me anywhere.”

“Why only in the first few decades?”

“Well, after those, I stopped using any techniques other than the one that worked best.”

She pursed her lips together, unhappy. “I’ll have you know; I didn’t offer to help Halsin out. He chose to come with us.”

“Right, because normal people find a random bear in a goblin camp and choose to fight to the death for it.”

“Maybe I just hate goblins that much.”

She honestly never expected Halsin to join them on their path to Moonrise but she welcomed any assistance these days. He understood far more about these tadpoles than she did and she needed his expertise.

Still, perhaps Astarion was right. She’d have made for very easy prey if he tried to lure her away.

“Well then?” he asked and she looked up at him.

“Yes?”

“What do you want me to do if not distract you?”

She frowned at nothing in particular. She didn’t really want anything from him but she knew he wouldn’t accept it as an answer. He’d already helped so much just by being at her side while she simply spoke.

“Just be here,” she said. “That’s all I need. What do you want from me?”

The question slipped through before she could think it through, something she’d been wanting to know since the beginning but had always been too nervous to ask. What was it that he wanted from her? She didn’t know if she wanted to know the answer most of the time.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always asking what I want you to do for me,” she explained. “Now I want to know what you want from me. Protection? A meal? Sex?” She didn’t think it to be the latter. Astarion seemed to think of sex as something she wanted as opposed to him.

He hesitated, uncertain. “I… I want you to continue being you, I imagine? If there’s anybody out there who can solve our little predicament, I’d put good money on you and your ridiculously good fortune.”

She supposed she did occasionally have good luck but she also doubted it to be reason alone for his loyalty.

“Nothing else?”

She feared he’d confirm for her something she already knew – he hadn’t really meant anything. He kept trying to hard to give her what he thought she wanted, to make her happy, when he didn’t really care for her by herself. Perhaps he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“I suppose I want you to want me,” Astarion settled on after she’d wallowed for a few seconds. “I mean, everybody does but you’re the only one who I want to be interested in me. Most of the time, I shudder at the mere thought of somebody touching me but I’ve come to rather appreciate it with you.”

A flush rose to her cheeks and she fought to keep it away. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“I also want you to say my name more. I’ve grown rather fond of the way you say it when you’re irritated at me.”

She almost started laughing and, though she hated to admit it, she felt relieved to hear something as trivial as his name. Because if all he wanted was for her to say his name, she could easily manage that.

“It’d be a crime not to say a name as pretty as yours,” she teased. “Even when you’re whining.”

“I do not whine.”

“Yes, you do.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I also want you to compliment me more. I rather like what you have to say so you should feel free to spend some time with me and just talk or whatever. It’s a far better way to pass the time rather than eavesdropping on this strange group you’ve collected.”

He wanted her to be with him, then? In the same way she wanted to be with him. She didn’t know whether she should be relieved or saddened in how little he understood her wants when he mirrored them so closely.

“I’m not going to take over the cult,” she reiterated. “But I’m going to find a way for you to walk in the sun still so that I can continue to see you after all this is over.”

“Sounds like the kind of impossible thing only you could pull off.”

She laughed and she finally understood what she could do to help him get what she wanted. “I’ll find a way,” she said. “But for now, I’m going to focus on the three things I can do. Your name, compliments, and… well, just being there.”

“It sounds as though you’re trying to court me.”

“I am. I can’t do it properly now but maybe when we reach Baldur’s Gate, things will be easier.”

He laughed. “Oh no, you’re serious aren’t you. What are you, some kind of long-lost royal with ‘courting’?”

“You’re going to have to find out when we reach the city.”

Somewhere in the Underdark, something rumbled and she stood to look down the river to make sure it stayed far away. She doubted anything would attack her camp but she had to be sure. It felt like danger lurked around every corner and she refused to put her friends in trouble.

Because they were her friends, before anything else.

“You know, we don’t have to be more,” she said. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not attracted to you but if you want to just be friends, you’ll still get all the compliments and the safety. It doesn’t have to be anything else.”

He rolled his eyes again and stepped into her space. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “I don’t know how you managed to do it but you’ve captured my attention. I’m sure you won’t want to squander it.”

She certainly didn’t. When she lay on her back that night, thrown about in thoughts of transforming into a mind flayer, at least half of them spun instead with the vampire spawn who prowled around the camp and his awful attempts at comforting people.

Tag List: @voidinfernal, @mavix, @starved-kitten, @crowley--aziraphale, @zane2408, @umsolikeblog, @promptly-mercy

[currently-tired]

Something, something, crazy about how deeply Jekyll and Hyde resounds with so many transgender people

being discontented with the life you’ve built up for yourself. looking back, and feeling like you’ve failed. like you’re filled with regrets, and hidden secrets that no one can ever know.

They can never know; because it’d fuck up everything you’ve spent years building. they’d never look at you in the same adoring way. ever again.

and you love being looked at that way…

but still, deep, deep inside wanting to express those things. to the point of making some highly illogical decisions. ((You cannot tell me that making a <very questionable and debatable…> theory about good and evil, and making a potion to test it, is an even remotely logical course of action…))

What else do you have to lose? Everything? Nothing? Life would be relieved of all that was unbearable!

What would not be worth that!

Death? Damn death! DAMN an overdose! The lure of fixing that problem that’s plagued you for years; discovering something so amazing, so profound to you, wins out over any sort of alarm.

you’ve had it ready for days. weeks. months. you were debating it. It was just taking that one step forward

Seeing that new (but is it truly new?) version of yourself in the mirror; warped and shadowed. contorted by evil and decay; but alive! More alive than you’ve ever been in your entire life! and liking it. loving it!

that built up desire to go apeshit; to take out all of your years of built up anger and repression on others. finally able to be released.

tge siren song of being able to do whatever the fuck you want. what you’ev been wanting for years. And no one will know? will they?

who would dare compare the dogooder and celebrated Henry Jekyll, to the horrible little freak, Edward Hyde, who steps on kids and ignores their screams, faces death with an indifferent mask, and does shameful, Unspeakable things?

Things that would make all of their usual company gasp, and pale.

A thing who laughs in the face of danger. Eats shit. Beats the shit out of people. (someone pissed you off earlier? hmm…) creeps the fuck out of people, and laughs in their faces. laughs at the repulsion and disgust they all show in reaction to their very face. Fucks whoever they want. Wears whatever they want. Is selfish, and cares for themself only (vs a doctor, who cares for others!!!)

It’s illegal. Hmm. Is it? Is it truly? If I don’t face consequences, is it really? A sharp, bitter, taunting laugh.

Living vicariously, through that version of yourself, that no one knows you are.

and that desire, at least to me, rings clearer than a bell.

[althea-and-alcestris]

Infection Au

The results said the audience wants to hear my Infection Au so I shall deliver. (TW for blood, mentions of gore and su1cid3). I based this on the MLP Swamp Fever Au and the general Infection aus <3 Also this au includes a lot of ocs that belong to me and my friends

So the main plot is that a strange fungi was discovered on Sage Island that soon began to make people ill. At first everyone thought that it's just a regular magic fungi, however it quickly turned out to be an incorrect assumption. Those infected with the spores began to develop odd symptoms such as nosebleed, gums bleeding, bloodshot eyes, discoloration of fingers and soon the limbs as it spreads. By the ending stages of the infection, the patient will resemble more like a bleeding and decaying tree. The infection spreads through either bites or the spores of the fungi. Coming in contact with the infected without any safety gloves also results in infection. Those with high magic drive are able to remain sane for longer periods of time than those with lower or no magic drive at all.

It has been 4 weeks since the outbreak started. Idia and Ortho were able to leave Sage Island before STYX put the island on lockdown, sealing the dorm mirrors and the Dark Mirror so nobody can pass through. They're working on a cure. Meanwhile the ones stuck on Sage Island have started to adapt to the current situations, learning through several losses. Trein was one of the first victims of the outbreak, having been killed by the infected while trying to protect his students. Riddle, Vee, Marqu, Ellis, Mary, Fox and Jade have been terminated after they could no longer fight the infection and grew way too hostile. Cater, Dominico and Ace are injured from expeditions and attacks but uninfected. Azul and Leona are still under infection, Azul due to no access to any more human potions has returned to his merform and is now kept in a water tank until further notice. Leona is incredibly hostile and staff decided on termination. Trey, Lilia, Adamaris and Crowley are missing with no trace of where they could be. Malleus is infected but manages to maintain his sanity. Ruggie, Jack, Sebek, Alce, Thea, Allen, Deuce, Augustino, Chenfeng and Vargas are the ones on the expedition team who regularly leave campus (what has been turned into a main camp) to gather supplies, look for survivors, kill the wandering infected and clear areas. There are snipers (Thea and Allen), gatherers (Ruggie, Deuce, Augustino) and those who cover the team incase the infected are nearby (Sebek, Alce, Chenfeng). Jack and Vargas do most of the heavy lifting and Jack pulls the occasional carts with his UM. The ones in charge of terminating those who lose the battle with the infection inside NRC are Spider, Alce and Vargas. Vil is also infected but holds on, Rook wrote himself out of the expedition groups to stay with Vil while Epel along with Silver and Kalim are not allowed to join the expedition groups for their own reasons. Jamil stays with Kalim and Spider in NRC, Alto is in charge of the supplies that the expedition groups successfully gathered, Silver is distraught and anxious because of Lilia's absence which is why Sylas stay with him at all times. Floyd is his own person ever since Jade was put down and staff can't determine how much impact his brother's death had on him. He leaves a lot but never comes back infected. Ami and Crewel are the ones staying in NRC at all times to take care of the few children that were caught in the outbreak such as Karina and Eve. Sam is infected but resides in his shop while holding out.

As the story progresses, multiple of the canons and ocs fall. Cater dies to an infected wound, Leona is terminated, Thea asks to be put down by Sebek, Deuce is terminated by Alce due to the infection, Jamil is killed by the infected, Azul ends his own life by leaving the water tank in his merform, Alto is put down by Idia after infected severely, Vil is put down but he ends up killing Rook and Epel, Lilia is found dead, Spider is killed by the infected, Alce is killed by Allen who was infected, Allen ends his own life after realizing what he had done. Crowley is never found.

The last survivors end up being:

Ace, Trey (he is found), Ruggie, Jack, Floyd, Kalim, Idia, Ortho, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Crewel, Sam, Vargas, Ami, Karina, Eve, Sylas and a couple more ocs.

It's a lot of angst and I know it's a bit jumbled right now but I'm in the making of the character files and I will post them one by one. If you have questions, you can ask away ^^

[solaneceae]

my battery is low, and it's getting dark.

a codebreakers fanfic about étoiles losing his sight. read on Ao3

It starts off with light blurriness — the kind you get when you forget to remove your contacts before bed, dryness and irritation welcoming you back to the waking world. Étoiles doesn’t wear contacts, although he does don a pair of sturdy, cheap rectangular glasses on occasion, whenever reports have to be read or written in thin leather-bound books for the Résistance’s upper echelon. 

(Upper echelon he’s never caught a whiff off, by the way. Étoiles understands the need for secrecy, for compartmentalization — but damn, it does get lonely here in headquarters, with nothing but his own voice and long-dried ink speaking of codes going rogue and islander alignments to entertain himself with.)

He blinks, once, twice, rubbing at his eyeballs through the skin of his lids. No amelioration. He shrugs it off, readjusts the straps of his slime armor. It’s a shit one, not even the good enchants on it. But he’s been restless lately, antsy. Not quite worried, but something else, something in the negative shape of a beloved, beret-wearing egg. Ants under his greenish skin, a fire only the cold bite of enemy blades and a close brush with Lady Death can fix.

He likes Kristin. She’s funny, with her large brimmed hat and gentle smile and gentler words still. Philza’s a lucky man.

“You are sad,” she would say, in the space-between-spaces he would drift to when downed, just before the ‘doom-doom’ of revival. The crimson bud of her smile would twist into a scowl, as she watched him give her a two-fingered salute. “Is that why I see you so often, starling?”

“I’m not sad,” he would answer without fail — the ache inside his chest wasn’t sadness. Étoiles didn’t do sad. He killed, he destroyed, his body grown in a weapon meant to hurt and maim and be hurt in return. Meant to be wielded by someone worthy. (He thinks of pitch-black feathers and a wheezy laugh, the tingle of wither-decay dancing on his skin, the smell of bone. Claws digging into his bony hips, a litany of trills speaking of ownership-claim, great shadows trapping him in so effectively. His knee guards stained by fresh soil where potatoes are endlessly grown in honor of a great warrior he once crossed blades with. Worship, devotion.)

“I’m not sad,” he mumbles, jumping down the well and into the darkness of the dungeon below. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a shit one, and he could scratch that itch in the back of his mind that demanded blood be spilled, be it his or otherwise. “Maybe I die for real today, let’s goooo.”

He never does. He’s too good at dungeoning, too good at placing blocks and throwing splash potions at his feet, golden apples now a rare last resort because he knows what happens when he eats too many. Aaaah, what a pity, he thinks, as he loses himself in the clash of metal on metal and the grunt of mobs falling at his feet. What a pity, I feel nothing. Bad day for me, bad day.

***

The blurriness stays. Days go by, sluggish and quiet, too quiet on this shit island, and no amount of sleep or healing potions make it any better. His arm stings with static-burn where the black and green binary tar has spread, higher, creeping up his neck. But it does nothing to hinder his movements, doesn’t dull the sharpness of his mind. So he ignores it. “Maybe you should get that checked out or something,” Foolish pokes at it once, as they sit and talk atop the Titan’s head using the blue and green plush chairs the TazerCraft have sneaked in. Pac e Mike, wow wow, sings a little voice in Étoiles’ mind whenever he sees splashes of blue and green, because those two live rent-free in everyone’s builds and brains.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at the shark-totem, easy and casual and Étoiles. “It doesn’t hurt.” It doesn’t. “It’s not changing me.” He is changing, that softness that Pomme had made bloom inside him eroding away with every day she’s gone. It’s harder to stay still, harder to stop and talk to the others, because half of them are depressed and the other half are going insane. But none of that is the code’s doing. “Look, I’ll prove it! 1v1 stick?” he jumps to his feet, throwing a wooden stick at his friend with a fiendish grin. “1v1, right now, let’s go.”

Foolish chuckles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his emerald-carved eyes. (His features are hazy, fuzziness getting worse every time Étoiles wakes. Doesn’t matter.) 

They fight, Étoiles takes it home with six hearts to spare. And he still feels empty.

***

Lilacs. Sunflowers. Cornflowers. Poppies.

Flower biomes were Pomme’s favorites. They’re hard to find, but Étoiles is one patient, stubborn cucumber. “T’aurais adoré ça, légende,” he hums, picking another poppy by the stem and stuffing it into his inventory, the frozen subspace keeping it suspended in time and fresh. He can almost hear the pitter-patter of her little cheeto legs in the grass, the rustle of the blades against her shell. The bomp of a red sign being placed, asking for more red, more blue, more of every color to make her siblings flower crowns and dye her trusty scythe like a rainbow.

He can barely make out their shape anymore, only differentiating roses from poppies by tracing their petals with gold-scarred fingers. He sees a blue blur somewhere at his right, oh, cornflower probably. Her secret code.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan and lets his body fall backwards, hitting the plush grass with a thump. A few butterflies flutter out of the way, one of them settling back on the bridge of the warrior’s nose. He glares at it, faded golden stars comically crossed. He only sees the yellow of its wings, stark against sky blue. “Hey, hey. Tu vas rien trouver ici, tu sais. J’ai pas fleuri depuis des plombes.”

The critter’s wings flap once, unbothered. Étoiles blows on it to make it go away, fails. (He’s a failure, at everything. Fails to keep his kid safe, fails to win a 1v1 against an insect.) Soon enough, there is enough butterflies on him to pin him to the ground under the would-be guilt of disturbing them. Étoiles whines, childish and unserious. “Vas-y, j’peux plus bouger. Pas juste. Même la nature me déteste, c’est bon.”

He’s missed this. The warmth of a sunbeam, the scent of fertile soil, the brush of grass blades, the call of the earth below pulling at him. Part of him wants to sink into it, curl up in Her embrace like a child would in their mother’s womb, forget about the world and the Federation and the Codes and all this shit. Maybe he could fall asleep right here. Let his body soak up the sun, let himself bloom again. Let that softness grow out of his skin for all to see, like he used to. Or, he thinks he used to. The memories of Before are static-fuzz between his ears, unreachable unless he looks at them at the corner of his eye, so to speak.

(The freezing cold, then heat as air exploded around him, an impact. Physicality, sudden and unexpected, the song of the stars loud in his ears as he opened his eyes for the first time in front of a bewildered human in a frayed straw hat. He was happy, wasn’t it? He thinks he used to be happy. What happened?)

But Étoiles is a warrior, a weapon, and weapons dull and rust and grow weak if left to rest. So he takes a deep breath, pushes himself up. “Désolé,” he hums to the butterflies as they scatter away. They are but bright, colorful blobs in his dulling eyes. “Désolé,” he says as he warps back home to forge yet another axe. 

His inventory is full of flowers that he’ll forget about, wrapping him in a constant mix of herbal scents that has Cellbit recoiling next time they cross paths. Étoiles doesn’t notice it, the Brazilian’s bothered expression lost on his rapidly-decaying vision.

***

By the time the Code challenges him to what Étoiles knows will be their last duel for the foreseeable future, his sight is all but gone, everyone and their dog has taken notice, and he has brushed off their concern. “I don’t need to see to click good,” he boasts, slamming down deepslate to launch himself fast and run circles around a disgruntled Pac. “See, see! I’m strafing, I’m doing it, playing the game.” Pac makes a strange sound, one he struggles to guess the emotion behind without body language. “It’s okay, Pac. It’s easy. There’s no problem, at all.”

Phil isn’t here yet, can’t see any names on his comlink but Tubbo told him he wasn’t. Shame, shame he won’t be there to see him die, Étoiles thinks as the rain soaks through his shirt, the boom of lightning bothering him more than he lets show. His ears are ringing as he jumps, ducks, tugs at the string of his bow and sends an arrow flying where he knows the Code is, he can feel it, the only spot that doesn’t smell like anything but void. But there’s no feedback, no satisfying sound of health being chipped at, nothing.

This Code is too strong, his sword winging an off-tune melody as it goes through the binary without ripping or tearing. No damage. Ah, he thinks, so they have finally stopped playing. I see now.

The back of his chestplate shatters into a blast of broken enchant magic and diamond shards, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh. Something cold sinks between his ribs, brushing against his spine in a white-hot flash of pain that irradiates through his whole body, and oh, yeah, it’s over. It’s joever, as Tubbo would say. “GGs,” he gasps through a mouthful of dark green blood. He coughs it up, lets it splash down his neck and paint his shirt. Tubbo’s screaming somewhere, too far away for Étoiles to discern the words. “You- eugh, you slash-kill’ed me, good job you cheater. Easy win.”

The entity growls, a hum-buzz that makes his brain (or whatever he has for brains, maybe lettuce?) rattle inside his skull. The blade slides out, cutting away at him further on its way out, and his body falls into a puddle of rainwater and mud with a wet thud. It hurts, blackered arm buzzing, pain creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, extinguishing the last of his remaining sight. 

He faintly realises that almost nobody knows about his respaw mechanic. Ah, et merde. He hopes they’ll have the presence of mind to ask Antoine, when they realise he wouldn’t just re-pop into existence seconds after his death… or when they noticed his body starting to wilt and decay, if they stuck around for long enough.

(Tallulah knows, he remembers. He told her. But had she told Philza, before she disappeared along with all the other eggs?)

Through his fading senses, his comm buzzes with what he knows is his first death message in a really long time. He can make out the sound of rapid footsteps, clickety hooves and heavy, leather work boots. Tubbo and Pierre. He closes his eyes, not that he needs to anymore for darkness to cradle him. He lets go.

He doesn’t see Kristin this time, only hears a faint sigh and a gentle breath sending him off into the void. He hopes they find his seed soon. He doesn’t wanna stay missing for too long, after all.

***

His personal death-void is not so bad of a place. Boring, obviously, but there’s a familiarity to it, to the way the darkness shrouds him like a heavy blanket, pushing against him from all sides. Not oppressive but comforting. Cradling, instead of crushing.

It reminds him of the dirt patch he was born in — he had been asleep and new, just ripe for the picking, dirt-stained hands pulling at his stem with the roughness of a long-repeated gesture. He had screamed, he thinks, not in pain, but to show the world he was here and alive, hello, hello sun, hello dirt, hello person! Had given poor old Théo a heart attack too.

Ah. He could remember, now. Théo, his leathered face and kind eyes with crow feet, wary at first before this walking, talking little legume with the night sky in his eyes, flower-covered vine-tail like some sort of umbilical cord trailing behind him as he follows the old farmer around, asking him endless questions in barely-legible French. But… yes, he’d been kind to him, Étoiles thinks. The first face his face saw. Makes sense it would be one of the first things that came back to him. Maybe remembering was easier in the void? Maybe he should die more often.

…Nah. Dying wasn’t his style. And having to regrow a whole new body over a week was annoying. He had things to do in the island! Like talking with people (eurgh), and giving them things (yes) and fighting with Philza (yes! yes! yes!) and have fun!

So he waits, oblivion pulling at him like gravity. The void is a quiet place, sometimes, but more often it’s not, with the song of supernovas and wailing stars far away keeping him aware, listening. He hums along to it with no mouth or vocal chords (not yet, still growing, still so small, unripe), and sometimes he swears he can hear another voice singing with him. Off-key, awful really, almost crow-like, but it sounds like someone he cares about, so he’s happy to listen to its drone.

Other times, he sleeps. And he dreams of tiny hands and quiet chirps and clicks, of the yesyes uncle Phil taught her, of the chrr-chrr-peep that means him, when she calls Étoiles’ name in her own little language. And he curls around the memory, softness, and lets it carry him up into the stars glittering behind still-forming eyelids.

***

“Étoiles.”

He hums — warmth, the slow beating heart of the earth. The choir of stars constantly burning far, far away. He could listen to it forever, because he had been listening to it since the birth of the first star, he knew.

“Mate. You with me? C’mon, s’been a week already. Come up here, you can do it.”

The voice scratches pleasantly at the back of his brain. But the earth is so warm, so comfy, a cocoon of peace and respite he’s not sure he wants to leave. He sighs with no lungs to breathe, no need for them, when all he could ever need is right there — perfect temp, perfect moisture, glucose, carbon dioxide, rich nutrients all around. Who needs gapples, really. Or thoughts. Or responsibilities. This is the best.

“...Mh. Alright then.”

The voice grates on his ears, ears that try to flick but are stopped by the soil packed around them. He groans in drowsy irritation, curls in on himself in an attempt to shield himself from it and from the world. It seems to work, the noises fading into nothing, and Étoiles feels his thoughts scatter as a faint scratching sound seeps through the earth and into his mind like white noise. Sleep pulls at him again, and he lets it.

He’s startled back into wakefulness by something pulling harshly, somewhere that feels a bit away but is still part of him. His eyes fly open in pained surprise because ow, ow, that’s my— “Come here, you lazy fuck!” That voice — high-pitched, that heavy accent he’s come to love, amusement and exasperation combined, Phil, his Phil, his GOAT, his brother in arms, his Death-touched angel.

Étoiles blinks, unseeing. Étoiles remembers. And with awareness comes something else, something that shimmers and calls his name in gentle whisper-echoes, as he feels himself being pulled up, and up, dirt parting to let him ascend back to the surface. Aah. Goodbye mama. Hello problems. “Get harvested, idiot!” Philza Minecraft grunts with effort somewhere above him, and the tug gets stronger, prompting a pained ow out of him as the ground crackles and breaks above him, and he feels air-sun-outside on his back as he’s forcefully pulled from the ground like the fresh crop he is. He flails a little bit, kicking off dirt and soil (it’s everywhere, in his hair and between his toes and a little in his mouth and nose, bleh!), then rolls onto his back with a groan, frowning up at the sky he knows is there, blue and clear, because it doesn’t smell like rain and the surface soil is dry and warm.

He’s back. And he sees nothing at all. Welp, better close his eyes again then. He feels a shadow fall on him, feels a sandaled foot nudge his side. “Helloooooo. Hello Phil,” he greets the other leaning hard on the deadpan because he knows it makes his friend laugh when he does that. It lands. “What, that’s it?” the elytrian caws, kneeling beside him and poking at his face, talons dulled to a gentle roundness. Étoiles wishes he didn’t trim them, but Phil is too nice, too careful, too eager to smooth himself down for others, for the eggs. Docile.

Étoiles despises it, but he keeps quiet because he knows Phil doesn’t like to talk about those things. “You get yourself killed by a fucking Code of all things,” Phil keeps going, “make everyone freak the fuck out because you won’t respawn like a normal fucking person, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Antoine knows. And I’m here now, so it’s okay.”

“Antoine barely logs on, you absolute dumbass. You’re lucky Lullah told me about the seed thing, because you would’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

He opens his eyes, if only to shoot Phil a halfhearted glare. And then immediately forgets about it, blinks owlishly. Sits up to get closer to the other man. “Phil. Why are you stars?”

“What.”

He sees stars. (And not in the sex way, because he doesn't do that.) It’s not night, but there are stars in his vision, where pitch blackness used to be, and the constellation is Phil-shaped.

Philza is a cosmic cluster, a nebula shining bright in the darkness that has become his world. He can see nothing beyond him, not the plants surrounding him, not the long vine attached to his lower back Phil used to pull him out. He can tell it’s there, though, lightly thumping at the ground in agitation. “You, are stars. That’s how I see you now.”

“Wait. Can you, like, see again?” Phil asks, uncharacteristically soft. “I know it was getting… bad. And your eyes are like, all greyed out. Did the code stuff on your arm do that?” Étoiles sees a cluster of stars approaching his face — hand — and feels fingers brushing just under his right eye. He’s a bit startled by the contact, the area usually covered by his trust bandana (he needs it back, needs his stuff back, hopefully someone held onto it for him). Phil draws away, an apology ready from the way his constellation-body shifts, but Étoiles doesn’t let him. “I can’t,” he answers, tilting his head, ear flicking in focus — the stars that make up Phil sharpen, and he can almost make out the shape of the wings bound behind his back. “But I can See. I think.” He also wouldn’t mind Phil’s hand on his face again. It feels nice. Scratches at something long-buried, and denied.

Philza makes a confused sound. “Okay, I heard that capital S there. What’s that mean? Are you pulling a Daredevil?”

Étoiles grins, sharp-toothed and playful. “Oh, oh! He thinks I’m a superhero? He thinks I’m cool, Felipe Minecraft? Big win for me.” Phil rolls his eyes, which Étoiles can tell because the crow always makes that low warble when he does. “But no, it’s not like that. I still need my eyes to see like this, and I don’t hear or smell better than before.” Although his status as a hybrid means his baseline is still higher than the average person’s, but that’s irrelevant. “FF.”

“So no cool blindfold for you, ey?”

“No cool blindfold. I will just do a Pomme and drown myself later, to make up for how uncool I am.” (He cannot drown. No lungs. But he can pretend.)

He squints. There’s a little cluster, right there at the side of Phil’s head. He can connect the dots, identify the shape of the elytrian’s bucket hat, but there’s something else there too. “What’s that on your head, Phil? I can’t make it out well.”

“Oh— here,” the other takes his hand and guides it towards his hair, and Étoiles feels a familiar texture under his pads. He makes a noise of surprise. “That’s. Mine.”

“Do you want it back?” Phil hums, brushing at the large cucumber flower tucked in the band of his hat. “It bloomed this morning, on top of the plant you were growing under. Took it as a sign you were, uh, done cooking.” Étoiles snorts. Good guess. “But uh, I guess the plant was also you, cuz it’s at the end of your tail now. Dragging.” Ah. Yeah. He really ought to cut it. “Is it weird? That I’m wearing a piece of you? I don’t know what… fuckin’... cucumber etiquette is.”

“It’s not weird,” Étoiles says, because he doesn’t think it is. “You can keep it.” He kind of likes it. That Phil’s wearing a piece of him. It makes him, happy? “You know, that I am your weapon. Yes? So it makes sense, that you show it.”

“You’re my friend. Don’t call yourself a weapon, man.”

“Same thing for me.”

Phil’s response is wordless, a simple, noncommittal mmh. But Étoiles can hear the hidden fondness in it. He pushes a little further, crudely imitates that  one bird sound Philza makes when he’s happy. Whoops internally when Phil puffs out his feathers and trills out a yesyes in return. Héhé. “Yes yes, Philza? Fight me, right now?” he slips into his usual stance, just a bit offset by the lack of armor weighing him down. “1v1, no weapons, no armor? Fistfight, let’s go.”

Phil cackles, crow-like. “I am not fighting you right now, you little shit. You menace. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aww, Phil hates me,” the warrior whines. “He hates me. He won’t 1v1 me, he must hate me. Sad.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby.”

“I was literally born five minutes ago. I am baby, and Felipe Minecraft hates me,” he sasses back, and Phil throws his arms towards the sky in exasperation. “Oh come on. I spent a week protecting your green ass! Making sure you got enough sun and water and shit, it was like doing egg tasks all over again. Antoine even talked me into fucking singing, pretty sure he was pranking me with that one by the way, and still you think I hate you?”

“Nice caulk, Phil.”

He can’t see it, but Étoiles knows Phil’s eyelid is twitching. “Mate. I got a faceful of ass pulling you out of here, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

The cucumber snorts. “Héhé, got mooned by the stars.” That was kinda funny. “You were pulling me by the tail, I do not know what you expected. You’re lucky I’m a plant, or there would have been full cock and balls there.”

“Bruh. I thought it would be connected to your… plant belly button, or whatever, like an umbilical cord.”

“It’s an ass button, GGs.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t call it that. I didn’t even know you had a tail. You didn’t before.”

“That’s because I always cut it,” the warrior huffs, said tail lashing behind him from the restless energy that always accompanies a new body. Its leaves drag around the loose dirt in little swish-y sounds. “Give me a sword, Phil, it’s already annoying me.”

The crow peers down at the vine, then back at him. “I dunno, man. You look kinda fun with it.” Étoiles squints. He can’t quite make out Phil’s expression like this, all stars and nothing between them, but he can hear the hidden laughter in his voice. “...I will cut it with my teeth then.”

“Won’t that hurt more than with a blade?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Only the base. Like when you pulled on it.”

“Why not keep it? It’s a part of you.”

Because it speaks for me, he considers replying. Because it says and shows things that I don’t want people to see. Even now, it wags, because Phil is here and now brushing stray dirt out of his hair and it’s very nice. (Is he touch-starved? He might be. Pomme is gone, and he doesn’t trust people to touch him, other than with blunt force and sharp diamond blades.) But Étoiles hasn’t kept his tail since he was a child, still wide-eyed and showing his innermost self to the whole world without any shield. He feels weird. Exposed. And it’s okay with Phil, because Phil is Phil, but it’s not okay because they’re out in the open and anyone could come and see. He doesn’t like that. “Because people can grab it, and it gets stuck in things, and it’s annoying. I cut it, now.” He tugs at the appendage, bringing it up to his mouth. “Nope,” Phil snatches it away, and Étoiles hisses at him. “Calm down, dude. At least let’s do it cleanly.”

“Eeeeuugh. Okay.”

”Then we’re getting your stuff back from Antoine’s, good god. You’re still butt-naked and I won’t have you strut around like that.”

“He has my things? Comms, armor, my backpacks?”

“All of it, yeah,” the older man huffs, and Étoiles can hear the telltale sound of an item being summoned of an inventory. Enchanted axe, he parses, recognizing the ozone-y smell of the sharpness enchant and the sound of the air being sliced downward. He doesn’t feel anything when the vine is severed, frowns when he realises Phil left a good… fifty centimeters of it, still attached to his body. “Phil. You misclick? You aim like shit today?”

“You said it hurts near the base,” the elytrian huffs, finality lacing his every word. “Keep it or cut the rest later, your pick, but I’m not hurting you.”

Étoiles’ ear flicks in confusion, and so does his tail. It moves faster, easier now without the rest of the plant weighing it down. “...We fight each other all the time, that hurts more. I don’t care.”

Phil stays silent for a few seconds. Nebula-Phil shifts before him. “It’s. Different.”

Étoiles hums. Philza has the Tone™ again, the one that means he’s thinking of things that hurt. He thinks of clipped feathers, of matted down that he wishes he could run his fingers through and fix, fix, let me fix it, let me do this for you. But he says nothing. Maybe another time, when they’re both ready for that conversation. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe I keep it this time. Maybe.”

He can hear Phil’s smile in the next word he speaks. “Attaboy.” And he tries to ignore the way his tail wags with renewed enthusiasm at that.

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 15 - Serpent

Don't tell me this isn't canon - poor Minerva, having to deal with these brilliant idiots

Her steps echoed through the gigantic room with deafening loudness; perhaps they were not as loud as she thought, and she was only unsettled to find herself here, but she could not help but feel, nevertheless, that any sound in the chamber was atrociously amplified. 

The shock of seeing the serpent for the first time took her breath away. In a very characteristic manner, she put her hand on her heart, especially when she discerned the shapes of her two colleagues by its side. 

To imagine a child facing that beast...

"Albus, Severus! What in the world -"

"My dear professor, please remain calm, Severus is in the middle of a delicate operation", the headmaster interrupted her gently, smiling as she approached them. 

He was holding a notebook and a quill, and Severus, at his feet, had put his head almost entirely inside the beast's mouth, obviously trying to extract something from it. Or rather, he was scraping something: then he handed Albus a vial, which the old man took with unconcealed interest. 

"Acidic properties", Severus said in a methodical tone, "unaffected by decay."

"Severus!", Minerva exclaimed, losing her cool. "Your head! Get out of here - have you lost your mind?"

"Not at all, Minerva", the Slytherin replied drily, though there was a hint of irony in his voice. "Albus and I are merely conducting some... research."

The deputy headmistress turned towards Dumbledore, obviously not expecting their younger colleague to come up with a reasonable explanation.

"Albus, what if he gets poisoned? What if he gets hurt? Am I the only one here who's sane? Do you not see those teeth as clearly as I do?"

The headmaster merely smiled at her, bending slightly to retrieve another vial from Severus' hand. The hand in question promptly returned inside the basilisk's mouth. 

"This is a priceless opportunity for the academic community, my dear", Albus told her tranquilly. "A grown basilisk - Newt Scamander is on his way as we speak. I am letting Severus retrieve some valuable potion ingredients in the meantime."

"He is inside that snake from the waist up!"

"He will certainly need a shower."

"That is one of the deadliest beasts in both the muggle and wizarding worlds! He's not even wearing gloves!"

Somewhere inside the snake, Severus sighed. 

"Minerva, believe me, I know what I am doing. Gloves would impede my movements, and I need to be precise here. You, on the other hand, are not helping at-"

"Albus!"

The headmaster frowned. 

"Minerva, do not be alarmed. Severus is an expert. Besides, aren't you the one who told me to spend more time with the boy?"

"How is that any of her concern?" the Slytherin's muffled voice lamented from inside the snake, interrupting them. "Albus, the scissors, please."

"Mind your business, you madman", Minerva replied acrimoniously, handing him the scissors herself with unconcealed annoyance. She returned her gaze to Dumbledore. "Why would you think, even for a second, that spending time with him involved performing suspicious surgery" - she took the scissors back - "inside a fifty-feet long basilisk?"

The headmaster shrugged. 

"The boy has peculiar interests."

She rolled her eyes. Severus, bending even lower, appeared to be struggling with something.

"I have found the venom glands!" he exclaimed triumphally. 

"GET OUT OF HERE NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD-"

[psychedeliccc]

body and soul.

warnings : none

(Based on a request by @kiyoomean)

word count : 1.3 k

Masterlist ★

Whispers travelled throughout the walls of the common room along with the scent of an experiment gone wrong. Admist the night the moon above shadowing the floor filled with viles and potions.

"Bloody dark out here. " you heard a familiar groan echo.

"I can help. " You spoke, breaking the quiet silence that followed the boy's voice, the feeling of hope running throughout your blood.

"Who the - sure, whatever go on. " you heard him murmur.

you walked, rather, floated across the room to carry a lamp beside him to help him.

Except,

Well,

you couldn't.

"Wait I can't, there's a lamp to your left. " you sighed realizing your transparency.

"Thanks." The boy whispered as he reached for his left and caressed his palms around it, opening the lid.

He lit it.

A pause.

He hollered.

You saw him flinch as he covered himself with his arms.

"Why are you yelling? Never seen a ghost before?"

He looks back.

He sighs.

"Of course I have, just...never...you. "

You paused and realized this was someone you had seen not less than a few hour let alone spoken with.

"Mattheo is it? "

"How'd you know? " Mattheo replied, a bit frightened, taking a step back.

"We've literally spoken a few hours ago -

my name is y/n. " you uttered, giving him a blank stare.

"Hard to recognize you with all that lack of color. " He joked followed by an anxious titter.

" I need your help. "You ignored his comment.

He sighed.

"with?" he asks as he walks forward slowly.

"You might be wondering how I got myself in this situation. " You continued.

"it does concern me now that you mention it. "

He recalled as he stared back at you.

You scoffed.

°°°°

"Merlin." Mattheo faltered as he scratched the back of his neck.

"- and I need your help resurrecting me from the dead. " you finished.

" how do you you expect me to do that exactly? "

"That's where your physical mobility comes to my advantage. " You smiled.

"Great, meaning you know exactly how to do it, you just need to instruct me? "

"Well, about that. " You stuttered.

"You don't know, do you? - mattheo sighed,

Why can't you just ask Dumbledore tomorrow? " He continued.

"If I am unfortunate enough, I will be seperated from my physical body and remain a... well in this case I'd say a ghost. "

"Let me get this straight, you even manage to get yourself in a situation where you 'accidentally' kill yourself and find a poor random stranger with the hopes of looking for water, and ask him oh so very spontaneously help you revive your decayed soul? " mattheo blanked, looking at your floating body.

"you're completely off, I didn't kill myself nor did I intend to, I was practicing spells for the sake of reviving a already dead Spectre.

" Oh and, be careful, my body, well physical body is right behind you. Mind you. " you interrupted.

Mattheo jumped as he looked to his back, accompanied by your dead corpse laying on the cold floor of the common room,

you looked dreadful really. No wonder he jumped.

"This is going to take all night. " Mattheo exasperated looking back at you, your phantom.

"Better get started, it's almost 9 . " You whispered hovering closer to his ear.

"Stop that. " Mattheo flinched at your cold breath.

°°°°

mattheo had singlehandedly collected each and every one of his potions reference books and spellbooks including novels studying deep into each chapter.

" what spell did you use exactly? " Mattheo hummed as he went through a textbook, switching each page.

" I believe it was called anima seperatio or something like that." You recalled.

"Godrick's sake. " Mattheo cursed under his breath, looking for the exact page.

"I didn't mean to be my own subject. " You sighed.

"So who's soul did you intend to seperate from their body? " Mattheo asked, eyes glued to the book as he flipped a few pages.

"I intended to do the opposite. " You replied, hovering above him.

"Meaning? " Mattheo asked.

"I tried to resurrect myrtle. "

"Moaning Myrtle? " Mattheo questioned.

"Yeah, I feel bad for her, to be honest, I tried to learn two spells, one to resurrect her, and another to make her young again."

"So she wouldn't die the second you would revive her. " Mattheo finished.

"Exactly." You sighed.

"But how would you make her younger as a spirit, she died when she was, 14,I suppose."

"Thats what I was trying to figure out. " You huffed.

Mattheo chuckles.

"What's so funny? "

" nothing. " Mattheo smiled to himself, hiding his face.

"Bet you think I'm an idiot. "

"I didn't mean that. "

°°°°

"I've found it, I just need the ingredients. "

"Oh finally , it's been 30 minutes now. " You sighed in relief.

"Merlin, says right here the potions gonna take 2 hours to complete. "

"Meaning we'll finish before dawn, brilliant. " You smiled.

Mattheo smiled back in sympathy as he went to collect the ingredients.

"Thanks by the way. " You whispered as mattheo kept the required items beside his cauldron.

"Thought you'd never thank me. " Mattheo grunted as he attempted to open a bottle of dragon scales.

"Three of those. " You replied as he managed to open the lid.

"Thanks."

You smile.

"Why would you help Myrtle at this time of the night anyway? " Mattheo asked, eyes still on the cauldron.

"Its her birthday tomorrow. " You replied with a smile.

"That's really considerate of you." Mattheo smiled.

"Thanks Matty. " You sighed.

"Excuse me? " he hesitated.

"Yes? "

"What did you just call me? "

"Matty."

"Weird."

"Talking about yourself i see." You replied.

"We've just met and you've already arranged me a nickname? " Mattheo questioned as he poured two spoons of pearl dust into the cauldron.

"Of course I have, surprised you haven't. "

"I haven't what? "

"Arranged me a nickname. "

Mattheo chuckles once more.

"What's so funny? " You raved.

"I think 'nincompoop' suits you well. " He bursts out into little chuckles as he smiles back at you.

"Was I supposed to laugh. " You scoff.

"You're offended and that's all that matters."

°°°°

"Are you done yet? " You yawned as you dramatically pull your head back.

"I'm more frustrated than you, love."

"Aww." You teased

"What."

"You called me love. " You smirked.

"I call everyone love, I'm british. " He joked.

"you called me loveeeee. " You teased Monotonously.

"You want this potion or not? "

"Sorry."

"That's more like it. " He smirked.

°°°

You stared at the window admiring the admist of the night, the stars soaring above the midnight sky and aligning almost perfectly in the most elegant of shapes and patterns.

Your eyes followed mattheo's presence.

"Done yet? " You asked.

"30 minutes left, I've brewing it, needs time to settle. " Mattheo ensured.

"Great." You spoke as you flew over to him.

"Wait how exactly are you going to drink this potion though? " Mattheo questioned.

"Put it in my mouth. " You spoke.

"In your dead body's mouth? " Mattheo asked.

"Yeah, read the instructions like 15 times when you were brewing it. " You yawned.

Mattheo yawned back.

°°°°

"Done! " Mattheo rejoiced, jumping in happiness as he poured the potion into a vile.

"Do it then. "

"Right." Mattheo answered as he went towards your corpse, which now smelled like decaying animals.

You observed as mattheo poured the potion into your mouth, opening it with a spoon.

You felt a weird pulling force upon your misty body as you poured back into your physical body.

A loud gasp filled the room as you opened your eyes in a sudden minute.

" Bloody hell. " You cursed as you attempted to get up.

Mattheo offered his arm and you pulled yourself up.

"Thank you so much Matty. " You chanted as you pulled him into your arms, forming a sweet hug.

Mattheo pat your back and hugged you back, then leaving you out.

You smiled and he smiled back.

"You're amazing you know that? " You whispered.

Mattheo smirked.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"You and your cocky face. " You laughed.

"But seriously, I'm extremely thankful. " You continued.

"I need sleep. " Mattheo yawned.

"You may leave, I'll clean up this mess. " You smiled.

"Not on my watch, I'm cleaning, you're sleeping. "

"Matty." You smiled.

"Hmm."

"No way I'm going to let you clean. "

"How about you help me? " Mattheo stared at your eyes.

"Thank you Mattheo. "

"You're welcome, love. "