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bionicle-ramblings · 2 months

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Writing a little something for @crystaltoa for their fantasy AU. It's also been on my head a lot😅

Matau was not the type to exactly go to other regions, as his own was perfectly fine. He only ever left it because something he needed for trading or work was there. Being outside of his region and traveling was also benefit he enjoyed.

What he did not particularly enjoy were the knights, both in and out of Le-Metru.

By all means, Matau could outrun a knight; they wore their heavy armor and sometimes ran slowly to stay in groups. He wore no armor, or at least armor that slowed him down, and he was a gnome. One of the smaller beings that existed in the land, but that only made him harder to catch.

He reasoned as such when he vaulted off a wall before a knight could grab him, leaping upward until he was racing across rooftop after rooftop.

"Ha!" He proclaimed. "Nice work-try, pesky knights!"

One of the knights growled. "Follow him! Don't let that thief get away!"

Matau climbed onto a chimney to catch his breath. "Thief? Sneak-thief? ME!?"

While it was true Matau had a precious stone in his satchel, he didn't think it was stolen.

How could I steal something if no one was around to claim it?

An arrow flew past him, barely grazing his ear.

As more knights reloaded their bows and crossbows, Matau sprang off the chimney and leapt from building to building, ducking and dodging arrows as they were fired at him.

Matau looked over his shoulder to see if any more knights were around him, if they were either behind him or rounding buildings to try cutting him off.

It cost him when his foot slipped off of the roof and sent him tumbling downward and into a large chimney.

Smoke and heat met him as he fell.

It was followed by a harsh landing on cold charcoals and a scream, and then the clattering of metal falling to the floor.

And the man who screamed, a blacksmith, remained where he stood, only picking up the tools he dropped even as Matau pushed himself up and cringed at the dust he was covered in.

"Ugh. Gross-nasty." Matau saw the human and cleared his throat. "Someone forgot to brush-clean that."

The man's brow furrowed, either from confusion or from finally processing what was happening in the moment.

The door to the shop was banged on, making both Matau and the human jump.

"Royal guards! We need to search your shop!"

"Stupid, pesky knights," Matau hissed under his breath.

The human looked around the shop and quickly scooped Matau off of the ground.

"Hey!"

"Stay quiet!" The human murmured before practically throwing Matau into a large vase that held bars and rods of metal. "Stay down."

Matau glanced at the door and nodded, shimmying to hide himself more.

The human quickly tidied up his shop and took a breath before opening the door.

The knights stood on the other side, along with the dwarf he had been the apprentice to.

"Sirs," he greeted with a nod. "Nuhrii."

"Good day," one of the knights greeted back. "So sorry to you and your mentor, but we need to check your shop."

Hopefully just for rats and not a gnome.

He gave the knights a confused, albeit cautious nod as he stepped out of the way and opened the door wider.

The knights filed in and began searching the shop, alarmingly careful in their search so nothing would be damaged.

Many simply pulled open any drawers that they could, opened cabinets, boxes, even looked up the chimney Matau had fallen down, taking note of the scattered coals and dust.

One of them stood by Nuhrii, examining one of the swords that needed a guard and hilt. "Impressive work," he noted. "Yours?"

"My apprentice's, actually," the dwarf said grudgingly.

One of the knights searched behind a shelf of tools and gear, close to the vase.

Nuhrii nudged him. "Show some manners. Introduce yourself."

One of the knights turned their attention to the vase.

"Vakama," the human said, trying to remain calm. "My name is Vakama."

The knight examined the blade closely, checking for any warping or damage- not that he would find any. "You've learned well from your mentor."

Vakama bit his tongue as he saw the knight dig through the vase, waiting for the moment they would find and drag out the gnome hiding inside, and then arrest Vakama with him for "harboring a criminal."

Instead, the knight stood straight. "Nothing," they reported.

Around the room, the other knights echoed, "Nothing."

The knight standing by Nuhrii huffed. "Damn."

Vakama hid a sigh.

"Thank you, both, for your time," the knight said as his group marched out of the shop. "If either of you see anything, be sure to report it to us."

"Yes, sir," Nuhrii replied.

"What were you looking for?" Vakama asked, feigning ignorance.

Nuhrii glared at him as the knight answered, "That's none of your concern. Just a thief we've been having trouble with."

"We'll keep an eye out," Nuhrii said before Vakama could think of responding.

"Much obliged. Good day, you two." With a nod, the knight turned and left the shop.

Nuhrii wheeled around to face Vakama. "Do you know anything of this thief?"

Vakama shook his head. "No, sir."

"Are you lying to me?" The dwarf asked sharply. "I'll know of you are, and having your apprenticeship stripped would be the least of your worries, boy!"

"Of course I'm not!" Vakama protested. "What reason would I have for lying to you or knights?"

Nuhrii glared at him for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. I'll take your word for it." He turned to the door of the shop. "Get back to work," he said, opening the door to let himself out, and then slamming it shut behind him.

Vakama took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "That went well."

"It went sure-fine."

The human jumped and quickly turned.

There was Matau, sitting on the mantle above the fireplace and examining a dagger.

Did he teleport there? Turn himself invisible?

Vakama only picked up the sword he'd been working on, now cooled from being out of the forge, and a hammer. "I wouldn't stay long, if I was in your place. They might come back."

The gnome gave him a doubtful look. "Might. I'll be far-gone by the time those stupid knights look here again."

"Let's hope you are, when that happens, Matau."

Matau blinked before standing, beaming with pride. "My reputation precedes me! Yes, I am Matau! Have you heard of me thanks to talk-stories from Le-Metru?"

"Not exactly," Vakama admitted. "You wouldn't believe me, if I told you."

"Try me." Matau vaulted off the mantle and landed in Vakama's shoulder. "I've been far and wide on ever-great adventures! I would believe anything you say."

"Even if I was lying?"

Matau froze, smile gone for a moment before he smirked, sitting down.

"I think I like you, human," he said, eyes narrow and on Vakama's face.

Vakama carefully moved Matau off of him. "What were they after you for anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Matau said with a shrug. "But they're not cheer-happy that I have this."

The gnome reached into the satchel he wore and pulled out a stone, one that glowed green from within and was translucent as if it was carved from glass or a gem.

Vakama crouched down to get a closer look, brow furrowed. "Where did you get this?"

"The street."

Vakama eyed him dubious.

"What? I did!" Matau barked. "Someone must've dropped it and they didn't come back for it!"

"And you didn't think to try and return it?"

"I didn't see who dropped it."

Vakama stood and walked to one of the drawer sets in the shop. "You wouldn't happen to know someone named Lhikan, would you?"

Matau screwed his face for a moment. "I know OF him, but I don't KNOW him. Why?"

Vakama turned back to him, holding something in his hand:

A stone, similar to the one Matau had in his possession, only it glowed red from within.

"He gave this to me and told me to keep it safe."

#bionicle #writing #vakama #matau #bionicle fantasy au #bionicle dnd au #long post under cut #for crystaltoa #hope you enjoy!#just clarifying now that vakama-in my eyes at least in this au- is a grown man(20s or 30s)#but Nuhrii still sees him as a 'boy' because Nuhrii’s been around for a while and humans seem younger than they really are to him

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asukiess · 11 months

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🧙🏼 trick🧹 or treat 🪣

wackus sent this to me before my porch light was even on. this is the kid who trick or treats at like 4pm adhbahdadb

okay hi!! wow I love your costume! it's a big broom right? yeah, I thought so. that's so creative.

(shakes bucket) hmmmm how about a Paris Special fic I was playing around with before it came out (so the plotline is different lol). The premise: ToxiGriffe are committed to destroying the world, but end up falling for their classmate and realize that maybe, just maybe, they want to save someone else in this universe now.

With the pen positioned in his fingers just so for the perfect thwap, he taps her tricep. He means to ask her immediately, “Drawn anything new lately?”, but she visibly winces, and the pencil clatters on to the desk.

“Sorry–did that hurt?” He rushes out, worried that he has accidentally actually wounded her.

Marinette turns her head, looking at him as if he’d just asked her a math question from the homework they’re both ignoring.

“What do you mean?” Looking down at her jacket’s sleeve, she gives a little gasp. “Oh, yeah, fell on my mannequin at home. I hit this little metal piece, the hem guide. Made a gnarly bruise.”

He can imagine it, right under the fabric: the fresh blues and purples of broken blood vessels. He’s had more than his fair share of jam-like smears dot his body over the last year. Sometimes a grenade hits an overhead beam and ricochets; sometimes he’s plain stupid and too focused on making Toxinelle laugh to notice that the roof was giving way under the flames below. It’s normal for him, but something in his gut kicks.

“You’re usually not that clumsy,” he says, readjusting himself on his seat to sit up.

She gives him a small smile with deadpan eyes before fixating her attention on the piece of charcoal in her fingers. “I’m just really close to finishing a big project, and it’s so, so close to being done but there’s just a ton of little details, too many to write down, so it’s all in my head, right, and—” she sucks in a breath, and then stops. Rolls her arms back. Scratches her head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to drop that so suddenly. It’s just a lot.”

When she looks back up at him, he forgets there’s a space around them.

He’s leaned in too close. So close he can smell her hairspray and the faint Sharpie from her hand.

Her voice is small, as if there’s anyone else that could hear them. “But it’s almost done. That’s good, right?”

As if he’s hit too close to the pit inside him, a cut to the quick of something he couldn’t name, he moves away so he can’t smell how she smells like sugar cookies, of all things. On the side of his thigh where she can’t see, he rubs his palm on his pant leg. Swallowing, he says, “Won’t finish if you keep falling.” Fuck. His throat is too dry. “You should rest more. I-it’s important!” He screws up his face. I sound like my dad.

#miraculous ladybug #asukies answered #ask game

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larvasmoon · 8 months

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Portrait of the pale elf (5)- He, who is the dagger

Chapter summary : Selene visits Astarion in his manor, finally starting his portrait, but things quickly go downhill as the night unfolds.

Word count : 6,5 k

Trigger Warnings : Blood. Biting (of course). Dry Humping. Inappropriate use of an armour. Mentions of death.

Author's note : This chapter has taken a little bit more time and effort to write than usual. I wanted it to be as perfect as possible because it's a turning point in the relationship between Selene and Astarion. I've written this installment while listening to Sky Ferreira's haunting and gothic song "Downhill Lullaby". I think it perfectly encapsulates the mood I've been trying to set in this chapter.

Thank you so much if you follow this story. It always touches me so deeply when I realize that what I've written has actually reached someone !

As always, here's my AO3 darling

The full moon, wrapped in a coat of misty clouds, shone bright over Selene’s head. It was close to midnight, and she shivered under the hood of her mantle. Her fingers tingled with the cold, numb around the heavy wooden box in which she carried a blank canvas and her folded easel. Slung across her chest was a bundle of brown linen, full with her paintbrushes, paint paddle and charcoal sticks.

She had never ventured in this part of the higher city, a section of Baldur’s Gate where the imposing manors could as well have been called castles. Wherever her eyes landed, the scenery was eerily beautiful, full of dark charms that she naively attributed to the witching hour.

One particular mansion caught her eyes and she stopped in her tracks, thinking to herself that it would make a fine painting decor.

Its high tower seemed to climb high into the celestial sky, the silver glow of the moon pooling on the black tiles of the roof like a soft caress. The rest of the facade was made of a surprisingly dark stone, adorned with the cruel faces of many gargoyles, lurking under the roof’s shadow, or stretching out their clawed hands from the balcony railings. Their toothy grins and penetrating eyes, permanently carved into the onyx like stone, made her so uneasy that she instinctively took a few steps back. Through the sumptuous oriel windows, she could see the flickering of a lit chandelier, illuminating the mouldings of a scarlet ceiling, bleeding red into the night.

She was about to set off once again when she noticed the small metal plate next to the manor’s gates. Selene had to squint her eyes to make out the name of the house, written in Thorass : “ The gothic serenade”.

“ It’s the last mansion of the avenue”, Astarion had said with a wry smile, “ you can’t miss it”.

She chuckled when she noticed that after this one manor, the street took a turn, and a fleet of stairs led back to the wide commercial avenues in which Carmine Red was.

A bit cliché for a vampire’s manor , she mused, I didn’t take Astarion for the predictable type, he’s usually so full of surprises.

The gate was already unlocked. When she softly gave it a push, it silently opened to reveal a small garden full of enchanted red roses, in full bloom even in the cold of winter. As she walked up the winding path, the cold branches of a tall weeping willow grazed her cheek, like a lover’s hand.

The door flew open before she had even reached its steps, and the bright lights inside the house illuminated Astarion’s elegant silhouette.

“There you are. I was expecting you, darling.”

He was wearing a simple white shirt and black breeches, gracefully leaning on the threshold of his humble abode.

It felt strange to hear his voice in the wide open air, outside of the loud spaces of taverns, or the hushed and intimate boutique that was Carmine Red. There, in the obscurity, it sounded electrifying. Its deeper tones made her senses more alert, as if some repressed part of her subconscious was in fact well aware of his true nature.

“I apologise, I’m running late, I got lost in the streets” she sheepishly answered, climbing up the few steps with slightly flushed cheeks.

The vampire helped her inside, taking the heavy box from her hands like it weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

“Oh no need to apologise, dear. I should be thanking you for coming at such a late hour. I hope you’re not too exhausted.”

The inside of his home was decorated in a similar fashion to Carmine Red : the walls and ceilings were painted in a deep burgundy red, the floor was covered in red persian rugs, black lacquered furniture was scattered about the room, and here and there she spotted a few vases filled with dry everlasting flowers.

However, the artist in her couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single painting on the high walls of his place.

Not even a boring still-life painting or outfashioned scenery. Nothing.

And while his tailor shop had felt comforting and warm to her, the manor was a paler and colder reflection of it. As if Astarion was barely a passing shadow in those wide spaces. Not even staying long enough for his scent to linger in the air, the way it had last time she’d visited him.

“It’s no problem, I usually don’t sleep a lot anyway” she confessed, gasping when he leaned closer to unclasp her cloak around her neck and slide it off her shoulders.

“Can I offer you something to drink ? A little something to keep you awake through the night ?” he proposed, already treading away into a corner of the living room and rummaging through a cabinet, “I must warn you though, the tea I make is absolutely awful!”

“What would you suggest ?”

Her feet carried her towards a black chest of drawers. On top of it was a set of daggers, displayed on a luxurious ivory stand. The handles were mesmerising, covered in a multitude of expensive stones : rubies, amethysts, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. They glittered and shimmered in the candlelights, and she wondered how such a magnificent thing could have been made to kill.

So much refinement and beauty, poured into a weapon destined to extinguish life... She couldn’t tell whether it’d be cruel or sweet, to be on the receiving end of its sharpness, and have the glint of gemstones be your last vision before death’s embrace.

“Wine. Red preferably. I have quite the collection.”

Her fingers moved on their own, and she carefully dragged them along the blunt edge of the beautifully curved blades. They were soft and cool to the touch, like their owner’s skin.

In a flash, he’d crossed the room, and was standing right beside her. His slender hands grabbed her own, and strayed her away from the daggers.

“Careful darling, don’t cut yourself”, he spoke through gritting teeth, with a faltering voice she struggled to recognize.

A crack in his sophisticated mask, she thought. She’d grown used to the low purr of his voice, to the dandyish inflection of it, and to the confidence with which he always spoke. This quiet trepidation felt so strange, so out of character, that she was a little bit taken aback.

What if this warning was destined to him, just as much as it was to her ? Did he not trust himself enough to resist the sight of her blood ? A chill ran down her spine at the thought of such implications.

For a few seconds, she pondered whether this was all in fact a very bad idea, being alone in a blood thirsty vampire’s manor, so far into the night that the streets of the higher city were empty. She thought about taking back her things, and her mind raced with all sorts of pitiful excuses she could invent to run back to her apartment, like the coward she’d spent most of her life being.

And yet, she remained silent and still, looking at the beauty of his milky and delicate hands around her stained and unkept painter’s fingers.

She could never be enough of a fool to turn down the unhoped-for opportunity to paint him, no matter how undeserving she felt of it.

Her, the insignificant painter with no name to herself, tainted with things that no amount of water could ever clean. And him, the beautiful beyond reason creature, with skin of alabaster and eyes of molten fire.

“Oh but I didn’t, see ?” she reassured Astarion, turning her hand in his grasp to show the tips of her blackened fingers, permanently sullied by the use of charcoal sticks, “I shouldn’t have touched them without asking though, I’m sorry.”

She tore her eyes away from their intertwined hands, and stared at him for the first time of the evening. His claret eyes were at least two shades darker than usual, even under the bright glow of the lit chandeliers. There was no light in the gaze that he kept eerily fixed on her fingers, and she wondered what kind of thoughts were going through this pretty and dangerous head of his.

She found that she didn’t mind if they were of the bloody kind, if it meant that she could capture his essence and trap it into paint.

“They’re breathtaking. Do they have a story ? I feel like they would, with such an intricate design” she gently inquired again, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he moved away and cleared his throat.

The vampire slowly sauntered back towards the cabinet, filling two goblets with a wine so red it almost looked black when it poured out of the bottle.

“It’s a souvenir from my old glorious days” he sniffed, not without a hint of bitterness, “those blades have seen just as much blood as my hands have, but I’d rather not see them tainted with yours.”

As he talked, Selene found herself dreaming of that version of him she had never seen.

Astarion in armour, fighting an army of relentless enemies.

She imagined that back then, in combat as in the voluptuous atmosphere of a boudoir, each and every one of his movements must’ve been painfully sultry.

An apex predator, moving with the grace of a feline when closing in on an unwitting prey. He’d carve into their flesh with a fervour of a lover, rhythmically and precisely, until they’d come undone. The droplets of blood, spurting all around him, would be like the many rose petals thrown on a stage by the cheering crowd, after the final of his dance macabre.

The thought of him covered in blood did something to her lower belly that she chose to ignore.

No , it’d make a fine painting, nothing more.

When he handed her her glass, she admired his form one last time, and decided it was time for her to do what she’d initially come for.

“So, how would you like for me to paint you, Astarion ?” she abruptly asked, crouching down to unpack her blank canvas.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes settled on her once again, clear and taunting like a cat’s. “Well, in the nude, of course, darling.”

Selene’s hands stilled around the last latch of the box, her mind conjuring obscene and sensual images of him posing on a bed of red silk. He’d have the body of a marble statue, sculptural yet strong. She could almost see the outlines of his muscles under his thin white shirt.

The tip of her pointy ears burnt from how much she was blushing.

She’d done a few nude paintings back when she was still a student. They’d always been done with female models, because Damian foolishly didn’t see fit for a young girl to practise in any other way. As an adolescent, she’d seen countless beautiful women au naturel, tieflings, elves, humans with all shades of hair and skin. She’d spent countless hours painting the round lines of their breasts, the curves of their closed thighs, or the hollow of their barely concealed groins.

She’d drawn a naked man for the first time, much later. Her own lover, the first and only she’d ever had. He was named Lucius, a wood elf that hadn’t stayed in the city long enough to be with her more than a few weeks. Selene had made the best out of it though, now and then sketching his naked body in the crumpled sheets of the bed he’d just made love to her into.

None of this had ever made her blush, but the thought of a very naked Astarion had.

The vampire wheezed beside her, bending down from how much he was laughing.

“I’m teasing you, love. You should’ve seen your face, it was hilarious” he crackled, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes.

Selene sighed, running her hands through her long hair, and did her best to think about anything but his unclothed body. “No, I mean- is there any particular way you’d like for me to represent you ?”

“You’re the painter, I’ll leave it up to you”, he shrugged, eagerly drinking from his glass, “In whatever room of this house, and in whatever attire, I’m all yours.”

She looked over at the daggers once again, and thought that the only right way to paint him would be with them in hand.

“Do you still have any armour ?” she absent mindedly asked, already rummaging through her supplies, “I’d like to paint you in one of them, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m sorry but did I offend you with my joke, darling ? Because you’re certainly going for the complete opposite” he huffed, almost offended.

He pointed at his body with wide and agitated movements. “None of this will be visible, and I’m curious to see what it looks like, mind you !”

“It doesn’t have to be anything bulky, or heavy… maybe just something made out of leather ?”

“And here I thought you’d want to paint me in see-through silk, arched or bent in suggestive positions” he mocked, looking at her as though she’d just said the most asinine thing he’d ever heard.

She contemplated explaining to him in great detail the symbolism of him dressed in armour, or the way she thought that, from time to time, he used his beauty as a weapon or a protection of sorts. But, it seemed a bit insensitive to tell this to someone who had felt like they needed to shield themselves from the world in the first place.

So she settled for the more obvious reasons.

“I have something in mind” she softly said, getting up to be at eye level with him once again, “Trust me, you’ll be able to see each and every detail of your appearance.”

Her dark eyes roamed his face and body, picking it apart as if she was already at work.

“Each of your eyelashes, and beauty marks. Each of your silver curls. And each of the elegantly concealed shapes of your body.”

He looked back at her with the same intensity, his burning eyes lowering to stare at her lips each time she uttered a new word.

“But I’m not only painting what I see. A teacher of mine once said that painting a portrait is capturing the essence of one’s soul. And I don’t need you to be naked, or posing in a provocative way for that.”

A strange and pained expression flickered across his face, disappearing as quick as it had appeared.

Selene walked back to the displayed daggers, talking with her back to him. “A dark and foreboding armour on a soft and ethereal body, sharp and dangerous daggers in dainty fingers. I think it is fitting when portraying a being of contradiction like yourself. ”

She heard him follow her, each of his lithe steps on the floorboard, until he was standing right behind her.

“ A being of contradiction ? How so ?” he breathed on her neck, and she shivered.

“ Someone who is beautiful, but equally lethal.”

There was a beat of silence in the room, as she continued to admire the magnificent hilts of the daggers.

“Follow me darling, there’s something I’d like to show you” he finally said, turning away to disappear at the corner of a long and dark corridor.

Much later into the night, Selene finally set her easel into place. It was such a strange feeling to prepare herself to paint at a time she would have usually been curled up in her bed, dreaming strange dreams.

The fear she had grown accustomed to, every time she was about to draw, was nowhere to be seen. She felt unusually calm and content, eager to start painting.

Earlier, Astarion had led her into a small room, filled with tokens of his heroic past : rapiers of every size, pretty vials of poison, heavy crossbows, and mannequins dressed in various combat apparels. She had immediately decided that it was the perfect atmosphere and decor for what she had in mind. There were no chandeliers in there, just one lit candelabra and the glow of the full moon. Its rays entered the room through the open window and illuminated the red armchair in which Astarion would later sit. The small space felt gloomy and intimate, like she’d pictured it should be.

As soon as she had entered the room, she’d spotted a sumptuous armour of leather plates. It was blacker than black, strapped and buckled in different places, adorned with many silver details that glowed in the obscurity.

Astarion had unwillingly accepted to wear it, after a little bit of convincing on Selene’s part. As per her request, he had also replaced the original leather cape of the armour with a scrap piece of red silk he’d kept from a dress he had finished a while ago. He’d carefully attached it to the silver chain that was slung across the mannequin’s chest, before silently slipping away to put the armour on.

When he entered the room once again, Selene was just finishing setting her canvas on the easel. All clad in black as he was, from head to toes, the sight of him nearly took her breath away. The atmosphere in the room shifted as he drew closer, as if darkness itself was shrinking away and retreating in front of night incarnate.

Each piece of leather seemed to have been stitched and riveted directly around his body, enveloping his limbs so perfectly it left close to nothing to the imagination. His hair looked even lighter, against all that black, seemingly made of rays of moonlight, or other godly materials. The long piece of scarlet silk, delicately draped over his shoulder, cascaded down the length of his back and legs, until it pooled at his feet like a puddle of blood.

Astarion took a few lithe steps towards the chair and sat in front of her, as she arranged her supplies on a little table he’d placed near her canvas. He looked glorious in every possible way, and Selene had trouble concentrating on her tasks.

The vampire kept his eyes trained on each of her movements, a strange intensity in his gaze that she didn’t know how to interpret.

Once she was done, her feet carried her to him, hesitantly looking at his posture.

“May I touch you ? I’d like to adjust everything before we start.”

His red eyes widened a little bit at her question, before he regained his composure and crossed his legs.

“Oh please do, darling” he purred, a dangerous smile playing on his lips, as if he were begging for something different, in a very different context.

Selene’s hands reached for the vampire, touching him in ways she never would’ve never dared to otherwise.

She brushed a silver curl away from his forehead, with a softness that almost would have looked tender to any onlooker. The tips of her fingers came to rest under his chin, gently tilting his head to the side. Delicately holding his forearms and angling them on the armrest, she then took his hands in her own and placed them on his lap. One of them was made to hold the dagger he’d brought from downstairs, the blade tentatively resting against his thigh.

Finally, Selene kneeled at his feet, fixing the silk until she was satisfied with the way it rested on the floor.

While she was busy arranging his cape, she felt his own fingers reaching out for her hair, softly pushing her heavy curly hair away from her neck and letting them fall down her back. They lingered for a few seconds on her nape, lusciously feeling her bones and the start of her spine.

“You should tie them up, so they’re out of the way” his silky voice said from above her, and she heard the rushed and loud beating of her own heart in her ears.

When she got up, red as a peony, he had a particularly vampish smile playing on his lips.

“Are you comfortable ? Do you feel like you could stay like this for a while ?”

“It shouldn’t be an issue, darling” he stared up at her through his lashes, a dangerous flame dancing in his eyes, “I am well versed in the art of maintaining a variety of positions , all night long if need be. ”

Astarion’s blatant flirting wasn’t lost on Selene, it had never been, but she did not really know how to respond to it. She usually settled for pathetic smiles and flushed cheeks, like an inexperienced maiden.

She had quickly gathered that part of being a good painter was spending a lot of time observing people, and dissecting them, so that part of their temperament would transpire on their features. And yet, on most occasions, talking to the vampire felt to her like fumbling in the dark, unsure of where to go or of what to say. No matter how hard she tried, Selene couldn’t tell where his mask of flamboyance began, and where it ended. She just knew it existed, and maybe it was already enough in itself.

Sometimes his pretty words sounded like the practised lines of a skillful actor on the stage of the city’s luxurious theatre, at others they rang true in ways she had not expected. Those rare moments were like ripples at the surface of water, and she longed to dive in the murky waters of his mind to see what kind of secrets rested at the bottom of it.

“We shall begin then” she uttered, more to herself than to Astarion, and she came back to stand behind her canvas.

Selene grabbed one of her brushes, inelegantly sticking it into the messy bun she’d curled her hair into. Faintly, she heard Astarion sigh, in what mistakenly sounded like impatience.

With a deft hand, she started tracing stark and dark lines. In the silence of the room echoed the familiar melody of the charcoal stick grazing the canvas, with each quick flick of her wrist. Every time she looked back at him, his ruby eyes hadn’t left her, unwavering.

When he talked once again, his voice sounded somehow mellower. “Come to think of it, I have never asked you your full name.”

Her movements halted, her hand suspended above the piercing eyes she’d just finished sketching.

“It’s just Selene” she answered, failing to completely conceal the emotion in her voice, “I’m an orphan”.

The tip of her finger lightly rubbed the canvas, blurring a shadow under his eyebrow. She was as delicate with the drawing as she was with him, as if it was Astarion himself that she was touching with the staining edge of her stick.

“Why did you never commission one of our city’s greater painters to draw your portrait ? Before I offered to draw your portrait I mean -” she asked in turn, clearly eager to talk about something else.

“I don’t particularly relish being in the company of artists, you are an exception” he snickered, and the way he tapped his foot while he talked, made her think of the way cats tap their tail when they are bothered by something.

His backhanded compliment still somehow found its way to her heart, and she smiled while focusing on the lines of his sophisticated curls.

Selene’s only gateway into the very private and elitist circle of baldurian artists had only been Damian, and she’d lived in his shadow for years. He had given her little to no opportunity to converse with the famous painters she sometimes saw at parties or gatherings. She’d guessed it was because he was too afraid that she’d talk too much and reveal things that should be kept secret.

If her master was anything like the rest of them, she could only agree with Astarion though.

“You’ll probably think that I am a terrible bore, but I don’t mingle that much with fellow painters, so I can’t really agree or disagree” she explained, ticking when she realised her rendition of his perfect jaw was, in fact, far from being perfect.

“Is it because of Fallheel ? Does he forbid you to talk to others like he forbid you to talk to me ? ” he harshly inquired, and the tone of his voice made her lift her eyes from her sketch once again.

Yes of course, she thought, but she found herself instinctively shaking her head when she answered. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

A low sarcastic chuckle. “Oh on the contrary, you know exactly what I’m implying, darling”, the vampire grew agitated on his chair, forgetting to stay still and playing with the blade of the dagger that was in his lap, “the man is pathetic, so unsure of himself, that he’s scared you’d run off or choose a new master if you socialised more.”

“Can you stay just like that ? Playing with the dagger” she excitedly asked, “ yes, yes, that’s even better than before !”

He rolled his eyes but obliged her nonetheless, the ghost of a smile on his delicious lips.

Hours went on like this, with a few words exchanged between them, and Selene feverishly drawing to finish her sketch before the sun was up in the city's sky.

And surely enough, it did rise, slowly at first, barely illuminating the stratosphere and filling it with indigo blue clouds.

It reminded her of a story they used to tell to children at the orphanage, the tragic tale of the sun and the moon. She remembered how Amalia, the elderly headmistress, told them about that ballad that she had written in her youth, when she was still a bard. She’d called it “the greatest and saddest love. It began with her tremulous voice whispering : “ the moon and the sun are lovers, but to love from afar is to love bitterly”. At the end of every night, the moon quickly would sadly retreat to the horizon, still there when the first rays shone at the other side of the world, as if to cast one last desperate look behind her. At the beginning of every day, the sun would hurry at the doors of the sky, to steal one look at the beauty of the lady of the night. For a few glorious seconds, the two planets would be face to face, like forbidden lovers destined to always distantly cross paths and condemned to long for things they could never have.

It reminded her of him , as she drew the last detailed bit of the decor behind his silhouette.

Outside, she could hear carriages passing through the avenue and the hooves of the horses stomping on the pavement. A few voices echoed in the streets, as baldurians either began a long day, or came home after an even longer night.

“The sun is almost up, darling, you should probably go home,” Astarion wearily said, hauling himself to his feet, “before someone sees you scandalously coming out of my house at the cracks of dawn.”

He elegantly stood up and strode to close the window. Gripping the thick curtains, he lingered there for a little more, eyes lost in the sky with the most hearwenching expression she’d ever seen him make. The blue light that highlighted the contour of his profile gave her a glimpse of what he’d look like in the sun, and something in her chest did a strange summersault.

“I’ve finished the sketching part” she softly declared, letting her charcoal stick fall into its metallic box, and wiping her hands, “ Do you wish to see it now, or when it’ll be painted ?”

This seemed to pick his interest and in one swift motion, he drew the curtains and engulfed them in the dark once again.

“I’ve never been one for suspense. Show me, love” he growled, eyes wide and sparkly in the dim lights.

Selene stepped aside, suddenly shy and doubtful. At times, when drawing him, she’d felt as though he was so painfully beautiful that any attempt at recreating his features would be fruitless at best, and ridiculous at worst.

Astarion’s eyes roamed the canvas, slowly, silently, his lips trembling as if he were trying to articulate words. He exhaled once, one shallow breath that fanned across her hair. She felt his body shake right beside her, the leather of his armour crackling with each of his imperceptible movements.

After a few agonising seconds, he smiled wide and bright, and Selene’s kness almost buckled from how relieved she was.

“Do you like it ?” she timidly asked, her dirty fingers fidgeting with the cloth she was still holding.

The vampire turned to stare at her, “If I like it ?” he chortled, drawing near and taking her face in his hands, “I adore it, you absurdly talented woman.”

Her flushed cheeks burnt against the cold of his palm, and when she looked into his scarlet eyes, she realised they were wet with tears.

“Everything about this is exquisite. I understand why Fallheel wants to keep you all to himself” he breathed, his lips almost brushing against her own when he talked.

“I’m gla-” Selene started, but suddenly she felt something roll under the sole of her shoe, sending her flying backward.

A piece of charcoal, most likely.

The world titled and turned, as she pathetically failed to find anything to cling to.

In an instant, one of Astarion’s powerful arms closed around her waist, pressing her flush against the hard plane of his chest. The cold clasps of his armour deliciously digging into the skin of her breasts, naked under her flowy shirt.

She had stupidly decided not to wear a bodice the night prior, as it would constrict and dig into her ribcage when she spent hours hunched over a painting.

They tumbled to the ground, a muffled groan coming out of her mouth when her back gently hit the carpeted floor.

Astarion had fallen on top of her, kneeling between her legs and holding himself up on one arm. His other hand firmly held her hip, his thumb resting on the naked skin of her lower belly, right above the laces of her breeches.

“Ah well, look how good your charcoal drawing is, darling,” he said with a low chuckle, “you’ve managed to bring me down to my knees.”

She giggled beneath the vampire, so filled with the joy of having done something for him, that she forgot to be embarrassed about the way their bodies were pressed together.

He gingerly caressed her cheek, the pad of his fingers following the lines of her dimples. “You should laugh more, it suits you, you know.”

She watched his gaze trail from her face to her neck, leaving goosebumps on her skin in its wake. His expression slowly morphed into another. The muscles of his jaw growing tight, his irises draining from all their light, and turning into a deep burgundy red, so dark it looked almost black.

An alarm rang somewhere in the back of her mind, like it had so many times since she’d entered his manor the night before. Like some old and primal instinct, plaguing her with the certainty that she was stalked by a deadly creature, flooding her mind with the gripping urge to flee before being stuck under the attack of its teeth and claws.

But once again, she turned a deaf ear to it, too enthralled by the way his pale eyelashes moved with each of his slow blinks, or the sensation of his fingers tracing her collarbones with feather light caresses.

The will to live might have been strong in most living things, but she was sure it was nothing that the softness of his touch could not silence. If Death had had the face of Astarion, odious crowds of wretched and suffering mortal souls would’ve crawled at his feet, ashen and emaciated by the pain of living. Their bony and crooked fingers gripping and tugging at him, as they sang their woes.

Take us, embrace us, for nothing in this life is more glorious than you, who is the end of all.

She talked before she was aware of the words forming on her tongue. “Are you hungry, Astarion ?”

He looked up at her, pupils blown, like two dark orbs in which heard the call of the void.

“Don’t tempt a beast, darling, for it might truly bare its teeth” he snarled, his fangs looking much sharper than usual under the shadow of his lip.

“Show me then“ she breathed, raising her hand to lay it flat on his plated chest, where his heart should’ve been beating, “The beast inside.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying”, he shook his head, pressing his eyes closed, as if he were battling something inside his mind, “It’s all ugly, and it’s ill favoured.”

“Nothing about you could ever be hideous, Astarion” she uttered, truly meaning each and every word, “Not to me.”

She’d always thought so, even when she’d gotten a glimpse of the more sinister parts of him.

Selene’s fingers reached for his forehead, intimately wiping off the sheen of sweat on his skin, and Astarion all but melted into her arms. Yielding to her gentleness.

He pressed his nose against the curve of her neck, breathing along her nape, brushing his soft lips against her skin, until his face was buried in the dark curls of her hair.

“You smell so …” he whispered in her ears, taking another lungful of her scent, “sumptuous.”

His hips fell between her open legs, fitting perfectly, as though he were some missing piece in the puzzle of her body she didn’t even know she’d lost.

His tongue licked a hot and wet stripe on her pulse, and something like a moan of pain wormed its way out of his chest. “I can almost taste your blood like this, as it rushes and pools under your flushed skin.”

She didn’t know it was possible, but her heart started to beat even faster, something taking flight in her chest and rising to higher spheres.

“Please” she pleaded, her words barely a breath, without really knowing what it was she was begging for exactly.

Astarion lifted his face away from her nape once again, resting his forehead on hers, and staring deep into her eyes. She could see the thin ring of his burning irises around all that darkness.

“Since the day I’ve seen you in that pitiful tavern, I’ve dreamt of it. I’ve had visions of you, and visions of me having you the way I please.”

His hand tightened around the hollow of her waist as he talked, bringing her impossibly closer, even though they were already tightly embracing each other.

“But it’s nothing tender, you see. I’m no longer capable of such things. They are full of blood and death, the kind of kisses I give” he breathed against her lips, almost taking her mouth then and there, and she drunkenly inhaled the air that came out of his lungs.

“I’ve always loved a kiss with teeth”, her hand stroked his silver hair, admiring the softness of his curl, “ So kiss me, Astarion.”

His eyes widened, irises ablaze with scorching flames, and he placed a river of small kisses from the corner of her mouth to her nape.

She laid there, staring at the red ceiling of the room. Desire and fear coiled in her belly, as she waited for a sting that she knew was coming.

And all at once, it was there.

A sharp pain that tore a sob out of her. Her back arched off the floor, and Astarion’s hips buckled into her when he swallowed her blood for the first time. It tingled where his teeth were, each wave of pain turning into a pulsating sensation that had wetness pooling between her legs.

Her neck had always been a weak spot of hers, a part of her body where her nerves seemed to acutely pick up on each friction and stroke. She knew she would have come just from a few of his kisses and love bites but … this was different. The addictive blend of pain and pleasure that he was inflicting on her, had her toes curling and her vision blurring with ecstasy.

The vampire growled, deep and vicious, his pointy ear twitching against her cheek with each gulp of blood. His soft hair tickled her chin, like silk upon her skin, and it deliciously contrasted with the brutality of his teeth in her flesh.

Distantly, she heard his hand violently slam on the floor next to her head, nails scraping the surface and clawing at the wood, instead of tearing her skin apart. He pressed further into her, suddenly crushing her hips with lascivious thrusts that had her chasing a release she didn’t even know was already building deep in her core.

She gripped the straps on his shoulders, stars dancing in the corners of her vision.

“Ah-Astarion, I’m-” she whined, as he started licking and sucking at her wound with open-mouthed kisses.

His cold hand travelled up her torso, like water sipping through the fabric of her cotton shirt, until it reached her breasts. It stopped at first, trembling as if he were realising that she wasn’t wearing any corset under her button down, before he kneaded and pinched her hard nipples with a renewed vigour.

Each time his hips picked up speed, her clothed slit tantalizingly glided along the buckle of his belt, sending bolts of electricity at the base of her spine. Astarion was making love to her with and through his armour, each of his movements under the constricting leather of his attire sending her down a spiral of suffocating pleasure.

Thighs twitching uncontrollably, something recoiling in her belly with the promise of a shattering return, Selene let out a string of chocked moans.

He groaned once, his hips slowing at the same time as her body convulsed and exploded around him. His thighs flexed under her own, and the thought of his coming in his leather pants had her spasming for a little bit longer under him.

Astarion slowly unlatched from her neck, mouth and cheeks smeared with gore. His hands cupped her face, coaxing her eyes open with caresses and kisses on her flushed cheeks.

“Are you still with me, darling ?” he sweetly asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

Selene didn’t know whether she’d come or died, or both. She uttered an intelligible answer, nodding through the afterglow of her orgasm. She felt weak and dazed, convinced that she’d float out of her body if Astarion wasn’t holding her onto the ground.

“You, my sweet, are the most divine thing I have tasted”, he murmured, lapping at a drop of blood that dripped across her neck when she’d turned her head, “you’ve given me so much tonight that I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I could say the same thing” she whispered, wiping a bit of the blood that was dripping from his lips.

He sighed before bringing her hands to his lips, languorously licking the red smears that she had collected on her thumb. His eyes looked like rubies once again, shimmering in the dark, maybe even brighter than before.

“Come on, let’s clean you up.”

The last thing she felt before the world went black, was the strong set of Astarion’s arms closing under back and legs, and lifting her off the ground. Her head fell on his shoulder, the sweet and vibrant scent of him lulling her to sleep.

In the swirling darkness of her closed eyes, she dreamt that she was splattering buckets of crimson paint on the walls of a blank and empty room. Hands and brushes drenched with it, singing and dancing in the red, she felt happy.

Free .

#astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #Spotify

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theofficersacademy · 9 months

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Arval Sephiran Yuri Edelgard Nel Felix Jakob Kent Grima Ayra Veyle Lyn Diamant Sothe

TEAM TAG: #AOzayin2024 LOCATION: Lilium DURATION: First part Jan 1 - 5 (noon), Second part Jan 5 - 7 (midnight)

Led by a bishop of the church, you travel to some inconspicious place in the woods outside of the monastery. When he peels back the fabric of space, you shudder. It feels like discovering a viper's nest right below where you live. With no idea what will happen when you step through, you're as prepared as you'll ever be. One deep breath and in you go…

Explosions rend the air, barely louder than the screams that rise from all around you. Blearily, you blink understanding into your surroundings: a cloudless, aquamarine sky, massive chunks of rock and twisted metal strewn across the paved street, towering skeletons of buildings, their windows blown out, leaning precariously all around you, and bodies - some moving, many still, all of them battered and bloody. As the dust settles, flames lick up a wooden pole behind you - you think maybe faces had been carved or painted into it, but it burns too quickly for you to see, and then topples across the caved roof of a house. There it sputters and dies into a log of charcoal against the smooth, dark metal that makes up the building's sides.

Where are you?

Lilium. Home. The answer comes to you from nowhere.

Yes, home.

You rush to aid whoever you can. Women and children, some infants. Not a single grown man among them.

Who did this?

██████. Static.

"Help my child. Please," the old woman in your arms pleads up at you weakly, through bruised eyes and a mouthful of blood. She points to a mound of rubble and then goes limp.

WHAT YOU KNOW

You've found yourself in a city called Lilium, currently under siege by some unknown force. You haven't been able to catch a glimpse of the attackers yet, or managed to get any information out of the people who live here. It's all-hands-on deck trying to keep people alive, so there hasn't been any time to talk.

The majority of the population seems to be women, children, and the elderly. They don't have the means to fight back, and are grateful for your aid.

The architecture of the city is unusual but familiar at the same time, and you can't figure out what year it is. Some of the buildings appear to be similar in style to what you're used to seeing around Fódlan, especially in Enbarr, but other features appear to defy what you understand to be possible: self-lighting lamps, for example, metal automatons that move on their own, and magic-powered machines.

The city is separated into four blocks. Block A, situated toward the southwest, has sustained the most damage, and only one or two buildings still stand. The attack caught the city by surprise, so there may still be survivors under the rubble… it's just been too dangerous for anyone to get close. Block B, in the southeast, is hardly any better, but there were fewer people living here at the time of the attack. This is a factory district, so supplies and weaponry may be found within the destruction. Block C, in the northwest, is the location of the infirmary, and currently has too many injured people to fit in one building. Lastly Block D, in the northeast, has been largely untouched. Those still well enough to work have begun gathering supplies here to defend their home, and aim to set up a second infirmary in the event that the first infirmary must evacuate.

Your own weapons, while you remain fully equipped with what you brought with you from Garreg Mach, look like they've seen better days. Be careful with them, since once they break, you might not be able to repair them…

WHAT TO DO

Note: When you choose a task for your character, they will not be able to leave the block until the end of the week.

BLOCK A (Risk: High)

Fight back (max: 3 people per thread) — Each participant in the thread will roll D3 before starting. Ping Mod Ree for your enemies — Traditional combat. The thread is completed once one side has lost all HP

Search for survivors (max: 2 people per thread) — Roll D6 per post. Each full Heavy Armor rank grants an additional +1 to the roll 　　　･　if 1, rubble cannot be moved without help from your partner. Your turn makes no progress, and your partner must roll a 3 or higher on their turn to help. If partner has Backup, grants one reroll. 　　　･　if 2, you disrupt an avalanche of debris. Roll D10, where 6 or higher will allow you to evade. Every point of speed currently equipped on the character grants +1 to this roll. Failing to evade inflicts -2HP (subtract -1 for every point of defense currently equipped) on character instead, and partner must roll a 3 or higher on their turn to save them instead. 　　　･　if 3, 4, 5, or 6, you have a lead. Your partner must roll 3 or higher to add to your roll. Once the combined total equals 10, you have successfully uncovered a person. Rolling a 2, however, will reset your progress. 　　　･　When you rescue someone, roll D20. If 11 or higher, they will be alive. If 10 or lower, they will be dead. Each full Faith rank grants an additional +1 to the roll

BLOCK B (Risk: High)

Fortify defenses (max: 2 people per thread) — One character will fill sandbags, the other character will place them — To fill sandbag, roll 3D5 per post to determine score. The higher the better. — To place each sandbag, roll D10 per post to determine score. The higher the better. If sandbag score is 7 or lower, subtract 1 from placement roll. If sandbag score is 4 or lower, subtract 2 from placement roll. — At the end of the week, or when the thread ends, the total score for the structure will be calculated.

Search for supplies (max: 2 people per thread) — Roll D6 per post. Each full Heavy Armor rank grants an additional +1 to the roll 　　　･　if 1, rubble cannot be moved without help from your partner. Your turn makes no progress, and your partner must roll a 3 or higher on their turn to help. If partner has Backup, grants one reroll. 　　　･　if 2, you disrupt an avalanche of debris. Roll D10, where 6 or higher will allow you to evade. Every point of speed currently equipped on the character grants +1 to this roll. Failing to evade inflicts -2HP (subtract -1 for every point of defense currently equipped) on character instead, and partner must roll a 3 or higher on their turn to save them instead. 　　　･　if 3, 4, 5, or 6, you have a lead. Your partner must roll 3 or higher to add to your roll. Once the combined total equals 10, you have successfully found something. Rolling a 2, however, will reset your progress. 　　　･　When you find something, roll D10 to determine what it is. Be sure to carefully log what you find and the amount, because it may be useful to you later. Items can be used immediately by the person who found them, or saved for next week. 　　　･　1. Scrap metal 　　　･　2. Iron Weapon (randomize: Sword, Lance, Axe, Bow, Gauntlets) 　　　･　3. Energy Block (x1) 　　　･　4. Recovery Tincture (S) 　　　･　5. Medicine (x1) 　　　･　6. Steel Weapon (randomize: Sword, Lance, Axe, Bow, Gauntlets) 　　　･　7. Recovery Tincture (randomize: M or L) 　　　･　8. Medicine (x3) 　　　･　9. Energy Block (x3) 　　　･　10. Whetstone (x1) or Scrap metal (x3) (randomize)

BLOCK C (Risk: Medium)

Help the wounded (max: 2 people per thread, at least one must have healing spell) — Consume staff uses to heal the injured in the infirmary. Roll as if healing during combat, affected by character's equipped stats. — Remember that your staves have durability, and you may not be able to recover their uses

Create medicine (max: 2 people per thread) — The infirmary has a magic-powered machine that converts herbs and other ingredients into medicine concoctions unlike any you've ever seen before. However, it takes time and energy. — Roll D4 per post. — If 1, the machine breaks down. Roll another D4 to determine cause. 　　　･　1. Out of energy. Consume Energy Block to power up again (Current # of Energy Blocks: 5) 　　　･　2. Overheating. Roll D10 to attempt to cool it with water or ice magic. Rolling 6 or higher is success. Each full rank the character has in Reason adds +1 to the roll. 　　　･　3. Unsuitable ingredient. Remove the entire concoction and start over. 　　　･　4. Jammed machinery. Roll D10 to attempt to fix the parts. Rolling 6 or higher is success. Each point of Dexterity in the character's inventory adds +1 to the roll. — Gather 1 vial of medicine every 3 successful posts (unless machine breaks down due to unsuitable ingredients, then start over). It will be consumed immediately by the nurses aiding the injured, so this will not be added to your inventory.

BLOCK D (Risk: Low)

Clean out the building for the new infirmary (max: 3 people per thread, only one thread allowed for this task) — Posts do not require rolls. Every post counts as 1 point. This will be totaled at the end of the week.

IMPORTANT NOTES

This event will be mostly driven by players unless otherwise stated. You will have tasks to complete throughout the week, the results of which may hurt or harm you in the long run. Every decision you make will impact you in one way or other, so choose wisely.

Content of a thread should NOT be limited to the requirements of a task. For example, if you choose to move rubble, you are not limited to writing your character moving rubble. Post counts and rolls are here as a way to score your progress, but that's all they should be used for. Focus on building relationships with your teammates. A post will still count for moving rubble even if you never mention rubble in your post.

We encourage thread replies to be short and quick, but still interesting for you and your teammates. While we won't be disqualifying anyone for taking longer than a day or so to reply, Mod Ree will be making sure that all threads are moving at a regular pace. Players who stall their threads will be skipped without their input.

IC failure will still progress the narrative, so use every action or outcome to build your character's immersion in the plot.

Team Zayin's team document is linked here. Please use it to take notes, log task outcomes, and keep up with threads.

If you have any questions or need more information, ping Mod Ree.

#TOAApollyonOuranos2024 #AOzayin2024

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thecatspirits · 1 year

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[Shown above is a map drawn on a stained and burnt cloth by Rust & Pillar, well, mostly Rust... Pillar collected the charcoal and water but her artistic skills are far beneath Rust's. The map shows a semi-detailed and slightly fantastical depiction of the City Domains, with important locations highlighted with dandelion dye.]

•❅───✧❅ᓚᘏᗢ❅✧───❅•

"The City is a dangerous place, plagued with cats cursed to live forever in the grasps of the before times. The streets are haunted by the two-legged beasts and their metal monsters.

Never go into the City..."

The City is the home of the Domains, ruled by three leaders known only as Fury, Rage and Fear. The Guilds view their home as the Cursed Lands, touched by the corruption of the enslavers, a group of two-legged creatures who forced cats into submission. This corruption is so feared that the Guilds refuse to have their borders touch the City, so between the two powerful territories lies a stretch of land known as the Border Lands. To the north though lies the perhaps even more dangerous Barren, a polluted place of dust and stone with not a single speck of green in sight. Calidiem once rested their, shrouding the dying ground in mystery. Only the most daring ventured into it, until the Great Storm ...

Below is a detailed description of each major location and even a few extras ;)

!WARNING! Implied trafficking can be found in the following two paragraphs of text. Please proceed with caution!

•❅───✧❅ᓚᘏᗢ❅✧───❅•

~Domain Of Fury~

The eastern territory ruled by Fury, a short-tempered tom feared for his, erm, disgusting acts. The Domain Of Fury is renowned for being the worst area of the City to live in. It is the strictest and most uninclusive region, restricting the rich and powerful to the innermost, least-flooded region and the poor to the outskirts. The wealthiest cats, including Fury, enjoy the luxurious and clean Center. They have regular access to the Gathering Place where cats come from all the Domains to trade goods, for a price of course. Unfortunately, Fury's Domain is the most well-known in the... uh... uhm... trading of cats. Rust and Pillar know this fact all too well...

-Hideout-

The place where Rust and Pillar live. It's on the outskirts of the Domain Of Fury, meaning they live a life of scavenging and illegal trade with the merchants who live in the Border Lands. The Hideout is a multi-story, ruined building, and the pair of siblings have made their home on an open balcony protected by a barb wire fence. Rust tends to his garden and craft items while Pillar is away in the Barren scavenging. He also carefully dusts of the shrine each day- Ah! I've said to much already... Best let them tell you about that in their own time.

-Fury's Bastion-

The place where the daemon resides. If a daemon had cat ears and tabby fur that is. Fury makes his home in a rundown library, though you couldn't tell it was a library anymore. Not much is known about what lies inside it, Pillar has tried to nag Bullet about finding out for her, but even a high-born cat rarely enters the heavily guarded bastion.

-Bullet's Home-

This is where Bullet, Pillar and Rust's cousin, lives. Close to the Center due to his mother's status as Fury's sister, Bullet has the privelege of a roof and warm, cooked meals. Pillar has only been here once, and she barely remembers it now. She was in daze of starvation after all.

*Note: This location is NOT marked on the map.*

~Domain of Rage~

The Domain Of Rage is the southern-most region of the know world. Known for his commanding presence, Rage's land are quiet and eerie. His cats live in the shadows, and no true social structure exists. It's every cat for themselves.

Rage's Domain is the most flooded, lying in the lowland region that was once stereotyped as a place of "white picket fences and privelege." The cats here live off of whatever they can find, and during tough seasons, some cats have gone mysteriously missing, their bodies never recovered...

-Rage's Bastion-

The quiet and ever calculating leader resides in a former office building, weathered by time. Pillar knows nothing about this place aside from the tiny pieces of knowledge Bullet managed to find out. Beyond this location is a huge stretch of open ground and few huge buildings.

~Domain of Fear~

Some pretty fishy cats live here. Oh and a shit ton of seagulls too. Can't forget those guys ;) Nobody really know's if Fear is even still alive, he hasn't been seen by outsiders for seasons, with only ambassadors sending messages on his behalf. Her? Their? Who knows who they are honestly.

The cats of Fear's Domain have it the best. Or thats what others think. Life for them is a rigid chore, and despite their extensive supplies of food, cats are always miserable. At least they have endurance due to all the shady "errands" they have to run.

-Fear's Bastion-

Based off rough estimates Pillar has made, she reckons this is where the elusive Fear lives. Though she can't really see any major buildings in the area that would indicate the home of an esteemed leader... Hmm...

-The Bridge-

Technically this lies within the borders of the Domain Of Fear, but not even they would risk getting the terrifying Decay, a sickness that causes you to waste away within days. Paralysis, vomiting, nausea, you name it and the Decay causes it. Not a fun time. Sure, it's got good fishing spots, but the broken bridge is a deadly place to go on an adventure.

~Other Locations~

-The Divide-

The boundary between the territories of each City Domain. Often quick trades occur hear but the most common site in the Divide is the trading of cats. It's a normalized practice but even the worst tyrants have a desire to keep it under wraps and away from prying eyes.

-Blood Guild-

The nemesis of the City Domains, the Blood Guild was established only a few seasons ago by the runt son of Jhak, Son of Rage, and Quiver, Daughter of Fear. Cats are forbidden from entering this place or speaking about it and it's members.

-The Barren-

The dying lands beyond the City and The Guilds, it is believed that the Great Storm came from here where Calidiem once lay resting, supposedly dormant for eternity. Nomads, merchants and scavengers travel through these lands that even long-dead spirits seem to fear.

-The Border Lands-

Simply the stretch of the land between the Guilds and the City Domains, more specifically the Lightning Guild. It is a grassy land filled with useful plants and the occasional animal.

-Lightning Guild-

Ď̶͎͕̫͖̼͍̭̻͌͐̈́͆͗̎͜O̵̱̠͗̈́̊͗ ̴̡̛̻̾̑̄N̵̨̧̡̹̩̯̪̺̯̿́̓Ǫ̶̦̫̖͔̣́̈̃͆͑̉̚͝T̶͚̆͒̒͗̽̍̉͜͠͝ ̶͔͇̲͖͓̾̇͗̊̈́̇͝Ē̷͖̳̜̗̓̀̐̀N̴̫̰͕̣͈͉̱̣̦͒̔͛̌͒̍ͅT̷̛͈̤̤̤͉̗̺̲̻̩̄̆͆̊͂̕͝E̴̥̯̭̫͚̒̊̂͗͝R̵̟̪͛̋ ̸̨̧͙͉͎̥̣̜͂̈́ͅT̸͇̦̬̥͇̯̹̈́̾͆̑̓̆̊̕̚͝ͅH̵̨̲̫̳͙̰̪͖̜̽̈̓̆̓̈̕ͅḘ̸̙̞̲̊́̅̀̆̈́̌̾̈ ̶̺̦̠͑͝F̷̞̙̦̬̭̞̊̂̂̕͘͠͝O̵̝͍̯̫̻͂̈R̶̢͉̤̼̼͕̱͕̀͌̾͛͜͠E̶̦̥̗̜̎̈́̽̊S̵͉͚̎̋T̴͔͇͒̕.̸̮̮͍̦̹̳̼̙̼̗͌͛̄̈́͛̎̑͑́͝

•❅───✧❅ᓚᘏᗢ❅✧───❅•

DO NOT COPY, STEAL OR REUSE MY WORK! YOUR ACCOUNT WILL BE REPORTED!

#Asteros AU #xenomoggy #Asteros Lore #Asteros Map #I don't know what I'm doingggg sorry if this is bad #feel free to send me questions about all this :)#I say to the like six people who are following me XD #I didn't edit this so hopefully it is grammatically correct lol

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jedifarmerr · 2 years

Text

Wasteland Series (Fallout AU)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (No y/n & no physical descriptions)

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Warnings: Language, angst?, pretty tame honestly but let me know if I missed anything.

Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

“You’re late…again.”

Frankie smacked his lips, and checked his watch. 8:15. Almost twenty minutes, he’d been waiting, propped against the fence outside of Piper’s house. He knew he shouldn’t have let her stay the night here.

She waved her hand, tossing away his annoyance like a bothersome gnat. “And good morning to you too.”

Frankie’s jaw ticked at her petulance.

This was their second day of training and already he was tempted to throw in the towel - say fuck it and crawl back into bed where the sheets were probably still warm and waiting for him.

What would the guys say? We pulled sticks? Big deal. That wasn’t binding.

Frankie heavily debated leaving, but he took a deep breath instead. He turned in the direction of Arturo’s then stormed off without another word. She chased after him, lagging in his dust until she caught up with him.

In the middle of town, there was a crowd of pop-up vendors. It must’ve been Saturday. Of course, she had to peek inside every tent. Most of the stuff for sale was junk. Things people deemed unnecessary when picking around nearby apartment buildings. The only ones he found interesting and worthwhile were the ones with art - original pieces done in charcoal, watercolors, or clay.

Frankie had to drag her away from the lady who carved figurines out of deadwood. He opened the door to Arturo’s and ushered her inside.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, and she certainly didn’t make it easy for him.

The weaponry smelled of metal and gunpowder, and also cheap cologne. It was painfully masculine. Arturo had probably bought the wannabe alpha scent from Mama Murphy’s tent: the woman always claimed it was a smell that no woman could resist.

Frankie figured Arturo wore it solely to impress her. After all, the man had flirted with her non-stop yesterday. It was nauseating.

Arturo’s face lit up when he saw her, his grin framed with a fuzzy, black goatee. “Blue,” he purred at her.

When Frankie had introduced her by the nickname, she shockingly didn’t correct him. She seemed to understand it was for her protection. Maybe he was being too cautious, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Hope you two aren’t back with any complaints. Remember: No Refunds. Only Store Credit.” He jabbed his thumb towards the sloppy, handmade sign on the wall.

“Trust me, I know.” Frankie sighed. Arturo appeared to still be gloating about cleaning out his pockets.

Frankie had made the mistake of allowing her to pick out her gun. He really should’ve known better. She was pre-war, after all. People then would pay a premium for aesthetic.

He’d realized he was fucked when Arturo brought out a gold-plated piece. Everything else in the lineup disappeared.

“One-of-a-kind, a hidden gem for the gem of the Commonwealth.”

Frankie wouldn’t go that far, but the gun did suit her. He’d just never say that out loud.

“No complaints here,” she beamed at Frankie. He purchased another box of ammo before heading downstairs.

In the basement, there was a shooting range. Hardly anyone used it, aside from on Thursday’s when anyone 16 and younger could practice for free.

Her dad had taught her the basics: stance, grip, and weight distribution. So, the main focus was on her speed and accuracy.

Frankie leaned against the wall as she loaded her gun. From here, he had a perfect view of both her and the course.

They started with a warm up. He turned the dial to level two and hit the start button. A dulled school bell rang out, and the roof sounded as if it would cave in when the web of gears grinded above him as targets unfolded from the ceiling. Arturo had this thing rigged up like an old carnival skill game. The targets even mimicked the movement and patterns of different wasteland creatures. Even she had been impressed.

By the fifth round, the room reeked of overheated metal and stale summer heat.

She wiped the sweat off her forehead. There was a bead dripping down the center of her chest, his eyes followed.

“Is that really all you got, Francisco?” She drew out his full name. Piper would pay for that.

If she wanted a challenge, fine. “Not even close.” He cranked the dial to the far right and punched it.

This time, the targets zipped around the arena like a pack of pissy stingwings. She frantically shot at each one. She didn’t even hit one. Instead, her bullets pelted the back wall before rolling into a heap around the rusty drain.

She whirled around. “What the hell was that?”

“You wanted to see what I got?” He shrugged - innocent. “Well, there ya go.”

“That’s not fair! I wasn’t ready!”

“Well, there’s your lesson for the day. Be ready for the unexpected.” He smirked and she wrinkled her nose. She didn’t even try to hide the annoyance on her face. “Now, you gonna keep whining or can we get back to it?”

That seemed to irk her. She spun around in a huff, then popped her neck and rolled her shoulders back as if preparing to fight.

“Are we gonna get to it or what?” She snapped, staring down the barrel of her gun.

He had to hand it to her – she had tenacity.

—

The training sessions continued. Everyday, two hours a day, just the two of them. He could tell it was paying off, her shot had vastly improved along with her speed.

Frankie found she didn’t take directions very well. At least, not from him, which wasn’t really surprising.

Anytime he critiqued her, she’d act like she already knew that. Or she was already doing that. Or that’s not how she was taught. Sometimes, he swore she fought back just to get a rise out of him. Once in a while, he’d catch her smirking after learning a new button of his to push. She’d slowly figured him out, and now, had him down to a science like some conditioned pigeon.

She’d peck and peck and peck at him until he would snap and call her a brat. It didn’t faze her. She was exhausting. She could be so goddamn annoying, but he kinda liked it. He weirdly enjoyed it, this game - the push and pull.

He was completely aware that it didn’t make any sense. And was pretty sure something was wrong with him.

Maybe he was spending too much time with her.

It had been over a week since they arrived in Diamond City.

—-

One night, Piper’s curiosity finally won. She’d been burning with questions and honestly, Frankie was impressed she held out this long. Ten days.

It was late. There were three empty growlers on the kitchen counter. Piper had one too many cups of strawberry wheat. Alcohol had always made her lips a little loose.

“You don’t have to answer me,” she prefaced before going in for the kill. “But what was it like on that day, when the bombs fell?”

“Piper.” Frankie chastised her, jolting upright on the couch.

He knew he was maybe being too protective of her, or more so of that. Especially since Piper knew about her nightmares. She’d brought it up with him just the other night, while alone in the kitchen.

“Do they know about them?” Piper had asked.

Frankie shrugged because he wasn’t sure. If they did, they never said anything.

“Who’s Nora? She kept mumbling her name last night. I wondered-”

“I don’t know.” The name had lingered in the very back of his mind since that night. Where did she fit into all of this?

Surprisingly, Blue softly smiled at him and said, “It’s alright. Maybe it’s time I talk about it.”

Frankie felt uneasy, but backed off anyway. She was a big girl, she could make her own choices.

She seemed unable to look at them as she spoke. Instead, she stared at a stain on the rug and told them about the normalcy, about how it happened so fast. He could remember the few details she spared on that first day in her living room. He didn’t know about how she almost didn’t make it.

He could not bear to think about what it was like to witness that. The trauma.

“I knew them, and I could hear them.” Her hands trembled in her lap. Her voice sounded wet with swallowed tears. “Then - there was nothing. Nothing at all. All of it was gone. Just like that.”

None of them knew what to say. In the long pause, Piper’s expression morphed into regret. “I’m sorry Blue. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.” She squeezed Piper’s hand. “Like I said, it was probably time anyway.”

—-

It was your fifteenth and final, full day in Diamond City. Or at least, that was the plan. At 3:30, you would visit Doctor Sun one last time to get up to date on vaccinations. As long as there were no side effects, you’d be heading to Sanctuary first thing tomorrow morning.

You were going to miss it here. You were going to miss Piper and Power Noodles Pad Thai , and the halfway normalcy in your everyday life. While this might’ve been a city inside a baseball stadium after an apocalypse, it was still the closest you’d felt to normal in weeks.

Initially, you’d been dreading training with Frankie. But in the hours spent together in the basement, you’d formed an incipient friendship. Or at least, something akin to it. A part of you was going to miss your sessions with him. Even though today was not going well.

The targets whirled around the arena. Ping. Ping. Ping. Every shot missed their mark. Ping. Ping. Ping. The bullets pelted the back wall and it was really starting to piss you off.

Once the bell rang out and the targets retreated back into the ceiling, you slammed your gun onto the counter and your palms curled into the cold, steel edges. Your chest heaved with frustration. The sweat dripping down your back felt like hot coals digging into your skin.

Frankie had kept pushing and pushing - go quicker. Faster.

God - you wanted to sock him in the face: Quick enough for you?

You needed to get a hold of yourself. But the deep breath you took to calm down felt like barbed wire in your chest.

Frankie started to walk towards you, the sound of his feet against the concrete pounded against the walls. Your finger shot up, and wiggled back and forth. Don’t.

Immediately, he came to a stop. He must’ve sensed one wrong move and you’d go berserk.

Closing your eyes, you tried to regain some mental control. It didn’t work. You felt so stupid and small and like a big fucking failure. These stupid targets couldn’t even shoot back. It shouldn’t be this hard. You were so frustrated that you might cry.

You thought about Alice, if she saw you on the verge of tears at a shooting range - what would she say?

Pathetic.

She’d call you a pathetic cry baby, just like she did when your pet fish died. Bubbles. She didn’t shed a tear for the five-year-old beta.

In fact, you never saw her cry, at all.

She was always tougher than you - always smarter and stronger and better at everything that actually mattered in this world.

Alice was made - trained for hard and dangerous situations. Growing up, she’d decided to learn how to defend herself with taekwondo while you took dance lessons instead. Pointe shoes and pirouettes hardly seemed like an accomplishment compared to a roundhouse or a scissor kick or her 8th degree black belt.

She had actually killed before - animals, but it was bigger than a beetle. She’d gone hunting with your dad. Now, you really wished that you would’ve too.

You often wondered why it couldn’t be Alice that got out instead. Why, out of everyone in the vault, why did it have to be you?

If it was Alice, she would’ve probably known what the fuck was going on. If not, she would’ve figured it out. She sure as hell wouldn’t be in Fenway Park with four men who she barely knew. About to fuck off to their settlement in less than 24 hours.

The back of your eyes started to burn and sting like epsom salt. You hated to think about how ashamed your family would be of you.

You’d always felt like a disappointment, the lead balloon in their bed of roses. Not so much your dad, you supposed. At least, he loved you. He’d probably blame himself for not being there to protect you from this big bad world.

I told you, peanut. This world would crush you.

But your mom - oh, you could only imagine her face. Her indignation, her distaste, though not surprised. Never surprised. That same sour expression she gave when you denied the job at Vault-Tec.

I knew you weren’t built for it.

“Blue.”

Frankie’s voice was low and almost soft and startled you from that bleak line of thinking. You tensed and could not bear to glance at him, or anywhere near his vicinity. You didn’t want him to see you like this - a weak, weepy mess.

“Hey,” he whispered, walking towards you. His pace was slow, careful and he didn’t stop until he was right behind you. “Hey.”

“Look, I already know, okay,” you spat - defensive. “I’m not fast enough. My GTL is a quarter inch off. You really don’t have to tell me, alright?”

“That’s-” Frankie paused, exhaled. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”

Your grip uncurled from the counter. “No?”

Slowly, you turned around, lifting your head to peer up at him. He didn’t appear annoyed or pissed or even judgmental.

Instead, his umber eyes were soft as velvet.

He sighed. “You’re thinking too much.”

Bastard. “No shit! I think that’s pretty obvious.”

His tongue peeked out from his pink lips, telling you he wasn’t finished, yet. Reluctantly, you shut up.

He scratched at the bald patch in his beard before crossing his arms, his t-shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his chest. “Remember when you shot that bloatfly.”

You clicked your tongue, then responded, “Yes.”

“How many shots did it take?”

Hands on hips, you asked, “What’re you trying to get at here?” His brow hitched up, and you huffed. Fine. “Two.”

He hummed, his head dipping into a single, firm nod.

“I know people who’ve trained for years and take double - hell triple that. But it took two - on your first try. And you know why?”

You shook your head.

“Cause you didn’t have time to think.” He reached behind you to grab the gun, his knuckles brushing the denim on your hip. You watched him unclip the empty magazine and it looked so small in his palm. His fingers were thick – his hands so strong and rough and large. You licked your lips as he said, “You’re not a bad shot. You just don’t trust yourself.”

It took a moment for his words to register. Frankie never complimented you, at least not outright. And he never said anything he didn’t actually mean. You’re not a bad shot. It sat fuzzy and warm and sweet in the pit of your belly.

You met his gaze – realization. “Did you just-”

“Don’t push it,” he warned you with a teensy, little smirk.

You decided to listen and leave it.

“Try again.” He reloaded the gun before handing it to you. “And this time, don’t think so much.”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Just go back to your corner.”

He didn’t go back to his corner, though. After hitting the start button, he came just a few feet behind you. You assumed he wanted to watch from a different angle.

The targets moved around the arena. You started off strong, like always, but started to slip once it kicked up speed. Your shoulders inched closer to your ears with each missed shot.

Suddenly, you could hear Frankie moving closer – you could smell his soap. Fresh cut pine. Sage. Something masculine and very much him.

“Relax.” His warm breath tickled the back of your neck. It was hard to straight think with him so close.

His large hands engulfed your shoulders. He pressed down to release the tension and you sucked in a breath.

Oh God – you hoped he didn’t hear that.

Two targets zipped by that you didn’t even try to shoot. You tried to shake out of this weird daze, and aimed at the third.

Miss.

“Don’t think.” His voice was low and thick and rumbling over the shell of your ear. It was overwhelming. It was embarrassing. Get a grip. Your body was reacting like some touch starved virgin.

When you took another shot, somehow it hit the target. Dumb luck.

“That’s it.” His fingertips ghosted across the straps of your tank top, lightly brushing your shoulder blade.

He ripped away his hand and practically scrambled backwards. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans as if you were made entirely from mud. Asshole. So maybe you were a little sweaty. Big deal.

You swallowed a scoff and shoved the memory of his soft touch into the back of your mind. You blamed the lapse on the stuffy room, the asbestos and dust motes in the air.

The two of you barely spoke more than a few words during the last two rounds. After leaving Arturo’s, you found Benny outside – waiting.

“The mayor asked to see us.” Benny didn’t explain further, but Frankie seemed to understand what that meant. Will and Santi were out today with a patrol unit, helping to make sure that sinkhole you encountered on the way into the city was clear.

“We’ll drop you off at Piper’s on the way,” Frankie said – dismissively. His gaze remained firmly glued above your head.

“No, I think I’ll join you, but thanks.”

He unclipped the aviators from his t-shirt and slid them on before looking at you. The muscle in his jaw tightened, flexing at your obstinance. Benny uncomfortably glanced between you. There were too many people around for him to put his foot down completely.

This time, you weren’t being difficult for the sake of irking him. Genuinely, you wanted to see the old Vault-Tec luxury box with so many happy memories from your childhood. You didn’t want to be pissy, so you reasoned with him.

“Listen, I just wanna see the view from up there. I promise, I’ll stay out of the way.”

He scowled, but didn’t say no. Instead, he notched his head in the direction of the mayor’s office and you followed.

—-

Benny watched Blue lean over the upper deck balcony as she scanned the landscape. This box easily had the best view. Benny could see all of Diamond City, the skyline was just far enough away to blur some of the destruction. Before joining her by the railing, Benny checked that the glass door was soundly shut.

Inside, Frankie was talking with the mayor, who likely wanted an update on the vaults. He glanced behind his shoulder and caught Frankie staring at her. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tense. He appeared conflicted.

Benny wondered what the fuck was going on inside Frankie’s head. It had become abundantly clear to all of them that Frankie gave a shit about her. He’d gone all ape-shit, burn this place to the ground when she almost died. He had snapped at Piper for butting into her business. Even though they fought and bickered and still jabbed at each other like an old married couple, Benny wanted to call them friends. He could tell they enjoyed it – they liked it – they seemed to find it stimulating to push each other’s buttons.

There was always this tension between them. It used to be tar-black, heavy and thick with animosity as it pulsed in the air, but recently it had morphed – it had shifted into something lighter, soft as sun-warm bronze.

Benny looked over at her. She’d been quiet since coming out here, but not the kind of silence that worried him. She seemed almost serene, peaceful, strands of her hair swept across her face in the soft breeze.

She caught him staring, a mischievous grin lit up her lips. “Wanna know something crazy?”

Eagerly, he nodded. She crooked her finger – he slid closer.

“This is where I used to sit when I came to games.”

Benny’s stomach sank to his feet. This was Vault-Tec’s box. Despite Vault-Tec’s efforts to erase their existence, they could only do so much. During remodeling, the crew had found underneath the rubble of broken stadium seats – a small hatch. Down a ladder, through a dark, narrow hallway was a single, impermeable door, which bore an insignia: VT.

Benny forced a smile on his face – a facade. “No shit. Really. This exact one?”

“Well, this wasn’t like my assigned seat,” she said. “My parents worked for the same company, and this was their box.”

The last flicker of his hope died. He could practically feel the air leave his lungs. Parents?

She was a fucking Vault-Tec prodigy.

A month ago, he would’ve rejoiced at the news. Now, he just felt stupid. He’d actually let himself think that she could be just some nobody. Just some rich kid with parents in tech or security or some other shit. It might’ve been wishful thinking, but goddamnit – it would’ve made things easier.

For everybody.

He was dreading telling her. But first, he’d have to tell the guys. Thinking about the look on Frankie's face when he found out the truth made him feel sick.

It was not gonna be good.

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