#idk its probably just trauma leaking again

[kittykatinabag]

While I greatly enjoy the subject of place making in urban design, I utterly hate the amount of pandering to capital holders a lot (if not most) of current "place making professionals" do in their work.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 13, "Dancing With Devils"

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: A week has passed nowhere near uneventfully. The truth of Gale’s condition comes out when Elminster delivers a message from Mystra. A very worn-thin Áine checks on her companions. Wyll shoots his shot. Áine and Gale, both projecting somewhat, get into an argument. Astarion asks Shadowheart for a favor. Áine shows Astarion firsthand how he looks through her eyes. 

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Angst on angst on angst; fluff; suggestive content and dialogue (mild); mention of fantasy violence (appropriate to canon); lightly proofread; it's a really long one; besties, I struggled through this and I can only apologize so much if it sucks but if I didn't post it now I'd keep messing with it

Word Count: 11k

Listening to: my brain leaking out of my ears (idk White Winter Hymnal again probably)

The next week’s worth of travel brought more heartache than victory for the party. Camping for the night, normally something that at least held a neutral air if they were all especially fatigued, felt strained and the tension in the sweet mountain air seemed to branch from all directions.

Crèche Y’llek had been a mistake. When they’d met Kith’rak Voss and his warriors by the destroyed bridge where Zorru had marked on Lae’zel’s map, they should’ve forgone the idea of venturing further into githyanki territory, if only to avoid having the artefact taken from them. However, Lae’zel had remained adamant after Voss had gone that, despite deceiving him, they still needed to get to the crèche and be purified.

Áine, in retrospect, knew that as their appointed leader she should’ve been more forceful. She’d had a bad feeling about delivering the artefact into the heart of the gith who were seeking it out and she’d had a bad feeling about the zaith’isk too. And yet she’d allowed them to move forward with both. All because she wanted to have faith in Lae’zel and spite their “guardian” a little in the process. Spiting their guardian was petty and she understood that, so she could fault herself fully for that. However, having faith in Lae’zel was the opposite of a mistake and Áine would stand by that until it got her killed.

“Lae, please, get out of there!” 

She could still hear her own scream in her ears, the way her voice had cracked on her plea, swallowed by the roar of the machine as it rattled with its efforts to rend her friend’s mind in two. At seemingly the last second, Lae’zel had hurled herself from the pod just before it and its appendages caved in on themselves. She’d cried hshar’lak, deeming a traitor among the githyanki the only possibility that could explain the zaith’isk’s failure. And still, they’d ventured even further into the crèche to speak with the visiting Inquisitor.

Lae’zel, battered and bruised as much if not more than the rest of them, now sat silently at the entrance to her tent, her stone heart shattering with every doubt she’d taken as a parting gift from their failed venture. Each one was punctuated by the grinding swipe of her whetstone.   

The githyank warrior was scared and she felt disgusting for it. Learned self-loathing pummeled at her chest as if it could crush the shrapnel of her faith back into one cohesive piece. That faith shook the same way her hands had trembled after searching Áine’s mind for the truth of her confrontation with the being inside the artefact. With the “guardian” she still suspected of illithid treachery and not simply because of the heresy it managed to inject into her already scrambled thoughts. Lae’zel had balled her shaking hands into fists and demanded their leave, despite knowing that every one of her kin on the other side of that portal out of the Astral would be waiting to cut them down in Vlaakith’s name.

It had to be a test of her faith. Lae’zel kept telling herself until she somewhat believed it that this had to be a final test of her devotion. Because if it wasn’t, then what had her entire life been for?

Her conflicted gaze lifted from her blade to the approaching bard, wondering if she had it in her at all to bear the weight of company this night. Lae’zel’s gaze dropped back to the hand clutching her whetstone, stilled against the silver. “You must have questions,” she said slowly when Áine didn’t speak first.

Áine sighed and knelt, setting a bowl of soup and a crust of bread near Lae’zel’s knee. “I have dinner that will likely fall short of the usual quality,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Gale understandably wasn’t up for much tonight so I’m afraid you’re left with my cooking.”

“Something ails him?” Lae’zel wondered, relieved that the topic of conversation didn’t immediately fall to her. She set her sword and stone aside but didn’t yet touch the food. Not because she didn’t trust Áine’s cooking, but because she felt utterly hollow after the events of the day and in no way resembling hunger. She would eat—she needed to so she could fight—but it would take her a moment.

Áine slid from her crouched position into a seated one, wincing when she leaned on the heels of her hands to do it and her bad shoulder locked up. Lae’zel noticed but did not voice that she noticed the weakness. Áine was doing her the favor, as Lae’zel saw it, of overlooking her own weaknesses for the time being and she would return that favor. “An old friend or mentor of his perhaps, Elminster, was wandering near the path down the mountain, I guess. He happened to ask after Gale when he saw Halsin pass by with some berries.” 

Lae’zel’s attention caught on the name, her expression denoting surprise. “Elminster?” 

“You know of him?” Áine asked.

“I do,” Lae’zel said, frowning. “However I still wonder why this visit would have caused Gale any ill.”

“Elminster was a messenger this time. For Mystra,” Áine said and she had to make an effort not to spit the name. Lae’zel noticed her rancor and her expression tightened in kind. Áine sighed and ran a hand through her loose white locks. “Gale’s condition…is a Netherese orb in his chest apparently. The magical items he’d needed up until this point, up until they stopped working anyway, were to feed that orb lest it feed on and destroy him. And…everyone around him, it would seem.” 

“I fear I lack understanding,” Lae’zel said.

“I just barely have my head wrapped around it,” Áine admitted. “The orb could and would have acted as a bomb if left untreated, which he failed to tell us.”

“How did such a thing become a part of him?” the githyanki asked, her eyes troubled.

“I don’t know, I…,” Áine paused to sigh, “I haven’t spoken to Gale privately yet. I was upset at being lied to and hadn’t yet absorbed the situation in full, so that is an eventual conversation I’ll need to face.”

“You lost your temper?” Lae’zel guessed.

Áine’s brow furrowed. “Not completely. But I wasn’t as kind as I could have been before I knew the whole of it,” she said, clearly disappointed in herself.

“And what is the ‘whole of it’?” Lae’zel asked, startled that there could be more to finding out one of their companions had the equivalent of a bomb in his chest.

“Elminster’s message from Mystra,” the bard said. “Whatever caused the orb to become one with Gale, Mystra seems to think was his fault, and that was what had caused him to fall out of her grace. And her path to forgiveness that she’s laid out for him is to use the orb to destroy the Absolute. To kill himself.”

Lae’zel’s features twisted. “Elminster delivered this message?” she verified and Áine nodded back. “Hm, well… Even the githyanki have heard tell of the Sage of Shadowdale. Some of his works have been translated to tir’su slate.” Her expression hardened. “That doesn’t mean his every word carries wisdom, however.”

“He seemed devastated to tell Gale,” Áine said, recalling the old man’s tone and face. “He was simply a messenger in this, but I don’t know that I could have delivered such a message, myself. Mystra, for a goddess, seems…misguided at best. And at worst—”

“Near as I can tell,” Lae’zel asserted, “Mystra demands Gale’s faith, but holds no faith in him. Why else would she demand that Gale sacrifice himself and perhaps so many others?” Fired up, Lae’zel began to speak with her hands as well, her long fingers tensing in quick, meaningful gestures to punctuate her words. “Does she not think he can destroy the Absolute with his own immense talents? Does she not know the mighty company that he keeps?”

Áine smiled. “She must not.”

Lae’zel muttered, “Demanding Vlaakith may be, but she acts for the good of the githyanki people. Mystra is concerned only for herself.” A low, annoyed growl turned into a sound of annoyance in her throat. “Chk… Perhaps he would find her forgiveness in a fiery death. But I can’t help but wonder why he’d want it at all.”

“I would hope that he craves it more to better the state of his own afterlife rather than smooth her feathers,” Áine admitted, all the while admiring Lae’zel’s confidence. “She doesn’t deserve a good turn from him for the rest of his years based on what little I know of her. But I suppose he loves magic. He loves the Weave. And therefore he loves Mystra, too.”

“Her lain claim upon magic itself is blasphemy against its very existence,” Lae’zel decided openly, finally reaching down to retrieve the dinner that Áine had brought her. “Magic must have existed before Mystra and it would exist without her as well.”

“I wish you’d been the one to speak to him instead of me,” Áine sighed. “I feel as though I made a mess of things where there was already an abundance of messes.” She rested her head in her hands and gave an agitated sigh directed only at herself. “I should have let you lead us when we first met again away from the Nautiloid.”

Lae’zel watched Áine with a mixture of admiration and pity. “Your humility is what makes you a good leader,” she informed the bard. “We are matched in prowess and I may lead in kind in the heat of battle…however my skills ended at these sorts of dilemmas until I met you.” She offered Áine a faint smile when she lifted her head to meet her eyes. “My people are taught from their birth to forsake softness, to form from edges so jagged that contact alone will cut lethal. Our enemies, our kin too weak to avoid the cull. We are one people taught to claw across our own corpses should it mean our victory. Taught to see a heart as only a soft place for a blade.” Her smile faded. “And what good has it ultimately done me? What good is this heart of stone for it to be shattered?”

Áine felt her eyes sting with unshed tears of empathy. “Stone crumbles. It erodes,” she said firmly. “Your heart is much stronger than that. I’ve seen it.”

“In the past, I would have cursed you for such a sentiment,” Lae’zel said. “I was brought to this plane, my teachings done, only to find I am learning still. You have become another sa’varsh of my life—a teacher.” Her lips pursed. “It has been…eyeopening to learn amongst friends. As a unit without constant threat in the form of my classmates, without barely concealed bloodlust at all times. Save for Astarion.” Áine smirked at Lae’zel’s words. “Even he, with the excuse of being driven by innate instinct, has more in his heart than the warriors I trained amongst. Than I did until recently.”

Áine was touched by Lae’zel’s words. How was it that she’d come down here to console the githyanki and had instead ended up being consoled herself? “You give me a lot of credit, Lae, and I fear not enough credit to yourself,” Áine said. “This side of you didn’t simply happen. This has always been part of you.” Her throat tightened around her next words, feeling that she could stand to lend these very words more toward her own healing than she did. “The circumstances you were born into are part of what has made you, but they are not you.”

Lae’zel gave that some consideration, nodding slowly in acknowledgment after. “I am coming to understand that,” she said.

“Are you alright?” Áine asked at last. “After today, I mean?”

The githyanki warrior offered her a reassuring look. “I will be. Rest is needed. All else will come in its own time,” she said.

“If you need anything,” Áine said, “don’t hesitate to ask. Please. Not just me, but anyone.”

Lae’zel nodded once. “It will be done.”

When Áine crested the slope back to the rest of their tent setups, she noticed that—at least as far as she could tell—Elminster had left and Gale was also out of sight, but had likely retired to his tent after the grueling conversation. Despite that conversation being with an old, dear friend, its topics would have felt heavy spilling from anyone’s lips. 

Áine spent a moment warring with herself over whether or not to seek him out and address how the first leg of the talk had gone, when they’d yet to hear Mystra’s message and she’d only yet had the truth of his condition dropped on her lap. Betrayal had hit her like a flurry of knives and, after everything else they’d endured just in the past few days, it had hit her harder than it had any right to. After all, she wasn’t the one being tasked with a suicide mission from her past teacher, her past lover. Gale was. And yet she’d felt anger on hearing all that he’d kept from her and the rest of their friends.

The question she had to resolve within herself before she tried to speak with him about it was whether that anger was at Gale at all. Was it even anger? The answer to that became less and less clear the more she thought it over. 

When she dwelt on the pain in her chest, her mind offered her images of Gale’s expression breaking at hearing what Mystra wanted of him, her former Chosen. Of Lae’zel’s shattered expression both back in the crèche and down on the cliffside just now when she’d spoken of her “stone heart.” Of turning on the road leading away from the temple to find Karlach doubling over in the dirt as her engine flared hotter than ever with no signs of stopping, and Áine and the others with no way to help her except to get her to Dammon again as fast as possible with infernal iron and a prayer. And then there was nearly losing Shadowheart in the middle of everything back in the underbelly of the crèche. 

At the memory, Áine felt her shoulder ache and she subconsciously reached across her chest to sink her fingertips into the scar-toughened muscle, gritting her teeth. And, despite all of it, still having the yet-to-be ceremorphosed tadpoles wriggling in their heads and no closer to being extracted was giving her a headache that had nothing to do with the little beasts. The truth of Gale’s condition had simply been the straw that broke her back that night. If it had only been his revelation that had turned the tables on them, she may have been able to digest it better.

No, she was becoming less and less sure all the while that what had surfaced during her conversation with Elminster and Gale had truly been anger. If she was honest with herself, she’d had a piss-poor reaction to being afraid for her friends and herself. Because amongst all this, they were still making their way to Moonrise Towers, the symbolic crux of all her past but still-festering trauma. 

Her anxiety often rewrote itself as anger and it was one of her greatest flaws that she knew of. And she owed Gale an apology for that.

A flutter of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down the hillside toward where Wyll was set up, noting with surprise that he appeared to be dancing. Either he was seeking a bit of stress relief or he’d fully lost his mind amidst all the latest developments in their journey, she decided. 

Her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the path down to his patch of camp, noting that he hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned he’d partaken in courtly dance during his days in Baldur’s Gate. He seemed to find renewed energy in its controlled leaps and arcs and the sight brought a faint smile to her face. In his spry movements, she saw what she supposed would’ve been a younger Wyll, when his only duty had been to be the son of a revered duke. Although, she supposed that too would come with its hellish qualities. 

He still looked every bit the part of a noble, she decided, horns and all.

He rounded his steps then and, in doing so, spotted her standing nearby. “Oh, I didn’t see you,” Wyll breathed, startled. “I was a bit lost in the steps I suppose… It’s been such a long time.”

“I couldn’t tell for whatever that’s worth,” Áine said. “You look like you’ve not missed a day of practice. You undersold yourself when we spoke before.”

Wyll chuckled with some embarrassment evident on his scarred features. “I needed the release, I think. It’s been a trying few days, I’m sure you could agree,” he admitted. “I am glad we at least have confirmation that Father is at Moonrise. The rest gives me pause.”

Somberly, Áine nodded. “We’re on the same page then,” she said.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve properly warmed up and brushed up on my steps a bit,” he said with a cheeky smile as he extended a hand her way. “Woeful would it be for me to fail my new partner.”

Áine smirked and gestured toward her shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll only hinder you in my current state,” she said. “And I would hate to slow you down.”

“There is no shame in taking things slow,” Wyll said, his voice even and reassuring. His hand remained hovering between them. Áine noticeably hesitated—on one hand, she was tired and sore, but on the other dancing always cheered her up, too, even just a little. The bard’s heart in her won out as she gave him a worn-down smile and took his outstretched hand, accepting his offer for what she perceived as a simple gesture to try lifting her spirits. 

Pleased, Wyll smiled and guided her forward. “I will lead us.”

“Good because I daresay I’m unfamiliar with whatever step you were just performing,” she admitted. 

Despite her words, she easily followed along in his movements and he gave her a gentle spin with her good arm. She didn’t often have physical contact with Wyll, she realized, as she noticed how hot his skin burned now with Mizora’s punishment wreaking havoc on his body. It was nothing compared to Karlach of course, but he was fiery in contrast with her own temperatures. Especially in comparison to the frosty hands she normally touched, adoring each opportunity she got to do so. The passing thought made her smile, a smile Wyll by no fault of his own read as being meant for him. 

He moved them through the simpler suite of steps and it all felt so natural that she didn’t notice how close he’d gotten nor how his arm had moved to wrap fully around her waist until he was right there, slowing them down. It took her until Wyll’s face was just inches from hers for Áine to realize the turn that their little jig had taken and that comprehension then dawned in her expression as well.  

“Oh, Wyll,” she murmured, familiar horror sinking in as she realized she’d once again tricked them both into a situation they may not recover from. How was she so good at reading others and yet so awful at picking up on these sorts of signals? “I'm sorry, I didn’t—I’m awful at picking up on these things, I thought this was just for a bit of fun.”

Reddened with chagrin, Wyll let go of her and stepped back, his expression torn between hurt and irritation. It was a grimace of injured pride. “Why not?” he asked suddenly and Áine felt guilt stab through her stomach. “I simply don’t understand what about me isn’t worth giving a chance. Is it my Infernal appearance?”

“Not at all!” Áine quickly said. “I told you that didn’t bother me and I meant it. I simply don’t see us that way and, well…” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice lest she scare off the very interest she was soon to reference if he was in earshot. “My heart is already spoken for.”

Her discretion didn’t end up mattering much. Embarrassed and reacting poorly, Wyll asked at a raised volume, “Is it Astarion? Because rest assured that trusting in a skillful tryst to become genuine affection will come back to bite you.”

“I mean, he already does that,” Áine said unthinkingly before her own lavender skin darkened with distress. “Sorry, that was meant to be a joke. What is wrong with me?”

In a way she hadn’t anticipated, Áine’s joke had worked some wonders, serving to shock Wyll out of his embarrassment and send him into a fresh wave of chagrin that now had to do with little more than his own ego. The Blade of Frontiers ran a hand down his face. “Áine, I apologize,” he said, surprising her. “Of course, I didn’t mean it. You are both deserving of all you can give each other and I want the best for you. Pride is a fickle thing that causes one to say things that aren’t true. I fear I’m projecting my insecurities and it pains me that it’s fallen on you to weather them.”

Áine hastily shook her head. “I’m sorry for not catching your intentions sooner,” she said in kind. “And it was still nice to dance with you. It’s all okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Wyll gave her a bashful smile. “Nor do you. However, your forgiveness is not received lightly. I would be honored to dance again someday with a person I’m grateful to call a very good friend.”

Áine sighed with relief. “I’ll hold you to it. Thank you, Wyll, for being understanding.”

Wyll nodded. “As I said, I’ve been failing to look inward for ways to fix my thinking. Rejection that would, in a past life, not cause my footing to falter now feels harsher than it has any reason to,” he explained. “It is only a burden if I make it such and I have so far. I needn’t take that out on the people I care about the most.”

She smiled. “You have my full support in finding your next happiness,” she said, her panicked heart rate finally coming down. “You’re a good man, Wyll. Maybe the best of us.”

His features softened and he inclined his head. “You flatter this old devil.”

“Oh, come off it,” Áine laughed. “Devil, maybe. Old? Please. I have double your years and half your wisdom and power of self-reflection. Be proud of yourself. Always.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wyll said with a chuckle and a mock salute, all traces of his earlier hurt gone from his kind gaze.

Áine turned to head back up the hill, passing Volo as she did and giving her head a quick shake at his third offer of the night to amend her “brainworm problem.” The man had finally found his way to their camp after the patrolling party had sprung him from the goblins’ imprisonment and Áine was realizing she’d been a fool to let him examine her eye after telling him about the tadpole in her skull. She’d honestly done it just to see the look on his face, but it hadn’t been worth the laugh. She’d now had to tell him thrice at this point not to helpfully lobotomize her with a knitting needle to get the thing out. Something she hadn’t found charming in the slightest.

The bard was just passing Gale’s tent when she heard him mutter something toward her in passing. Áine stopped and turned to look at the wizard, the shadows of his tent and the book in his hands only holding partial credit for the darkness in his expression. “Pardon?”  

Ever perceptive about almost everyone but himself, Astarion had been watching the way Áine carried herself since they left that crèche blessedly behind them, its halls silenced in their wake. He could tell she was ailing, but it was more than just her shoulder bothering her. 

And he could hardly blame her given how empathetic she was—it hadn’t seemed like any of them could catch a break these past few days and, of course, it was instinct to look to one’s leader when things were going awry. He didn’t envy her the pressure, but it was her own fault for being such a hero all the time. 

Astarion didn’t think such a thing with any of his former vehemence toward her offering to help every stray that crossed their path, but he disliked the toll doing so much for everyone else ultimately took on her. Especially when she, stretched too thin to maintain her usual patience, finally snapped and hated herself for it afterward. Given the unexpected twists thrown their way one after another in the past week, but especially in the past day, he didn’t see how anyone could blame her. Hells, he was still trying to process it all, too, and he was hardly so invested.  

Now understanding how Gale had found his vampirism so easy to digest as a potential liability when he was dealing with the magical equivalent of a bomb in his chest, Astarion had been aghast at not being informed about the extent of the wizard’s condition but likewise couldn’t blame him for withholding the whole truth. He could blame the man for continuing to ogle at and flirt with his lover up until the whole Netherese orb business had sparked a spat between them. 

Instead of indulging either blame, Astarion questioned the state of his priorities if, for him, Gale flirting with Áine ranked in similar standing to a chest-bound cataclysm in the making. He supposed that some of that imbalance branched from how he’d felt over the past few days. They’d understandably had little to no time or energy to carry on what they’d started, save scattered meaningful glances and brief touches in passing. Astarion had trouble with the concept that she wouldn’t just forget or forgo him if he didn’t manage to keep her attention, even though his unwavering interest in her served as more than enough proof that such an attachment needn’t be a full-time job.

An attachment, he repeated in his mind, his expression souring at the word. It was fine and good, but it was swiftly becoming not good enough. 

Scarier than any battle-hungry githyanki or catastrophically combustible wizard—most wizards could be categorized as at least partially combustible due to haywire spellcasting, but Gale’s blast radius put him in a special category—was his growing desire to be more to her than a sometimes-bedfellow. Even knowing that he was already more than that because she’d told him directly still wasn’t quite enough. And not exclusively because he still couldn’t help getting jealous whenever anyone continued making passes at her. If anything, the way his digestion of such a sight had changed was beginning to tell him more about his own fears than the actors he projected them upon. 

At least he no longer bristled at someone looking at her with anything resembling interest, although he did, for example, find himself craving ursine blood specifically whenever he decided that she and Halsin looked a little too cozy during one of their chats. His envy had morphed from a territorial need for her attention into a deeply rooted anxiety that she would eventually figure out just how little she gained from being with him. And then of course, what could she do but leave once she had that epiphany?

As Astarion had grown closer to his other travel companions, it had become easier for him to see their appeal, which also meant that he found it easier to compare himself to them as they’d risen in his esteem. 

While Astarion still found Gale intensely frustrating at times for reasons he couldn’t concisely put into words, he’d gotten used to him at least. He even tolerated him when he wasn’t flirting with Áine and Astarion had more or less learned the difference between when Gale was flirting and when he was just being friendly. More often than not, Astarion found that he was just being friendly. 

And then there was Wyll. Princely, debonair, traditional Wyll. The sort of man that, perhaps in his long-past life before the world had caved in and broken him a thousand times over, he may have pictured himself marrying. A handsome devil of a white knight. He was getting bold lately and he wouldn’t be propositioning her with a quick fling. No, Wyll would offer her his heart and his hand, something Astarion wasn’t sure he could match. 

And who was he to get in the way of such an offer from such a hero if it surfaced? She deserved someone who could care for her.

You can care for her. Better than any of them! a small, ever more present voice rang out in the back of his mind. She wants you, just let her have you!

Astarion grimaced, his gaze sliding to the bard currently cresting the hill on her way up from checking on the githyanki. He followed her lovely eyes skyward as they briefly skimmed the night sky, darkening to reveal thousands upon thousands of stars. Alas, he didn’t know if he could care for her the way she needed, the way she deserved. He was, for all his rallying against the notion, a monster. At the very least, he was far too damaged to do any of this properly. Too broken to love her.

The trouble was that, despite knowing this, he felt himself falling. And it was killing him.       

Something had caught her eye past a small throng of trees and brush and she stepped away from the ledge to go seek out whatever had caught her interest. While she walked, he saw her right hand reflexively clasp against her scarred shoulder, her fingertips pressing into the joint like she could push her discomfort away.

Astarion’s expression turned concerned. Familiar now with her fighting style and what tended to trigger her flare-ups, he knew with little doubt in his mind that it had been the longsword that had done it this time. 

He could still see her clearly in his mind’s eye. After being disarmed and temporarily losing her scimitars amongst the viscera coating the floor, Áine had dived for the first weapon she could scoop off the blood-splattered stonework to defend their downed healer—a heavy githyanki longsword. 

Shadowheart, terrified of wolves, had been sent to her knees by a ball of psionic energy while in the midst of a crippling panic attack, buckling at the sight of the gith captain’s enormous attack hounds. Áine had thrown herself into the ring as she always did to protect her friends and, also as always, she’d gotten battered in the process. She’d succeeded in saving their cleric and cutting her attacker down, but the force she’d used to swing the scavenged blade that was, all told, bigger than she was had done a number on her shoulder.

Shadowheart sat near the fire, dressing a couple of her more minor wounds with some salve and gauze. Bluish shadows lingered under her eyes that he’d learned were telltale signs that she was drained—a tell that they had in common. She’d spent much of her energy healing their party’s worst injuries until, no matter how much she tried to harass each of them into letting her heal them further, she’d been lovingly shooed away to take care of her own wounds or rest at the very least. 

A thought had occurred to Astarion as he’d watched Áine pace away toward Wyll’s side of the campground clutching her shoulder. It was a thought that would possibly open him up to some unwelcome speculation or even embarrassment if he acted upon it. His lips formed a thin line, his cupid’s bow disappearing into it as he deliberated. There was ultimately no question of whether it was worth a bit of potential goading, which he found somewhat freeing as he made his way slowly toward the cleric by the campfire.

By the time he reached her, Shadowheart had looked up to watch his approach, her gaze already skeptical the moment it landed upon him. Astarion had successfully mustered up the courage to approach the cleric but found himself already aggrieved at the idea of asking anyone for advice. Even more so because he was sure she’d needle him over it. Internally, he braced himself.

“Change your mind about having your wounds tended?” she guessed, her eyes narrowing warily when he sat down on the log she was using as a bench seat. “If you’re looking for blood, I’ve barely enough for myself as it is.”

Astarion gave her a chiding look. “I’m not in the market for your blood,” he said, his exhaustion with the direction of the conversation already plain in his voice. “And I’d rather not be ‘tended’ to. I’m halfway healed already anyway.”

“Really?” Shadowheart asked. To prove his point, Astarion adjusted the sleeve of his soft, ruffled shirt to show her what remained of a deep cut she’d earlier tried to bully him into letting her heal up. Lo and behold, when Shadowheart looked upon the cut again, it looked a week old, barely even the thin red line of a new scar left behind after mere hours. By midnight, she imagined, it would be gone completely. “I had no idea vampires healed that swiftly. Quite the perk, I suppose, in a sea of downsides?”

Astarion nodded and rolled his sleeve back down. “A ‘sea’ may be too small a measure, but yes. A quick turnaround on healing is…something,” he agreed.

She could hear unease in his voice and noted the careful way he spoke to her, which immediately made her suspicious. What did he want from her? Something to do with Áine? She didn’t get the impression that he was just trying to be friendly. “Did you want something, Astarion?” she asked more directly. 

His jaw clenched faintly as he worked up what remained of his courage and Shadowheart watched with fascination as emotions flittered just under his surface, his statuesque face roiling with conflict. Finally, he met her eyes and said through his teeth, “I would like to request a lesson in how to tend Áine’s shoulder.”

Shadowheart’s brows shot into her bangs. “You—that’s all?” she asked, still a bit suspicious. She gave him a leering look of amusement that could have only been, he decided, at his expense as expected. “I would have expected the rake, the ‘master seducer’ himself to know how to give a nice massage. How could you skip over such a romantic staple in the manual?”

Astarion waited for her to get her gibes out of the way, only speaking when she fell silent again to wait for him to fight back. He wouldn’t lest he ruin his opportunity to glean the information he wanted, having embarrassed himself for nothing. “I didn’t skip it. I know how to give a massage,” Astarion said with strained patience that was new to Shadowheart and, honestly, new to him as well. “However, my aim isn’t to worsen her condition because I lack the medicinal know-how behind such things and am too proud to seek it out.” 

Shadowheart properly felt like an arsehole for her provocation. Her eyes rounded with surprise at his borderline vicious display of earnestness barely concealed beneath a veil of politeness that cost him whatever quips he could have tossed her way. 

She gave a quiet hmph of consideration before her head slowly tilted in a nod. “Very well. My apologies,” she said in equal earnest. Not thinking, Shadowheart reached toward Astarion’s shoulder to demonstrate only to have him deftly duck away from her touch, his features suddenly tensing as he wondered if this contact was a concrete condition on her part to teach him. Instead of dwelling on the miscommunication, Shadowheart scooped her supply pouch from the ground near the fire and pulled the drawstrings tight, using it as her dummy instead.

As she explained to him what she knew about using massage to aid old wounds, especially those with deep scarring in the tissue, he subconsciously leaned back in, paying close attention to how she positioned her hands on the pouch and how deeply she dug in. Shadowheart found his attention and the boyish turn his features took when he let his guard down alarmingly endearing and she began to worry that she’d severely misjudged the vampire up until this point. 

She’d continued her lesson uninterrupted until a sharp tone from their bard across the clearing caused both Shadowheart and Astarion’s attention to shift to Áine and Gale in the midst of a confrontation.

Even after he spoke up, Gale figured he probably shouldn’t have said anything. He was fully out of sorts and had never felt so existential and dismal and utterly embittered. He was only half-aware of what he was doing, what he was saying. He’d gone into his tent after Elminster had taken his leave just to try and contain the fallout. A poor choice of words, all things considered.

He knew how it looked, how underhanded it seemed and probably felt to them as well that he’d failed to tell them the whole truth before it was told on his behalf. But he also couldn’t help but feel wronged. Ensconced in a negative aura only amplified by the orb inside him. Even dormant now, he could feel its cold, hungry tendrils still swirling paths beneath his skin. It was just no longer leeching from his life force, his power. Now it simply wrapped around his anger, his pain, and his disappointment like a most unwelcome embrace. 

It sat barely stagnated by Mystra’s will all so he could live long enough to die conveniently. But sure, his failure to inform his companions about the dangers they might face due to the dangers he did face was of utmost precedent. 

It was fair to say that Áine’s reaction had bothered Gale the most of anyone who had been present for Elminster’s explanation of his condition and delivery of Mystra’s missive. Perhaps because he’d had the most faith in her understanding his plight out of everyone present apart from perhaps Wyll and Karlach, who were both too empathetic for their own good.

“You’ve put everyone in danger by not telling us. How could you do that?” 

She wasn’t wrong. But Áine had been the one helping him procure items, had fretted over him when they stopped working, and had assured him that they’d figure something out. And now that something was figured out, it was still an inconvenience to her that he hadn’t given her the truth in the first place. He was no longer a danger to them unless his moment to take the Absolute out of this plane with him happened to include their troop in the blast radius. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted any of this in the first place. He didn’t want to die. He’d simply been a fool in the past and he was still that same fool in many ways, he realized. He’d just not thought he was a fool for believing he meant something to them.  

And now, for whatever reason, he was sabotaging himself further by picking a fight with the head of their group on the grounds of what he’d just witnessed down near Wyll’s camp. It had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with the hurt he felt, but he’d said it anyway and now he was doubling down because being angry was easier than being in pain.

“Pardon?” she inquired in response to his muttering that she’d only just caught the gist of.

Gale sighed through his nose and closed the book with more of a snap than was needed, leveling a look at her that made Áine tense. This wasn’t a face she’d seen of Gale’s—it hardly looked like the cheerful, sometimes gloomy wizard she’d come to know. Had Elminster not made dormant the dark energy in his chest, Áine may have started to wonder if this was his affliction looking at her through his eyes.

“I said,” Gale enunciated, “Wyll is right.”

Áine’s eyes narrowed, more in confusion than confrontation. Although she could feel herself bracing for another argument. “You’re going to have to give me a little more context than that, Gale.”

Gale looked at her as if she were stupid. This definitely wasn’t the Gale she’d come to know. Was this all because of how she’d reacted earlier? “Wyll is correct,” Gale said, “in that this—whatever this is—will come back to bite you. He’s already half-bored of you, I’m sure. He’ll get what he wants, be it blood or flesh, and then go on his merry way. As many would, not just him. Meanwhile, others who would stay—”

She failed to stop her hackles from going back up when he dragged her relationship with Astarion into their evidently ongoing spat. “What, like you?” Áine fired back, also tired of him not taking “no” for an answer. Her raised voice was enough to draw the attention of the others, including Shadowheart and Astarion near the fireside. 

“Please, as if I’d want you after all you’ve put me through,” Gale snapped. “After all you’ve put us through. We nearly died back there for your poor judgment and leadership!”

Áine fell silent, shaken by his ire. When she spoke again, it was barely above a snarl. “How dare you. No one has ever forced you to follow me,” she gritted. “And I sure as hell won’t start now!”

“I think we’ve all endured enough conflict for at minimum a tenday,” came a tired voice from the fireside. Áine looked over her shoulder as she and Gale both met Shadowheart’s weary gaze, dark shadows under her eyes. Astarion sat near her, also warily looking between Gale and Áine but more as if he were anticipating a fight than hoping to prevent one. 

Shadowheart gave them both a scolding look. “Tensions have run high enough recently without us all turning on each other… Although if there is to be a fight, at least give us time to get together a betting pool.”

At the commotion, Wyll had come up to stand near the bard and wizard facing off, one hand raised placatingly toward Gale. “If this is truly about what you overheard from our earlier conversation, there’s no need to attack her for it,” Wyll said, a stern edge to his voice but concern in his eyes. “If it’s not…then perhaps rather than fight, we can talk.”

Áine was visibly shaking, meeting her breaking point in full view of her companions and deeply ashamed for it. She avoided Wyll’s worried gaze when it fastened on her, her bleary eyes inspecting the dirt until she said without a single waver in her voice, “You are correct, doubtlessly so, but anything I might say at the moment I will later regret. I need some time.” And she quickly paced away from them both, avoiding everyone’s eyes until she disappeared into her tent. 

Silence lingered after her departure, fragmented only by Wyll’s lowered voice as he tried to talk to Gale and Shadowheart picking back up what she’d been telling Astarion, both finding renewed importance in their exchange given the state Áine had left in. 

Shadowheart had him repeat the kneading pattern she’d just shown him on the pouch they were now passing back and forth. “Good,” she said, watching how he pressed more firmly on the fabric under her instruction. “Assuming she lets you work on it for her—which she will, just maybe give her a little while to cool off—you’ll be able to feel where the tissue is the most damaged. Just gradually work from light to deeper pressure like we practiced and have her tell you if it hurts. That’s really all there is to it.”

Astarion nodded slowly and Shadowheart watched his jaw work again as he drummed up the courage or energy to say whatever he was about to say. She knew this time, however, to wait for him to say whatever it was before teasing him straight away. Cautiously, he said, “...Thank you for this. I appr—I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Shadowheart gave him a humored look but allowed him the out. She only wanted to make sure he knew she was allowing it. “Of course. Happy to help.” The cleric watched his retreat with new consideration, feeling a little more at ease than she had before about the vampire her friend was swiftly falling head over heels for.  

Astarion had given her a quick, exasperated smirk before he’d handed her back the supply pouch and rose from his seat. He glanced toward Áine’s tent before going and settling on the pillows near his own, one pointy ear perked to keep tabs on her resting heartbeat so he could try to catch her before she fell asleep but still give her time to decompress as Shadowheart had suggested.

After having a reason to talk at length with Shadowheart and ask her for something that she came through for him on, Astarion had an odd impulse to find an occasion to do so again. Was this what craving someone’s friendship felt like? He who had oft dismissed the usefulness of friends and scrunched his nose at the level of maintenance those near-useless relationships required? 

Dismally, Astarion supposed he was growing a bit soft and had no one to blame but the bard that had rushed to her tent after being spurned by one of these very friendships. At least, that’s what it had seemed like. He had been so focused on what Shadowheart was saying in the moment that he’d only realized something was happening when Áine’s voice rose. He’d missed anything leading up to it, but from what he could gather, something had happened between Áine and Wyll down by his tent and Wyll wasn’t bothered by the turnout, but Gale for whatever reason was.

Astarion sniffed. That’s what they deserve for hitting on my bard, he thought dismissively, and for getting my hopes up yet again for an exciting before-bed brawl. 

Astarion afforded Áine just under an hour before he set the book he’d been barely skimming aside and rose from his pillows to visit her tent. Her heart rate had lowered but wasn’t yet at the rhythm he’d learned it usually reached in sleep. 

Something close to nervousness did creep in as he approached, however only because the path he was taking reminded him of the last time he’d attempted to visit her while she was upset and had been politely turned away. It would be no matter if she did so again, he told himself. She had every right to. Astarion just found himself very much hoping she wouldn’t.

He was so focused on his destination that a quick whistle from nearby gave him a start. Crimson eyes flickered toward the sound and located Shadowheart sitting outside her tent, waving him over when he made eye contact with her. Scratch had also taken the whistle as an invitation and bounded over to make several attempts to lick her face, which she dodged successfully until the very last one which painted a glistening trail of slobber across the Sharran’s cheek. 

“Scratch, please,” she said insistently, but her features were soft and she gave his head an affectionate pat when he sat down more politely. To Astarion, she said, “Don’t follow his example or we’ll have an even angrier bard on our hands.”

Astarion snorted. “Why even call me over then, darling?” he bantered back, genuinely wondering what she wanted all the same. Perhaps he was finally in for a “don’t break my best friend’s heart” speech.

Instead, Shadowheart held out a tiny bottle of pale yellow liquid. Astarion took it, raising it to his nose and giving it an experimental sniff. Lavender oil.

Running her hand over Scratch’s back as he laid down next to her, Shadowheart regarded Astarion with a conflicted but kind expression. “You’re all set now,” she said. He inclined his head in silent thanks, rolling the bottle between his fingertips as he turned to walk away. “Oh, and Astarion?” Astarion stopped, just turning his head to let her know he was listening. “I’m beginning to think I was mistaken about you… Keep proving me wrong.”

Astarion tsked at her words and carried on his way to Áine’s tent, leaving Shadowheart with a faint smirk playing on her lips. She looked down at Scratch, who met her eyes with his own shiny brown stare. “What do you think?” she asked, laughing when Scratch’s tail began thumping the dirt in response. “I’m starting to think so, too.”

Astarion resumed his route to Áine’s tent and cleared his throat once he was just outside. He heard her quiet “yes?” from inside and he responded in kind, “May I?”

Inside, Áine sat with her lute leaned against her bad shoulder, using the joint more as a prop in its useless state while she plucked at the strings with her other hand. She’d found solace in her solitude, but at hearing Astarion’s voice outside her tent, solitude suddenly didn’t seem so appealing. “Sure,” she said with ease, offering him a smile when he entered. 

Astarion returned her smile, ever alarmed at how swiftly his walls started to crumble whenever they found some time just for themselves. Similarly to how she’d felt when he’d first invited her to spend the night with him in his tent, he was suddenly struck by the intimate notion of coexisting with her in her private quarters. The very air hanging around him smelled like her. It was a kind of bliss. “How are you doing, my dear?” he asked.

“Better now,” she said, setting her lute aside. He first thought she was saying that she felt better after her earlier spat with Gale, but the sweet tilt of her smile made him realize that she was saying she was better now…that he was there. Would he ever grow used to her flirting with him or would it always send nonsensical heat to the very tips of his ears? “You?”

“Also better,” Astarion suggested, sitting across from her on one of the many throw pillows she’d formed into a nest in her tent. “And a bit worse for wear, too, after today, but aren’t we all. How is your shoulder?”

Áine blushed, her hand subconsciously running across the curve of the joint in question. “It’s…well, it’s how I should expect it to be after the stunts I pulled,” she admitted, deciding against playing it off to him. “In a day or so it should correct itself. It just takes time.”

Astarion nodded, suddenly shy about the proposition he’d been preparing for all night. How was it that suggesting they have sex out in a field for the first time had felt easier than offering her a shoulder massage? That they were different forms of intimacy was the answer to that question, but Astarion wasn’t yet in a place to differentiate. “May I try to help?” he asked, the words awkward as they tumbled from his lips.

Áine regarded him with confused surprise and it was all he could do to keep himself from rescinding the offer to protect his fragile ego. His panic ebbed when her expression softened and she said, “If you’d like to. I appreciate you.”

Astarion felt relieved and tried to brush off the sentimentality that bubbled up when she said she specifically appreciated him, not what he did for her alone. He raised himself just enough out of his seated position to crawl forward and settle himself behind her. Áine took the hint and scooted forward to give him space and he couldn’t help but tease her by dodging in to bury his face in her neck. She muffled a yelp that still came out as a small squeak, which was even more embarrassing, especially because she knew that his entire goal had been to mess with her. 

Redfaced, she glared down at his silvery curls as he chuckled against her throat and dropped a kiss across his old bitemarks. Áine couldn’t help the way her glare fell away to leave a smirk in its place, shaking her head at Astarion’s antics. Leave it to him to ease her mind about everything still going on outside her tent. The world still turned and the person swiftly becoming her world turned, too. Turned to settle in behind her and reach around her shoulders to untie her shirt laces, the icy tips of his fingers tracing soothing trails across her still stress-flushed skin as they moved.

Astarion let her shirt pool off Áine’s shoulders, leaving it up to her whether or not she took it off fully. He smoothed her hair away from her scarred shoulder and withdrew the vial of oil from his sleeve, popping the cap with an easy twist of his fingers. When Áine caught a familiar whiff of lavender, she started to ask, “Isn’t that—?”

“Shadowheart’s? It is,” Astarion admitted, his expression guarded even though she had her back to him. His palms and fingertips slick with the fragrant oil, he thought back to the practice rounds Shadowheart had instructed him through on her medical pouch and carefully placed his fingertips against Áine’s scars, feeling her shiver a little under his hands when he did. Silvery brows pulled together in concentration and he murmured, “Tell me if anything starts to hurt, darling.”

Áine was still trying to figure out how he’d managed to pilfer that massage oil from Shadowheart when he started investigating her shoulder, her shiver having more to do with anyone touching her scars than the now-familiar feel of his hands on her body. She nodded in reply to his request, drawing the calming lavender scent deep into her lungs and letting her eyes close as she urged her muscles to relax. Relaxation was a difficult thing to manage in the current climate of their circumstances, but she tried. 

When Astarion began to massage the scar tissue riddling the span of her shoulder joint, Áine noted the similarities in the ways his hands kneaded her aching muscles and how Shadowheart had addressed them on their accidental date. In fact, the patterns that he was carefully pressing into her flesh were almost identical. When Áine realized that, she wondered if—given the fact that he also inexplicably had the massage oil she’d used and hadn’t bragged about thieving it—Shadowheart had supplied him with the oil and told him how to work on her shoulder. 

Curiously, Áine asked, “Did Shadowheart put you up to this?” She felt his hands still, maintaining their pressure but ceasing their movement, and she hastened to add, “I’m just being nosy and you should just ignore me. Just, um, please don’t stop. This is helping.”

She heard him snort softly behind her, but he continued his work after using his pause to stretch his hands. Áine was cursing herself for prying when he surprised her by breaking his silence, his voice a quiet, focused lull. 

“No one put me up to anything, dearest,” he murmured, learning the extent and complexities of her old injuries through touch. “And you should know by now that I’m hardly capable of ignoring you.”

Áine smiled to herself, closing her eyes again and leaning back against his hands. At some point, after her shoulder had loosened up a little from the careful work he’d put into it, Astarion’s hands ran with new purpose over her bared skin. The bard’s smile skewed toward amusement as she adjusted her position so she could face him, getting scooped into straddling his lap by those talented hands of his along the way.

Facing him, Áine found herself simply content to get lost in his eyes and admire the lines of his face, the curl of his hair, the knife’s edge of his jaw, and the dramatic point of his ears. She raised her fingertips to stroke his cheek, trailing them toward his hairline and through his locks, gratified when he leaned into her hand. The corner of his mouth lifted in a coy smirk. “Like what you see, little love?” he purred.

“You know I do,” she said, gently caressing the long elven sweep of his ear in the way she’d learned he liked, eliciting a pleasurable hum from his throat. She’d seen him become gradually more and more comfortable with her, even when he was clearly still combatting whatever hells he’d been through that she’d yet to—or would never—learn of. Áine was proud of him and honored to be part of what helped to heal the wounds in his heart, even if she did end up being just a passing fancy for him in the end.

His crimson eyes searched hers, heavy-lidded with his momentary bliss. “And what is it you see?” he coaxed her, wondering if any of her answers had changed from the last time he’d asked her to be his mirror. 

Her answer had changed, just not in the way he expected. Áine had parted her lips to reply, but hesitated, her features becoming contemplative before she finally asked, “Would you like me to show you?”

“Hm?” Astarion hummed, baffled until he caught where she might be going with this. “You mean to use the tadpole? …Would that work?”

“It’s not a mirror or a reflection, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t unless I’m missing something obvious,” she mused. “I can try if you want.”

Astarion hesitated in turn, his curiosity and vanity both stirring to the surface. He was nervous though. What if what he saw horrified him? He’d never seen himself as a vampire and had endured so long and so much without seeing his own face he hardly knew what he looked like anymore. He knew because he’d been told with varying degrees of kindness that he was what society deemed beautiful, but what had that been worth in the end?

“I can just do what we did before,” Áine offered when he stayed silent and clearly conflicted. “What did we say… Ah, ‘shallow praise,’ as it were?”

He chuckled faintly, but it felt hollow around the anxious lump that had formed in his throat. “No, I… I would like to try,” Astarion said. Suddenly he found himself admitting to her exactly what was unnerving him and it felt like confessing a sin to the only goddess he believed could forgive him. “I’m wary of seeing myself after so long. Seeing what I’ve become.”

Áine’s eyes softened and she raised her other hand to gently cup his face, feeling his grip on her waist tightening as if she were a lifeline. “We can stop whenever you’d like, as with everything,” she murmured. His heart gave a painful pang and only after he nodded for her to go ahead did Áine use the illithid tadpole to open up her mind to him, a little nervous herself.

Astarion felt when she opened for him, her consciousness unfurling like a flower as she closed her eyes to concentrate. He admired her for a moment, having half a mind just to kiss her senseless and avoid his fears altogether. With his hands still rooted to her waist to ground him in the present moment, he let his mind join with hers.

He was startled initially when he was met with darkness, but as he settled into her sentience and his initial wariness of the connection itself waned, he realized that her eyes were just still closed. He could feel the way her lashes brushed against the apples of her cheeks. He could feel her heart beating as if it were in his chest, her lungs filling with air and exhaling in even time. Her calm body managed to calm him and Astarion gathered that she could sense his nerves in kind because it was only after he steadied himself that she opened her eyes.

The pale elf sat bewildered and shaken as he stared into his own eyes for the first time in two centuries. The planes of his face he could only trace with his fingertips and try to make sense of came into focus, a stranger more familiar than anything he’d ever known. His hair didn’t surprise him, so that must have been the same for the most part. Astarion couldn’t quite recall seeing these lines in this face before this moment, but they did little to catch his vanity in comparison to the bright red eyes taking all of this in. 

He remembered how she’d asked him what color his eyes had once been the first time—the only time—they’d talked about the access he’d lost to his own appearance. In mirror and memory. Another thing taken from him. Another thing she’d found a way to offer him back.

He wished he could remember. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t. And when his jaw dropped slightly at seeing just how vividly the red irises shone in the dim light, he saw the points of his fangs just past his parted lips. Astarion curled his lip back to get a better look, the tip of his tongue running along one of the sharp tips with new understanding. They weren’t as big as they sometimes, especially in his early days as a vampire spawn, had felt in his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Áine asked gently through their connection, her voice skimming his inner thoughts like a kind touch. It took him a moment to realize that she was asking him this now in real time and he wasn’t remembering another time that she’d checked on him. He acknowledged with a tug at his chest that there would be plenty of those instances for him to pull from.

“I believe I am,” he replied similarly, although he could see on his own face that he felt a bit troubled. “It’s both as alarming and not as much as I’d expected.”

Áine’s hands had remained gently cupped against his face throughout the process and his gaze left his own features to perceive how her strong yet delicate hands lingered and traced reassuring lines against his cheekbones. He found himself lightly prodding around the vision she offered him, a new question surfacing that made him even more curious and still more wary.

She felt his conflict as he searched the piece of her awareness she’d lent to him. “Something else?” she asked, removing one of her hands from his face to rub at her eyes, which had watered a little from her attempt to limit her blinking while he studied himself.

“I want to see how you see me,” Astarion told her and his expression grew vulnerable in both their minds’ eyes. “Just you.”

That made Áine a touch nervous. She knew what he was asking of her—he wanted her to let the barrier she’d put around her feelings down so he could experience her perception of him in full. She��d originally tried to stow her bias so he could just see himself as he was without her weigh-in, but now that he was requesting that, too, she was worried it would be too much. What if she scared him off? What if he laughed at her? 

Ultimately it came down to a single, simple question that tended to shake her to her core regardless of who it referenced. Did she trust him?

The answer was just as simple, if not just as foolish. She did.

Astarion felt her throat tighten like it was his own right before the barriers he’d been testing were removed. He saw himself precisely as he’d seen himself before through her eyes, but the emotion that poured in with the sight of him this time made his eyes go wide and his jaw fall slack. His chest constricted. There was no sense to what he was experiencing through her, of hers, and yet he was experiencing it in full and in real-time. Her anxiety about baring more of herself to him, her concern for him and whether or not this had been a healthy thing to offer him, a lingering sadness that came from seeing the conflict flitting through his features, and more than all of that…

…ardent care and compassion. So ardent that he could feel it burning in his chest. Shocked into stillness, he could only watch as she gave him a sort of tour of his own features that he’d just been deliberating over in untouched neutrality with only his opinions for reference. Áine traced over the bow of his lips, the currently flushed tips of his ears, the regal line of his nose and jaw, and lastly his soulful, widened crimson eyes. And the more she showed him, the more she admired him, the more unabashed she felt in her reverence.

When finally using the parasite began to feel taxing to her, Áine screwed her eyes shut, letting go of the connection and trying to refocus her vision. She opened her eyes, wondering if all of that had been too much until she met Astarion’s eyes, his vision his own again, and saw the tears streaming down his face.

Áine’s eyes widened and she instinctively smoothed the tears away even as more came, an apology springing to her lips to atone for whatever she’d done. 

An apology he kissed away like a man starving.

Thank you.

Next chapter: Chapter 14, "In Waters Deep"

[note-boom]

All right. I'm bored and feel like doing this here, so I'm gonna rate some of the ability names (English version, at least) for fun/no absolute reason

(For the record, as of the day writing this post, I've only read snatches of the manga, none of the LNs, and have just watched the anime)

Let's GOOOO

Armed Detective Agency

All Men Are Equal (Fukuzawa) - 7/10 good, fits the ability, but it doesn't blow me away. Honestly makes me think of the American Declaration of Independence and I feel slightly bad for that

Thou Shalt Not Die (Yosano) - 9/10 seriously cool. I love that it's phrased like a command...it's both desperation and a demand i love it.

Super/Ultra Deduction (Ranpo) - 4/10 sorry Ranpo but this sounds like an adaptation of superstrength or super smarts for deduction. IDK maybe Fukuzawa made it up on the spot for Ranpo?

No Longer Human (Dazai) - 8/10 very fitting...captures Dazai's personality and has fun implications about abilities being part of someone's humanity even though that's probably not intended. Just an author work's ref but still a cool name anyway

Doppo/The Matchless Poet (Kunikida) - 8/10 but ONLY for the Matchless Poet (or Lone Poet) because it's so Kunikida and really conjures the image of that whole paragon archetype. Doppo Poet? Really english dub??

Light Snow (Tanizaki) - 6/10 but may get higher depending on tanizaki's arc. Such an inoffensive ability name, cute, understates what a terrifying ability it could be...a bit like the boy himself. Maybe 7 or 8 out of 10, hmm...

Beast Beneath the Moonlight/Byakko (Atsushi) - 6/10 sorry my boy, but its such a literal name (like Yosano's but descriptive instead of imperative). I'm not sure where Byakko comes from but you should have stuck with that as it's a solid 10/10 name.

Undefeated by the Rain (Kenji) - 8/10 i love the image it draws. Standing strong even though the rain is pouring WHILE it's pouring. Love you, Kenji

Demon Snow (Kyouka) - 7/10 tbh it doesnt make too much sense if you think about it too hard but it sure is a cool name regardless. And it's fun to say so my bias is leaking....

Port Mafia

Falling Camellia (Hirotsu) - 9/10 old man your ability name is PRETTY for an ability that's literally just pushing. But the words kinda fit the vibe and make the ability sound cool

Vita Sexualis (Mori) - 5/10 this is latin for sex power and im sure if you've read my tags I have petty beef against sex and romance (it's mostly as a joke but I'm still gonna let it color all my opinions). Sorry Elise...you're cool but the ability name is honestly sus. However, points for the language consistency (dead languages make anything sound cool)

Golden Demon (Kouyou) - 6/10 sorry Kouyou, but like Atsushi's, it's too literal and descriptive. But at least it sticks to the original title's name

Lemonade/Lemon Bomb (Kajii) - ???/10 i honestly dont know what i feel about this one. Kajii is the reason I look at the whole "abilities are an expression of your soul" thing with utter bemusement. I do LOVE his ability cause it's so unnecessarily random but the name? Idk...maybe 5/10? References the title but also feels slightly too literal?

For the Tainted Sorrow (Chuuya) - 10/10 im sorry but the way it sounds in English appeals to me personally. It's both the title and starring line of IRL Nakahara's poem and I honestly love that so much. Such gravity in those lines (wait....??)

Rashoumon (Akutagawa) - 10/10 it just gets points for its name staying the same in all languages. See, Atsushi? This is what you could have had with Byakko

Midwinter Memento (Tachihara) - 8/10 could be higher honestly because I love the alliteration and the phrase just has nice vibes. Don't know how well it fits the metalbending but it sure fits Tachihara and the way the past haunts him ya know? It makes me wonder if his ability is passed down or gets stronger with remembered trauma or whatever?

Dogra Magra (Q) - 9/10 no clue what this means and google isn't helping. But again with the language consistency...and it also just sounds cool and rhyme-y and slightly horrory. Its the vibes

Flawless (Odasaku) - 8/10 i like the name and all the things it connotes. You have to get real philosophical to parse the connection between his ability and its name, though. But that's why I love it

The Madness of the Jewel King (Ace) - 6/10 a cool name but the existence of Ace confuses me. Wiki says something about Alan Bennet or a character from Dostoy. Im here wondering why another foreign (it seems) dude is working so high up in the PM. Mori and his western loving tendencies, i guess? Anyway. The name also kinda feels more descriptive, but it gets points for drama

[munohlow]

Ok real quick gonna propose an idea for that powerpuff girls reboot:

Don’t

But it if they really must (they shouldn’t!), there’s some better ways I think they could go about it, as well as what I’ve seen floating around (like don’t).

Pretty much all of these are assuming they’ll go the gritty reboot route because that’s pretty popular atm. A dark gritty take on anything is getting a bit tired, I think people are more open to weird and sincere stories, whether they’re adaptations or original. But recently a lot of comics (good comics!) 10+ years old are getting faithful adaptations (good adaptations!) and reviving that early/mid 2000’s taste for “what if Superman, but bastard?”

Aright one route they could go would be like that of Samurai Jack season 5 on Adult Swim. Written and animated by the original team and keeping to its truest nature while maturing it a bit along with the original fan base and maybe have an overarching plotline. The difference being that keeping it like the original ppg would create a stronger contrast with more mature and brutal violence, similar to Invincible’s friendly neighborhood Spider-man vibes and use of graphic violence.

This would be the second best way to adapt besides not doing it at all..... but that would also take more money and might not last beyond a season, ending with a solid conclusion like Samurai Jack did. Plus I’m semi doubtful the original team would be on board to drag out the girls’ story, especially like this.

Addressing the leaked script, a common comparison made was to the Netflix adaptation of The Umbrella Academy. Both are loose adaptations about child superhero siblings coming together after years of being apart, dealing with childhood trauma and their parent’s wrecklessness as adults.

And talking monkey.

Where Umbrella Academy made changes for the sake of depth and character development amidst the sci-fi madness, the CW Powerpuff Girls script attempted to be edgy and gross for the sake of being edgy and gross. They just want to be mature and topical while ignoring everything enjoyable about the original. It also just straight up sucks. I’m no writer but it seems like a lot of people who are writers are pretty pissed about paid professionals pushing this to the point of post-production. Well not post production, it was being filmed, but I enjoy alliteration. That’s also pretty far into development for something this bad, while it was rejected and is being reworked, it still got approved by enough people to shoot a pilot. If the leaked script itself isn’t a marketing ploy, I imagine that’s the real reason it was shut down. CW probably would’ve went through with it, otherwise. Maybe just keep it cancelled, yeah? Yeah.

This idea isn’t mine either but instead of the child star allegory, it could be more interesting to sort of see it carry on from where it left off, as the continued adventures of the powerpuff girls. Similar to the The Venture Bros. (a show I have not watched but know vaguely about, again this is someone else’s thought, I just think it sounds good) the girls can be grown up but start to realize they want to explore their lives and goals as individuals outside of heroism.

This at least appeals to me because you can keep the show’s status quo, keep the characters together, and have them grow into better more interesting characters as opposed to starting with a dour world where everyone is dead or just worse insufferable people. Instead, begin where audiences are comfortable and open to a new interpretation then let the characters realize there’s more to life and explore what kind of people they can become. (Or just don’t do it.)

Also just hear me out, but maybe, possibly? perhaps the professor was a good dad in the original cartoon? And let’s keep that? Let him remain a wholesome father figure? Is that okay? Don’t make this reboot? But if they do, keep him a nice loving parent?

Since this is the CW/ Warner bros who own DC comics, the best case scenario (cancelled) would be to make it more like the MANY SUPERHERO SHOWS THEY ALREADY MAKE. The good ones, anyway. I’m pretty sure the girls have crossed over with some DC characters in the cartoon already, why not make them canon DC characters? Maybe not. Could be cool! Better not, though. But they could still model the show after some of their better shows. Flash, Arrow, Supergirl are all not bad depending who you ask. I just finished Gotham, that was neat. Superman and Lois sounds like it’s pretty good so far. Powerpuff girls would better suit an earnest, straightforward, lighthearted take. Keep the humor, idk maybe up the violence to keep it dark and cool if that’s what people want (we don’t) and have it contrast with family drama like Invincible. All that to say that a darker, comical, well-written, DC-ish superhero thing they should look to for reference should be Doom Patrol.

This show fuckin litty. It’s like the better parts of Legends of Tommorow and Titans put together, as in it’s super weird and dumb but in a way that’s fun and moving. I recently rewatched season one as refresher before getting into season two and dammit if it didn’t get me in my feels amidst the quarantine. It’s about broken people working through their issues and pulling themselves together to help one another. Admittedly, it doesn’t have the best representation of those with disassociative identity disorder, as one character sometimes referred to as “Crazy” Jane has a different superpower with each of her alters. The character is very much a product of the 80’s but the writers of the show do their best to show that Jane respects the alters and their free will. But it also deals with topics of abuse, self-image, trauma, disabilities, homophobia, discrimination, and more in a way that gave me some catharsis while watching after all that’s been going on the past couple of years. Aside from all the comedy and action, it all flows together naturally, which is what you want in any series, not just your gritty superhero show. Doom Patrol is also batshit weird, every episode feels almost self contained/ freak-of-the-week while still following the main overarching plot, and Powerpuff Girls is very much like that, without the bigger plot or mature themes (as it should remain, let it be). Many will find it vaguely similar to The Umbrella Academy because GERARD WAY WAS INSPIRED BY DOOM PATROL TO WRITE THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY. The og comics, not the show, but still.

Also let’s address this

The hell was this about?

Anyway Idk maybe I sound like “Old Man Yells at Cloud,” but this really isn’t the way to go. Don’t do it, CW. Leave it alone, CW. Just don’t do it. We don’t need more sequels and reboot cash grabs, there’s plenty of up and coming writers with good original ideas waiting for their shot. And even with all those new edgy shows and movies, some of which are actually not bad, not everything needs to be so grim. Like sure Teen Titans Go! is a goofy reboot but it’s still just a fun dumb cartoon, it’s not bad, I bet that other ppg show was also just fine. Maybe YOU are “Old Man Yells at Cloud.” But what do I know?

And all THAT to say you should go watch all those other things I mentioned and some old ppg episodes back to back, instead. Don’t fuckin do it, CW

[internetmisfitsworld]

Ok but it just dawn on me how, in a way, everyone has something to win, but at the cost of losing something else.

Let's start with Diana.

Gain: She managed to dismantle Providence from the inside. Providence, who is the true controller of Blue Seed, the company who caused the death of her brother (illness from the chemical leak) and later, her parents (assassins were sent to kill them). So in a sense, a sweet revenge for her.

Loss: Had to lose ICA, her longtime employer.

47,

Gain: Get revenge on Providence, the company who had been using him and his brother Lucas as tools for their dirty works. Not to mention the amount of abuse and other shitty things they had to endure by Ort Meyer.

Loss: Lucas died.

Providence/Arthur Edwards,

Gain: Lucas, the man who had caused many damages, from killing their operatives to destroying their assets, has died.

Loss: Arthur Edwards, the current controller of Providence, was killed/neutralized by 47, and then Providence was dissolved completely with the help of Diana, who has the power, as the new Constant, to tear them apart from the inside.

Lucas Grey,

Gain: Although he died, his death was not in vain. He was avenged by his brother, 47 along with Diana and Olivia. (yes I know she calls it quit by the end of Berlin, and completely do so after Mendoza, but I'm still gonna include her anyway yeah fight me)

Loss: He died and doesn't get to see the day Providence lost, and also doesn't get to live the future he wanted.

You know who doesn't win anything at all and instead, lose everything?

Olivia Hall.

Why? Well. Let's look into her motives for joining Lucas. As far as I'm concerned, IO doesn't gives any intels or pieces of dialogues regarding her motives for joining this shitshow (IO why you did my girl like this?), I did a list of the possibilities of her motives and its logicalness. Here it is:

1. "Money?"

2. "She's a hacktivist. So, maybe she joined simply because she's anti-corpo?"

3. "Maybe she too, like Lucas, had past issues with Providence?"

4. "Forced?"

5. "They have a long standing friendship. She joined because she cares about him and wants to help".

The answers:

1. There are other ways of making money that doesn't involve joining a war against some shady highly dangerous secret society lmao damn. Not to mention that she used to be a child in a warzone (Sierra Leone Civil War). With the amount of trauma that I could only imagine, I doubt she wanna go through that again especially over petty shit like money. Money. For money that I'm sure she could easily get that by hacking some rando corpo bank account anyway. Plus, Idk man. She just doesn't seem the type imo.

2. This is true. She is indeed, anti-corpo. However, again, it's stupid. We're not talking about some basic ass corpo group, nah, this is literally the organization that have controls over almost half the globe and half of the government, for god knows how long. This is not some fun shit, this is serious shit. Sooo many things that could go wrong, resulting with either her being dead or targeted for the rest of her life.

3. This is good but bruhh there's just so many potential theories, and I do not have the energy to write all of them (maybe another day). Not to mention that there's no reason for them to not include this intels in the game. Hell, there's no reason at all for them to not let us know about her motive.

4. *logic has left the chat*

5. Out of all theories, this is the one imo that's the most logical. Period. There's so many versions based on this but I'm gonna stick with the simple one. Maybe I'll elaborate the others on another post.

So, it has been concluded that her motives for joining Lucas, is because she cares for him. Whether you see them as father-daughter or simply friends. Both works fine, though imo, the former works best.

It makes sense as to why she chose to call it quit by the end of Berlin. Because what's there to fight for? He's dead. She already lost him. She lost. Sure, she could stay and continue his fight. Avenge him. But that's the thing. It's HIS fight. She did this only because she wanted to help him survive this shitshow. She wants him to survive, and gets to live the future that he (definitely) had mentioned to her before. Plus, she's tired. Tired from the pain she felt from both, losing Lucas and her leg injury.

This woman suffered physical AND emotional pain at the same time.

Not to mention she has been in this fight for almost 2-3 years now. All of that is enough for her to walk away. Find peace for herself from this mess.

She and Lucas probably has talk about this before. Maybe he made her promise him, that if anything happens to him and 47, he wants her to run. Run like hell. Forget about all this. There's no bodyguards, no task force. He's not there to protect her anymore.

If he's the only one who didn't make it, he would've appreciate it if she choose to stay with 47 and continue fighting alongside his brother. But he also understands if she choose to leave.

Olivia finds that, for the sake of her sanity, it's best to walk away.

I'm willing to bet one of the main reasons she helps 47 one last time (Mendoza), is because she felt a tinge of guilt for abandoning him just like that. If she could not see herself continue fighting, the least she could do, is offers her help one last time, even if it probably wasn't much.

After all, old habits amirite?

So there you go. Our girl was fighting hard to help the man that she had known since she was 7 years old.

More sad: if this man save her life during the war.

Even more sad: if this man also got her out of there, away from all the pain, towards a new life.

Peak depression: if this man was the one who raised her himself.

(Oh and uh if I got it wrong or missed something, let me know okay!)

[mavspeed]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

1.

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon. 

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

2.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

3. 

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

4.

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

5. 

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

6. 

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

7. 

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

8. 

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

9.

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10. 

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11. 

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess 

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13. 

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14. 

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

[lesbian-deadpool]

Tony, His Adopted Blue Murder Child, And Co.

Tony has created a chat.

Tony has renamed the chat: Fuck Space. Fuck This Shit. I Want Pizza.

Tony: All byyyyyy myyyyy seeeeelf.

Tony: Don't wanna be.

Tony: All byyyyyyyy myyyyyyy seeeeeeelf!

Nebula has joined the chat.

Tony: Tf? Leave me alone to my suffering.

Nebula: Bitch make me.

Tony: Okay, Smurfette fite me.

Nebula: Nah, can't be bothered.

Nebula: Come over here and let me shoot you.

Tony: Don't wanna walk.

Tony: Messing with this ship has exhausted me.

Nebula: Fuck that cable...

Wade has joined the chat.

Wade: I don't think I need to elaborate on that.

Wade has left the chat.

Nebula: What? Who was that?

Tony: I have absolutely no clue.

Nebula: Anyway... how long till we touch solid ground again?

Tony: Please refer to my previous answer.

Nebula: Well ain't you just 190lbs of sarcasm.

Tony: Hey! This body is a tight 171lbs.

Tony: But you're right, the majority of it is sarcasm, yes.

Nebula: And what's the rest of it?

Tony: Trauma.

Nebula: Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help you with that.

Tony: Peter used to help me.

Nebula: With your trauma??

Tony: Peter told me he was sorry.

Nebula: What?

Tony: Peter used to say that.

Nebula: Okay...

Tony: Peter used to say that, too!

Nebula: Are you crying?

Tony: Fuck no. Tony Stark doesn't cry for anybody. You can thank my abusive father for that :)

Nebula: I know how you feel.

Nebula: We both have bad fathers.

Nebula: Thanos will breathe his last breath soon enough. Then your son will be avenged.

Tony: PETER USED TO BREATH!

Nebula: Tf?

Nebula: Seriously, stop crying.

Tony: I'm not crying.

Nebula: Then what's that coming out of your eyes?

Tony: Oh, this?

Tony: This is just some depression leaking from my eyes. It's a natural occurrence.

Nebula: ... so, crying?

Tony: HOW DO YOU KNOW?

Nebula: I can see you dude, you're bawling your fucking eyes out.

Tony: SHUT UP.

Nebula: Hey, now you can drink your tears!

Tony: I'M NOT CRYING. I told you, it's liquid depression!

Nebula: Ffs.

Nebula has renamed the chat: Drink your tears, Tony.

Tony has renamed the chat: Go fuck yourself, Nebula.

Nebula has renamed the chat: Drink your liquid depression, Tony.

Tony: That's more like it, thank you.

Nebula: Are all humans like this?

Tony: Only the ones with issues.

Tony: So yes.

Nebula: What a race.

Tony: You can't tell me you've never cried.

Nebula: When I was a child. Before Thanos removed my ability to cry, along with most of my body parts, and organs, replacing them with metal.

Tony: ...

Tony: You're my child now.

Tony: I'm signing your adoption papers. You're legally my child now.

Tony: I've always wanted a daughter.

Tony: You will be safe with me. I promise.

Nebula: ... that was really sweet, and I don't know how to reply to that.

Tony: My God, you are my daughter.

Tony: Don't worry, I will give you the fatherly love you deserve.

Nebula: Your son was so lucky.

Tony: Wait, son? Huh?

Nebula: Yes. That little spider child.

Tony: Peter?

Nebula: Yeah, that one.

Tony: Peter wasn't my son.

Nebula: He wasn't?

Tony: No.

Tony: Yes, I loved him like he was my son. Tried to guide him with what fatherly wisdom I may have. I tried to protect him with my heart and soul. Was proud of every-single-thing he did. Went to every special event he had. He won his high school decathlon you know. He's so smart. And special. I was lucky to have someone so happy in my life. OMG, I miss him so much. Come back, my son!

Tony: So, yeah. Not my son at all.

Nebula: Right... whatever you say...

Tony: Oh my, I almost forgot I was so excited. Consent is key.

Tony: Would you like to be my daughter?

Nebula: Aren't I a little too old to get adopted?

Tony: Idc.

Tony: ???

Nebula: .............. yespleaseIwouldlovethatverymuch............

Tony: Alrighty then. You are my child. I love you, daughter.

Tony: Don't worry. I'll teach you what love is. Me and my to be wife, Pepper. She's your mom now. If she's still alive, that is...

Nebula: Thank you.

Tony: You are welcome.

Korg has joined the chat.

Korg: Hey fellas, fancy joining a revolution?

Nebula: Fellas?

Tony: Who the fuck is this?

Korg: Hi, I'm Korg. I'm made out of rocks, but there's no need to be frightened. I'm a kind guy.

Wade has joined the chat.

Wade: The Thing. But space.

Wade has left the chat.

Nebula: There he is again!

Korg: Who was that? A friend of yours? Does he want to join a revolution?

Tony: I am way too sober for this.

Nebula: I can kill him for you.

Tony: How about we don't do that?

Valkrie has joined the chat.

Tony: Now who the hell is this?

Valkrie: Who the hell are you?

Tony: I'm the hell person whose chat this is.

Valkre: Oh. Well trust me, I don't want to be here as much as you don't want me to be here.

Nebula: So why are you then?

Valkrie: Korg. Stop talking to these weirdo's, and come help me build this fucking ship.

Korg: A revolutionary ship?

Valkrie: Korg, you do know that we don't need the revolution anymore? We won.

Korg: There's always a need for a revolution.

Tony: I actually agree with the space rock here.

Nebula: Same.

Nebula: Especially if it's against Thanos.

Tony: I'm pretty sure that's not how that works.

Nebula: Whatever. As long as I can stick my blade through Thanos, I couldn't care less.

Valkrie: Who's this Thanos?

Tony: You know how people/aliens/whatever turned to dust around you?

Valkrie: Yeah?

Tony: Yeah, well that was Thanos' doing.

Nebula: And also half of the universe turned to dust, not just the things around you.

Valkrie: Oh.

Valkrie: Yeah, let's kill him. Brutally.

Tony: Glad you agree.

Valkrie: Korg, come on, let's build this ship. And help kill this fucker.

Korg: ... a revolutionary ship?

Valkrie: It can be whatever type of ship you want. As long as you help me build it!

Korg: Okay! Bye guys, I'll send you some pamphlets, if I find out where you are.

Korg has left the chat.

Tony: Hold on, what revolution?

Valkrie: I don't actually know. I black out every time he talks about it. All I know is there was a lot of fighting, and we won.

Nebula: Who mentioned a revolution?

Valkrie: See? Just like that.

Valkrie: Anyway, I gotta go lose what's left of my sanity... maybe I can get drunk.

Tony: Get drunk?

Tony: Where? How? Can I have some?

Tony: Please. I'm so sad. I have lost so much, and I don't know who I've lost on Earth.

Tony: Please help me dull this pain.

Nebula: Jesus man. You need help.

Tony: Hey, that's dad to you. And yes. Yes, I do.

Tony: So, about that booze.

Valkrie: No. All mine.

Valkrie has left the chat.

Tony: Oh, gee thanks.

Nebula: Want me to kill her for you?

Tony: We really need to have a discussion about your immediate reaction with murder.

Nebula: So, is that a...?

Tony: No. That is a firm, no.

Nebula: Do you want me to kill ANYONE?

Tony: No, you don't have to murder for me, or my love.

Nebula: You really are the best dad.

Tony: That is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.

Nebula: Are you crying again?

Tony: No.

Nebula: I can clearly see you.

Tony: ... no, you can't.

Nebula: Just because you're now wearing your Iron Man helmet, doesn't mean you're not crying.

Tony: Yes it does.

The Grand Master has joined the chat.

The Grand Master has changed their name to: TGM.

TGM: Does my name sound weird like this?

Tony: Anybody who calls themselves 'The Grand Master' is a narcissistic weirdo.

Tony: At least 'TGM' can be an acronym for something better.

Nebula: Like 'The Great Mistake'.

Tony: And 'This Guy is Measly'.

Wade has joined the chat.

Wade: 'Tomg it's Gjeff Mgoldblum'.

Wade has left the chat.

Tony: Huh?

Korg has joined the chat.

Korg: 'To Ghost Men'.

Korg has left the chat.

Tony: What?

Valkrie has joined the chat.

Valkrie: 'To Get Masacered'.

Valkrie has left the chat.

Tony: What?!

Nebula: I like her.

Tony: Of course you do.

Tony: Oh my God, you and Nat are going to take over the world.

Tony: If she's still alive that is...

Nebula: Only one world?

TGM: Oh, oh, can I join?

Nebula: No.

Tony: Leave now.

TGM: This wouldn't happen if I still had my champion. Fucking sparkles.

TGM has been blocked from the chat.

Nebula: Who was he talking about?

Tony: Idk.

Tony: Probably some aliens or something.

Thanos has joined the chat.

Thanos: Sup losers?

Tony: Oh daughter of mine, do you notice something?

Thanos: Daughter?

Nebula: No, my father, I do not.

Thanos: Wait, father?!

Thanos: What have you done to my second favourite daughter, Tony?!

Tony: So, daughter. You were telling me about your sister... like an hour ago.

Thanos: Ahh, yes. My favourite daughter.

Nebula: Gammora. She was an assassin, just like me. I love her. But SOMEONE threw her off a cliff.

Thanos: It was the price to pay for the stone.

Tony: If she were still here I would adopt her, too. Skrew it! Dead or not! She is my daughter, too!

Thanos: WHAT?!

Nebula: She would have liked that.

Nebula: And so would I. Because it would annoy her boyfriend.

Tony: Who's her boyfriend?

Nebula: That imbecile Quill.

Tony: ...

Tony: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Nebula: Nope.

Thanos: I hate him, too.

Tony: I suddenly like him more now.

Nebula: Same.

Thanos: Are you ignoring me?

Tony: Do you notice anyone else in this chat, daughter?

Nebula: No father, I do not.

Thanos: I know what you're trying to do.

Thanos: And I hate you both.

Thanos: I'm glad I destroied half of the universe.

Thanos: Well, screw you two. I'm not going anywhere.

Carol has joined the chat.

Thanos: Oh, shit...

Carol: Hey you purple fuck!

Carol: It's time for you to, gtfo!

Thanos has been blocked from the chat.

Tony: Well thanks for that.

Carol: It's aiite.

Tony: ...

Tony: I'm sorry what?

Tony: Why are you speaking like its the 90's?

Carol: Cuz I'm HELLA cool like that.

Tony: Oh God.

Nebula: Want me to kill her?

Tony: Thinking about it.

Carol: Geez chill. I'm on my way to get you right now.

Tony: Second thoughts! I love her!

Nebula: So do I!

Nebula: Do you have food?

Tony: And water?

Nebula: And oxygen?

Carol: Yes, yes, and yes.

Carol: I also have some guy named Phil, he says he knows you.

Tony: Oh, yeah... I'm hallucinating.

Carol: No you're not.

Tony: I gotta go pass out now.

Tony has been disconnected.

Carol: Drama queen.

Nebula: Good night, dad.

Nebula: See you soon, Carol.

Carol: Cool beans.

Nebula: I don't understand you...

Nebula has left the chat.

Carol: I dig that.

Carol has left the chat.

Somewhere in the soul world

Bucky has created a chat.

Bucky has added Sam, Peter.

Bucky: What is this place?

Peter: I don't know, Terminator Jesus Sir.

Sam: Terminator Jesus!

Sam: That's amazing!

Bucky: Can we be serious here?

Sam: I am being serious! That name is amazing. Screw you and your bad tastes.

Peter: Are we dead?

Bucky: I think so.

Peter: Meh.

Sam: Woah, kid, are you okay?

Peter: Yeah. Man, Aunt May's gonna kill me when she finds out I'm dead.

Bucky: H... how?

Peter: She'll find a way.

Peter: I hope Mr Stark doesn't blame himself.

Sam: Wait, 'Mr Stark'? Are you that spider-kid?!

Peter: Spider-MAN.

Sam: You are!

Bucky: Who is?!

Sam: He is!

Bucky: Oh!

Peter: What is going on?

Sam: YOU WEBBED US UP NEXT TO EACH OTHER!

Peter: Ohhhh, you're those guys.... hi?

Bucky: HI?!

T'Challa has joined the chat.

T'Challa: Death meeting. Now.

Sam: What?

Bucky: How did you even get everyone to listen to you so fast??

T'Challa: A king has his ways.

T'Challa has left the chat.

Peter: He's so cool.

Peter has left the chat.

Bucky: I'm cooler...

Sam: Dream on, Barnes.

Sam has kicked Bucky from the chat.

Sam has left the chat.

(Bonus)

Carol has created a chat.

Carol has added Y/N, Natasha, Thor.

Carol: Right I'm gonna go get your friends.

Carol: Brb.

Carol: Oh, and don't let Goose eat you.

Y/N: Eat us? What?

Natasha: How can a CAT eat us?

Carol: You don't want to know.

Thor: But he is so tiny and fluffy.

Carol: Yeah, you'll be fine. Just don't lather yourself in bacon grease, or have him anywhere near your eyes.

Y/N: Well there goes my bathing plans.

Natasha: And why no eyes?

Thor: It's fine I've already lost one!

Carol: Exactly.

Carol has left the chat.

Y/N: Should we be scared of the cat?

Thor: Probably...

Natasha: We should be scared of every cat. This one more.

Thor: I agree.

Y/N: Hmmmm

Y/N: Gonna go poke him.

Natasha: Wait Y/N...

Y/N has been disconnected.

Natasha: Jesus Christ.

Natasha: Let's go help her.

Thor: And cuddle Goose!

Natasha: Thor no.

Thor has been disconnected.

Natasha: I work with children.

Natasha has left the chat.

[bixgirl1]

What's your favorite sex scene you've written out of all your fics & what's your favorite sex scene you ever read?

Hi nonnie!  Sorry this took so long — I tend to leave aside asks that I know will take awhile to compose an answer to (and boy, howdy if this isn’t one of those. lol), and shamefully end up forgetting they’re there for way too long. But I’m a teensy burnt on writing atm and came across this, so:

(This got wayyy longer than I intended, so it’s going under a cut. :D)

My favorite sex scene(s) I’ve ever written

I hope you don’t mind that I picked a few. I freaking hate sounding egotistical, but I’m pretty proud of a lot of my sex scenes, so I kind of wanted to cry at having to pick. lolol. Anyway, I narrowed it down to:

The Legilimency sex in Every Me and Every You. That’s one of those scenes that came to me in this blinding, gleeful flash, and was written almost as quickly — and I got to try my hand at a version of Glove!kink, which makes me absolutely drool (more on that in the second part of your ask. lol).   

The Bonding scene in In The Red.  Though the fic has like 90 sex scenes in it (all of which I loved writing) from the outset, I knew exactly how I wanted that scene to go, every line and word, every position and emotion. I’m a little in love with it.  

Pretty much every sex scene in Sexplanations (Of The Horrible Sort),but especially the final one, because I laughed my head off at doing… well, that, to Harry.  (I make no apologies. Bahahaha)  

The whole of If The Shirt Fits.  It’s a pwp, but I love Draco’s voice in it.

Every sex scene (both het and slash) in Love Him More, because I felt like they managed to be both sexy and something else depending on the scene: aching, heartbroken, confused, renewing.

And I have to put an honorable mention in here for the first kissing/unfulfilled frotting scene in 12 Days Of What The Fuck. No one gets off in it, but I loved writing an extended snogging scene for a lot of ~reasons. (One of them is that I hardcore headcanon Harry as really loving kissing, partly because kissing’s great, and partly because he was so touch starved growing up.)

Now. If the first part of your question made me want to cry, this one practically had me bawling and wearing sackcloth, thank you ever so much for the trauma of having to pick. LOL. I am…less good at narrowing things down here. (I love sex in fic. I most often sort by rating and again, I make no apologies. *snort*) Believe you me, if I like the scene enough to list it as a fave, all of these writer’s sex scenes are brutally hot, and beyond that, the writing and plots are unbelievably good, too. (I can legit quote the dialogue in most of them. lol) Also, keep in mind I haven’t read every fic out there, my to read list is disgustingly long, these are all simply my own taste, and there may be some I adore that I’m just outright forgetting or leaving out for the sake of space and time.

*cracks knuckles* In no particular order:

The first sex scene with its surprisingly explosive chemistry in Touch Me Fall  by @lqtraintracks  and her first and second-to-last sex scenes in Blood and Fire,  which were simultaneously scorching and so lovely.

The extended foreplay/sex scene in lqt and @whipmyhairlikebangbang‘s Weeds Or Wildflowers  because hmmminuhh, there are not even words…

The first (in person) sex scene in @magpiefngrl‘s Hush, darling,  and each excited, faltering, tender kink negotiation sex scene Harry and Draco had in her fic Kettle.  (For something lighter and equally brilliant, read the lust leaks sex in  The Full Monty)

The first sex scene in Good Talk, Potter  by @l0vegl0wsinthedark. She brushes off how brilliant it is, but it was my introduction to Cocky!Harry, and for that I’ll always adore her and it. But I can’t not mention the rimming and knotting scenes in her fic Expectant, which, combined, are like 12k of some of the hottest sex you’ll ever read. But who’s surprised? 

@oceaxe’s series Closer Than Skin four smutty one-shots about, uh, shaving I didn’t know I needed until I read them. 

The knotting scene in Embers  by @shiftylinguini, which is somehow long, sweet, and blistering at the same time. Also (and this isn’t H/D, but idec), the Albus/Scorpius and Teddy/Jamie sex in her fic Sardines, which will make you go  :o  then go :O then go ;)~

The first and last sex scenes in Idk, My BFF Hermione? because the gift of writing such filthy sex and talk has only been bestowed upon a few in this world, and @letteredlettered is one of them.

Endowment  by @dictacontrion. It was my introduction, I think, to Hung!Draco, and I still can’t read it without blushing hot red and making little yipping noises.

The sex in don’t say you love me, that’s extortion by @lower-east-side​ because it’s so quietly evocative and intimate. 

Draco coming on Harry’s chest in Sex and the Art of Castle Maintenance, Draco coming on his own chest as Harry rims him in You open always (petal by petal), and Draco coming between Harry’s thighs in Lumos, all by clever and talented birdsofshore. (What can I say? I really really dig it when she makes Draco come. You will too, promise. lol)               

The sex in When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic, whose sex slays me every time. (And don’t even bother asking which sex scene is my favorite from her Tales From the Special Branch series because there are a lot of them and they’re all splendidly dirty and I can’t pick and you can’t make me.)   

The first blowjob scene in @writcraft‘s Dreaming of Harry because it’s so…idk, sexy and realistic and sweet, just what I’d imagine between these boys under those circumstances, and the getting off in the cupboard scene in their fic Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening because, I mean, hot, but also charming and wonderful.     

And I believe I promised to come back to Glove!Kink? Try The Games We Play by @gracerene09​ because holy hell, you guys. Seriously. Fingering and wanking for the fucking win. Wear sunglasses or it’ll blind you; it’s smoking. 

The sex in Fuck, Kill, Marry by @lettersbyelise​, which is funny and blistering and darling all at once.  (….And omfg, when I went to get the link, I saw that her newly posted a drabble came with the tag ‘rentboy Draco’ and I couldn’t resist and jesus fucking christ, the blowjob in Swallow (Your Pride) too now, yes, yes!!!)

And, okay, this one might sound weird, but the Blaise/Draco sex in Just Friends (or Why Draco Malfoy Shouldn’t Have Sex in His Office) by @unadulteratedstorycollector  because it matches the heat of the Harry/Draco sex that comes later, but Harry’s accidental viewing of it is incredibly sexy and confusing (for him) and his reactions are awesome.  

And finally: The first (dubcon) sex scene in @firethesound‘s The Light More Beautiful, which left me breathless and enthralled, as well as the shower wanking scene later in the fic, both of them a totally enthusiastic chef’s kiss!  

So there you go! A non-comprehensive list of my favorite sex scenes. That many of them are in some of my favorite fics is probably no surprise, but what can you do? lol. I like detailed and dirty, I like kink, I like romantic, I like exploratory, and I like to read a lot of it. :D Hope this helps!! 

[transkieran]

anyway, guarma & colm-odriscoll-is-my-daddy (& friends) think abusive ships are a funny way to get under someone’s skin

JUST FYI: I woulda had this conversation in private, but @guarma keeps calling Erin a bitch with a god-complex, even though everything she accuses Erin of is something I did, and she refuses to acknowledge me. So no more private, she called me a pussy for not confronting her. Well here's the confront ig!

background context: people decided to start shitting on the Yehaw Function server again in another server (let’s say ‘A’ bc I do not wish to drag the owner into this, they were rarely online). @ssupeck21 thought it was perfectly fine to mock the gender and race of a two-spirited native trans guy. nice transphobia and racism there! 

considering i remarked on it, they realized i knew him and suspected me of leaking the above screenshot to the YF server. i had already left this server at the end of february over several reasons, including erin’s server becoming my main one. i’m also reasonably sure i have mentioned no longer being in YF at some point. damage done: kate (guarma) and pongo ( @colm-odriscoll-is-my-daddy ) now think i’m “a spy” for YF. (ironic because @ssupeck21 let @jennyxbeans into erin’s server bc she was spying for jenn. and more irony later)

as proven in DM to someone later (oh no, a spied image?), they had the amazing idea to bait me and erin with something that is a massive trigger for me (bully/victim ships). some weirdness: by that time, i’d only made about 2 b/k posts on my blog, neither of which mentioned my trauma i’m pretty sure. erin meanwhile, wasn’t even in the original convi from the first screenshot, though she has mentioned she finds b/k gross. 

so whilst this in its entirety is already immature in itself (really? you think someone is sending screenshots and wanna get ‘revenge’ when you constantly rely on getting screenshots yourself? yes i know someone leaked you screenshots of YF, kate). but also: for someone who talked about being abused and having anxiety, she should know better than use an abusive ship to get back at someone. because i’m 99% sure she knows b/k is a trigger for me; whilst not on my blog, i have had plenty of rants and vents in servers about how b/k is not good for my mental health and that it will make me panic. 

conversation #1 (i do not have screenshots of this): someone asked what everyone’s ships are in rdr2. bill/kieran gets mentioned, at some point i put rooWut (a disgusted looking emote) and remark something about abusive gay ships being cute to them. it gets glossed over, i leave. 

conversation #2. the conversation moves to the nsfw channel, where they pin the message in the above screenshot. ha ha , bully/victim ships are a funny joke! conversation moves on to arthur and other things until Pongo clearly feels like she wants to force a reaction out of me and/or erin. (living dead girl is erin, i am dan’s achy breaky heart).

at this point, my anxiety spikes and i put something along the lines of “my fist up your ass would look cute” in the vent chat of Erin’s server. NSFW with b/k is not good for me, at all. it made me flashback to something, i’m basically just trying to not have a panic attack. but ! ofc , why stop now. 

pongo makes another comment, now not under a spoiler tag and clearly with the context of the DM to get another reaction out of me. erin puts a completely unrelated image to try and divert the conversation, because i’m like entirely losing it at this point---but kate and pongo think it’s hilarious to talk about actually shipping it and kate (micah bell’s dumb hair in the screenshots) is all “omg i wanna write a smut now for them”. 

also: my nickname in this server includes ‘trans kieran’ at this point , either as just my url or like “lion ♡ trans kieran”. they all know i am a gay trans guy, even if some of them currently like to pretend they don’t know me. (hi, @morlawny who doesn’t even wanna say my name at this point despite being all nice in erin’s server.)

i can’t entirely remember my own message, nor do i have screenshots of it because i send it and left and they deleted it like straight after it seems (because an older screenshot, from the day itself, also didn’t have my message anymore). i left because at that point, i lost all ability to think straight. because someone can remark on b/k before and they’ll still be all “ha ha funny!”

at this point, in erin’s server, two things happen. one friend of kate, who isn’t in the server this happened in, asks if she ships bill/kieran and kate admits her plan to just trigger me. because of this, kate starts acting like the victim and making me out like the bad guy who’s shittalking her and refuses to talk to her--which, during a panic attack and with my feelings very clear, i don’t need to. 

secondly, another friend of kate decides my trauma is funny and starts to send kate (on request) screenshots of the vent conversation in erin’s server, starting from the goddamn my fist up your ass comment. the conversation also includes details of my trauma. my trauma is being send around like gossip. 

also this happens in the server i left and i get send it: 

i dunno what planet anyone is living on but, apparently my melt down was only good for one thing: getting mocked. “kieran’s coochie” is transphobic as fuck when you’re laughing at a trans guy getting upset over bill/kieran. especially when it’s very clear i hc kieran as trans. yet, pongo, wolfy ( @soulheartthewolf ) and kate seem to think it’s fucking hilarious. 

kate and pongo then try to play the “we were just joking!” card. when everyone i’ve had read those screenshots agrees nothing about it reads as a joke, and we’re now very sure they weren’t joking about, they were being vile and malicious. (but hey, what’s to expect from someone who says they’d fuck a fictional racist if he was real! that’s ... excusing racism, kate).  

(guarma is micah bell? you mean my husband ;; pongo is arthur morgan is an incel. the other person is the artist who drew young micah, idk their url anymore)

“my mocking of the Bill/Kieran ship” I’m so sorry, Kate, but nothing about nsfw b/k and wanting to write a fic about it, reads as mocking. This entire “it’s just a joke!” doesn’t diminish the fact that you triggered a panic attack. Yes, I shittalked you, because I felt like it was goddamn deserved for "joking” about an abusive ship in a way that didn’t read as a joke. because after I left neither of you got the damn hint and just went straight for the transphobia. It’s not get together and hate guarma, it’s “lion has a panic attack and will actually react insanely aggressively about the things that upset him”. You can turn and twist this into you being the victim all you want, but you ain’t. You’re a pathetic example of a 19 year old who thinks it’s funny to trigger flashbacks and panic attacks. I didn’t talk to you, because at the time the only thing I would’ve probably said, which is also what I’m saying now, is: go shove an entire cactus up your ass, you pathetic cunt of a human being. 

Leave Erin out of this, it’s goddamn hilarious you keep going after a cis bi woman instead of after me, a gay trans guy, and god I fucking wonder why. 

You interact with people who think they can just be racist and transphobic towards anyone they like ( @ssupeck21 ), with people who’ll willing send you all the screenshots you want, with people who send anon hate ( @jennyxbeans ), you’re treating trauma and abuse like a joke and then have the gal to be all “i’d never because i have anxiety!” No. Own up to your shit. 

(I could go on in this post about how she’s just as bad a shittalking, leaked screenshot-wanting piece of shit but hey, the post is very long already so whatever). 

edit: i have deleted screenshot leaking accusations towards morlawny bc i can’t actually prove them but i’m keeping up the thing where you decided to be all nice to me in servers, but then turned around and were all “idk kate didn’t say any of that” (i literally know u were there for those conversations, your name in screenshots!) and tried to defend her constantly in a DM with someone. 

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

Fuckin Shit Show

That fucking happy ass unicorn that I thought looked like Jay, fucking tricked me. Fucking Clown.

I thought that since she just asked and was still being nice, pleasant, and communicative with me about spending time together then it meant that there's no way she was just tryna use me and be manipulative....noooo

The fucking happy ass unicorn told me that she wouldn't get angry if I was to end things with her just because of distance.

The true culprit mark was when I said "Lies, we both would" assuming she cared about me and was attached like she said she was and I was too. I thought it was safe to attach to her because she was happy and was saying she already could see us moving in together.

Red Flag: this was day 4 of us just talking and I knew it had been a whole fucking year since I had any type of romantic attraction to somebody and I was put my cards in too deep, thinking she was really here for me. I got caught up. And that was my bad.

I assumed since she said she was autistic, had all this trauma she told me about, and was waiting on disability to approve her or not...I thought why not? But I tried to break it off by saying we could be just friends, because overall...I couldn't see myself marrying someone who didn't want kids, was really pushy about speeding up the courting phase so we could start dating ASAP Rocky (also red flag) and then another thing...I was dead sure I wasn't ready to come out to my parents and tell them that the person I was thinking about living with and dating within less than a year, was actually a transfemme who's suicidal, a former drug and alcohol rehab patient, has depression and anxiety, scoliosis, and had been assaulted multiple times, so they have ptsd and paranoia, and sometimes can not go to sleep at all because of what happened to them.

Its like I felt so bad for this girl, plus she had things that I haven't found in common with other people. Our love languages were similar, we both had anxiety, hyper sexuality, and separation anxiety from dealing with childhood trauma. She was also kicked out and had got into with her mom, which she has cut off connection with because she did allootttt of awful shit to her....wayyyy worse than my mom. There was sexual, mental, emotional, and physical abuse, she was an alcohol bully towards her to make her get drunk early, ran her over, she was absolute fucked up mother to have. Crazy psychopath.

She said she wouldn't tell anyone her trauma unless we were actually dating which was fine. But I guess me telling her what happened to me with my mom and me getting kicked out, reminded her of her mother. We both are bipolar and have bipolar moms. So it felt great but also sad that we had to go through those hardships just for us to bond.

And she was into buds, video games, and some of my sexual interests. Yea if she wasn't a manipulative, angst who wanted to basically get back to living in an apartment with any black girl they found on the internet who would agree to doing that....living with each other and dating each other within less than a week....

She probably would have fell in love all over again. Cause lets be real if I found out the woman I dated for a year, lived with and fell in love with passed and I'm 4 months later single, horny, and missing her...of course I would be desperate if I couldn't talk to my family like that and had to live with my grandparents.....Athena wanted out of her living situation and wanted to get back to what she had with somebody else she loved.

I told her my rule for myself is to not move in with somebody unless I'm serious about being with them long term and its been a year or more of dating. Like only if I could see myself marrying you, then yea we living together. Athena didn't like that.

But you gotta be smart with dating and I'm glad I put my foot down and didn't just do whatever she said just because she had been through so much shit and now couldn't even afford to live her own life.

Bad example of what I would want to live with though...she doesn't plan on learning how to drive like I am, she doesn't want to pursue a serious career at home, and she thinks that just paying for the food with her eat card would help handle the utilities and cable and internet and cellphone bills that I would probably have to pay for....since she's still waiting on Disability to approve her after they told her she gotta wait "six months" to start getting in money.

I think us both sexting each other cause we were really starting to feel each other on THE 2ND DAY must have really teased her about us waiting to have sex. Because she did say, I should be on birth control in case we do start having sex. I wanted to, too, but looking back it would have been more hot if we could have done it raw...so maybe thats why I agreed and actually scheduled a gynecologist appointment

AND WTFFF IVE BEEN SCARED TO GO THE OBGYN FOR YEARS AND SHE MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS DOING THIS TO SAVE OUR RELATIONSHIP, AND WE WEREN'T EVEN TOGETHER YET!!!

WTF. So my dumbass is still going, its scheduled in October, and no I don't want to go cause I don't like strangers fisting and discovery channeling my pussy like that unless I'm getting a gold medal or a lollipop after. Les just be honest...IM AFRAID I MIGHT CUM FROM EXCITEMENT AND NERVOUSNESS IF SHE HITS THE RIGHT SPOT AND THEN MY PUSSY IS GONNA GRIP THE DOC'S HAND,

I WONT BE ABLE TO LET GO BECAUSE MY PUSSY IS ALREADY TIGHT AND IM LEAKING EVERYWHERE

SORRRY but this is exactly why I don't want a guy doctor inside of me for a visit, but then again I gotta find a female I wouldn't be sexually attracted to, but nice looking enough to where she's friendly and gentle with me. Cause Im sensitive and I clench up down there when I get scared.

But yea, I called Athena a fake ass for that reason, cause after the rose colored glasses...and having me think she would really wait a year for me in order for us to move in, she definitely lied about that too. Cause she said yes and that she be willing to do anything to make it work long distance until we got to that point.

And as soon as I mentioned living together would be a step towards marriage, me possibly being bipolar just like her because I sometimes have anger issues, and then me saying I wish you lived closer...

Must have triggered her autism and her ptsd flags about her mom...

Idk, but yea I fell for it, but at the same time it was because she was too good to be true in comparison from the Jay I just ran away from...and its been a year....but it still feels like I just left 2-3 months ago. And that's so weird to me.

Athena. Scam. Mentally Psychotic. But aye, crazy attracts crazy...