#bell tower my beloved

[explorevenus]

dirty laundry ♡ re6!leon kennedy x puppy hybrid!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 5.1k

tags/warnings: re6!leon, stubborn/reluctant puppy reader who pretends she hates him, brief chris redfield appearance, forced proximity (kinda), leon pining for u (he wants u to call him daddy btw), hybrid heat cycle shenanigans, thigh riding, dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), no use of y/n

description: leon's had a tough time figuring out his new puppy hybrid roommate... outside of the fact that she's sweet on him, and just won't admit it. lucky for leon, he comes home from a mission to find her airing her dirty laundry.

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my beloved and adored @pupthepokemonenthusiast who is one of MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ON EARTH EVER ?!!!! and i luv yapping w them and that makes collaborating w them such a dream every time....

divider by @cafekitsune !!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Loose gravel crunched beneath Leon's boots, uneven pavement glittering with moisture in the streetlights. It was somewhere between raining and snowing, the wind splattering his rosy cheeks with little drops of condensation, every breath puffing out in a visible cloud, head tilted down at just the right angle to protect the lower half of his bruised face from the cold while still being able to see where he was going.

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, and truth be told, he couldn't really read most of the signage around here anyway-- it was all in Mandarin, and his Mandarin was even less reliable than his Spanish, to put it gently. But he could read what he needed to, at least, enough to find the basics like food, bathrooms, lodging, or hospitals, and more importantly, he could discern the backlit lettering above the shop two doors down; antiques and collectibles. 

That was a phrase he'd familiarized himself with in damn near every language under the sun by now. 

A bell dinged quietly overhead as he stepped into the storefront, grateful that it was even open past 9 o'clock at night. It was only one room and didn't have much space to walk around, but every available surface was stacked to the brim with knick-knacks of all shapes, colors, sizes, and price points under no apparent system of organization. Where some might be overwhelmed or put off by the volume of things to look at, Leon felt his heart skip a beat with excitement. He still had some time to kill before his transport back to the States was due to arrive, and not a single minute of it would be wasted overlooking any potential gems. 

Judging by the horrified stares he was attracting, Leon could imagine he looked fucking insane right now, clothes still splattered with wet, rotting blood and the barrel of his gun practically still smoking in his holster as he towered over a shelf in the back corner, scrutinizing a darling little plush bear in one hand and a set of hand-painted matryoshka dolls in the other like it was the hardest decision he would ever have to make. 

Ultimately, he chose not to decide at all-- money wasn't a factor, so why not buy both? If it weren't for the issue of luggage, he'd just say 'fuck it' and buy out the whole damn store. Unfortunately, helicopters tended to be quite limited in space. 

Self control was a skill Leon used to have mastered, perhaps even too well-- for a long time, every uncomfortable, unsightly, pesky little emotion was pressed down into a condensed cube to be neatly packed away in the very back corners of his brain, boxes upon boxes of dense feelings continuing to pile up and take over more and more space up there until the pressure became too much, the lid blew, and he went off the fucking handle. It wasn't something he was proud of by any means, all those long months blurred into mush through a lens of alcoholism and other reckless behaviors, but what he did try to let himself be proud of was his relative success in making it to the other side. 

That, of course, was a feat he did not accomplish without help, nor would he ever claim to. Chris Redfield was instrumental in his recovery in more ways than one, and at times, without even realizing it. He was a listening ear, a dealer of tough love, a trusted confidant...

...and the reason he had you. 

For obvious reasons, Leon had never gone out of his way to get a pet in his adult life. It just felt irresponsible with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his work situation, even with all the money in the world to spend on trainers and walkers and boarding and... whatever else, but at that point, it would feel less like a pet than an accessory, and Leon didn't have much interest in material. Never saw the need for it. Then one day Chris woke him up in the middle of the night banging on the door to his apartment with a gift he never expected.

"She's a... what?"

"A hybrid. She's a human-canine hybrid, Leon." 

Leon glanced between you and Chris with skepticism in his eyes, only to find the same look peering back at him in you. It was almost kind of funny that he'd have a hard time believing there could be such a thing as a human-canine hybrid, considering all he'd seen in his line of work, a thought that made his shoulders and his expression relax almost instantly. 

You were a real cutie, that was for sure, tucked behind Chris and staring up at Leon through your eyelashes with this grumpy little look on your face, a plush, patchwork bear clutched to your chest. The toy was equally as vibrant and colorful as your clothing, if not a bit worn with time. Your ears were long and droopy, your tail hanging low but swishing side-to-side with cautious interest, and the longer he studied you, the more he became endeared by you. 

"The B.S.A.A. rescued a group of hybrids from an illegal facility a few weeks ago, but finding accommodations for them isn't as simple as it sounds," Chris continued, resting a hand on your shoulder in an apparent move to reassure you. "Long story short, the people who were in charge of that facility aren't too happy about the acquisition, and the hybrids aren't safe at the B.S.A.A. anymore. Would you be willing to shelter her for a while?" 

The firm look in Chris' eyes-- and the fact that he just had to bring this up with you right in front of him-- made it clear he wasn't really asking. No mind, Leon would have done it anyway. It just would have been nice to have had a heads up to rectify the state of the apartment. 

"Yeah, of course," Leon nodded gently, stepping aside to allow you and Chris further into the apartment. "Make yourself at home." He caught the way your head tilted up a bit, as if you were studying the scent in the air, and he supposed it made sense that you likely were.

That was four months ago. And for the past four months, Leon quite enjoyed having you around. You were silly and playful, always bounding around the apartment with a toy clenched between your teeth or lounging in the sunny spots in front of the windows, pawing at him for belly rubs and treats and infinite tug-o-war matches. All that being said, you were equally stubborn, resisting him at every turn like magnetic repulsion, always kicking up a fuss seemingly just for the sake of it.

He wasn't sure. You were tough to read. Not only did some of your canine personality traits make you a bit forgetful and distractible at times, but you were also just terribly inconsistent with your affections, and he wasn't always sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he was determined to win you over in one way or another, and if he was going to do that, he'd have to figure you out first, and so far that was shaping up to be quite the herculean task. At least it seemed you would be here for a while. 

With the way he guarded your little treasures during the flight home, one might assume he was smuggling something, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of coming home without something to present to you. The hardened federal agent was determined to crack a smile out of you on his terms, to get you to admit what you both knew to be true. 

You had a crush on him. A big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on him, and you rejected the idea of owning up to it so staunchly that it was turning you into a bit of a brat. That was the one thing he could read about you, and it drove you up the wall. 

He certainly wasn't judging you. It would be an absurd lie to say he didn't have a big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on you too-- he'd be insane if he didn't. But the back and forth was far too enjoyable, and Leon was always up for a good natured challenge. 

See, self control was something Leon had worked really, really hard to regain a handle on, and when it came to his drinking and brooding, he certainly had... but when it came to you? Not by a longshot. That being said, he would rather be pouring himself into courting you than pouring himself another bourbon. That's what he used to shut up that little voice in the back of his head that questioned whether or not he was putting too much energy into this, banking too much on it. 

It was innocent, right? It's not like you were a bad influence or whatever. If anything, a lot of nights that he would have spent at the bar were instead being spent at home playing with you. Surely that had to be a net positive, especially considering you would have otherwise been getting poked and prodded at in a lab. 

Stepping back into the apartment for the first time in weeks, Leon hadn't even bothered bringing his duffel bag in with him from the car, the only thing in his arms being the wrinkled paper bag from that antique shop. His own belongings could wait. As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, stepping out of his shoes, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. 

No lively music from the shows you liked to watch, no little bumps or growls from you playing toys, no quiet padding of your feet across the hardwood from you coming to see who was at the door. He glanced at his watch, finding it was only half past nine in the evening, and while you often proclaimed to abide by a healthy bedtime for yourself, you had a habit of napping all day and bouncing off the walls all night. Something was amiss.

Stepping further into the apartment to investigate the scene, Leon peered into the living room. The lights were on, the TV was off, there were a few toys strewn about the couch and the floor, but not a glimpse of the sweet puppy who left them there. Odd. Suspicious. Maybe even staged. 

His lips came together in a whistle meant to grab your attention, knowing your sharp ears would hear it from anywhere in the apartment, even if you were sleeping. When that call garnered no response, he began to wonder if you were mad at him. After all, he was supposed to return almost three days ago, and while Chris had been able to stop by and check on you when he had the time, it just wasn't the same, and you didn't do well with loneliness, and Leon knew that. 

Turning on his heel to head deeper into the apartment, he continued to find you nowhere. Not climbing the countertops in the kitchen, or playing under the dining table, or even reluctantly having a bath. As he reached the end of the short hallway, there were only two doors left to open. 

Leon tried another whistle and called out, "Hey, pup? I'm home!" 

He waited, and listened... and heard nothing. Your bedroom door was closed, and it looked like the light was on in there, judging by the subtle glow spilling out beneath it, but still, no response. 

His bedroom door, however, was cracked open. The overhead light was off but the bedside lamp was on, and his dirty laundry basket was tipped over on the floor. When he stepped forward to turn it upright again, he thought he saw the bedding shuffle out of the corner of his eye. Closer inspection of the bed brought the case of his missing puppy girl drew to a close. Your soft tail was peeking out beneath the edge of the covers, the markings and patterns in your fur being undeniably familiar to him now. 

It was perfect timing, really-- he was just about to tip over into the realm of worrying about your safety, but now he was back to just worrying you were mad at him... and he couldn't help the amused grin that tugged at his expression. 

"Is that a little puppy in daddy's bed?" He asked aloud, his tone taking on a smitten and adoring lilt. Once again, he received no response... at least not verbally. Quietly setting down that paper bag, he stood there and watched with his arms crossed as your tail fluttered to life in response to his tone, the tip silently patting the sheets in a lazy and reluctant little wag that you might have actually gotten away with, if it weren't for the fact that your tail was in plain view. 

He was initially going to try a few more times to get a response out of you, hoping to make sure you were okay and to see if you wanted to talk, but he quickly realized that wasn't going to work with you. You weren't all doom and gloom like he tended to be, you were silly, you were playful, you were fundamentally kind. A lighthearted approach wouldn't work with him, or with most of the people he dealt with on a day-to-day basis, but it would almost certainly work with you. 

"Well," Leon stretched his arms up with a dramatic groan, "Since there's no puppies in the bed..."

And then he playfully toppled over the lump in the bedding, bracing himself on his elbows so as not to actually crush you, of course, music to his ears being the muffled squeal of stubborn discontent that sounded out from beneath the covers.

"Leon!" You whined, arms squirming around beneath him in a desperate flurry of moves to find the edge of the blanket, tugging it down to free your face for some air. Soon enough your head poked out from beneath the covers and your eyes were already narrowed into unamused slits at him. 

But that wasn't really what caught his attention about the look on your face. You were panting for breath, your ears flopped back lazily and your hair an absolute mess, your skin hot to the touch and clammy with sweat. Now his eyes were narrowed at you in suspicion, because you were certainly frustrated, just... not the kind of frustrated he was anticipating, if his suspicions were found to be correct. 

"You look guilty," He commented, brow raised as he took you by the chin and tilted your head this way and that, as though in observation. "Why do you look guilty, puppy?" 

"I'm not," You were quick to defend yourself-- much too quick, in Leon's opinion-- and you stubbornly recoiled back from his hand, continuing to squirm and resist beneath him. "You're squishing me!" 

You planted the palm of your hand dead in the center of his face in an attempt to push him away, the bedding slipping further down in the process to reveal your flushed collarbones and shoulders, both of which were bare. Were you naked? In his bed? 

He took you by the wrists to pin your hands down with ease, staring down at you in scrutiny. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart," He said, tone firm, but not unkind. "You're red as a tomato." 

With a stubborn whine, your ears flattened back against your messy head in what could only be read as shame, and that certainly wasn't what he was going for at all, even with the compromising position he had you in at the moment. It was just meant to tease you, but you looked mortified, and he could only imagine why that might be. 

"Puppy," He softened, letting go of your wrists, one hand taking you by the cheek to gently caress you. "You know I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on." 

Your mouth fell open and then snapped shut again a time or two, a clear indication that you were tripping over your words in search of the right ones. Finally, you managed, "It's... I-It's hot." 

"Then why are you all bundled up, huh?"

You didn't even really need to admit it at this point, because it was clear as day what was going on here-- after all, Chris had warned him this might happen, that hybrids could have... intense reproductive cycles-- but he also wasn't going to push it if you just wanted to ride it out on your own. He wasn't an expert on this, he didn't know exactly what you needed, and he didn't want to overstep and freak you out.

That being said, the thought that you'd retreated to his bedroom, desperate to surround yourself with his belongings in his absence just to cope with being in heat, was a remarkably good one.

This time you didn't seem to have a retort, still writhing under him and trying to push him off of you, which wasn't new behavior for you, though this time he did take it upon himself to give you some space instead of continuing to mess with you. 

"Alright, alright, relax, daddy's not making fun of you--" 

"You're not my daddy," You interjected stubbornly, but just like always, the rosy, searing blush on your face betrayed how you really felt about the topic, even as you added, "Stop trying to make me call you that!" 

Leon dearly and sincerely adored you, that much was to be sure, but your hard-headedness could run him ragged sometimes, when you'd dig your heels in so hard about things that seemed so innocuous. Whether or not you should be expected to call him daddy-- which he regularly enjoyed teasing you about but would never legitimately force you to do-- didn't feel like the biggest issue at hand here. Not by a mile. 

How was he supposed to focus on that when you were just... burning up? Panting for breath and shaking and whining? Oh dear God, this wasn't good, and for as much effort as he was putting into focusing on your wellbeing, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to focus on the way his pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably cozy in the front. He brought one hand down between you to adjust himself only to find he'd unintentionally solicited a faint, but distinctly needy moan from you in the process, presumably because you'd touched you somewhere he hadn't necessarily meant to. 

"G-Go away, Leon," You insisted, eyes screwed shut as you turned your head to the side and maintained that stubborn frown he knew so well on you. "Get off of me!" 

But your tail was wagging in an absolute blur, thumping mindlessly against the damp sheets and knocking in between his knees at an intensity that was impossible to miss. Leon's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in an intrigued grin before finally sitting back on his haunches, still straddling you, but at least freeing your upper half. 

"Leon, quit--" 

You poor dear, you were so, so close to finishing that sentence, if only it weren't for the way Leon swung one leg between your own, driving his knee right up to the apex until you felt the muted pressure lavish your clit. Whatever you were about to say fizzled out on your tongue and instead popped out in a string of whimpers, your back arching up off the bed. The movement caused the bedding to slip down just a little bit further, confirming his suspicion that you were in fact naked, at least from the waist up.

Taking the soft globe of your breast into the palm of his hand, Leon let his thumb brush over your already pebbled nipple and asked lowly, "Oh, c'mon, pretty puppy... you're totally sure you don't want daddy's help? I think you're just being fussy..."

Your chest rumbled with a little growl, but it was more of a moan than that, and the fiery glare on your face was the perfect image of it. You were pissed, and quite frankly, it was a good look on you. Maybe even one of his favorites. Suddenly you were baring your teeth at him too, just pretending it was in the opposite way. You were such an open book to him. 

"You're being mean," Huffed the stubborn little puppy, but of course, Leon could be meaner. 

So he was. Leon snatched the covers off the bed in one quick swipe, and what was revealed to him beneath had to have been a thousand times better than anything he might have expected. You were naked, yes, but tangled between your legs was a pair of his sweatpants, undoubtedly retrieved from the depths of the overturned laundry basket, the grey cotton soaked through in patches with slick all over the crotch and thighs. 

Fucking Christ, you weren't just getting off to the thought of him, but also the scent of him, the feeling of his clothes on your skin, and presumably, an idea not unlike what he was already teasing you with; letting you rub one out on his thigh. 

Squishing your cheeks in one hand, he said firmly, "Look at me. Do you honestly feel like I'm being mean to you?" 

There was a pause while you stared at each other, your eyes searching his own skeptically. It didn't really seem he was messing with you, no, in fact he appeared like he really wanted to help you. The back and forth was fun and he enjoyed the little game you'd made out of getting to know each other, but when it came to your comfort and wellbeing, he wasn't interested in being forced to solve puzzles. You couldn't really blame him. 

"N-No," You admitted. 

"Exactly, so just... simmer down, will you?" 

This time Leon didn't give you another chance to tell him to fuck off. He scooped you up at the waist and pulled you to your knees, drawing your body close to his until you were straddling his left thigh. Eyes wide, you stared at him stiffly, like you were too afraid to move. Huffing out a breath, he rolled his eyes with a smirk and gripped your hips, tugging you down until you were finally bearing your weight on him. 

For as fast as your pointed teeth sank into your bottom lip to quiet yourself, it didn't even matter. You still let out a pleasured whine, ears flat against your head and your tail hung low, the tip swishing in a reluctant little wag that patted the outside of his knee with every other beat. 

"You're too precious for your own damn good," He grumbled, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "Y'know that, pup?"

Breaths falling short, it felt like your head was full of warm mud, teetering for balance on your neck as your upper body tipped forward to grasp at his arms. As expected, Leon caught you effortlessly, steadying you by cupping your face in his hands so he could look you right in your braindead little eyes, your noses almost touching as your tongue lolled out in lazy gasps.

It was obvious he wasn't going to get much more out of you in the way of words at this point, so it was a damn good thing you had that pretty tail knocking about. He figured all that wiggling was the closest he'd get to a literal window into your mind. 

"Go on, then," Leon smoothed your hair away from your sticky forehead, still mindful to hold you upright. His tone was low and, as always, far too sweet for you... but it was so nice, it vibrated down to the base of your spine and made you dizzier. You were just about to fulfill what he was encouraging you to do when he added wryly, "You've already made such a mess, don't get shy on me now." 

A quiet whimper stuttered from your dry throat-- you couldn't sit still anymore, he was being evil and he knew it, downright evil... and you typically would have stuck up your nose at him and brooded on it for a while, but you didn't even have the strength of mind for that at the moment. You hardly even realized you were already rocking your hips back and forth against the clothed meat of his thigh, nails threatening to snap under the pressure as they begged to sink past his shirt and into his muscles. 

It was pleasant, sure, but it wasn't nearly enough, especially not after hours and hours and hours of tossing and turning in his bed, rubbing yourself nearly numb with your fingers and your toys and his pillows and his clothes, aching for something tangible and warm to nurse the pain away. You let your forehead rest against his own for a moment to catch your breath, hoping to find the right angle, but you just weren't getting what you needed, and the frustration alone made your glassy eyes sting with the threat of tears. 

That just wouldn't do. 

"Oh, you really made a mess, didn't you, sweet girl?" Leon cooed sympathetically, shushing your delicate cries. Thumbs skimming over your burning cheeks, he asked quietly and carefully, "Why don't you let daddy lick it up, hm?" 

Your expression scrunched up in a weak pout and your empty little head bobbed up and down in an airy nod, and just as soon as you gave him that go-ahead, he was moving to make it so. You were on your back in seconds, Leon's broad hands spreading your plush thighs apart to make space for himself between them, and for as cool and composed as he was trying to appear right now, he couldn't help the low moan that made it past him just at the sight of you. 

Sure, he'd seen more than enough by now to guess that you were wet, but you weren't just wet, you were dripping all over yourself. It was all he could do to collect as much of you on his tongue as possible, groaning at the taste and dragging you closer by your hips until he was as close as he could get, the tip of his nose buried against the curls at the lowest point of your mound as he lapped you up with abandon.

You were writhing and crying, legs kicking out at the stimulation before drawing back up to dig into his shoulders and pull him further into you, into the mess of you. He'd managed to find it somehow, to become that something tangible and warm and redefine it, unraveling you from the root with a sanguine sense of desperation that was tempered by his undying commitment to treating you like you were made of glass. 

Your tail was curling up tight against the base of your spine, your chest was heaving for breath, you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, and he hardly could either. 

But he also couldn't stand not to. If you had the capacity to pay attention to small details, you might have noticed his eyes were just as bleary and drunk as yours were. Leon recorded your every movement in his mind like scripture from this angle, his own hips rutting down into the bed while yours bucked into his mouth, and it was only when he found the strength to pull away for air that he found a moment to reorient himself in reality. 

His lips were puffy, rosy, and slick with you as he caught his breath, two fingers toying with your puffy, aching clit in the absence of his tongue. It was almost like muscle memory for him to reach up with his free hand and pat your belly, an affectionate hum ringing from him at the near-immediate reaction it got out of you, even in a state like this. You were squirming and arching beneath him as your quivering body fought to determine priority over the attention brought by either hand, a rather endearing dilemma to have found yourself in. 

"Oh, my poor baby," Leon preened, lavishing the inside of your right thigh with kisses. "You're so cute..." 

Unable to help himself from letting you have the best of both forms of pampering, he replaced the tips of his fingers with his tongue yet again, freeing both hands to pet your soft tummy. The movements were lazy, but sure enough, your tail was going off as fast as it could while you laid there shivering and whining and clawing at him, tumbling over the edge into release before you could come up with a way to warn him first. 

As if he would have cared anyway. A warning wouldn't have changed anything. Hell, it might have even spoiled what turned out to be a dizzying moment of unabashed indulgence for him. 

Gentle, adoring hands kneading delicately at all your favorite spots, Leon willfully deprived himself of oxygen in pursuit of every drop of your syrup as it flowed from you, knowing he would come to regret being wasteful later if this should turn out to be a one-time thing. He lost himself to the throes of hedonism for several drawn out moments until he was confident you were licked clean, until he came to again and realized you had gone completely limp in the wake of your expenditure. 

Rolling over onto his back, Leon spread out just as bonelessly across the bed as you did, the both of you a sorry sight of sweat and heat. He spent several minutes trying to find a way to break the silence. With the haze of lust wearing off a bit and clearing up space in his mind for more intelligent processes, Leon was already beginning to dread the inevitable conversation this would warrant between the two of you.

Lucky for him, that was so far outside of the realm of your current train of thought... or lack thereof. You certainly felt better, but that didn't mean your brain wasn't mud anymore. Little else mattered to your muggy, muddled mind but the here and now. 

In an unexpected move, you rolled onto your side to rest your head against his chest. The way you struggled to meet his eyes was enough for him to know you were likely still struggling to talk, or maybe you just didn't really want to, but the olive branch you'd extended demonstrated your agreeable state, which was more than he could've said for you half an hour ago. 

Shit, half an hour ago he was still hoping a couple presents from his trip would win your affections, yet here he was with the taste of you lingering on his lips, your naked body curled up to him for comfort. 

Wrapping his arm tightly around you until you were tucked up comfortably into his side, Leon rested his chin atop your head and mumbled fondly, "What am I gonna do with you, huh? Can't even sleep in my own bed after a long mission 'cause this pretty little puppy made such a big mess... I hope you know how to work the washing machine."

[vilhelios]

— A LOVER'S OATH.

(no matter how much time passes, zayne's voice remains unchanging with you — low, pleasing to the ear, and always heartbreakingly gentle.) ; to kick off the follower event ! for c, 🐈‍⬛️🎬, my beloved cat lady, who has always fed my delusions : ZAYNE + 💌 13. "they have never raised their voice around you, always talks softly.”

cw: small text + all lowercase + not beta read ; fluff fluff fluff ; slight angst at the very end ; may be slightly ooc (it's my first time writing for zayne) ; caleb makes a very brief appearance ; slight foreseer!zayne spoilers

I.

you and ZAYNE are ten.

he's been your best friend for as long as you can remember, always at your side. he gives you candies whenever you feel lightheaded, and fishes out a bandaid from his bag whenever you fall and scrape off the skin of your knee on concrete, and walks you home in the evenings whenever caleb had after-school basketball club. when grandma gives you pocket money to buy new crayons, or a new drawing book, she leaves just enough extra to buy those candies he loves so much from the roadside stall; and when zayne's mother gives him money intended for school materials, he can't help but spend it on the popsicles you said you liked.

zayne is your dearest best friend, just as you are his. he's never said it, but you know; you know it because he sits on the table nearest to yours, and doesn't care when your other classmates tease him for holding your hand during recess, and follows in your little footsteps as you drag him through the school's playground.

("i'm gonna be a hunter when i'm older!" you grin, limbs tangled in the bars of the climbing dome-tower. your hands smell slightly of metal, there's paint peeling off the bars and sticking to your skin, and you are young and fearless.

zayne stares up at you, from where he sits in the eye of the tower, eyes peeling away from the book he's reading: the snow queen. "why?" he asks, voice as soft as always. you're upside down on the top of the dome when you look back to answer him, and a young zayne doesn't know if his heart is beating so fast because he's scared you'll fall, or because of something else.

"because," the sound of your hand against the metal bar as you swing around reverberates in the cage, in your chest, and in zayne's mind. you hoist yourself out of the grid spaces, sitting on the bars now, "i want to take care of everyone!")

zayne is your sweetest friend. he knows when you're tired and hungry, even when you insist you're aren't, and proceeds to hand you a little sweet. he knows when the sun gets far too bright and the day far too hot, and places his little hands over your forehead to cool you down, evol swirling at his fingertips. he muffles the sound of the school bell with his palms over your ears, just as he does when your classmates get too rowdy, or when caleb yells for you from across the room.

("don't be so loud." he says, voice even and face as calm as ever, and you watch him gently whack caleb on the shoulder. "it's not nice." zayne does not say that it's because your ears are more sensitive than most.)

(the years pass, and not much changes between the two of you from the days of your childhood, besides the cavity fillings and growth spurts and skills with your evols. zayne still offers you those little candies, still dreams odd dreams, and still talks in the softest voice he can muster when he speaks to you. but eventually, zayne moves away, and your family in bloomshore district becomes you, caleb, and grandma once again.)

…

II.

ZAYNE is a sweet, gentle lover.

as sweet as the macarons and cakes and pastries he lets you buy, and the extra ones he buys to leave on your wanting plate. as gentle as the way he says your name, or the way he calls you darling, or my love, or the less common my snowflake when he spots you plodding over to the kitchen in the early morning. he’s already dressed as smart as always, with hands stained with the juice of the fruit he skillfully cuts. unbreaking strands of crimson apple skin twine around his fingers—neat, perfect, and then finally cut away by a decisive flick of the knife.

“good morning, my love.” zayne looks up from the peeled apple. his voice is a soft, low hum in your ears—it always is, always has been for as long as you could remember. “eat up. you need your energy for today.”

( not like today is anything different, or anything special… but he just wants you hale and healthy everyday. )

lucky mornings go like this, when zayne does not have to rush to akso: he gently slides the plate of breakfast he’d prepared over in front of you (always with a bowl of cut up fruit). then, he takes his own plate, and sits beside you at the kitchen island, shoulders brushing against each other’s as he settles on the barstool. the early morning sunlight bathes his apartment in rose-gold hues, slowly warming you from the chill of the night.

“did you sleep well?” zayne asks—as he always does, monitoring your health in these small ways too—and his voice mixes with the faraway sound of linkon city rousing from slumber. telltale sounds of traffic buzzes in the streets of the concrete and beton jungle below. birdsong flits through the air, church sparrows flying past the window. conversation too, bounces from topic to topic—today’s duties, an invitation for lunch at a cafe near akso, predicted times that you two will return home.

it’s a string of little murmurs, on these mornings with zayne. and this thread of domesticity ends at the doorway, with a final soft, “i love you. take care of yourself today,” as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips and another peck to your forehead. then, the click of the door closing as he pulls away.

( it’s the hardest part of his day. the easiest is the return — an always a too-warm embrace that seeps into his very bones, a peppering of kisses to your cheeks, and a sweet “i missed you, my snowflake. how was your day?” )

…

III.

who are you?

the FORESEER does not feel. he cannot afford to. he is not allowed to. the foreseer is as cold as the ice that he is both ruler and slave to, unrelenting, unforgiving. merciless. a tool for astra—a cruel god, crafting an even crueler tool. a hand meant to be made, tormented, and dealt.

and yet, when he sees you, a poor thief masquerading as an envoy... well, he cannot, for whatever reason, find it in himself to be a weapon. not when he sees visions of lives he has and hasn’t lived flicker into view like distorted deja vu, all centering around this false messenger he has ensnared in ice.

“you forget yourself, testing the limits of my benevolence.”

and even though the words are harsh (oh, and a small part of his inner self recoils at his words), the foreseer's voice is a gentle murmur. soft yet stern, a hint of confounding warmth in his cold tone; second nature.

( “don’t cry.” zayne says, at the end of it all. the jasmine flowers bloom, a gentle, silent symphony. )

cross posted on ao3 -- read it here!

creative notes: the iron dome in the playground represents the tower of thorns (?) in foreseer myth! zayne sits at the bottom (foreseer is always trapped) and reads h. c. anderson's "the snow queen" (which i think is quite fitting for astra-foreseer-mc), while mc/you is actively trying to escape the tower/defy fate.

a/n: went on hiatus for a bit due to uni work, but am back! will be working on the requests i got 🫶💕 i hope everyone enjoyed the new update for l&ds!!! i personally love sylus already, so he might make an appearance on my page eventually.... anyway, thank you as always for reading my stuff!!! i've never been this invested in an otome's lore until l&ds, so i'm just!!! i want to write more for them!!!

[sgiandubh]

Señorita Nothingburger

🎶When you see her, say a prayer /And kiss your heart arse goodbye 🎶

Lauren 2.0. Wow: after The Paid Companion, The Wannabe. Unlike the first round of revelations, this time the output has been totally disappointing. Very few things and zero context, which I have to say I was totally expecting, because it didn't exactly fit the agenda being pushed by Marple (amen!). Lightning never strikes the same place twice, right? And then, we had The Follow - a very interesting foolish, yet telling move: but on this, a bit further down the road, mind you.

So, let's ask ourselves along with La Ciccone: '¿Quién es esa niña?' For once, his IG follow has been very explicit:

Leading whoever to this account...

Elix Wellness is offering a very specific range of treatments, of which the one for hangovers really got me interested:

And yeah, even if I have apparently been scooped out by Marple on this one (my bad for sitting on it for a day), shamelessly using my patented methods (that is a lame joke), Lauren 2.0's LinkedIn account is, for once, very clear:

Her contract as a Travel RN was over by August 2023, as pointed out across the street:

And then she decided to go independent and open her own company. So, by far not a hooker - decent education, even, at NYU.

Lo and behold, who had Ibuprofen in his hotel room, in May 2023, when they were spotted on that NY Soho terrace, having lunch (didn't we laugh? you bet we did, it was one of my first posts in this fandom!)? S, of course. Hangovers could use both ibuprofen and a good IV cleansing treatment ( see above - such a common offering in that particular town, soon to be out of fashion - but hey: if she believes it can bring money, not my problem).

But... dating her? Not a chance in hell. You see, just a cursory survey of her IG account between the moment her contract as a Travel Registered Nurse was over and the moment her company started to be active, reveals a very busy Mediterranean summer, hitting all the possible cliches:

Before ending that contract, even, some days in Paris with her real interest, (again) checking all the tourist/romantic tropes you can imagine, from dining at the Au pied de cochon restaurant to having a quick macaron bite in the Luxembourg Gardens...

... then off to Paros, a posh island Greek destination, very much in vogue with the creative crowd, followed by (we are talking mandatory island hopping, here) Mykonos (unapologetically posh and very expensive, LGBTQ+ friendly destination - also beloved by the glam and glitz crowd)

Oh, hello Soho Roc House, part of the Soho Houses network - rings a bell? What a small world, really.

... a couple of days in Rome, followed by some quality family time (Mom and Pop, at a minimum) in Puglia, then Croatia (again, the glam crowd of Hvar island), back to Paris for a girls' trip (Montmartre, the Eiffel Tower and a couple other spots in the Marais and around the Rue de Rivoli - cliche forever):

... then back in Rome for cacio e pepe pasta, Piazza Navona and the Pantheon oculus (artsy girl, told you), followed by Positano and Capri (with Mom and Dad, again). Nothing to write home about, but still trying to sell herself as an up and coming influencer of sorts, perhaps.

Nowhere near S for the entire 2023 Sassenach Summer Tour. How is this equating with dating, that is really beyond me. Seriously. For instance, just before the second sighting, in NYC (June 10, 2023), she was having fun in the Algarve region and Lisbon (of course, Portugal). Probably posted those pics upon her return to NYC:

Dating? More like convenient pretext. He knew people would hang around that hotel (fans, autograph hunters, etc), especially during OL promo peak time. And he knew someone will take that pic, which was then conveniently placed in *urv's lap, for lengthy talks and more innuendo. Just as the first sighting was conveniently placed in Marple's inbox, to see if topic garners interest and sticks around/can be reused for further shits and giggles. Innuendo and nothing more would be my best bet: neither *urv, nor Marple had ANY positive idea about who she was, back at the time.

And now, the third drop was again placed in Marple's inbox, because attention had to be redirected to this particular gossip topic, in rather dire circumstances following Lauren 1.0.

And for your information, she does not follow S and he does not follow her. But he follows her newly opened joint: hangovers are a bitch, I know.

Why? I think it is clear enough why.

Who dunnit? I will let you draw your own conclusions, really. Again, it is rather plain to see. My belief is that this is not TPTB. And for once, I do not think he met her via Raya. Nope.

I took one for the team and listened to that podcast (if you are very foolish or brave or foolishly brave, you can do the same here: https://youtu.be/vBmcnhe2kwg?si=rRu5YCLHS3eZhuFs ). I mean, what is WRONG with those women? That is legit 14 year old bullshit talk about relationships (or the immature impossibility to have a satisfying one). They essentially explain in that podcast they have trouble decoding 'the man' in some relationships and the way they play out. I was laughing so violently my abs (or lack of them) hurt. At some point, I even thought it was some sort of sophisticated second degree, but NO (#cringe).

Also, I think I should be burning my pineapple pajama summer pants. Seriously. If you listen to the whole bullshit, you'll see there is no damn way to substantiate anything based on that. Zero connection.

[lno-x]

What about character design in Tristamp?

A person had a question for me, what is it about character designs in tristamp? It's like Vash from Tristamp and Vash from Trimax/98 adaptation are COMPLETELY different characters, and my answer to that is: they are REALLY DIFFERENT CHARACTERS, and I'll explain why right now.

To begin with, I would like to note that I have a great deal of trust in the Orange studio and its co-founder, Eiji Inomoto. Orange is one of the best CG studios in Japan, known for such acclaimed adaptations as "Beastars" and "Land of the Lustrous". These are not just some studio, but a really big guys, and by big I mean that Inomoto's experiments with the frame rate in the film adaptation of Lustrous at one time were a revolutionary thing in animation, which was picked up by the animators of the spiderverse and then that's all led to the beloved dynamic animation of the "Puss in Boots" sequel. I mean, these are THAT big guys. I'm not talking about the fact that Inomoto boosts the development of 3D in the anime industry as much as possible and literally shits from a high bell tower on the fact that everything is spitting with 3D animation purely out of principle.

Okay, the studio is cool, it is unlikely that they will make a bad product, we figured it out, but what about the designs? They don't even look like themselves! Vash does not look like a mop at all, he has lost his leather pants and berets, and looks like some kind of sucker in sweatpants and a windbreaker, and Meryl gives the impression of a schoolgirl who has strayed from the school excursion, instead of the stately lady in caprons, as we used to seeing her. Only Wolfwood hasn't changed much, except that he doesn't know how to tuck his shirt into his pants and has undergone whitewashing (which, by the way, I'm not ironically upset about). So, is that mean designs is bad as hell? Nope. Just because things look different doesn't mean it's inherently worse. Again, remember that tristamp is a REMAKE, and their task is not to stupidly repeat the same thing, but to breathe new life into the franchise, looking at it from a different angle. And I think they did a FUCKING GOOD job on it.

In interviews and at conventions, director Kenji Muto and producer Katsuhiro Takei have repeatedly said that they are big fans of the original manga and the film adaptation of 98, but it was important for them to touch and reveal those aspects of the story that their predecessors did not reach their hands on.

That is why, despite the fact that the Tristamp is very close to the original source (manga), the studio plays out many details differently or even saves them for later, so that the audience can fully experience the development of the characters. Therefore, in Tristamp, everyone looks much younger than their previous versions and / or very different from them.

The easiest way to prove this, however strange and unexpected it may seem, is by the example of Meryl. In the manga and anime 98, we immediately see her as a stately lady with a bunch of derringers under her cloak, but they don’t tell us how she came to this and what led to this. Yes, there is literally a page in the manga about some colleague who told her about self-defense and sort of taught her how to shoot, but finally he is drawn on one frame and, in general, we don’t give a shit about him.

While in Tristamp, this colleague has a name and is one of the most main characters - this is Roberto. Throughout the series, he acts as Meryl's senior mentor, protecting her whenever possible and pulling her out of trouble by the scruff of the neck like a kitten. That is why she looks so youthful and charmingly stupid compared to her previous version. Throughout the series, she literally hits herself with her heel in the chest, saying I AM!!! MERYL!!! STRIFE!!! I AM NOT NEWBIE!!! while Roberto calls her the same way, ignoring all her protests in this regard, and I think this was done for a reason. Specifically, in Tristamp we see her almost in the past, when she has not yet learned to protect herself and be fully responsible for her decisions, although she is very eager to do so. Although Roberto is a character, for the most part he is still a crutch and trigger for the development of Meryl. Through his death and the transfer of HIS gun to her, we see right before our eyes how she changes and from a shy "newbie" turns into the confident Meryl Strife. And after the timeskip, they generally show us the scene of exactly how she becomes the senior and takes Millie under her wing. And by the way, her image visually changes too.

I repeat once again, there was no such development of the character of Meryl in the manga, in the 1998 film adaptation nether.

Orange build her development completely differently and in their own way, despite the fact that she, in fact, is the same Meryl Strife no less than other versions of her. She just a little different character, which goes to the image already familiar to us, passing through kind of other events

The same thing happens with Vash! At first, he doesn't look like himself at all, but towards the end, we see how he takes on a more recognizable image. I think that in fact by the second season they will all mature and look much more "canonical", this can be seen from the concept art but in general

Tristump characters go a different way and get a different development, as happened with Meryl above, therefore, I I think we should perceive them rather as completely different characters that have common roots

And by the way, the studio Orange discussed everything very closely with Yasuhiro Nightou (author of the manga) and he gave her green light and creative freedom, because he saw how reverent people are about their job and want to develop the story. He even drew his and studio designs together!!!

All in all, the tristamp designs are really quite different from the original, but I don't think that's a bad thing, as the studio does it purposefully and cleverly to give them the development that the manga or the '98 film adaptation lacked.

Again, this is my personal opinion, and it’s worth notice here that I’m far from being an old fan and I flew into the fandom just a month and a half ago, so the character design initially did not cause me rejection, like many old fans.

But in this tirade, I tried to be as objective as possible and describe what was what, thanks to come in my ted talk

[partyanimal167]

How Fitting- Crocodile x F!Reader

I'm so happy to see all the new Crocodile content here after that nice man's birthday, so I wanted to add something for all my fellow Croco simps. I've been meaning to write something, so it all worked out. The prompts for his birthday event were certainly helpful too (fashion, au). Requests are open too if anyone has any ideas.

CW: modern au, fluff, fem reader, no pronouns

In all fairness, you were not expecting to be measuring such a specimen within the first week of your job.

The family trade had been sewing for generations, and you were no exception when the call was at your door. Your slight rebellion got you into men's fashion however since you had fond and not-so fond memories of dresses, fluffy underskirts, and berserk brides. Oddly enough, you found yourself to be one of few women in that sector, but you didn't mind so much. You weren't a big name designer, so blending in was easy enough when necessary.

You worked at a well-known shop that had been a community staple for decades. You paraded around in the backrooms where bolts of fabric of all kinds of patterns and materials were stored. You weren't new to this line of work, but you figured you would do simple alterations since most repeat customers had their favorites amongst the tailors.

As you hemmed a pant leg, you heard the bell ring from the front. Soon after, your name was called by your beloved elder boss. You cheerfully walked towards the front not prepared for towering figure at the counter.

It was comical in a sense. Your boss was small and fragile looking compared to tall, muscular man who didn't seem to fit the quaint ambiance of the shop. However, your boss simply beamed at the man who despite having a serious demeanor held some fondness in his eyes.

"I want you to meet Sir Crocodile. He's a very loyal customer here, a familiar face."

You smiled kindly at the man and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The man's lips tugged in a slight grin as he lifted your hand for a soft peck. "Pleasure's all mine." You were surprised by the gesture, but didn't say anything.

"They're quite spectacular in their work. I hope you don't mind, but I'll have 'em take over for today's suit fitting." the old man went on.

You were caught off guard and held up your hands in defense. "Oh I couldn't possibly. I'm sure the gentleman would prefer your work."

The boss looked at your softly. "Please. My arthritis is acting up." He rubbed his hand for emphasis.

Well you couldn't argue with that.

...

The two of you moved to the back, and you couldn't help but notice the strength of the man's presence.

As you set up your work station, you peeked over.

Crocodile was a man of class. You weren't sure what he did professionally, but the fur-lined coat definitely meant money along with the adornment of rings. You made note of the sleek prosthetic as well that was just as much of a luxurious accessory as well as a functional piece. You could appreciate the sight.

You shook your head slightly before reaching for the roughed suit jacket draft. You glanced over the previously noted measurements and turned again.

Crocodile had taken off a few layers and seemed relaxed. He noted your expression and chuckled. "I'm not new to this."

You blinked before nodding and handing the jacket. "Certainly not."

He put it on and pressed it against himself. You held a couple pins between your lips as your checked the lengths with your tape. You hummed as you worked, but soon felt eyes watching you. You looked up and were met with those captivating golden eyes. "Is something wrong?"

The man grinned and shook his head. "Not at all. It's always satisfying watching a professional at work. "

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment and you turned away to feel the shoulders. "Everything comfortable?"

"Quite."

You two went on through the other elements and noted the addition of a notch for a lapel chain.

"What can I say? I'm a bit old fashion."

You giggled before finishing some adjustments. "I can certainly appreciate that."

"You seem to have a bit of personal style yourself." Crocodile motioned towards your silk tie.

You touched it fondly. "Ah this, it's a memento of my grandfather. He was an excellent suit designer."

"I've seen the design before, but I'm afraid to say I don't have one in my collection."

You stepped off the stool and without thinking much replied, "Well I'll be sure to make you one," then you realized, "of- of course, if you're interested."

Crocodile began to dress in his original clothes. "Certainly. I'd be honored."

You weren't quite sure how to respond, so you hummed as you looked over your notes. "There are only minor adjustments to be made before we finish off. We'll be sure to reach out as soon as your suit is complete."

The man nodded before turning to go. "I look forward to it."

~~~

It was just your luck that you were off the day that Crocodile picked up his suit. The custom tie had been included in the boxes, so there was that at least. You could only hope that you'd see him again. Though, a part of you was nervous that he would find something wrong with suit, but your boss simply stated that it was your newbie jitters.

You were out doing some errands outside the shop when you walked passed a well-known cafe. The smell of savory cigar smoke caught your attention, but you were going to continue walking until you heard your name called.

You turned and saw that well-dressed man approaching you--no suit coat in place and appreciated the fitted vest.

Your heart raced when he again kissed your hand in greeting. "Ah I'm sorry to have missed you when picking up my items."

You waved your hand simply and glanced away. "Oh it's alright. I just hope everything is to your liking."

"Of course, I'm happy to say that many have appreciated the new tie as well. Thank you again." he went on.

You swayed a little and scratched your cheek. "Ah that's wonderful news. I'm sure many would try to get it. Too bad that fabric is very limited in its production."

"I'll treasure any one-of-a-kind piece from you, my dear." that made you lost for words.

"Oh, I'm flattered."

"Only stating the truth." he paused. "How about you join me for lunch?"

You totally wanted to, but looked at your watched. "I'm afraid I have some more tasks to complete."

Crocodile looked a little shock to see someone turn him down but it was quickly replaced with a grin. He reached into his pocket before pulling out his wallet. He handed you a card and looked deep in to your eyes. "Well please reach out when you have a chance. Don't keep me waiting." the eyes kept you locked in and you nodded shyly.

"Of course not."

~~~

I was totally counting on this being a model au and that totally didn't happen. I liked this intimate version though. Crocodile is certainly getting his suits custom and tailored.

Happy birthday to that gruff bossman.

Thanks for reading!

[wishsparkleemoji]

Ok we’ve had nests for barely a day and I’ve already found some interesting things—

It all started when I was chilling in my nest when an unlit rando honked. That’s strange, I thought. I thought we were alone in the nests apart from friends! (I think what happened is that they tried the thing where STAR pin owners can teleport to strangers who also have them, since they had the star owner symbol on them) I tried following them, but they teleported home.

A minute or two later, another rando (the same as the first or different I don’t know) honked, but this time from outside my nest’s window, seeming distressed. I chibi’d my way out through a slope to meet them and explored the nesting area from outside, where I found two things of note (pictures taken after the rando left):

The bell tower, not really “interesting” ig but it looks like a nice place to chill, and…

A meditation circle (on the nest’s right). That alone is fairly noteworthy, but that’s just the screenshot without the UI:

Mainstreet.

So, clearly some interesting things are gonna happen to the Aviary this season—that alone was quite apparent just from the season’s announcement. But I have to wonder…

What’s gonna happen to our beloved Aviary this season for the town square to be named “MAIN STREET”?!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

hello my beloved I'm glad that your little break of sorts is helping <3

I am humbly requesting more arson even though I am not caught up (shame on me 😔)

I hope you have a nice week and that you don't have to fight with your neils this time around!

WIP Wednesday (7/3) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 191)

“Disgusting,” Andrew says, nose wrinkling.

“Have you ever had it?”

Andrew thinks about it for a moment before realizing he hasn’t. “...No.”

“You have no idea what you’re missing.”

“I am only ‘missing’ disgusting-ness.”

“No, really. It’s good. I promise. Tell me your address and I’ll have one delivered ASAP so you can try it. Actually, wait. No, no, no. Don’t give me your address, I’m going to figure it out myself with all those clues you gave me.”

Andrew pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve told you. You cannot figure out where I live based on a street sign and an intersection.”

10 hums as if he disagrees. “You’d be surprised what you can accomplish when you never have anything to do. I once built a house of cards that was taller than me. It was actually sort of a castle. Had towers and everything.”

“Do you have a picture of it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t believe you.”

“Mean.” 10 pouts. “Have you ever had ice cream cake?”

Andrew blinks. “Yes. Why?”

“I saw it advertised at Dairy Queen the other day. Sounds gross.”

“It’s ice cream with frosting.”

“Exactly. Ew.”

“Says the man who’ll put fruit on pizza.”

“Bell peppers are fruits. Hell, tomatoes are fruits.”

“They’re not.”

“They are. That means you’ve had fruit on every pizza you’ve ever eaten,” 10 says, sounding awfully smug about it. 

Andrew sighs, “I think you’re unscrewing my head. Or whatever.”

“You mean I’m mildly annoying you.”

“Exactly.” Andrew affirms. When 10 laughs, Andrew suddenly doesn’t mind that tomatoes are fruits.

[wispstalk]

diplomacy

Tanis slaps an open book down atop Martin’s notes. He points. “Read it,” he commands.

“Er… knight-errant of—”

“Knight?” Tanis sits down heavily across the table. “I thought Coradri was fucking with me.”

Martin fights back a smile. She is capable enough as a reading teacher, aside from her deplorable habit of lying for no other reason than her own amusement— two days ago, Martin was forced to break the news to Tanis that there is no such letter as chent in the Cyrod alphabet.

But he has his bone now, and won’t stop chewing it. “Fucking knights. Pah. And why's it have to be— it's twisted, priest. Impossible, with all these fake silent letters. What’s that K there for? And the H, I’ll forgive, but the G?”

“I don’t…” Martin can barely get the words out for laughter. “That’s really how it’s spelled. There's nothing I can do to stop it from being spelled that way. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“An apology! For your stupid language. Mine makes sense.” He seizes the scratch paper Martin had been using, and painstakingly writes a word in Daedric script. “Foyada. See. Fo-ya-da. It says what it says.”

“Oh, really.” Martin snatches the paper back and scribbles out a word of his own. “One of your very own Great Houses.”

“ ‘M no House Dunmer,” he says disdainfully, and folds his arms. “What’s the problem.”

“Hekem and lyr together? Hlaalu? Hardly rolls off the tongue.”

Tanis cackles. “Ha-lalu? Oh, you’re going to make a fool of yourself in the White-Gold Tower. Ha-lalu.” More laughter.

Martin’s face must have fallen, because Tanis stops his mockery at once, and reaches across the table, and gives his arm a light thwack. “Didn’t mean it like that, priest.”

“No fault found in speaking truth.” Martin offers him a conciliatory half-smile. “I suppose I’ll have to make do with you for my education in diplomacy. How is it said? I’ve only ever seen it in writing.”

“La-lu,” he says, two delicate little chimes of a bell. Martin likes to hear the man speak in his own mother tongue, even if Martin understands none of it; the lazy roll of the vowels, the quick flick of the consonants, fluid and hissing like a river of molten fire. He realizes, perhaps a second too late, that he is staring at Tanis’s mouth.

“Fake silent letters,” he accuses.

“It’s not silent, it’s different,” Tanis fires back. “Hlaalu. Leyr. Hear it?” When Martin shakes his head, Tanis shrugs. “You’re hopeless.”

Martin lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re giving up on me so quickly?”

“Mhm. You’ll have to find someone else for your dip— er…”

“Diplomacy.”

“Dunno that word.”

“It’s… negotiation. Conducting good relations between the provinces. That sort of thing.” He sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose, and casts a reproachful glance at the book he had been plodding through before the interruption. One of four ponderous volumes on the history of the Empire, purchased in Bruma with Tanis’s money and hauled up the mountain on Tanis’s back, at Martin’s request. In the hopes he could learn something of the unthinkable task before him.

“Nothing about bloody knights in that one, is there?” Tanis follows his gaze and picks it up. “Ka-ta-ri-ah. Katariah?”

The delight on Tanis’s face when Martin nods. “Consort to the Mad Emperor, Pelagius III, who became his successor,” he explains. “One of your own, in fact, from Morrowind, distrusted by the nobility but beloved by the people. And famed for her travels and diplomacy, though this blasted book says nothing of how she managed to weave in the loose ends of a damaged Empire, just that she did it…”

“Diplomacy’s a tough tattle, I reckon.”

"You're the expert."

Tanis retrieves his beknighted book and rises to leave. “But your answer’s right there, isn’t it, priest? Shack up with a madman and the people will love you.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Martin says.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 20, "Oathbreaker"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Áine explains her past connections to Moonrise Towers and Ketheric Thorm to their companions as her anxiety mounts at the prospect of returning. She’s met with pushback from Wyll, which triggers her into anger before she can stop it. Áine meets with Jaheira again privately, explaining her hesitation to face Ketheric again and how she fears that she might sabotage the mission if he somehow recognizes her. Considering making the journey alone to spare her loved ones, Áine finds herself in a conversation with Halsin as he tends to the comatose Flaming Fist. The former Archdruid offers her comfort and perspective. 

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Angst; descriptions of feeling triggered and trauma-based anxiety; forced shared flashbacks via the tadpole connection by the illithid tadpoles (it’s an assault on the group but primarily on Áine); fragmented traumatic flashbacks that imply past violence, abuse (physical and verbal), and include grief (Áine); descriptions of pain and blood; suicidal ideation if you squint; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: Funeral Bell - PHILDEL

A/N: The section that includes the forced flashbacks is written in a way that may be, but hopefully isn’t confusing (and if it is, I’m sorry). It’s meant to convey when Áine is fighting the connection and managing to break through while we’re experiencing the vision along with the others. She regains control toward the end of the flashback sequence, which is why the text interruptions go away. (I like to mess with the format in stuff I write, so I'm just back on my bullshit really.)

I was going to wait to post this because it's only been a couple of days since the last post, but I have a horrible headache and I could use the dopamine. That said, the next chapter will take more time since I haven't even started it yet.

Every moment between her confession to Astarion and the next time their companions roused was spent restless and uneasy. At times, even panicked. It was both too familiar and entirely new, this crushing, leaden weight in her chest.

She only noticed her heartbeat had started to pick up again when her beloved vampire stirred beside her from a light reverie he’d only just slipped into. Guilt ate into her stomach when he woke and studied her in the muted light that worked its way through the canvas draped around them. Áine met his eyes, her lashes fluttering as he brought a hand up to smooth her hair from her face and his fingertips left cool, soothing trails against her cheek.

“Sleep, darling,” Astarion murmured encouragement as he leaned in, a breath away from her lips. He brushed his nose against hers and she instinctively leaned in closer, secured in the cradle of his arms.

“I’m sorry I keep waking you,” Áine whispered back, bridging the gap to kiss him gently. “You can rest, love, I’m okay.”

“Not without you,” he grumbled, dropping his head forward and nuzzling into her neck. Áine smirked, carding her fingers through his curls and letting her hands brush the tips of his ears. A soft groan eased from Astarion’s throat, lost amidst her pearly strands. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean, little star,” Áine murmured back unconvincingly, kissing his crown as she continued her gentle ministrations through his locks.

Instead of arguing with her, he chuckled. “I do rather like that, you know,” he mumbled and she could swear she heard a bloodless blush in his tone.

Áine smiled. “The endearment or me playing with your hair?”

“Both,” Astarion admitted, a content sigh fanning across her neck. “Would you like to know what else I like, darling girl?”

“What else?” she asked.

“When you endeavor to rest those lovely eyes,” he said as he leaned his head away from the curve of her neck to peer down at her again, bending his elbow up to prop his head on his hand. “Instead of trying to lull me back into meditation so I stop fretting over you.”

The bard gave him a small frown. “I can’t sleep. There’s no reason we should both suffer for that.”

“I’m not suffering to stay up with you, Áine,” Astarion sighed. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but admire the little doe-eyed look she got just from hearing him say her name. “What can I do?”

“You can let me lull you back to reverie so you stop fretting over me,” Áine teased him.

“Darling, I truly don’t know how I’m supposed to do that,” he pointed out, getting a little annoyed. “You hardly touched your dinner and you aren’t—”

“Can you blame me?” Áine asked point blank. “After what I’ve told you, wouldn’t it be stranger if I slept peacefully and made merry without a care?”

Astarion’s lips thinned. “You seemed to be doing fine earlier, all things considered,” he mused, wondering if he was just not as talented at reading her as he’d thought. Then again, he hadn’t known quite what to look for earlier before he’d known what these lands meant to her. He’d had little more than her upset heartrate to read during their talk with Jaheira.

“Fighting out there came back like second nature. I didn’t have time to overthink it,” Áine said. “And this inn, these people… They’re new to me. It hadn’t sunk in yet, I guess.”

“And now?” Astarion asked.

“Now…,” she murmured, her gaze flickering down from his to consider his question before she met his eyes again. “...I’m scared.”

“You?” Astarion mused, a doubtful crease forming between his brows. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

“I don’t know that fear and bravery are mutually exclusive,” Áine said. “At least they never have been for me. Astarion, I’m… I’m terrified.”

“Of?” he urged.

Áine’s throat worked as her features pinched in a feeling he knew immediately and intimately—shame. He frowned when her eyes left his again, favoring his collarbones so she didn’t have to see whatever she was afraid to see in his stare. The vampire sighed and adjusted their blanket more snugly around her, scooping her closer until he had her nestled against his chest. Only when he felt her relax a little did he urge her again. “Talk to me, dearest.”

“You have enough on your heart without me adding to it,” she mumbled against his chest.

“What heart?” he teased her, earning a disapproving grumble from the woman he held. “How many times have you suggested I do the same—that I talk to you—while assuring me that my baggage imposes nothing on you?” 

He still didn’t quite believe her when she said that. His trauma followed him like one of the wraiths they’d fought. More nefarious than an ordinary shadow, wailing and clawing at any spark it could snuff out. Someday she would realize he wasn’t worth it, but she seemed to not have discovered that just yet. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.

“A few,” Áine relinquished in a muffled tone.

“Then afford me the same,” Astarion instructed, resting his chin atop her head.

Her warm sigh sank into his skin as she let her arm that wasn’t angled beneath her rest across his waist. “It’s not the same thing, not really,” Áine said, “but this, to me, feels like being back at Cazador’s front steps would to you.”

Astarion couldn’t help the way his body stiffened at her words, but he gently shushed her when she started to apologize for bringing it up. “No, it’s… That certainly puts it into perspective,” he said. Something in him flared just at hearing his sire’s name on her voice, at knowing how frightened she must be if that were the case. He was mulling over the logistics of just keeping her bundled up in here with him for an eternity when she spoke again.

“Do you think they’ll hate me?”

His brow bunched and his eyes flickered down toward the top of her head, but he didn’t pull back to look at her. “Who?”

“Our friends,” she replied. Her voice was small but steadier than before and completely serious. He couldn’t fathom it.

“Why would they hate you?” Astarion asked.

Áine exhaled a breath she’d been holding and it felt like her words started spilling out with it. “Because I’m not the bard they thought they met,” she said, her quiet voice cracking. “I’m not who they signed up to follow into this mess. I’m not ‘good,’ I’m not a hero, and I’ve done…terrible things.”

“You’re also a liar.” Áine tensed at his words, but the patterns he was tracing along her back didn’t cease. “You’re lying to yourself right now, for example.”

“Astarion, I’m—”

“Serious?” he finished for her, rolling to his back and pulling her with him. She lay atop him and he cupped her face in his hands. “I know you are. It baffles me.”

“What baffles you?” Áine asked.

“How you could possibly think anyone would hate you, my love,” he murmured, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Have you met our friends? Everyone has something categorically wrong with them. If anything, it makes me feel a little better about tricking you into being with me to know you have a few skeletons of your own.”

She scoffed. “You didn’t trick me.” 

“Keep thinking that, darling,” he purred, pulling her down to kiss her forehead, then her nose and her cheeks. He spoke in jest, but wasn’t that what he did? Wasn’t that why this little slice of peace he’d been afforded wouldn’t last? 

“I don’t know how you don’t hate me,” Áine admitted.

Astarion snorted. He couldn’t help it. It was all he could do to not throw his head back and laugh in her beautiful face. “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he snickered when he met her eyes. She was embarrassed and exasperated that he didn’t seem to be taking her seriously again. How could he take her seriously though? It was the most absurd statement he’d ever been obligated to respond to. It was the very statement he should be presenting to her, but was too selfish to point out the obvious lest she see the light and go. 

When she tried to shift off him and escape his teasing, he hemmed her in with the frame of his legs, tightening them on either side of her hips. Astarion gave her a scolding look and nodded. “Well, go on. Why should I hate you?” he prodded.

He could see that he’d disarmed her. Áine hesitated, worrying her lower lip. “Well, I… I gave you the wrong impression, too.”

“What impression is that?” he asked.

“That the version of me you met is all there was,” Áine supposed, her brow pinched with the effort to put her anxieties into words, to make them sound remotely rational. Her wide amber eyes bore into his as she said, “I meant it when I said I’d done awful things, Astarion. I… What if I’m no better than…”

“Than?” 

“Than the people who hurt you?”

As soon as the words were out, he felt the shudder run through her frame like her body was an extension of his. Astarion sighed and tucked her against him, rubbing her back as he felt her tears dampen his shirt. “On your worst day,” he murmured, “you couldn’t come close.”

“You don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be that person again. And she feels so close here.”

“Shh, shh,” he hushed her soothingly again, content to hold her while she cried. Gods, she’d managed to soften his heart in their time together. It overwhelmed him to realize it at times. It was ever less terrifying, but unnerving all the same. When she quieted some, Astarion murmured against her hair, “Neither of us had a true choice in the end. But especially not you. You must know that.”

“Sometimes I do,” she murmured, sniffling. “But sometimes it feels like I could’ve done so much more than I did to get away.”

“You can’t punish yourself forever, darling, even if that’s true,” Astarion sighed. “I would be curled against the floor of my tent every night if I clung to every awful thing I’ve done, every mistake I’ve made, every time weakness won over.”

“It’s different for you,” Áine said, her voice kind as one of her hands came up to trace along his jaw. “You had no choice at all. You were compelled.”

“And you were a child, Áine,” Astarion said in a hard voice not meant for her, but for the world that hurt her. That hurt them both. “Children aren’t meant to know what’s ‘best’ or ‘good,’ that’s what parents are meant to teach. You’re casting judgment knowing what you know now and not considering all you didn’t know at the time.”

Áine pondered his words. “Is that how you think of yourself, too? Even if it’s different?”

“Yes,” Astarion said. “Granted, I don’t have the moral compass you do to misguide me, but anything I actually feel sorry for in that time falls into the same line. I did what I had to do to survive and so did you. They’re not our sins.”

Cautiously, Áine snaked her arms around him again, almost as if afraid he’d disappear. He could relate to that feeling, that need, that fear. He tightened his arms to try to help extinguish it. Astarion felt her breath on his neck when her lips parted, but she thought better of whatever she’d been about to say, burying her face against his shoulder instead. 

Finally, when she did speak, she said only, “Thank you.”

Astarion didn’t hate her. He forgave too much when it came to her, in her opinion, but she supposed she was the same with him. She adored him. How could she fault him for anything he’d done before just to endure the hell he’d suffered? She supposed she should just be grateful that he looked upon her with that same forgiveness. 

Áine guessed that the others wouldn’t be so understanding. She was soon to find out.

She and Astarion had stayed up when she still hadn’t found sleep, quietly talking until they heard their companions stir. That leaden feeling had returned to her gut the moment she heard them rouse and her lover had distracted her momentarily with kisses when he felt her heart start to hammer.

“And you’re wrong, by the way. You are the bard we met. This is who you’ve chosen to be, not what you were made to be. Weren’t you the one who told me something like that, darling? Afford yourself your own advice.”

The corner of her mouth quirked a little as she ran his words through her tired mind a few more times. She stared into the dancing campfire flames for a few moments more, listening to the hum of conversation around her, before she forced herself to speak. “I have something I need to clear up,” Áine said.

The crosstalk quieted and she felt eyes on her. That had been the goal, but now that they were there, she felt every burning stare. Any gusto she’d drummed up wilted like the flora outside the moon shield. It was already starting. The end of what she’d built. All because of what she’d been born into, what she’d existed within and endured for her first 45 years of life. Because of all she’d done before she’d known things could be different.

No going back now.

Áine cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Ketheric Thorm,” she said, the words poison in her mouth. “I know him.”

The silence stretched for what felt like an age. Finally, Karlach broke it. “What do you mean you ‘know’ him?” she asked.

The bard shifted through her discomfort at Karlach’s wary tone. She scraped through the nausea in her gut to find her voice again. “I was born into the covenant he keeps, that he uses,” she explained, already finding it more difficult to explain the truth of her past to all of them than it had been to explain it to Astarion down by the lake. She wasn’t surprised, but she was finding it quite tough to even get the words past her lips. “I was oathbound. Just like the rest of my family. And now I’m not. But I’m telling you this because I’m still concerned. There’s a very real chance that he may recognize me if we come face-to-face with him at Moonrise. Or at least put two and two together. Half-drow aren’t exactly common as far as I know.”

“So you were a paladin then?” Gale asked, seeming more like he was just trying to get his facts straight than that he was doubting her. She still occasionally caught him tiptoeing around her, careful not to fall into her poor favor a second time, but she didn’t think that was why he was being careful now. This just felt like Gale being Gale. When she nodded, Gale asked further, “And now you’re oathbroken? Is that where your power came from in the Underdark? That you used to defeat the spectator?”

Áine nodded again. “That’s right,” she said, appreciating the understanding look in his eyes, holding to it like a lifeline. “That’s also why we’ve had a knight hanging around camp. He’s…well, he’s sort of the authority over broken oaths. Mine reinvigorated when I used its power and brought him back to me.”

“You know that makes a lot of sense,” Gale mused, chuckling. “I’m embarrassed to not have put that together.”

“How long ago were you oathbound?” Halsin asked, his features twisted with concern.

“I left ten years ago,” she said, “and before that…well, I served for about 20 years in all.” Gale’s straightforward curiosity had reminded her that not all questions equated doubt. Of course they would have questions. That rationale helped her more quickly recognize the source of Halsin’s concern and she added, “Long after you would have fought him if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Praise Sylvanus for that,” he sighed emphatically, looking aggrieved. Relief lanced through Áine that she was correct. “Even if you’d been on the opposing side, I feel nothing but relief to know you weren’t somewhere on that battlefield.”

Áine smiled, her gaze shifting when a small, kind-looking Flaming Fist approached Halsin, asking if he’d come with her. Áine supposed it had something to do with the unconscious fellow in the inn when he excused himself to follow her. He couldn’t be too concerned or suspicious of her if he was content to leave their circle now, Áine figured.

“So the fear of being recognized is paramount?” Shadowheart asked, looking only somewhat concerned as Áine met her eyes.

Áine nodded. “I’m going to speak to Jaheira as well, I think, about that,” she said. “I’m afraid of sabotaging our infiltration if he knows my face. I want to say that it’s unlikely as I would have only been in front of him for my initiation in a group of other new blood, but there exists the possibility. It’s also possible that someone I’m related to or that I trained with could be there, too.”

“And how likely is that do you think?” Shadowheart asked.

“Given what we were used for, unlikely,” Áine speculated. “If operations are the same, he has his own separate guard for Moonrise. Or maybe he’s using cultists for that now, too.”

“There’s always a disguise spell,” Gale suggested. “Although I would be shocked if there weren’t wards around Moonrise to unravel such enchantments. Maybe if we—”

“And you are truly oathbroken?” Wyll asked, interrupting Gale’s ramble. Áine missed the edge to his voice but Astarion, lingering nearby and listening, caught onto it and bristled.

“I am,” Áine said simply and without a sliver of doubt.

“You did well to separate yourself from such an evil,” Lae’zel commended her, unbothered by Áine’s past and far more concerned with their next move. Áine cast her an appreciative look.

Wyll’s tone was not missed by the bard a second time. “I find it…hard to believe if I’m honest.”

The remaining party stilled, curious glances cast sideways at Wyll. Shaken by the sudden statement and confused by his meaning, Áine dumbly asked, “...What?”

“Hear me out,” he requested. With a gesture toward the horns protruding from his skull, Wyll said, “As we’ve all gathered by this point, I am also pacted. It’s a different situation, it’s true, but the base of it is the same. And I know how constrictive these agreements are. How hard it is to escape it, let alone find oneself again.” He rose from his seat, his hands resting against his hips as he looked down at Áine. Even if he didn’t mean to cow her, he was succeeding in her current headspace. “And I’m just not so sure that it could be possible to do that under this supposedly invincible undead entity that is General Thorm.”

“On what grounds?” Áine asked, a dangerous waver in her tone as she also stood, hurt by Wyll’s claims and unwilling to sit while he loomed over her. 

“It would have a horrific cost,” Wyll said with absolute certainty, not noticing how much he’d triggered her with his words. He gestured first at himself again and then at her. “A cost that, frankly, unlike me, you don’t appear to bear.”

Áine barked a cold, humorless laugh. “Not all of us get off as easy as a set of horns, Wyll,” she snapped, something unhinging within her. She tried to keep it hemmed in, horrified when the reciprocating spark of hurt and anger she saw flare in his good eye felt almost gratifying. “You… You would really doubt me? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Now, we’ve no need to fight amongst ourselves,” Gale imposed cautiously. His eyes darted between Wyll and Áine but also fleetingly to Astarion, who looked more prepared to intercept by the second. 

Ignoring him and the tension in their circle, Wyll pushed further. “It’s not you, I doubt, Áine. Not really. But you’re not exactly doing much in the way of convincing me otherwise, are you,” he said, his question not a question at all. “Though I hate to say it, it’s more suspicious that you—”

He was plucked from his tirade and his train of thought as a sensation akin to a hard tap thudded within his head. The disturbance sent a ripple through all their tadpoles. The only one who didn’t look confused was Áine, who instead looked shaken to her core. Wyll took in her expression and began to ask, “What’s wr—”

He couldn’t get the words out before it happened again. The next intrusion was shattering. Wyll rocked back on his heels, his hand going to his head as he steadied himself. The shockwave of the vision that bled open in his mind’s eye reached the rest of the group with lesser force. For an instant, they feared the takeover of the Absolute or an onset of ceremorphosis. However, the sights that filled their minds were somehow even less familiar. 

At least, they were at first.

The feelings came first. Unfathomable grief. Barely contained rage. Survivor’s guilt in its most basic form, sometimes an echo and sometimes a squall. Abject terror. Shame. A horrible, ever-present emptiness. All of it washed along the branches of their intertwined minds, traceable from what could’ve only been Áine’s memories, her heart, spilling over.

The bard clutched her head, her nails digging painfully into her scalp as if she could claw inside and dissuade the parasite behind her eye from its onslaught. The feelings, the memories, the panic had hit her like that gnoll back on the Risen Road, knocking the air clean out of her lungs until all she could do was scrape her breath back inside and try to keep her footing. She’d not anticipated this, hadn’t given a single thought to the damn worm, and her tadpole wriggled as if it knew, thrumming with the energy of her mind’s attack, and it had latched onto the others before she could conceive of how to stop it.

All she could do was drag back anything within her reach and augment the pieces that would hurt her most, the ones she would rarely let herself see clearly, much less the ones surrounding her, their parasites feasting on her memories as they bubbled to the surface unbidden.

Suddenly, no one present was themselves. No one save for Áine, who in that moment would have been anyone else. Behind her, as she struggled to stay standing and not sink to her knees, Astarion’s sight, too, was blanketed by memories not his and swept into this shared vision he shouldn’t have been privy to and yet couldn’t resist. Dully, he could feel Áine’s will flex against the tadpoles’, but her attempts to stop the illithid violation of her mind held all the power of a fish flopping against dry land, drowning in air.

It wasn’t Astarion alone who wanted to help her, who wanted this to stop, but none of them could move, could resist. Instead, they bore witness while their unwilling performer swallowed her screams.

Stonework underfoot studied by a bowed head. The tip of your worn boot is where your eyes focus because to raise the head is to look upon the oathsworn and it’s simply not done. You’re a worm beneath his feet and you will acknowledge the ground from which you’ve come while you swear your oath on your knees.

Your voice—her voice, younger and strained—aligns with the other initiates’ intonations in the memory. You are numb. In this war, there has never been golden propaganda or the promise of glory for a bit of your blood. This is expectation incarnate. You were born to do this, only this, to serve and die for your general. There was never a moment of ‘giving up’ because you were never provided an alternative to flee to. You’ve no notion of freedom to relinquish.

“I swear fealty to the undying general and those who faithfully follow, my life for the Thorm bloodline, my bloodline for his. 

“I will uphold the laws beset by my oathsworn master. I will be a bastion to he who would see unjust gods fall to ruin. I will suffer no charlatans, none who may interfere or prevent our cause. None who would rise against his final word. 

“No one will stand in the way of my fulfillment of my oathsworn’s will, be they beast, monster, or noble. I take responsibility for ensuring the return of Ketheric Thorm and his bloodline to its previous glory. 

“My life for the Thorm bloodline, my bloodline for his. I will bear the brunt of any chaos that this task creates. He speaks, I obey.”

The scene changes. The years blur as they wind back and fly forward in this vision. It’s the vision’s manifestation of Áine fighting her tadpole and theirs as well for control and losing. Áine’s nose started to bleed and they could all feel the warm runny trail, could smell the sickly sweet copper when it hit the cupid’s bow of her lips. Despite no sound passing her lips in the physical plane, they can all hear her scream in their minds when her tadpole burrows deeper, sinks its teeth, and twists. 

Battles rage wherever you go. Big and small. Ceaseless. Between your allies scraping for respect or with your ordained enemies fighting for their lives. Selûnites. Sharrans. Any who have wronged the general are at your disposal. You are at his disposal. Your life is forfeit if you refuse. You have grown up under the unnegotiable teachings that to break your oath is to die, slow and horribly and in dishonor. No gods will claim you. You will be a far-flung soul to be plucked from painful purgatory by hungry, greedy devils bound for Avernus. You will suffer. Better to live and suffer and have some semblance of control over your agony. 

The doubt begins to sink in much sooner than the resolve to flee. Oathbound, the underbelly of your family’s dealings is no longer hidden from you if it ever was at all. It’s not as if you ever had a choice in your “decision” to swear fealty. It becomes clearer as you age why you were born, half-elf cannon fodder for a selfish cause that traces back to one man who refuses to stay buried. Who refuses to let his family rest. Who rallies against every deity that refuses his twisted, blasphemous demands and purges their acolytes in retaliation.

Something shifts when you turn 45. The specifics are clawed back, leaving notable gaps, but you’ve been in service for 20 years and something finally snaps. You must leave. There’s no other option. You know that you will die trying—your oath will kill you when it breaks if your family or even Thorm himself doesn’t kill you first. But you must.

You can hear your breaths loudly in your ears in the quiet of the field you run through. The scenery is blurred but you can see the skyline of Baldur’s Gate in your periphery. The sky is milky with dawn. It’s a far cry from the cursed lands you just left behind. You might just make it past the outskirts before your oath’s bonds begin to be tested. You’re doubtful you’ll make it much further, but it ultimately doesn’t matter.

You hear the arrow before you see it, but it takes that long to realize what it is. There’s someone with you for just a second, but the bearer of the memories uses her depleting strength to rip them away. The arrow sinks into the ground where they would have been running. You keep running, hoping it’s a staggering shot and no more, but you know the truth. It was meant for you and it missed—it wasn’t meant for you, it never missed—and you keep running. The pounding of your heels is a lone staccato now. It always was. 

You feel your oath begin to shudder. It feels as though your ribcage is being hinged apart. You slow, hearing a shout, hearing threats. You’re not worried about yourself. There’s not much point now anyway. It’s over. You feel yourself give up like you’re a visitor in your own body.

You turn to look back. It’s a mistake. The figure of a hulking drow male stands at a distance, another smaller male that could be one of his brothers near him. The larger of the pair holds the bow, another arrow already knocked into place. It’s aimed at you. He calls you back like a wayward animal. 

Your eyes fall to the ground near him. A human woman sits in the grass, something nothing slung in her arms no no no no no no no 

You steel yourself to return if it means he won’t hurt her. She looks so unbearably small. Heavy streams of tears fall down her face and splash onto what she’s holding. You refuse to study it because, if you don’t acknowledge it, it won’t be true there’s nothing there, STOP STARING AT IT!

She looks up at you. You anticipate blame. It’s your fault that he’s dead gods he’s dead she’s going to die too why can’t you save her you tried to run, knowing what would happen. And you still went. 

Her lips part on a scream. It’s a scream that haunts every nightmare you have. That haunted you when your broken oath reached out to you through the Weave when you were practicing magic with Gale. Sometimes it comes to you while awake, sudden and sharp and senseless and spurred by nothing.

“ÁINE, RUN!”

You don’t turn away before the archer commands the other drow to slam his sword through her back. But the instant you see it, the instant you hear it, you run. Faster than you ever have. It’s a miracle you can even move, that you have the clarity to follow her instruction. Your pace is breakneck and would result in injury if you misstep even once. You don’t care. You’d rather die than be placed back in formation now. There’s no going back. You have nothing to return to. Death is preferable. You’d realize it always has been if you were ever honest with yourself, but you’ve been too scared, always too scared. You had something to lose back then. The fear dissipates with your worldly attachments, the only ones that have ever mattered.

The first arrow finds its home in your shoulder. The second hits closer to your heart and almost sends you to your knees. You do double over, but your legs don’t lose the pace you’ve set. Your built momentum keeps them loping forward until you regain enough of your focus to start surging them forward on your own again. 

Your shoulder is broken, there’s no doubt. The muscles are shredded around the carved flint heads. They’ve skewered through your flesh and are protruding out your front. You clutch your useless, injured arm and keep it drawn against your side so it doesn’t slow you down. Adrenaline postpones some of the pain, but not all of it. You feel like you’re burning alive.

You have the frame of mind to duck down and change position and it’s only because of that that the third arrow misses. You fell into old battle maneuvers without thinking, perhaps triggered by your injury, and you’re surprised it works against the drow hunting you. The arrow impales the ground where you would have been otherwise. That one may have been the one to kill you. 

Instead, you think your oath might do that.

You buckle your knees and skid down a slope that descends into a curve that goes past the treeline. You curl into the dirt as you fall, briars scraping the back of your neck and your scalp as you disappear beneath them. You’ll hide there until you’re sure they no longer pursue you. Or you’ll be found and dragged back. Your shoulder screams when you fall on it and you almost bite through your tongue to remain silent. You’ve stomached worse pain before but not many times, not like this.

Your oathbreaking is a different pain. It’s a wretched, angry thing that held heavy in your chest for the past two decades and now comes undone like a lightburned wraith. It rages in your bones, ravaging your insides and making your mind feel as if it’s melting from your ears. Distantly, you hear the male drows’ voices bark more threats and then a quieter exchange. They’re fading. They’ve lost you in the thicket or they assume you’ll die there, wherever you’ve ended up. If you survive your injuries and your oath, perhaps you’ll survive it all. But for what purpose now? 

You shimmy out from under the bracken an indeterminable amount of time later, your teeth grinding as you can’t help but snag the arrows on the roots, against the soil. You ache to get them out of where they’ve torn you asunder, but logic and years of training remind you that you need to wait until you can staunch the blood flow. Right now, the arrows are all that keep you from bleeding out and you need to appreciate that they’re of use to you for the time being, no matter how much they hurt.

The twisting agony still rages in your chest and you stagger to your knees when it finally reaches its peak. Just as swiftly as it riled and ruptured in your chest, it dissolves like splintering ice. Not just broken, not quite, but almost melting. Collecting. Reforming into something new.

“You have broken your oath, paladin.”

The gravelly voice startles you. Your first thought is the drow, but you’ve never heard a voice like this before. Your eyes lift by an increment to find blackened pewter boots decadently laced with gold patina and travel upward into the incandescent stare of something far beyond your understanding. It’s a knight, you think. But it’s unlike any knight you’ve ever seen.

He inclines his head to you, fire blazing within metal. “We have much to discuss.”

The vision shattered as Áine finally wrenched herself from the connection, breaking its center with her hard-fought departure. Freed as well, her companions each in turn shook their heads as if the vision could be cleared more quickly that way. Eyes instinctively wandered back to the half-drow near the fire who was staring into nothing as silent trickling streams of tears and blood grew stale on her face.

The first to push through their daze and act was Wyll. “Gods, Áine, are you—”

“Leave me alone,” the bard whimpered hollowly, blood under her nails as she finally withdrew them from her hair and quickly stumbled to separate herself from them. 

When she hurried past where Astarion stood, rooted to the spot, he instinctively reached out to catch her in his arm. She dodged around him without a second’s hesitation, her gait quickening as she disappeared past the inn.

“Leave her be, she’lak,” Lae’zel hissed to Wyll when he tried again to call Áine back. The pain she’d felt through Áine’s memories still lingered like a specter in her chest and repeatedly triggered a vicious “fight” instinct that she was trying to stamp back into submission. “She will return when she is ready.”

“Lae’zel is right,” Shadowheart decreed despite looking desperate to follow the bard, herself. Her eyes shone with grief-born pain, an interesting expression for a true Sharran to wear. “Did you… Did any of us cause that?”

“No,” Wyll said with complete certainty, heads shaking to echo the same sentiment around him. “I don’t even think she did it. It almost felt like she was fighting it the entire time.”

“Then the tadpoles just…did it on their own?” Karlach asked, her brows creasing at their middle.

“So much for having a ‘guardian’,” Gale remarked. It held the air of a quip, but genuine suspicion sharpened his tone into something that bordered an accusation. 

Their aforementioned guardian remained uncharacteristically silent.

The icy water off the shore of Last Light was all that pulled Áine back inside herself. She’d undergone a lot in her life, most of it physical, but that had been a new level of the Hells she’d experienced. She felt turned inside out and violated, like she’d had hands all over her and inside her, too, pulling out whatever they could the moment they’d smelt blood. 

Áine let herself sink just enough below the lapping tides’ surface to unleash the scream she’d felt building in her for the better part of an hour now. It ricocheted in her ears, muffled, and expelled where no one else could hear or be perturbed. For the briefest moment, she considered not resurfacing. Even so, she’d hardly finished that dark thought before she was swimming back up.

Her head broke the surface and she cupped the water to clean her face, idly wedging the dried blood and skin from her scalp from under her nails as she walked back up the shore. She’d just reached up to wring the water from her hair when she spotted just the person she’d earlier intended to speak to.  

“Jaheira?” Áine called, getting the High Harper’s attention. “Do you have a moment?”

Jaheira regarded her with curiosity as she approached, taking in her soaked appearance but also the look in the younger woman’s eyes and the defensive hunch of her shoulders. “You should ask instead if I have a towel,” she quipped before raising her hand. With a small flourish, the moisture left Áine’s clothes, leaving them perfectly dry and her hair just a little damp. Áine murmured her thanks and Jaheira inclined her head. “I assume though that wasn’t what you needed?”

“Not exactly,” Áine said, winding her wet locks into a haphazard bun at her nape.

“Then I have more than a moment. Some even say I have a few moments,” Jaheira said with an edge of humor, nodding for Áine to walk with her. They made their way inside the inn, found stools at the nearly vacant bar, and sat down. The building was filled with the hum of several conversations punctuated by the strum of Alfira’s lute. “What’s on your mind?”

Áine did her best to summarize everything she’d just told the others, from the covenant sworn under Ketheric to her former station in it and then to her concerns about how it would affect their infiltration of Moonrise Towers. Jaheira remained silent throughout, nodding occasionally to indicate that she understood what Áine was saying and she was listening as intently as she seemed to be. Jaheira had known about the covenant, but she had not known that it was part of—but not all of—what fed into his life force.

“Surely it must be more than the covenant,” Jaheira suggested as Áine paused to take a drink of the water she’d been served by one of the tiefling children playing bartender for kicks and the occasional coin. “Your bloodline is many but their binding would not create the power that I saw at the gate.”

“It wouldn’t,” Áine agreed. “There were whispers of some sort of relic that he kept. That it was the primary source of his immortality, maybe the healing you saw too. But we were never privy to what it was or where it was. That was always handled far away from any of our dealings.”

“I see,” Jaheira said, her mind already flying through possibilities. Coming up short, she turned her attention back to Áine and her predicament. “Well, you are right to be concerned,” Jaheira reasoned. Áine felt palpable relief that she was hearing her and hadn’t jumped to any conclusions. If anything, it made their newly established alliance feel less tenuous after their talk the day before. “However, it may not be such a bad thing.”

“No?” Áine inquired, encouraging her to continue.

“You have that parasite in your head, after all,” Jaheira said. “By all accounts, you should be under the Absolute’s control. Perhaps his ego would be his undoing. Picture—in the instance he does recognize you, he rests on his laurels thinking that someone who disobeyed him, who broke the oath they took to his cause, has been dragged back by a worm. It may disarm him even further than we anticipated.” 

Áine had to admit that she hadn’t thought of it like that, but she was right. It was certainly a possibility. Jaheira smirked. “Tread carefully, of course, but I will be most interested to hear how he reacts,” the druid said. “Or better yet, what he accidentally gives away.”

“I understand,” Áine said, absently nodding as she pondered Jaheira’s points. She gave a more certain nod when she went to stand back up. “Thank you, Jaheira.”

“Thank you,” Jaheira said, inclining her head to Áine before taking their half-pint bartender up on his second-time-offered tankard of mead.

Áine retreated from the bar, not quite ready to return to camp but needing to come to terms with what her next steps would be. Jaheira was right—it almost behooved them if Ketheric recognized her, if he was smug over his regained control over one of his oathbroken. Perhaps his only oathbroken. She wasn’t sure if anyone else had done the same before or after her. But it did make their arrival to Moonrise that much more dangerous as well.

In truth, she remained terrified. Of being back where her darkest memories originated, in Ketheric’s shadow, and also for the safety of her newly chosen family. Then again, maybe the unexpected way her parasite had regurgitated her trauma into their brains would have dissuaded them from carrying on with her. The thought was irrational, but it did pick firmly at her brain from the moment of its inception. Áine’s eyes wandered into the side room as she passed it en route to the entrance of the inn, wondering if Halsin was there. The lure of a friendly face who hadn’t just seen some lightly edited replays of her worst memories unfold was more than enough to alter her path.

He was indeed still there, seated by the unconscious man from the Shadowfell and leaning in close as if to hear something the man was speaking in his sleep. Áine wandered into the room and to Halsin’s side. 

“How is he?” she asked as she drew near, not wanting to startle the druid.

“He simply won’t wake,” Halsin sighed. “It’s a miracle from the Oak Father Himself that he’s even alive. That he’s coherent.” He looked up at Áine, but only slightly—seated, he was nearly eye-level with her. “There must be a way to wake him. He dreams of Thaniel, the very spirit and heart of this land. He may know what’s happened to him if we can find a way to rouse him.”

“Do you have any leads?” Áine asked, glancing between Halsin and the lingering Fist who’d come to fetch him from their circle earlier.

“Only what was on his person when we found him wandering the wilds,” the Fist said, “which wasn’t very much, I’m afraid.” The man began mumbling again and his barely discernable words almost sounded like a poem. Áine’s brows creased at the middle with pity. 

“Would you mind if I looked through it?” Áine asked. The Fist presented her with a tattered rucksack and a couple of bits and pieces she had to assume were in his pockets. As she parsed through it all, she found a faded missive that she had to study hard to make out. She saw a name—Art McCullough—and something else. “...Where is the ‘House of Healing’ relative to here?”

The Fist pulled out her map and carefully spread it out on the end of the bed. Áine passed the missive to Halsin for him to read while the Fist showed her where they were and then where the House of Healing was. Áine committed the route she showed her to memory. She’d add it to her own map once she retrieved it with her rucksack before she set out.

Halsin’s hope looked rejuvenated by her findings and Áine felt apprehensive of this turning out to be a dead end. It was the only lead she could find, but she hated the idea of disappointing him. 

“It’s on the path to Moonrise, so there’s no reason not to take a look one of the times we’re en route,” she said, scratching the back of her neck as she retrieved the missive from his outstretched hand and pocketed it. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Halsin emphasized. “You have the whole of my gratitude and my aid if you should need it. You and our companions, both, but that goes without saying.”

Áine’s lips pursed and her eyes found the floorboards when they began to burn at the corners. How could she possibly have more tears left? “I… Well, I might be going to Moonrise alone,” she said. “Regardless, I will try to find something to bring back if I can nail down where these orders took him.”

A deep fissure formed between Halsin’s scarred brows and Áine nearly lost her composure when his first instinct was to take her hand and pat it. His huge palms engulfed hers and she, not for the first time, was awed at what a feeling of safety he emitted without even trying. “Why would you need to do that?” he asked. The Fist stepped away to give them some privacy as Áine’s eyes threatened to spill over. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

Áine finally sighed, some of the moisture falling from her eyes and, to her embarrassment, hitting the back of Halsin’s hand. “I… I got into a bit of a row with Wyll over what I told you all earlier and something happened with the tadpoles. I don’t think I did it and, if I did, I didn’t mean to, but…,” she mumbled, sniffling against her free hand, which had come up to shield her shame. “It was never to be a safe venture to find the source of these things, I know that, but this… These circumstances make it even less so and I can’t have that on my head.”

Halsin listened patiently, absently patting her hand and measuring her grief. “It was likely a lot to handle, and more is soon to be handled. But handle it, we will,” he reassured her. “That is what friends do.”

“I made them see my memories, Halsin,” Áine insisted, his sympathy painful to her guilty heart. “It wasn’t me at first, it was the parasites, but they were still my memories, and toward the end, when I regained control… I didn’t stop it.”

“You must have needed to show someone then,” Halsin reasoned, offering her a kind smile when she finally found it in herself to meet his eyes. He was right in a way. She’d wanted them to feel her oath break since they were already there in her timeline. She’d wanted them to understand. “Which is nothing short of understandable, given that you’re being made to face it all again. By the worms and by being here. We both have tremendous agony attached to these lands, you and I. This time, neither of us need face it alone.”

Áine was at war with herself. She knew in her heart that she wouldn’t want Halsin to face any of this alone. She’d just agreed to help him try to heal the nature here, after all, by helping Art. Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to afford herself the same generosity. And she certainly couldn’t put her friends and her partner at the heart of something she already knew with horrible intimacy to be a sanctuary for pure evil. Just the prospect of it made her eyes well again and she parted her lips to argue only to have her voice crack on a stifled sob before she could get a word out.

Halsin squeezed her hand, holding her trembling fingers in a much surer grip. “Do not make an outcast of yourself, Áine. You’re in pain and you’re clutching your wounds. The instinct is to run away, but you mustn’t. Trust me,” he told her gently. His words brought back her recently revisited memory of actually running and clutching her broken shoulder. The phantom pain between her scars flared almost in answer. Her gut twisted. It twisted further when she finally accepted that he was right. “You needn’t hide from those who would help you heal.”

Áine sniffled softly and swallowed hard. “Would you come with us?” she asked in a quiet voice, his offered comfort a needed tether in her vulnerability. If they even stay, a dark voice reminded her, that inner voice harsh against the ache in her chest. And why should they?

Halsin smiled and shook his head. “I’m needed here. Just for now,” he told her. His eyes shifted briefly over her head before they returned to her flushed, tear-streaked face. “But you have me. That didn’t end with the Grove. It won’t end here either. You will be alright.”

“Don’t worry, Halsin,” came Shadowheart’s voice from behind Áine, startling her. “We’ll take care of her.”

“You’re godsdamn right,” Karlach agreed, appearing in Áine’s line of sight as she stopped near Halsin’s chair. She was almost embarrassed to be caught in such a teary state in front of the rough-and-tumble tiefling warrior, but the embarrassment was short-lived as Karlach gave her the most affectionate “Mama K” smile she’d yet seen. 

Áine swallowed against the lingering lump in her throat as a familiar pair of cool, strong arms slipped around her shoulders. Astarion kissed her blotchy cheek as he drew her back against his chest. 

“I’d like to see you try to leave me behind,” he whispered like a challenge near her ear.

Next chapter: Chapter 21, "Her Nightmare Revisited"

[kurayami10]

Warm and Glow

Malleus x female reader / Heavy spoilers from the Masquerade Event

Re-uploading my stories is prohibited.

You see Malleus talking with Rollo, and you wonder if he forgives Rollo for destroying all the magic. All the chaos has finally been over for good, and you remember how Malleus was furious toward Rollo — he hurt so many people, his beloved living gargoyle friend, and this also includes you. Also faking the invitation too.

When you fell into the door trap, Malleus screamed your name, and all you saw was black. Falling into the abyss, you couldn't see where this fall would lead you, but you heard Malleus screaming your name.

"Y/N !!!!!!!!!!!"

He called your name, he had fear on his face, and for this, he went after you to catch you with his strong arms. You were afraid of where this giant abyss pit would lead and waited for you to be doomed, but suddenly you felt strong arms carrying you. You open your eyes to see who's carrying you, and upon seeing your rescuer, Malleus smiles toward you, not just any smile but a worried smile.

You could still feel the anger coming off him, and then you gently place a hand on his cheeks, and he also places a with your hands and intertwines them together. 

You always wonder what makes him so different from others that they don't see, and yet he saves everyone and beats Rollo out of him when he was at the bell tower with help from Azul and Idia. And he even screams your actual name and that was the first time he shouted your name.

He is the next in line of Valley of Thorns and he still chooses to sacrifice himself for you and others to bring an end to this madness from Rollo that he has caused. You still remember when the VDC was destroyed during the Vil's overblot and he fixes the stage because he was really happy that you invited him to see the performance with him, and he even revealed his true name but you were not afraid of him, and you still call him, "Tsunotarou", even he gave his real name.

Rollo may be a human and Malleus is a fae but knowing the chaos that has been caused has already been answered, so this puzzle is; what makes a monster, and what makes a man? And now you see Rollo and Malleus having a "friendly" conversation, upon seeing this you know already who's the monster and man.

After a few minutes, Malleus walks toward you after he finished discussing with Rollo, and you quickly nervous you didn’t why what reason for this, but you sure the hero is walking toward you with a warm smile appear on his face, and you didn’t know what to do, it felt you were frozen in place.

You were in your beautiful f/c long dress that reached into the floor and soft glitter that shines from the dress. Echos of footsteps knowing, the man comes towards, and once he appears to you as you both stand in front of a white light.

The man that stands before you, his usual smile that you love to see whenever you and he are together at the Ramshackle dorm, is there with you and then he says that would make you blush, “ Y/N, would you dance with me?” and you couldn’t help but smile and accept his offer quickly, “Yes.” Then he quickly pulls into the middle of the hall and prepares for the grand final.

You see Malleus, Idia, and Azul standing as they prepare for the grand finale, Malleus still holding your hand, and soon you hear the music and Malleus sings the first lines of the song.

Scared of the dawn, I wish again and again

He twirls you as your dress sparkles, and then quickly brings you closer to him, while Idia and Azul dance gracefully behind you two. 

Prayers far away light up the crimson lotus

And then he twirls you once again freely and your hair flows smoothly around matching the rhythm of your moving.

Resound the bells, carry my wish

Dreaming warm today  Reaching up high

Malleus always desires to be friends with everyone, but everyone at NRC fears him, and he feels like an outcast from the rest of everyone and making it difficult to make friends with everyone. For years, it has always been like that for him.

But one day everything changed when you came along and met him that first night from outside of your dorm, he always felt happy sharing his interest with you, and you were there listening to his beloved gargoyles. And you made him a valid person and made him feel like a normal person, as he is.

Sure, there are times Malleus doesn’t understand his emotions, but there you are helping him during his rage when he was using leftover magic he had when summoning the green lighting making everyone scared, but you step in and approach him and help him to stay calm.

He listens because you are his ONLY close friend.

I'm dancing my heart out in the city in full bloom

Then he catches you when you come back to him, and then he picks you up to the sky elegantly and puts you down, after that you and he sprint gracefully, and then Malleus grabs your both hands as he brings you closer to him, and he brings your hands together with his, as he holds them dearly as he doesn’t want to let you go.

‘Tsunotarou..’

And then he gives a kiss on your hand, and you only wish this day would never end, be together with him, a loyal man that would sacrifice his life to save his loved ones, even people would not accept, and yet he would do it no matter what put his life in danger to save others.

And ahead toward, into tomorrow!

With the final dance, Malleus puts an arm around your back and you move your head slightly back he yells the final words of the song, with everyone together in front of the ball.

For the rest of the night, you and he still danced slowly as moonlight glowed in front of you two and this truly felt like a paradise that this only going shared memory of you and him.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Notes: The lyrics and dancing part were kinda hard to write ;;;

[siderealscribblings]

"À ta santé!" Glasses and mugs clinked together over the worn, scratched up table in the corner of The Bell and Buckler. The local band was enjoying their complimentary mugs of Mondstadtian wine a little too much and as the warm buzz of alcohol tinged the back of Eponine's throat, she could hear them start to warble out of key. 

Gardes from all over the city favored The Bell and Buckler, not only because servicepeople coming off shift got one round on the house. It was a rustic, cozy tavern run by Loretta, a former musketeer that hung up her spurs after a vishap gnawed her leg off below the knee. Even now, she could be heard thunking behind the bar with her hardwood peg-leg, her old service musket hanging above the bar next to the skull of the vishap that ended her career. 

"A toast!" Marius wobbled to his feet, tugging his garde uniform down and raising his glass somewhat theatrically. "To Miss Eponine who somehow managed to survive her first week on patrol as a member of the esteemed Maison Gardiennage!"

"Hear hear!" A ruddy-faced musketeer named Fantine giggled, thumping her mug on the table. 

"Enough!" Eponine laughed, hiding her eyes behind her hand as Marius made the unsteady climb up on top of one of the barstools. Fortunately The Bell and Buckle was the sort of establishment where inebriated gardes climbing on furniture was nothing out of the ordinary. Barely anyone looked up from their cards or dart games as Marius launched into a speech that could barely be heard over the din of conversation. 

"Our beloved Lady Furina is safe from all manner of capitol terrors!" Marius proclaimed, spilling some foam into his bowl of stew as he raised his tankard. "Including runaway poodles, misguided tourists, and clingy little aristocrats!" 

"Off the chair!" Loretta shouted, turning a nozzle of cold tap water on Marius and knocking him flat on the floor. "Or I'll call the garde on you!" 

"The garde's already here!" A patron called, drawing a roar of laughter from the half-dressed Maison Gardiennage agents packed into booths and crowded around billiards tables. 

"I'll call the Iudex then!" Loretta countered, grinning as a dreaded ooh wafted through the crowd. "Miss, I hope you've an iron liver if you plan on drinking with these two." 

"I think my liver will be fine," Eponine chuckled, unable to be too embarrassed. Here she was, barely twenty-five and already appointed to the Maison Gardiennage. Poor girls from Possion could scarcely dream of more and with the money she was making, she would be able to send for her sisters before the year was out.  She had plenty to celebrate and if her new co-workers got a little rowdy celebrating, who was she to stop them? 

"So," Fantine said, leaning on her palm as she turned her attention to Eponine. "How do you find the Court so far?" 

"Oh, it's…big," Eponine said, causing Fantine to snort into her cider. The collection of well-worn wooden cottages that comprised her hometown was nothing compared to the towering spires of the Court of Fontaine. It was one of the last Great Cities that hadn't been obliterated in the Calamity or the ensuing chaos and history hung in the air like mist. She had never felt like more of a bumpkin in her entire life; surely she must've looked like an idiot gaping at everything. 

"You will get lost, but one of the little anklebiters will set you right if you ask them," Fantine said. "The melusine know their way around better than almost anyone these days." 

"A little too well," Marius muttered. "If you ask me-" 

"Oh here we go," Fantine sighed. 

"All I'm saying is that our little fuzzy 'friends' know a lot about a lot of things," Marius said, holding his hands up. "Enough to do damage if they wanted to." 

"The melusine?" Eponine asked. "What damage could they do?" 

"I dunno," Marius said, wrinkling his nose. "They're creepy though." 

"Marius also finds stuffed seahorses and teddy bears creepy ," Fantine sighed, flicking a wadded up napkin at Marius.

"Th-they've got weird eyes!" Marius hissed defensively. "And I swear sometimes I catch one just talking to someone I can't see. Who knows what information they could be carrying out of the-mmph ?" 

"Enough ," Fantine said, stuffing a bread-roll in Marius' mouth. "We didn't bring our new recruit out here to listen to your melusine conspiracy theories; we need to hear her ruling." 

"My ruling ?" Eponine said, watching Fantine and Marius exchange conspiratorial looks. 

"You've been patrolling the Palais and the Opera for a week now," Marius said through a mouth of crumbs. "And in that time, you've seen Lady Furina and the Iudex come and go. Have you had the opportunity to see them…together?" 

Together? Eponine shrugged. "Lady Furina and the Iudex had lunch together yesterday; I can't say I spent too much time with them, but I guess I saw them chatting a little bit." 

Eponine had nearly fainted as she looked up one day to find her nation's god passing by her on the way into the Iudex's office to take her mid-day meal on the terrace overlooking the lake outside his office. She had spent the rest of the day wide eyed and almost vibrating with excitement, so close to divinity that she could still remember the smell of Lady Furina’s perfume. 

"They're always chatting," Marius said with a meaningful nod. 

"Always," Fantine nodded. 

"...yyyyyyyes, I would think the head of our country and her number two would stay in close touch," Eponine said, nodding a little uncertainly. 

"Verrrrrry close touch," Marius said, leaning in and dropping his voice. "So…do you think they're lovers?" 

Read More...

[goffilolo]

Adramelech theory time

Does anyone want to know a theory I have? no? Well, that's too bad you're getting it anyway.

Based on demonology Adramelech tried to gain worship as a sun god, alongside his sibling Anamelech who was considered a moon diety.

Does that sound familiar? Does that sound perhaps like Spade's royal family magic? Am I implying that all royals are shit regardless of the country and have a hobby of boosting their own power by stealing it from others? I sure am.

So here's the situation. Grinberyalls pulled the exact same shit as Silvamillions, except with devil magic. It's implied that the spade people know more about devils than they initially let on, Ciel included, so I wouldn't be surprised if they did some fuck ass ritual to steal Adramelech and his brother's attributes specifically.

But wait, you may say. Haven't we seen in canon that Adramelech can resist Lucifero's gravity and still has supreme devil levels of magic? He sure does and here's the catch. What he initially lost is an ATTRIBUTE, not mana itself. Kinda like Ladros who was born with no attribute at all.

Also the timing of WHEN the Grinberyalls became the ruling family with their magic is a little unclear. I'm even willing to go out on a limb and imply that it was around the time of when the first Qlipoth happened. Either they caught Adramelech and his brother during the 2nd gate opening and obtained his magic then OR the first Qlipoth was the responce to having their supreme devil's magic stolen by humans sometime before.

(Also not fully related to this theory, but I imagined that the first Qlipoth failed because it was sabotaged from the inside by Astaroth, who did not wish for human's extermination).

How does any of that relate to Adramelech working with Lucius? Well what if Lucius promised him to get rid of all of Grinberyalls in his grand plan, knowing that Adramelech and Anamelech would not get their full attributes back until the last Grinberyall is dead and thus the attributes can no longer be passed on to any further relatives?

My other idea was that Astaroth is tied into it more closely than initially shown. Maybe even having initally contracted Lucius, allowing him to use the power of prophecy as much as he pleases, on the condition that he can arrange the sun and moon magic to be returned to their original owners. If that is the case, then the spade coup may have been orchestrated by him before his disappearance, as killing all royal family members would release the attributes.

This brings me to my final point, the one that I think will result in Yuno stans hunting me down for sport, but here we go. Yuno is like the british empire, the culmination of stolen shit.

Wind magic? doesn't belong to him, it belongs to a soul of dead half-elf fetus that sits in his body and I'm pretty sure Bell was asleep for so long because she was supposed to be guardian spirit to that fetus when it grew up, but instead was in time out for 500 yeas until a twink shows up who just so happened to have the fetus soul living in him rent-free.

Star magic? Literally a result of stealing 2 devil attributes, followed by centuries of royal incest to ensure the celestial magic stays in the family. Sorry to burst your bubble, all royals are inbred, yes even your favourites. If Tabata wants to play loose canon with borrowing vague references from medieval Europe, so will I.

And you know what? From storytelling perspective it would be hysteric! The dude beloved by mana? The skinny legend that is stacking up magical buffs like a jenga tower? To reveal that all of his 'blessings' were not in fact blessings but came at the expense of somebody else? ALL OF THEM? This would be delicious. This would finally give us the relevant narrative parallel to Asta who has acknowledged long time ago that the power he wields is not his and did not even hesitate to try and give his grimoire away to the original owner.

[torobatl]

Hello! Judging by your name, you're a fan of the Cabal. I am currently attempting to make a Cabal OC to rotate around in my head, and I was wondering if there are any really cool headcanons you have about the Cabal as a people, or species, or just in general? It could very well assist me in my efforts!! Thank you for your time!

HOWDY HOWDY GOOD FRIEND!!!!!

You stepped into the right arena- but I don't really feel fully prepared to share my headcanons yet because they are extremely disjointed and not at all connected in any reasonable way. HOWEVER, I will share some lore pieces that have been VERY central to developing my own Uluran characters.

Bell of Conquests - The Bell of Conquests is a central artifact of Uluran warrior culture. The history and traditions surrounding war bells is a perfect place to look if making a high-ranking warrior character - what adorns their bell? What does it symbolize?

The Cabal Booklet, D2 Collector's Edition Exclusive - Honestly this is just a well of information on Uluran society and the planet of Torobatl. There is a merchant class! The planet is home to massive "wallowing flats" that are seen as almost like a spa! Where does your character hail from? Are they from Torobatl, or are they from an off-world colony? What do they do for a living? Do they have any particular loyalties?

Code Duello - The story of two rival weaponsmiths and the champion Tlamus, and the story of the eponymous rocket launcher. What weapons does your character carry? How did they obtain them?

Praefectus Helm - A conversation between a father and daughter about memories of home. It details the flowers, and the seasons of Torobatl. What drives your character? Honor? Glory? Do they have any family? Any friends?

Praefectus Chest - Caiatl comforting a wounded warrior of the empire past their fighting days, and recalling the Legend of Acrius. Does your character have any significant injuries? What are their thoughts on Uluran folklore? Is Acrius an important figure to them? Or do they have a different conviction?

Praefectus Class Item - A translated recipe obtained by tower intelligence. This is one of my personal favorites since I love food lore and it's a generally humorous read due to the untranslatable or missing data. BLACK CUBE my beloved. What food do they like? Is this influenced by their socio-economic standing?

Hope these questions help you develop your new character! These are free to use for anyone else who wants to flesh out their lovable space rhino :D

[incorrectringsofpower]

Season 2 First 3 episodes thoughts (spoilers below the cut, DO NOT click the cut if you do not want to be spoiled!)

Episode 1

The dimples are a bit disarming ngl.

The chorals Bear added are interesting. Someone translate them please and thank you.

Ewwwww bug!Sauron nope nope nope.

Why hallo there handsome asshole :D

What's in the pouuuuch? (I don't think we're ever gonna find out tbh)

O shit are these the raft redshirts? Oh nooo.

I support horse girl rights and wrongs.

Mooom, Galadriel is a lying liar who lies.

Gil-galad looks so done lmfao. "Great-auntie whyyyy."

Elrond about to pull an Elwing.

I want to see my little boy (Isildur). (Where is heeeee?)

Hello Glüg, you SDCC photo gem.

Ah Waldreg you fucker. Guess you figured out between seasons that he ain't Sauron.

Lmao not Sauron pulling a Moses on Adar. Wtf are you doing buddy?

Nori my beloved

Wow The Stranger has so much vocabulary now. I still think he swallowed a Harfoot dictionary.

Ok additional Harfoot food note: Beetles (scarab beetles?)

Oh yeah some fic writers are reaaaaally gonna enjoy the scenes of Halron chained and collared. Here comes another fic deluge!

Sauron, don't you remember what happened with Huan in the FA?

BEN DANIELS TIME LET'S GOOOOO.

RIP to this random elf messenger bc I don't think he's gonna make it.

Ben Daniels has the raaaaange.

Eärendil mentionnnn. And Beleriand mention! I wonder why the Mariana Trench option wasn't considered in the TA. Update: Ok nvm Círdan will answer that for us.

Poppy! Hopefully the others can still travel without the maps she took.

The music is so prettyyyy.

"Your people have been set free." #doubt (show me the proof! also why did Sauron want that? He needed slaves to work the fields in Mordor, right?)

Ah Waldreg did die in the exact episode we predicted.

More elf nuns!

Elf costumes! I need an analysis post!

Lmao Elrond's face. "Grunkle Círdan, you betrayed meeee!"

Galadriel: How 'bout I do anyway?

Elrond: Thanks I hate it.

Galadriel: Please don't jump off waterfalls again.

Mirdania! Aw shit Halron got there before the nameless doomed Lindon elf.

Ominous ending music, Bear.

Episode 2

DWARVES MY BELOVED

I love the terrace farming so much.

Dwarf food note: Mole-tail stew, Large mushroom (chanterelle-like) that is very valuable, smaller mushrooms, gourds!

ilu Disa

This scene was exactly what I needed for dwarves and dwarvish food reasons.

Oh shit not my dwarves :(((

Alfirin seeds!

Ooh creepy!

New elf characters! Do they have names? Please give them names!

"Crush two spiders with one boot." Ooh I hate the foreshadowing of that metaphor. Hates it, hates it.

More foreshadowiiiing.

Mirror of Galadriel foreshadowing specifically!

Eregion is so beautiful and majestic (thanks, Season 2 budget!). Sure do hope nothing bad happens to it! (sobbing)

Yup, RIP Lindon messenger elves.

I looove this music.

Skeletor! (By the power of Grayskull!)

Ooh cultists.

The Dweller is back!

"curse upon our flesh" wut

I have a bad feeling about this. (Wait, wrong fandom)

Where is Narviiii.

Do Disa's friends have naaames? Wait x-ray actually was helpful for once. Rachel Payne as Brenna and Laura Jane Matthewson as Revna! I'm so happy she has named friends who even gossip!

Hi Narvi!

King Durin: But do I still have grandparent's rights?

"Stubborn as a root-bound parsnip!" Hah.

Oh my god he's working on ships. I love that so much.

Ooh shit a flashback to the woods scene from Udûn.

Why are you shaving, sir? Sir.

Ahhhh poetry mentions from the FA! How nerdy.

The bell seems bad.

Eye of Sauron?

Uh-oh. Is this how he learns how squishy hobbits are on adventures?

Ooh he's developing door ideas. Fun!

I get the feeling Mirdania ain't gonna last the season, either.

Fuuuck tower foreshadowing.

Ooh elf umbrella!

Oh you little weasel!

"I'm going to open a First Age bottle." Love that detail.

"Are you my friend?" Hoo boi.

Ominous thunderclap. Ooooh.

Is he gonna larp as an Istar? Lmao.

"Soon every realm will fall." Because of you, asshole!

Title drop!

Wow. Okay. Playing on his insecurities and also calling him the "Lord of the Rings". Overdoing it a bit much there, Ronnie?

"I am your partner." screech

Pope-galad says you need babysitter, Gal. I'm sure this will go splendidly!

Episode 3

Bronwyn ;_;

Berek best boi my beloved

Sad Elendil and Valandil :(((

YESSS OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING. EVERYONE STAY CALM. IT'S HAPPENING!

ISILDUR SAVE YOUR HORSE FOR THE LOVE OF ERU.

Pls don't kill Berek. I couldn't stand it 😭

ISILDUR BEST HORSE GIRL

THEY'D BOTH BETTER LIVE OR SO HELP ME

FUCKING RUN ISILDUR FFS

(GOD I HATE LARGE FANTASY SPIDERS AND THIS IS WHY)

Ooh the shells funerary detail!

Eärien girrrrl your evil phase alarms me.

This ship is so saddd :(

More ominous tower shit.

Pharazôn, you weasel 2.0.

Fucking foreshadowiiiing.

Valandil my beloved! Oooh tension with Kemen.

A baby orc! Fascinating!

Damrod has arrived!

More title dropping!

"--a friend." The emphasis was so funny.

Durin is suspicious. Love it.

Celebrimbor: Well if I start a Catholic schism then so be it.

It is your moment, Holly-boy, but also your doom. You're being Anakined into Vader by Palpannatar.

Isildur has discovered the DnD means of equipment acquisition.

Noooo more dead horsies :(

Estrid :D (please don't be evil)

Lmao at least he knows proper wound procedures lol.

DO NOT HURT BEREK

Potato food spotted!

ARONDIR YASSS

THEY STOLE BEREK NOOOOO

Arondir sir you are low on arrows.

Arondir ;_;

Bronwyn :(((( fuck I'm so sad about this

I will never recover from the Aronwyn ship, I fear :(

Theo, buddy, need someone to talk to?

Sad version of Aronwyn theme nooooo :(

Really not liking how much King Durin's crown sorta resembles Sauron's this season.

Theo taking over his mother's skills :(

Yup, poisoned orc arrow theory confirmed.

Stepparenting with foreshadowing for Numenor, delightfulll.

Please don't be foreshadowing.

Who is his dad? Oh no hurtful, Theo. Buddy :(

My Garden Fam is broken and I'm deeply unwell about it.

Theo-Isildur friendship time?

BEREK HEIST BEREK HEIST

Isildur really is so relieved to be alive and not eaten by spiders that he's gone friend mode. How very like his Grunkle Elrond!

Oh no Isildur mom backstory :(

Don't cry Isildur and Theo bc then I'm gonna cry ;;_;;

Also now this is a narrative parallel!

Ah good gift discussion next to the word "precious" is throwing my brain. Oh lordy.

Please don't be evil, Estrid! I'm already suffering without Bronwyn and both Disa and Míriel are doomed af.

Theo wtf are you doing?

ENTS.

No don't lose the sword Galadriel gave you!

Míriel in white, Elendil in blue and gold, Pharazôn in red. Totally Kate Hawley doing some fascinating storytelling here.

Oh no my quote about Elendil and his daughter in a courtroom is suddenly very apt. Oh dear.

What did Elendil see?

Huh the unrest happened sooner than I thought.

EAGLE TIME LET'S GOOOO!

Eagle: Y'all are gonna die!

Elendil: Top 10 anime betrayals and by my own daughter. Wtf.

Annatar gets his own cute lil forging outfit :D

More symbolism!

Oh god what a way to end the first 3 episodes. Send help.

[we-staybhaalin]

For my beloved Nettlebane and Gale!

What happens if one of them gets sick?

Describe their first date.

Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

What reminds each of their partner?

Do they have any hobbies they share?

What are there thoughts on pet names? Do they have any?

Who's more likely to do something out of spite?

BONUS: Are they looking for a partner? Asking for a friend... 👀

Ooh! Thank you for the ask!

What happens if one of them gets sick? -

Gale particularly strikes me as the sort that might be a little dramatic about getting sick. He'd try to push Nettie off even though she's 1) a cleric and 2) very obviously aware that he's sick. Luckily for Nettlebane, Tara is a very useful ally to have in the battle of Making the Wizard Get Bedrest, so she can easily call in a ringer and have Tara sit on his chest until she's done whipping up some medicine or soup for him to eat. Secretly, he very much loves being doted on but publicly he'll gripe about it for about a day. The only thing she can't win on is letting him bring a book to bed so he'll often sit up reading while he's recovering and she'll let him have that. Otherwise, she keeps his work locked up and way out of reach until he fully recovers.

Nettlebane doesn't get sick often but when she does, Gale has to pull out every trick in the book to convince her to stay in bed. He's a decent cook so he can very much make her get some rest. Nettie usually is the "caretaker" and the person that looks after everyone's wellbeing but regarding her own, she can be a bit neglectful. Trying to convince her to stay down takes getting on her level and understanding that her brain is pushing her in a way her body can't accommodate and Gale does have to coax her to bed however he can. Usually, his soups put her right out and, prior to her teaching him how to make her medicine, he and Tara would take a walk to a healer and stockpile some medicine while she sleeps. When he gets back, he'll have the piano strum a soft lullaby and he'll get back to his work. He knows she's woken up when he starts hearing a voice humming alongside the piano and he'll give her the medicine then.

Describe their first date.

Canonically, their first date was him showing her the inside of his tower in game. But headcanon, he does get a chance to do things properly so he pays for her travels to Waterdeep and starts first with taking her around the city. He wanted their first official date together to be just about the two of them. I'm imagining him taking her along the waterfront and laying out dinner on a boat with only them on it. Beneath the stars and with the shimmering lights of Waterdeep in the back, he'd ask her about all her old friends and get to know the Bells even more through her stories. He'd tell her exactly who he was before they met and they'd take the time to really get to know each other the way they couldn't with the Absolute Crisis hanging over them.

He'd hear about her being a young girl given away to a temple and who found refuge in Alris, Caress, and Sharess. She'd learn about the boy who's first love was magic, not the goddess who controls it.

After dinner and docking back, he'd take her on a walk through one of the more scenic parks in the city. Through the neighborhood he grew up in. Through the places most people don't know about in Waterdeep that he frequents.

He'd end the date back at his tower and he'd ask her then show her everything in his tower that he showed her in their date in the Weave. Nettie would touch absolutely everything in the room and ask a million questions about a lot of it. He'd answer all of them with a smile on his face. When they get to the balcony, she'd stare out into the harbor and up at the brilliant stars dotting the sky. They'd share that moment of silence together and they'd fall into a conversation about all they have been through together, what the future they want with each other is.

They'd have each other on the floor of his balcony beneath the stars. His knees will be screaming in the morning.

Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

I don't think so but there were definitely moments in their relationship where clashes happened. Leading up to him learning how to forge the Crown of Karsus, he would have posited the question about attaining and controlling that power, something she would have not agreed with. I think the crux of their arguments stem from Gale's knowing--he is ambitious and, as someone who has worked at his craft, when he is certain that he has an answer he is assertive about it. I think his arrogance can color how he shapes his perspective, but Nettlebane would have heard the sincerity in his pleas and what he gets back in turn teaches him about her.

When she is assured of her perspective, she approaches with warmth and stands stone solid. She does not yell although her voice will raise a bit. She does not get mean or biting. She is gentle but she will not be moved. Her sincerity and way with words slap him down, but with a calm that cuts to the heart of the issue, so much that it startles him sometimes. Nettie's opinion matters a great deal to Gale too, so when she speaks, he makes a big effort to listen.

I think they both know where they stand at the heart of things and it's that understanding that keeps their disagreements from blowing up into something more. They'd pick at each other post-game because she can sometimes be a bit overbearing and he's still...Gale. But arguments that happen between them would probably be pretty rare.

Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

Litost by X Ambassadors

What reminds each of their partner?

Gale sees Nettie in a lot of little things--a very interesting little bauble, the jovial laughter of a group of people stumbling out of a festhall, and the warmth of the sun on his face. He'd think of her face lighting up at the tiny bauble and her cooing over it. He'd think of the way she'd shimmy over to the partygoers stirring up a raunchy ballad that they'd steadily join along in as they scoop her right back inside. He'd see her standing in the soft rays of an evening sun, the sky alight with pink and gold and orange, and he could hear her voice, "and so we are gifted the thread of Sharess, the golden hour of evening caresses our desires and floods our beings with Her warmth."

Nettie feels Gale in much of what she does with her magic. I think once he gets a chance, there's definitely some lessons here and there to help her hone her casting abilities. It's the phantom sensation of his hands laid over hers, moving long fingers in the motions it takes to cast and hers bending to his will. She feels his smile at the back of her head as she's thumbing through books and wanders over to the more interesting selections--a book on the art of romantic etiquette within far off societies and another on types of wine served during a dinner party denoting societal status.

Do they have any hobbies they share?

They are both very big on cooking and often times will be in the kitchen, whipping up a grand meal for two people (and a tressym!).

What are their thoughts on pet names? Do they have any?

They both would love them a lot. Gale defaults to "my love" usually but Nettlebane will call him anything ranging between "honey" and "Professor Dekarios." If she calls him "Gale," he's in trouble.

Who's more likely to do something out of spite?

Gale. Nettie can be mischievous but she's not very spiteful unless it involves her friends.

Gale, however, is an arrogant former level 20 wizard who now teaches children for a living. He has to have a little vinegar in him to deal with some of the people he works with daily.

Bonus: Are they looking for a partner? Asking for a friend...👀

Now Raz, you know Gale doesn't like sharing lololol

Nettlebane would absolutely go for it if he was okay with it but since he's got that hard boundary set, she wouldn't cross it.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

belle saying “you’ve taken me as your prisoner and now you want to have dinner with me? ARE YOU INSANE?” is genuinely soooo funny.

like imagine you wake up in the morning expecting to have another normal, kind of boring day. and then you spend all morning overhearing people gossiping about how weird you are. and then your beloved father LEAVES. and then you get harassed for attempting to teach a child to read. and then the town dickhead follows you home and insinuates he wants to have children with you, nearly follows you into your house while pulling on the skirt of your dress, and essentially proposes in the process. and then when you manage to escape him, your horse, whom your father Took On The Journey, comes back without your father, so now you gotta hop on the poor exhausted horse and go looking for him. and then you end up at some abandoned castle where it’s somehow snowing?? and you find your father locked up in a tower dungeon. and then you meet the guy who imprisoned him — turns out he’s like, some kind of BEAST — and then you decide hey, my day couldn’t possibly get any worse, why don’t i just wrap it up here and let my dad go home and get some rest. so you TRICK him into taking his place in the dungeon. then you have to watch as the beast guy drags him out. and then a talking candelabra and his mantel clock friend release you and take you to your own bedroom (but are being super sus about the other rooms in the castle). and then there’s a feather duster who’s apparently in love with the candelabra, and then your wardrobe turns out to be an opera singer who just wants to dress you in fine attire. and you’re like “well, i guess i’ll use all this fabric to try and joan of arc myself outta this place!” and then when you’re FINALLY making progress on this whole ridiculous situation, SO close to getting back home and completing THEE weirdest day of your life, that beast guy comes by and knocks on your door and asks if you want to have dinner with him.

LIKE I’D BE AT MY BREAKING POINT TOO! ARE YOU INSANE?? I’D STARVE BEFORE I EVER ATE WITH YOU!!!!! FUCKING MEN.