#kudos to you if you recognize her name

[sunsetzer]

Using this template I present: Vincent's profile! His biography is a shortened, more canon-compliant version of the backstory he has in my own personal writing. For the profile picture I used this avatar maker. If I could I'd draw him myself but I can't really draw anything that isn't cat or dragon-adjacent lmao so this is the best I can do.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Thoughts from just another fandom writer

I am not a popular writer in my fandom. You may see that sentence and think, wow, what's about to come next, but just stay with me for a bit. I promise there's a point.

I am not a popular writer in my fandom. You won't see my name splashed across Twitter when a new update posts with the expectation that people are going to flock to my page. People don't recognize my fics by just a name. And none of my fics are ever going to be considered one of THE fics within the fandom.

Do I get sad about that sometimes? Sure. I'm only human. Do I write a fic and think that the amount of pride I have in it and in myself might mean that this is the one that people will recommend to all of their friends because they just HAVE to read it? Also yes. I think we all want that when we put a piece of ourselves out into the world in our art. And that certainly holds true for me, as someone whose huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart is on the outside of her body.

But I also have an incredible group of humans who do loyally read my works, all of them (despite the ridiculous number I've published in just 7 months' time) and leave incredibly kind and thoughtful comments that bring me to tears every time. My writing, from just July until now, when I published a fic for the first time in 10 years because I couldn't fathom going another day without allowing these characters into my mind and heart through the typing of my fingers, has grown immensely, and I want more than anything for it to continue to improve as time goes on.

Which is why I scroll through the feed every day, searching for new works to read by new and old authors alike. Just today, I read a work by someone who was publishing their very first fic, who set it as a New Year's resolution for themselves. And I left a comment for them to see the next time they're online.

It cost me absolutely nothing to hit the kudos button and make a comment. And I hope that, like me, a kind word will go a long way towards encouraging that author to keep writing. To keep sharing their soul with us as a fandom. To keep loving it the way that I love it.

I'm writing this to encourage all of you, regardless of the number of subscribers, hits, kudos, or comments you have, or how many rec lists you've made, or where you are in your writing journey, to always remember that there was once a time when you were a brand new writer, too, and I urge you to remember how much something like a comment meant to you in your journey. I'll leave y'all with one of my favorite song lyrics to further emphasize my point:

When you get where you're goin Don't forget turn back around And help the next one in line Always stay humble and kind

[underdark-dreams]

I just binged all your Rolan x Tav fics on here (about to go to A03 and give kudos ❤️) and just wanted to say 😩😩 Perfect! AND! I saw you wanted suggestions! i would love to see the first interact/first meeting of Rolan and Tav from his POV if you felt inclined! No pressure! Thank you, keep up the good work! ❤️

I've grown so fond of this vague fem Tav I keep pairing with Rolan...so I hope these pronouns are ok for this request! Tav gets her name finally. (Cal and Lia also barged their way into this one in a big way)

Blades and Spells

A sanctimonious soldier isn't Rolan's idea of a good person to know, but is seems Tav is doing her damnedest to prove him wrong. The day of their first meeting at the Grove.

Tags: Fem Tav, Fluff, First Meetings, Sibling Bonding

Word Count: 4,322 [Read on AO3]

"We don't even know these people—"

"They're the closest thing we've got to kin, and you know it!"

The bright and promising midday had been punctured by a bloody ambush at the gate. Kanon was dead—a goblin booyagh's arrow and a nasty fall behind the front wall. No doubt his body was still cooling just a short walk from where the three siblings stood inside the shaded mouth of the Grove.

Their caravan's brief respite was shaken by the attack. Zevlor had retreated to strategize; the other Tieflings were on edge, a few downright panicked, the fresh tension around them only fueling the siblings’ words. 

It had been weeks since he and Lia had a proper fight—Rolan felt all the pent-up anger rolling out now.

Lia stood with fists braced on her hips. "And what about the goblins? I know you're handy with a spell, Rolan, but I seriously don't fancy our chances alone on the Risen Road."

"Did you not see what just happened?" Rolan said, casting an arm behind his sister toward the gate. "That treasure-hunting idiot just led them right down on our heads. There’s bound to be more, and I don’t want us sticking around to find out how many."

"That’s all the more reason to stay!” Lia’s voice rose to match his. “These people aren't fighters, Rolan. We’d be cowards to leave. We can protect them—we should—"

“Or keep making a scene,” Cal said from the sidelines, to no one in particular. The other Tieflings had grown used to their bickering many miles ago.

Lia was undeterred. "Is this about your precious Lorroakan? Because I promise you, Rolan, he'll still be there when we finally get to Baldur's Gate."

Rolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh of course not, why would I want to achieve my lifelong dream, see my family finally be safe and provided for along the way—"

"Don't put this on me and Cal," his sister warned. "It's all the same excuse, you'd have left these people yesterday—"

"Because they're not my kin!" Rolan practically shouted, not caring how far his voice carried. "No matter how many times you say it! I'm not going to risk all three of our lives, our futures, on people who can't seem to keep themselves alive. How do you think I'd feel if I let anything happen to you? Either of you?"

"We know, Rolan," Cal interjected, trying to bring a little understanding.

"If you care about me and my future—" Lia jabbed a sharp nail at Rolan's chest—"you won't ask me to turn my back on these people when they need our help."

As Rolan opened his mouth to respond, he caught motion in his periphery. He turned to see an unfamiliar face standing at the edge of their conversation. The stranger rested a hand on her sword pommel, looking on quietly curious at the scene.

"Yes?" Rolan snapped at her. Sticking your nose into a private conversation hardly deserved politeness.

“Wait," Cal piped up beside him. “I saw you at the gate after the goblins."

Lia was quick to follow, disagreement all but forgotten. “You fought out there just now?” She sounded practically jealous. “Sweet hells, that must have been a rush. We owe you.”

"Good timing, that’s all," the stranger replied, shifting her weight a little. From real or false modesty Rolan couldn't tell.

He finally recognized her then—the one he saw speaking with Zevlor for quite a while immediately after the attack. Judging by the flecks of wet blood on her equipment, and on that of her companions behind her, these were the surprise reinforcements he'd already heard other refugees chatting about in energetic tones.

They weren't so impressive in person. Scrappy, in Rolan's private judgment. His eyes passed over the pouting cleric, the murderous-looking Githyanki with a massive sword on her back, the elf who was glancing around himself as though trying to decide which element of his current surroundings he disliked most. 

The other wizard looked sane enough, Rolan allowed. He could practically feel the ripples in the Weave all around the man's shoulders. Perhaps Rolan would have a chance at an intelligent conversation in this place after all.

As for the one in front—she smiled pleasantly at Rolan despite having just walked from a goblin ambush. That, to his mind, marked her as the most eccentric of all.

"Tav," she said, extending her sword hand. Rolan glanced down at the dark stains on her fingers.

Wasn't this hovel filthy enough? His clothes already smelled of smoke and grease from days in close quarters; he drew the line at smearing them with goblin blood.

Tav tracked his eyes, letting out an awkward laugh as she moved to wipe her palm on her pants. From beside him, Lia firmly intercepted the handshake.

"Lia. Forgive my brother, you know how wizards are about their robes." His sister's tone was light, but she shot him a look from the corner of her eye. 

As if Rolan cared what some passing stranger thought of him. If he’d had his way, they wouldn't be here to have this conversation at all. But Cal introduced himself as well, looking a bit starstruck.

“Well met,” Tav told them, Rolan included. “Sorry, I know I’m interrupting.”

Perhaps sensing Rolan was about to agree, Lia jumped in. “Please. It’s a pleasure to meet people willing to risk their necks for a bunch of strangers, especially Tieflings. You all heading to Baldur’s Gate?”

“Aye. Same as you, I imagine—”

The inanity was enough to drive Rolan mad; it was like their first days on the road from Elturel all over again. He crossed his arms and zoned out as she and his sister made their meaningless smalltalk. He'd rather get his tail stepped on than do this painful getting-to-know with one more person they’d never see again. 

Then he heard Lorroakan's name, and his ears perked up.

“He’s taken Rolan as an apprentice,” Cal was telling Tav proudly.

"Have you met Archmage Lorroakan?" Rolan asked her, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Tav looked at him with hesitation.

"Not personally. Gale said—" She glanced down the slope deeper into the Grove, and Rolan realized that the companions behind her had all trickled away in the short moment he hadn’t been paying attention. Seeking rest and recuperation, no doubt. "Gale was saying he's heard of him."

The human wizard, Rolan gathered. Hearing a stranger speak the archwizard’s name somehow rekindled the fire in Rolan’s chest, one he hadn’t realized had grown so low on fuel. He clenched his fist beside his robes and felt the crinkle of Lorroakan’s letter there in his pocket.

Tav was regarding him with a quizzical expression. "I mean, if an archmage that famous has an apprenticeship waiting for you…I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to move on sooner than later."

"Naturally," Rolan said, a bit stiff. It annoyed him that this newcomer could see more sense than his own siblings.

Then she continued. "But Lia's right. You three seem like you can handle yourselves, and I'm not sure the same could be said for everyone here. We'll need every fighting soul to defend against that goblin nest. Especially you—" Tav directed the comment to Rolan. "Having another Weave caster could make all the difference."

Well, so much for sense. Speaking of we and us as if they all had the same goals. A transparent tactic. Rolan wasn't sure what altruistic world Tav had waltzed out of, but he'd heard enough rousing speeches on kinship and unity from people like Zevlor to last him a lifetime. He wasn't about to listen to one from a stranger.

She was correct, however, to acknowledge the value of his skills. No one on the road here had displayed anything close to what Rolan knew he was capable of.

He glanced one more time between his siblings. The set of Lia's jaw told him her mind was well made up. Cal just looked hopeful for a resolution.

Rolan swore. "Fine. We've only taken our damn time getting here, what’s a few more days lost? If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the city with a good story, at least."

"Thank you, Rolan." Lia was meek now that she'd gotten her way.

“You must be quite skilled,” added Tav, sizing him up a bit. "To catch the eye of the Archwizard of Baldur's Gate."

Rolan didn’t miss a beat. "I am.” Cal rolled his eyes over Tav’s shoulder, but Rolan ignored him. “I’ve been manipulating the Weave since I was a child.”

“It’s true,” Lia confirmed. Still feeling guilty about winning the fight, perhaps.

“Really?” Tav broke into a grin, clearly impressed. Rolan drank in the admiration. "Good thing you're staying, then."

Behind his pride, Rolan couldn't help but feel a bit manipulated. Perhaps Tav wasn't the unsophisticated sellsword that she’d appeared at first.

"Well, I should go find the crew before they make too much trouble.” Tav was turning to leave before she paused, sheepish. “Say—don’t suppose druids keep a blacksmith around? One of those worgs’ teeth put a big scratch in my baby here.” As she spoke she looked down at the sword belted to her hip, almost like an indulgent parent.

“Dammon can fix you up,” Lia told her at once. “He’s one of us, a Tiefling. And he’s damn good. Take a left down the hill and you can’t miss him. Follow the loud noises,” she added, with a grin to match.

“Cheers,” Tav told her. “See you all later?”

The three of them watched her figure disappear deeper into the Grove. 

"She stabbed a warg right up close,” Lia murmured, sounding morbidly inspired. “That’s incredible.”

Rolan scoffed at her. “Better to kill it from a distance and not damage your most valuable piece of equipment in the process.”

“Hey.” Cal glanced over to his older brother. “Did you even tell her your name?”

Rolan wasn’t concerned. “I’ll tell her later, if she’s still around.” She and her companions would remember his name soon enough—them and all of Baldur's Gate.

—

In these cramped quarters, it didn’t take long before they encountered Tav again. Her hands swung a bit awkwardly at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her scabbard clanked empty against her greaves; presumably, Dammon was hard at work repairing her blade. 

Cal and Lia practically swooped down beside her as she approached. Rolan tried to hide his scowl at their eagerness.

"Have you been around the place yet? Cal and I can show you around, if you’ve got time.”

“I’d like that,” she told them both with a genuine smile. “Perhaps later, if you’re willing? Zevlor told me about your…druid problem. I promised him I’d have a talk with Kagha.”

Who had elected her emissary? Rolan glowered. "I assure you, the druids will tell you it's a foulblood problem."

It wiped the smile from her face, and Rolan found it difficult to feel bad. She wanted to dig through other people's problems? She could get used to uncovering ugly things.

"Yes…well. I'd prefer to keep an open mind," she told him evenly. With another small comment to his brother and sister, she continued on toward the deep clearing where the druids were gathering in preparation for their rite. A place strictly off-limits for Tieflings.

Lia rounded on him. "I swear, you embarrass me worse than Cal sometimes."

Cal frowned. "Hey—"

"Because you care too much about what people think," Rolan answered his sister. "Believe me, she and her people don't care about us. Didn't you hear her little speech before? She only wants more bodies for the fight."

Internally, Rolan was still bristling at the idea that Tav had complimented and cajoled him into staying at the Grove. He didn’t truly believe that was the reason for his decision, but the fact that she’d gotten to him at all unsettled him.

“Come on.” Lia knocked her arm against his playfully, an effort at reconciliation. “I’m just saying, Rolan. It costs nothing to be a bit nicer to people around here.”

Rolan heaved a sigh. Even he was growing weary from all the bickering they’d done today, though he’d never admit that to his sister. “All right. I’ll try, if it makes you happy. But believe me—people like her look after themselves. And I intend to look after us.”

—

Tav hadn’t been in the heart of the Grove for more than ten minutes before she reappeared, practically stomping up the path from the Kagha’s inner sanctum. Apparently the emissary work wasn’t going so well. Without her sword, her hands were clenched at her sides in empty fists. Her expression was thunderous.

“Have you seen Zevlor?” She asked the three of them as she approached, bypassing the smalltalk Rolan was beginning to expect from her. He directed her back toward the carved door in the corner of the cave. 

“Everything all right?” Rolan asked, curious in spite of himself.

Tav exhaled sharp through her nose. “Kagha was having a grand time interrogating a hostage. That little girl, Arabella.”

“What?” Cal’s voice rang with alarm.

“I guess she tried to steal the druids’ carving of Silvanus,” Tav told him. “The one they need for their ceremony. Her mother was nearly out of her mind…the child’s all right,” she added in haste. “Back safe with her parents now, but shaken up.”

Lia quivered with outrage at Rolan’s side. “Thank the hells you intervened.”

“Of course,” Tav replied at once, as if the situation called for nothing less. “I understand it’s the idol of their deity, but by all the gods…Kagha was ready to call her asp down on a terrified child.”

“That fucking viper." 

Cal wasn’t referring to the snake; his siblings both glanced at him in surprise. He was a gentle soul, but if Cal cared about anything, it was protecting the young ones.

Tav seemed of the same mind. “There’s something about her,” she agreed with a dark look. Abruptly, she wheeled on Rolan. “What do you think?”

She sought his opinion as a wizard, he realized. All three of them were watching him, in fact, hanging on for his answer.

“Ritual magic is quite different from the Weave,” Rolan replied carefully. “Especially druidic magic. I don’t have the same feel for it. But Kagha…” 

He cast his mind back to the first day their bedraggled caravan arrived in the Grove. The lot of them exhausted and bloodied after fighting off goblins and gnolls just up the road. Halsin, the massive elf who was then First Druid, squaring his shoulders above the smaller woman who somehow seemed to tower to his same height.

“She’s powerful,” Rolan decided. “Quite. Where it comes from, I couldn’t say.”

Tav was staring at him with an intensity Rolan hadn’t seen on her face yet. She looked far more intimidating than she had to him before. 

But then she let out a thoughtful hum, and her features were back to their usual lightness. “I guess that’s one more reason to find this Halsin sooner rather than later.”

They all watched her take her leave toward Zevlor’s makeshift war room, the stone door sliding shut again behind her.

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon and a stiff evening breeze picked up at the cave’s entrance, Rolan and his siblings settled toward the insulated back wall of the Grove where Okta was tending hearth. Whatever the old woman had simmering in her massive cauldron smelled a bit like damp wool, but the warmth of the coals underneath was toasty and wonderful against the skin on Rolan’s face and hands.

Cal and Lia were in wistful discussion on either side of him—something about which landmarks of the city they wanted to visit first. Rolan let the feel of the conversation wash over him without hearing the words. His eyes were on the glowing coals, but his mind was also on Baldur's Gate—that and its great archwizard. 

You are fortunate, young Rolan. The flourish with which Lorroakan had written his name floated through his mind's eye. Even the parchment itself was heavy and fine, almost promising of better things. Rolan’s fingers brushed the hip pocket of his robes again as if to assure himself. He still carried the letter with him everywhere, though he’d long since memorized its contents.

From behind him Rolan heard the sounds of a friendly disagreement and turned to look. Tav again. He shouldn’t be surprised; the woman seemed to be everywhere today. 

Across the path, she was engaged in a polite argument with Dammon at his tent. The smith held a hand up as if refusing something. Rolan caught sight of the polished sword pommel back in her scabbard once more, and surmised that Dammon must be turning down payment for the repair job after her help at the gate today. That seemed like his chivalrous style. 

Indeed, Rolan watched her tuck her leather coin purse away and offer a hand instead. Dammon accepted and shook it with a warm smile.

As he continued watching, the two struck up a friendly conversation. Rolan supposed a soldier would find much more to talk about with a smith than with an apprentice wizard. Her hand was draped at rest over her sword hilt again; that seemed to be an idle habit of hers. 

He remembered the city guard back in Elturel displaying the same gesture while posted at watch, and wondered whether she might be in a similar line of work. Back in…wherever it was she hailed from.

Insipid questions that Rolan nevertheless filed away in his mind to ask her at some point. If nothing else, it would make Lia happy to see him making an effort. Being nice.

Rolan glanced again at the dark stains on her fingers. She hadn't taken time to wash and rest yet since the fight. It was all over her, goblin blood and human, small flecks of it visible on her clothing and chestplate and even on the side of her face. Didn't she find it unpleasant? It would drive him mad. But it didn't seem to concern her, and Dammon certainly didn't look bothered.

The smith said something that made her laugh then, and a dimple appeared in Tav's blood-spattered cheek.

Dammon had an easy way about him that always seemed to earn him fast friends. Right now, Rolan found he was a bit envious of the trait. He didn't intend to come off as such a prickly ass, as Lia so affectionately liked to call him—though time and again he seemed to manage it. 

The constant setbacks between them and Baldur's Gate had just soured Rolan's mood in recent weeks, he told himself. His apprenticeship was all his mind could dwell on at rest, and each delay was harder to bear than the last.

But none of that was really Tav's fault. Inwardly, he could admit that Lia would have talked him into staying on her own anyway. Rolan found himself hoping that he'd made a non-terrible impression on the newcomer.

An elbow in his ribs broke his line of thought. "What?" Rolan looked around, rubbing the spot with a hand.

"I said, you're staring," Cal repeated. He and Lia were both looking at him—Rolan didn't like the expression on either face.

"Shut up," he said, though neither of them had spoken. "She's got blood all over her, who wouldn't?"

"I'm just saying." Cal put up both palms, his eyebrows raised. "From your face, you didn't seem that put off."

"Maybe she’d like to see your Thunderwave, Rolan," his sister suggested.

"You're both idiots." Rolan turned around with arms crossed, watching Okta pluck a dead chicken as though it might be interesting. The idiots on either side were not so easily deterred.

"There’s something about a woman in armor, isn't there, Cal?"

"I've always thought so." Cal leaned a forearm on Rolan's shoulder, sounding quite sincere. "Hey, you could offer to magic the bloodstains off her stuff for her. Use that presto—presti—"

"Prestidigitation," Rolan supplied, eyes still on Okta's cooking. A shockingly good idea from Cal. But it would be strange to offer that to a person he'd just met; Rolan dismissed the thought.

"She should've just taken the time to clean it herself before it all dried," Rolan said aloud. "The way her companions did, no doubt. Instead of running back and forth back here all day."

"Yeah," Lia drawled. "Saving little girls from pit vipers. What a waste of time."

“Well, only one way to find out if she’s interested.” Cal turned around and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Tav—”

Rolan would have smacked the back of his brother’s head had the woman not already turned toward the sound of her name. She approached their spot near the hearth looking politely curious.

“Lia was just wondering,” Cal started in—leaving Rolan’s name out of it, a smart choice for his skull— “won’t it take a long time to get all the stains out of your armor?” 

“Oh.” Tav sounded taken aback, but glanced down at herself as if just now noticing the state of her equipment. “Oh yeah, this’ll cost me a good half hour at least. And probably both my elbows,” she added with chagrin. “Damn. Got distracted by everything, I guess.”

“Because Rolan can magic it off in a second,” Lia said in a rush.

"Really?" Far from averse, she was looking at Rolan with sudden enthusiasm. "I didn’t know magic could—I mean, of course it can. I guess. Why, are you offering…?” She glanced between him and his siblings then, as if finally picking up on the strange energy between them.

Rolan felt all three pairs of eyes come to rest on him. He could hardly back out now. “If you’re interested,” he told her.

“Hells yes,” Tav laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Lia clapped her hands together softly. “Excellent. Well, since Tav’s interested—” She placed a strange emphasis on the word, one Rolan hoped only he noticed— “Cal and I should get going to set up camp. See you both later?”

“Right,” Cal agreed at once. With that, the pair of them slipped off in a few flicks of the tail. 

What a couple of damned children. Rolan let out a heavy sigh; they seemed determined to try every last slip of patience he had.

Tav followed him to a spot closer to the back corner of the Grove, a bit removed from the sounds and smells. A stream of cool air seeped in from somewhere outside the walls, and Rolan breathed in gratefully. He had found it hard to concentrate in the stale surroundings of this place.

“Right.” She stood opposite him, looking a bit unsure. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Just keep still,” Rolan advised her. This would be easier if she took off the pieces of her half-plate first, but asking her to do that seemed unthinkably familiar.

She did as he directed. “Sure you’re not going to transform me into a pigeon or something? Give me wings?”

“This is the simplest spell there is, I’m not an idiot.” Rolan’s tone was irritable, but it only made her laugh. He realized that she was teasing him.

Regardless, Rolan steadied his stance and reached out to the Weave. Whether or not it was technically correct, it was the way he’d taught himself. 

Breathe in—quiet each thought—feel the air above and the ground below—

Like a warm embrace from the oldest friend, the Weave flowed as a golden light into his cupped hand. Rolan formed the clear intention in his mind and guided the magic toward her. 

“It tickles,” Tav said in surprise, but he could tell she was doing her best to keep still. Her eyes were squeezed shut for some reason.

Rolan blinked at her, not sure how long she had expected this to take. “You can—it’s done.”

“Really?” Tav looked across her chest and shoulders and the greaves on her legs, admiring their new shine. “Wow…neat trick, that. So you’re saying Gale’s been watching us polish our armor and weapons every night when he could just use the Weave for two seconds?”

“The manipulation does take energy,” Rolan told her, not wanting to discredit a fellow wizard while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Her expression changed a bit. Then she reached a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks for this, Rolan. It might be simple to you, but—” She dropped her arm and cast around with a tired laugh. “Life has honestly been…kind of terrible lately. Thank you for making it better.”

Rolan felt he could stand to hear more of that story, but he doubted she'd want to tell it. “You’re welcome,” he told her instead.

It was a bit awkward traveling back through the winding Grove together toward the entrance, but it could hardly be avoided. Their camps were both in the same direction.

The night patrol were watching vigilantly from the wall; the massive carved gate raised before them as if in anticipation. Rolan stepped out into the dark, cool evening with another grateful breath.

Beside him, Tav sighed wearily. "Well, 'night. Off to enjoy my extra sleep," she said with another smile to him before she turned away.

No such easy goodnight for him, Rolan knew. He imagined Cal and Lia perching awake on their bedrolls, eager to hear what chaos or embarrassment or both their meddling had caused for him this time. 

More concerning to him right now was the way his shoulder seemed to radiate where she'd placed a grateful hand before. Rolan rolled his arm a little, trying to shake the tingling warmth near his collar bone. It didn't quite work.

But perhaps he'd think about that tomorrow.

[blues824]

I loved your Morticia Reader and I was wondering, could you do a Wednesday Addams Reader with the 1st Years? She rarely smiles (Unless someone’s in pain) with her being incredibly morbid, emotionally reserved and her fascination of the macabre and the dark forces? (I love Wednesday) Bonus if you want to; she has Thing with her (I loved how sassy he was in the show) Kudos!

Reader’s gender isn’t specified here, but request calls for female Reader.

Ace Trappola

He was very intimidated by you. You never smiled unless he got hurt or punished, but never when he was intentionally trying to be funny. Not just that, but you had a walking hand accompanying you everywhere. YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT IT WAS SAYING!!!

You were incredibly smart as well. You knew the scientific names of the freaking plants that they were studying, and you knew a magic that was darker than anything he was familiar with. We’re talking about ‘conjuring spirits’ kind of magic. In fact, the time he saw you conjuring Goody Addams, he audibly screamed.

One time, he had been thrown out of Heartslabyul for the nth time and he decided to go to Ramshackle. However, he stopped because he heard something. It sounded like an instrument, one that was deeper than a violin. He kept walking until he saw you through the window, playing a big version of a violin in the living room.

He just bursted in like he owned the place and asked how the heck you know how to play this oversized violin. You threw a knife so close to his head that it cut a piece of his hair off as it flew by. You didn’t even apologize when you corrected him by saying it was a cello.

Everyone is surprised when you both get together. You both are polar opposites: you actually had common sense. You didn’t even know either. Maybe it was the confidence he had carried himself with, even though it got him into a ton of trouble. Plus, he actually understood sarcasm.

Deuce Spade

He was also intimidated by you, but it was in a good way. He found Thing unsettling, but decided that there was no point in being creeped out and decided to learn how to communicate with him. When you are away, they act like middle school girls and gossip about Deuce’s crush on you.

He was in awe of all the pure knowledge you have. In a short amount of time, you were able to rise to the top of your classes. The teachers loved you, so he decided to go to you for tutoring. He had explained how he was an Honor’s Student because of his promise to his mother, and that hit close to home for you.

It was during one of these study sessions where he wasn’t getting the material for some reason, so you suggested a break. You went into your closet and brought out your cello. Deuce was surprised when you got into position and started playing a sad tune.

Another time, he walked in on you performing some sort of ritual. You were even speaking in a whole other language that he didn’t recognize (you were speaking Latin). However, it didn’t seem to work because you let out a frustrated sigh.

When you both get together, no one (besides Ace) was surprised. You both spent a lot of time together, so it did not come as a shock to anyone. Ace was angry that Deuce was able to rizz you up but he hasn’t been able to rizz anyone up since middle school (sounds like Takemichi from Tokyo Revengers).

Jack Howl

Wasn’t intimidated by you at all. In fact, you both held a mutual respect for one another, since you both were the only ones at NRC with common sense. He did find Thing creepy at first, but eventually got used to him. Most of the time, he is often perched on either your shoulder or Jack’s.

You both were good in the academic aspect. You excelled him in many ways, but he was fine with where he was at. There was no way he would be able to remember every little thing the teacher had said in class, but he was happy for you since you could do it. 

During the period where you both were trying to stop Azul, he walked to Ramshackle to try and come up with a plan with you. However, his ears detected the sound of a cello. He continued walking towards your dorm (since that was where the sound was coming from), and was surprised to hear it come directly from inside. He then knocked on the door.

You opened it, and Jack looked inside to see a black cello in the middle of your living room. He complimented your skill and immediately got back to work. You were sort of relieved when he didn’t make a big deal out of it since you did have more pressing matters to focus on.

No one is surprised when you guys get together. In fact, it made sense to everyone. He was the one who helped the most with taking Azul down, so it was only a matter of when he’d ask you out. Sure, you both aren’t very romantic, but you show your love in different ways than what would be considered ‘orthodox’.

Epel Felmier

Was most definitely terrified of you, but tried to act like he wasn’t. He would have to summon so much courage to try and talk to you, only to stutter through each and every one of his sentences. Poor guy doesn’t know when he started to sweat so much. He nearly fainted when he met Thing.

He admires you in an academic aspect because you rose to the top of your class very quickly. You even managed to surpass most of the older students when test scores were released. Later that day, you received an apple in the shape of a skull with a note saying “Good job on the test! -E.F.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was from.

One time, you both agreed to meet up to do some homework. He had been having trouble with a specific problem and figured you would be the best person to go to. When he made it, he heard the sound of a cello coming from inside.

He quietly entered the dorm and hid behind a wall while he listened. Once you finished, he came out of his hiding place while applauding you. You had already known that he was there, but you couldn’t help but feel a smile trying to fight its way onto your face. It never stood a chance against your will to force it down.

I feel like some people were surprised when they found out you both were together, but others weren’t. You both had a temper, but your anger would come out in different ways. You offered him a few different outlets, like mastering an instrument so that he could play alongside you (Vil was totally in favor of this idea, since he thought you played beautifully).

Sebek Zigvolt

He would also act like he wasn’t intimidated by you. It came from a place where he thinks you would do better as one of Malleus’s knights, so he grows scared that Waka-sama might see more value in you than him. Plus, Thing wasn’t helping anything.

You both are instant academic rivals. He always gets frustrated because you always hold yourself in a calm manner and always manage to get top marks while he was stuck in second place. It angered him to no end.

One day, he decides to go and ask you some questions because there was no way that you could beat him in a fencing duel, when he heard a cello coming from inside the rickety dormitory. He had to admit that the player was doing amazingly. He knocked on your door and waited for you to answer. 

When you invited him inside, he saw that you were in the process of putting your cello away. So you were the one playing so beautifully? He acted like he didn’t hear any of it whilst he asked you to a duel. You asked if he would want the bout to go until 15 touches, or until someone drew the first blood. He picked the latter.

The next day, at around the same time, he lay on the ground with a cut on his face. You explain that you had been training since you were 5 years old, and therefore had that much more experience than him. However, when you named your price for winning, he blushed. You asked him out. Every onlooker gasped in surprise, and their eyes went wider when the half-fae accepted.

[ilovereadingandstuff]

BNHA 406 Review!! SPOILERS AHEAD

Love to see her again, resisting the pain and injures. And she really integrated the idea of Izuku as a hero...remembering him by his actual name, as it was the only thing left in this world...It's kind of endearing.

You're prettier every time I see you, Shiggy. That's not fair.

And this little guy over here is gorgeous every chapter too. But he's so haggard. There are probably so many emotions buttling up inside him...(I don't know how to interpret his panels anymore)

I really want to know what's up with this hole in his hand. Shiggy obteined it way back at PLF war, but I still don't understand where it came from. That's from AFO's quirk, right? With that hole is that he and AFO steals quirks from others?

Funny to see you trying to convince yourself of a lie. Try harder, Shigaraki.

That's the face of a maniac. A guy who's laughing at his own pain, a guy who's hitting on the pavement, flying in an insaly high speed...I love him.

Your face is so pretty Mitsuki. I hate you...but you're so pretty.

So it's canon?? IT'S CANON THAT AFO KILLED HIS OWN BROTHER!?! I'm not going to lie: I always supported the idea of 2nd user being the one who actually killed Yoichi...as a way of saving his life because AFO would take him capture again AND also as a way of not letting AFO win with the sweet achievement of getting rid of his own brother...but now that it's canon that AFO killed Yoichi...I like it. Love to know it... Some really good angst there. And now we can most likely say that AFO was crying because of that.

I like this part, right here.

AFO is a narcissistic who does not respect nor see other people besides him. So the simple idea of him actually recognizing someone as a person, like he does with Izuku, All Might or Tomura, is a big deal, but then...the idea of him recognizing someone as a threat...That's HUGE!! EXTRAORDINARY!! UNTHINKABLE!!

Wait, that's 2nd holder's name?? THAT'S 2ND HOLDER ACTUAL NAME??!! I've been...ages...wanting to know what is his true name...And...I accept it. If that's canon, I'm going to embrace it as it is, as the new information we got...But I don't like it. Sorry, but kUdO as his name??!! Could it not be another one?!? There were not other options??! I only like the fact that it starts with a K, similar to K-atsuki. (And how do we mix it with Yoichi's?? How is that even possible?? Kudoichi?? Yodo??).

I don't like that paraphrase of this sentence but the concept it's undertandable.

Good chapter. I was getting impatient, and also the idea of 'Kacchan Bakugo' was getting on my nerves. But now: I'm good.

[kybercrystals94]

I can’t believe February is already over! I had so much fun with this prompt challenge, and I am thrilled to be a completionist!

Congrats to my writing buddy @just-here-with-my-thoughts for also completing all 29 prompts this month! And many thank yous for proofreading some of my fics all the way back in January!

And special thanks to @the-little-moment for your notes of encouragement and check ins! THANK YOU!!

But really, this entire fandom’s community is amazing, both here on Tumblr and over on Ao3! I’ve written for many fandoms over the years, but this is by far the most supportive community I’ve had the privilege of being a part of!

Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, and bookmarks! Y’all, my little writer’s heart runneth over!

🥹❤️❣️💕

Febuwhump Master List

Ao3 Febuwhump Master List

Day 1 | Prompt 1: Helpless

But She Still Cries

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 350

Excerpt: “My heart hurts,” Omega whispers, voice shaky. Crosshair recognizes the affliction with excruciating clarity, the tight fist of loss and regret.

[Character Focus: Omega, Crosshair]

[Tags: hurt no comfort]

Day 2 | Prompt 2: Solitary Confinement

Roaring Silence

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 180

Excerpt: “I don’t like this test,” Omega says quietly, stopping short of the door, resisting the hand that presses against her back between her shoulder blades.

[Character Focus: Omega]

[Tags: human experimentation, childhood trauma]

Day 3 | Prompt 3: “Bite down on this.” & Day 12 | Prompt 12: Semi-Conscious

Grounded

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr: Part 1 - Part 2)

Rated: T | Words: 1736

Excerpt: Blinding pain greets Crosshair’s return to consciousness, and a sharp gasp ejects from his lungs. A hand clasps hard over his mouth…

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: broken limb, injury]

Day 4 | Prompt 4: Obedience

Up to Something

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1069

Excerpt: “Hunter always sides with you,” Wrecker grumbles. / Tech rolls his eyes, but plays into the argument. “Not true, but he usually sides with reason, which is more commonly provided by myself.”

[Character Focus: Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: concussion, slight whump, humor]

Day 5 | Prompt 5: Rope Burns

Absolute Privilege

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1091

Excerpt: Omega leans over the cliff, staring into the dark, gaping mouth of the container yawning up at her. She can do this. She has to do this.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech]

[Tags: sibling relationships, soft Tech, injury]

Day 6 | Prompt 6: “You lied to me.”

Die for a Corpse

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 960

Excerpt: In his arms, the other clone choked for breath, a blaster hole through his chestplate. He didn’t have long. That much Tech gathered as he approached the pair.

[Character Focus: Tech, OC]

[Tags: descriptions of death, hurt no comfort]

Day 7 | Prompt 7: Suffering in Silence

Poisoned

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 328

Excerpt: When Wrecker was too loud in a small space; when Tech couldn’t seem to run out of words to say about an impossibly dull topic; when Hunter lectured them about picking fights with the regs. Crosshair longed for silence in those moments.

[Character Focus: Crosshair]

[Tags: emotional whump, regrets]

Day 8 | Prompt 8: “Why won’t it stop?”

They All Fall Down

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1572

Excerpt: “Hunter,” Wrecker whines, drawing out the last syllable of Hunter’s name to a ridiculous length. “Crosshair won’t stop staring at me.”

[Character Focus: Cadet Batch]

[Tags: humor, sibling relationships, a dash of whump]

Day 9 | Prompt 9: Bees

Hide and Seek and Training

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 2496

Excerpt: Slowly, Omega looks back at where the branch she sits on meets the tree. Tucked into the crook, a muddy looking structure is swarming with the colorful insects. Bees, Omega’s memory supplies frantically.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo]

[Tags: bee stings, slight injuries, sibling relationships, whump and fluff, humor]

Day 10 | Prompt 10: Killing in Self Defense

Flame Snuffed Out

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 457

Excerpt: Wrecker had to grab Tech’s shoulder, give him a shove to get him moving again. Wrecker must’ve told Hunter that. He shouldn’t have hesitated…Death should not influence him. Not him.

[Character Focus: Tech, Hunter]

[Tags: descriptions of death, trauma]

Day 11 | Alternate Prompt 4: Human Weapon

Costly Mistakes

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 542

Excerpt: “How’d you get out here without the others following you?” Hunter asks. / “I didn’t,” Crosshair responds. “But I told them if they didn’t go back to the barracks, I’d make their lives a living hell.” / “And they believed you?” / “Wrecker did. Tech took a hint.”

[Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair]

[Tags: Cadet Batch, sibling relationships]

Day 12 | Prompt 12: Semi-Conscious

*See Day 3*

Day 13 | Prompt 13: “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

Exploration

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1781

Summary: An afternoon of exploring takes a slight turn.

[Character Focus: Hunter, Omega, Tech, Wrecker, Echo]

[Tags: minor injury, a touch of whump, fluff, humor]

Day 14 | Prompt 14: “I love you.”

I Love You

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 781

Excerpt: She replayed the words over and over again in her mind, rolling the syllables silently over her tongue. Of course, she knew her brothers loved her, and she loved them. They just never said it. In fact, Omega didn’t think she had ever heard that combination of words in that order out loud in her entire life.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter]

[Tags: fluff and emotional whump, sibling relationships]

Day 15 | Prompt 15: “Who did this to you?”

Left Handed

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Word Count: 574

Excerpt: Omega drapes herself further over the back of the seat, arms dangling. “What happened? Were you in a fight?” / “Something like that,” Echo grumbles, avoiding eye contact.

[Character Focus: Echo, Omega, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: humor, whump, sibling relationships]

Day 16 | Prompt 16: Came Back Wrong

Stay

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 741

Excerpt: Crosshair watches from his perch on a wall as the sun sinks into the sea, dissolving into swatches of reds, yellows, and oranges. Discolored by twilight, sky bleeds through with deep blues and purples. It is beautiful here. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe. He does not belong here.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: emotional whump]

Day 17 | Prompt 17: Hostage Situation

The Hostage

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr - Part 1)

Rated: T | Words: —

Summary: Omega is taken hostage.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker]

[Tags: action, kidnapping]

Day 18 | Alternate Prompt 1: Human Shield

Shields

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 730

Excerpt: “Why can’t you keep your mouth shut once in a while?” Crosshair asked, shoving roughly into Tech as they went into their barracks.

[Character: Cadet Batch]

[Tags: sibling relationships, bullies]

Day 19 | Prompt 19: “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t.”

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 497

Excerpt: Crosshair has experienced headaches. More than his fair share with his optical enhancement. While they were never near as severe as Hunter’s over the years, he’d learned to take them in stride, work through the pain. But this time is different. It is insistent. A sharp, isolated pain that feels as though a blade is being driven through his skull. It’s putting him on edge. Well, this and Hunter.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Omega]

[Tags: chip activation, Order 66]

Day 20 | Prompt 20: Truth Serum

Embroidered Skulls

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1092

Summary: Exposure to truth serum uncovers some secrets.

[Characters: Tech, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker]

[Tags: humor, barely whump]

Day 21 | Prompt 21: Unresponsive

The Fact Remains

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 641

Summary: After Wrecker is injured on a mission, the brothers wait for him to wake up.

[Character Focus: Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker]

[Tags: guilt, sibling relationships]

Day 22 | Prompt 22: “You weren’t meant to be there.”

Impeccable Timing

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 563

Excerpt: The target in his sights moved the moment he pulled the trigger. Gone was the neck shot that would decapitate the battle droid and in its place was the familiar pale gray armor of his brother. There was nothing he could do but watch in horror as the bolt made contact.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Tech]

[Tags: friendly fire, injury]

Day 23 | Alternate Prompt 6: Immortality

Merriest Days Ahead

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr - Part 1)

Rated: G | Words: —

Summary: A month long holiday on Pabu prompts the Batch to wonder about the legacy they will leave behind.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech, Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: sibling relationships, fluff, emotional whump]

Day 24 | Prompt 24: “I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Belong

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 351

Excerpt: However, she can’t hate her brother no matter how hard she tries to let the words barb the broken flesh of her heart. The words just make her sad, a sullen and persistent ache that makes her cry when she thinks no one will hear her.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter]

[Tags: what-if, alternate ending, emotional whump]

Day 25 | Alternate Prompt 7: Last Words

Last Words

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 392

Excerpt: Famous last words they say, because, in reality, most last words are not spectacular or special. They aren’t deep or poetic, they don’t inspire greatness or alter the course of history. Often, they are pathetic and small, underrated and thoughtless. Because, often, you didn’t know they would be the last words you ever would speak. Even as you lay dying, you cling to that threadbare hope that you might have a moment longer. But you don’t. You die. The words you said are the last, whether you meant them or not.

[Character Focus: Kix]

[Tags: what-if, alternate ending, descriptions of dying moments]

Day 26 | Prompt 26: “Help them.”

Brave

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 428

Excerpt: She tries. She tries so hard to keep the tears from falling, to keep her breath even. But another hiccuping sob makes her guardian cast her a disapproving glance.

[Character Focus: Omega]

[Tags: big sister, baby Batch, emotional whump]

Day 27 | Prompt 27: Left for Dead

Stories

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1624

Excerpt: ��Crosshair! We’ve been looking for you,” Omega announces, unabashedly intruding on Crosshair’s peace and quiet. / Crosshair cracks open one eye to glare at his sister looming over him. He had found a lush patch of grass under a tree about a five minute walk from their Pabu abode, hidden from the prying eyes of curious neighbors and meddling siblings. Well, evidently not hidden enough.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Omega, Tech]

[Tags: sibling relationships, emotional whump/angst]

Day 28 | Prompt 28: No…Not like this.

Coded

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 289

Summary: Missing scene from Season 3 Episode 4

[Character Focus: Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: emotional whump]

Day 29 | Prompt 29: Not Allowed to Die

Sick Day

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 516

Summary: Echo is sick with a fever.

[Character Focus: Echo]

[Tags: sick fic, hallucination, hurt no comfort]

[elijah-loyal]

liveblog tmagp 7

oh god i forgot how much i hate/love the intro music (see: my post about the fact that parts of it are missing for me bc of my ear and hearing issues <3)

oh no i think celia's smart, oh that poor woman

OH NO SHES DEFINITELY SMART SHE QUESTIONS (pookie no, stay alive </3)

HILLTOP?!!?!!? MOTHERFUCKER NOOOOOOO-

(the chills crawled up my throat and i felt like throwing up <33 thank you episode writer for this horror)

uh oh shouting human face???

hey i think it's funny how she can't remember their names?? whats that all about

"it's all for a good cause" i feel like that's gonna come back to bite them in the ass soon

"personal development sabbatical" my ass

oh god these bitches would have HAD my ass with the printing press and taxidermy vulture and medical equipment

woa who the fuck are these people?? evil anatomy students core??

again, the sound design for this is so beautiful and fucking terrifying, kudos to everyone for that <33

oh god

oh god she recognizes him

oh fuck is it actually jon

is he actually in the fucking computer

(i am on the verge of tears)

SAM

SAM NO

FUCK, JON

JON?!?!

HOLY HSIT OH FUCK NONOJNONN)OIJOIJNJ()IJI

ok im actually crying right now, oh fuck guys, what the fuck

oh shit colin knows

(lmao though bro was funny asf)

everyone just absolutely BASHING on gwen's nepotism lmfao

WAIT HILLTOP BURNING DOWN - HERE'S HOW AGNES MONTAGUE CARRIED HER LEGACY ACROSS UNIVERSES--

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - February Podfic

I got distracted by the podfic of one of my favorite series in a different ship, so this month’s podfic list is not terribly long, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway! Be sure to give a comment/kudos to your podficcer and authors! 

~*~ 

[Podfic] Never Too Late For Love by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart)

Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one.

Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in.

And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

[podfic] Degrees of Separation by plingo_kat, reena_jenkins for kalakirya

Oh god, what if Jarvis infected Dummy with, with emotions. Jesus Christ.

Love Is A Masquerade [Podfic] by paraka for Cathalinaheart

When the Avengers are invited to attend Tony Stark's Annual Masquerade Ball, Steve's hoping Iron Man will be there--after all, he can wear a mask and keep his identity secret. So when Steve recognizes Iron Man's distinctive thighs, Steve is SO sure he's found Iron Man's pilot... He's right, but not in a way Steve would ever have guessed...

[Podfic] Veridicality by hopelesse for Sineala

When Steve is accidentally exposed to a truth serum, Tony learns that Steve has been keeping a lot of feelings hidden.

[Podfic] Right All My Wrongs by Amanita_Fierce

Tony needs to clean up his act. Fury has a suggestion. Steve has a proposal.

[Podfic] Your Name on Every Wall by The_Casual_Sounds (the_casual_cheesecake)

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

[podfic] Appraise Valuable Assets -> Launce Opportune Navigation (AVALON) by Albuss for gottalovev

The plan was that no one but Tony would know about the AVALON protocol until it was needed. Steve finds out and he's pissed.

[baileys-3]

Secret Dating Era - New Chapter (#37) now online

Puuhhh ... what shall I say ... 50.000 klicks and over 1100 Kudos ... that is so surreal ... thanks for all of you.

We still have a long way to go :) I just finished chapter 43. Do you know how much words? I tell you: 225000 ... 500 pages ... I just don't believe it that I wrote 500 pages ... oh god.

Then thanks for every comment. I love love love comments :)

And the greatest and biggest Thanks to beta-reading queen @himynameiscookies

So then I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Sneak Peak:

Bailey arrives at work earlier than usual, mostly because John got called in for an emergency in the middle of the night. Which means, that she was alone this morning. And when she's alone, everything just goes a little faster. Despite her early start, it's late morning since she has a later shift today. She hasn't heard from John yet and doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad sign.

Her phone rings right before entering the fire station, and she sees John's name on the screen. Finally! She answers, but she can't manage to say a word as John launches into a tale that seems like it's straight out of a fantasy novel or something. Well, he's definitely taking the lead in the realm of unbelievable stories now. This round clearly goes to the LAPD.

She makes a deal with him that she'll try to come by on her lunch break when he's still at Shawn Memorial and bring food for the whole gang. John mentions that they might need to wait for a bit, considering there are numerous injured individuals, and they are relatively unscathed, except for Tim. He has been hit the hardest.

As expected, she spends her lunch break with John at the hospital. She finds everyone in the waiting area. Well, not quite everyone, she only meets John, Celina and Aaron. The rest is either receiving treatment or being examined. She gives John a quick hug and then they all dive in on the food she brought.

"Maybe you could give the food to the others before it gets cold. They're likely in one of the examination rooms, passing the time until a nurse is available to attend to them. You know how it goes. First, there's waiting... then more waiting... and finally, more waiting." John's assessment seems accurate.

"Yeah, I'll go and find them. It can't be that difficult." With that, she's already on her way with the remaining three bags in her hand. She likes John's colleagues. She likes them a lot. Somehow, they are all like a little family. John has told her all about everything that happened over the years, the drama, the trauma, everything. And that seems to have brought them all extremely close together. She loves spending her free time with Angela, Nyla and Lucy. John's rookie Celina has even slept over several nights and she has become close friends with her. They are not just work colleagues; they are family.

Bailey asks a nurse in which rooms the injured LAPD officers are being treated and whether she can bring them something to eat. The nurse says yes and points to three rooms with sliding doors at the far end of the corridor.

She approaches the first room, finding the door ajar. Peeking inside, she discovers it empty. Alright, on to the next room. As she nears it, she catches hushed voices engaged in conversation—no, not talking, more like whispering. She stops by the wall just outside the open sliding door. Well, that is an exaggeration; it's barely ajar. She isn't sure why she stopped; perhaps it's the quiet nature of their conversation, or maybe it's because she recognizes the voices, or possibly she just doesn't want to interrupt them.

The voices unmistakably belong to Lucy and Tim, although she can't hear exactly what they are saying. Opting not to interrupt, she chooses to wait until they finish their conversation. In general, it is considered impolite to interrupt a conversation between two individuals. So, she is leaning against the wall for a moment, she patiently listens. It doesn't take long before the voices fade.

Assuming that they are finished, she takes a step forward and reaches for the handle with the intention of entering the room. However, just before she does, she looks up again and stops in her tracks. She stands there, frozen in place peeking through the small slit that's not wide enough for her to enter and she refrains from sliding the door further. She can't believe her eyes. She closes and reopens them, blinking several times. She realizes that she is not imagining it; it's really happening. HOLY SHIT!

[reyesstrand]

fic stats meme

thanks for the tag @rmd-writes & @chaotictarlos (edit: & @welcometololaland who’s tag i saw moments after posting ajdnsjd) <3

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words. (i’m going to be excluding prompt collections here, and only doing lone star works! )

most hits: lit the spark (that set a fire) (tarlos)

It's Judd who explains it to them; that before the accident and before the station was rebuilt from the ground up, the 126 had a long-standing, friendly rivalry with Ladder 102. Their golden boy, Carlos Reyes, well—he kind of knocks TK off his feet.

second most kudos: wanna be still with you (tarlos)

He's too focused on keeping himself upright, feeling woozy from the exertion, that there's a sort of hazy quality to everything around him. TK hears his name being called, and he's—he's certain it's his mind playing tricks on him; he has to be in some dreamlike state where Carlos has found them. But then he feels hands on him—big, sturdy, warm hands he would recognize blindfolded—and he turns his head and sees worried brown eyes and he just about crumbles.

Thankfully, he has Carlos there to catch him.

third most comments: tried and true blue (owen & tk/tarlos)

"She knows," Owen says, his eyes almost too sincere for TK to handle. He clamps his molars together and just stares at his father, because if he lets himself think too hard about all the ways his mom is still here, somehow, he'll probably burst into tears. Owen gives him a sad smile. "She does, TK. She used to talk about when you'd get married all the time."

There's a pause, and TK curls his fingers tighter around his mug, letting everything simmer between them.

"When I got married," TK quietly repeats. "Not if?"

fourth most bookmarks: to be reborn (tarlos)

In a flurry of movement, TK wakes up. TK tells him, voice soft and rough around the edges: "Breathe." And at that moment, Carlos knows the rest can wait.

fifth most words: to which there is no reply (tarlos)

Everything about TK makes him forget. But then it all comes back to him slowly, not unlike a spark to kindling, leaving Carlos swallowing down his grief like the fire it is—trying to consume it all by himself so he’s the only one who feels the burn.

He glances out the half-open window, and sees the white dots of birds drifting on the low tide, and he wonders how he’s supposed to leave it all. The salty air, the pleasant sun, the way TK walks without a line of tension in his shoulders. He knows they’ve transcended all different sorts of honeymoon phases since they gave their relationship a real go a few years ago; he knows that they’ll still be them once Owen picks them up from Austin-Bergstrom and they go home to the loft and work and responsibilities and Lou II. But he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to a life without his father.

fic with the least words: hold on to me (nancy/marjan)

She tries to keep herself focused on tiny tasks as she prepares to go home; the shower had been blissful, but now she longs for her own bed. Cap had told them they’d be able to take a few days off to grieve, and so she grabs the dog-eared paperback Carlos leant her a week or two ago and her headphones from her bunk and stuffs it all into her bag, approaching the stairs as she goes. It’s then that Marjan hears it, tiny but distinctive in the quiet firehouse: a thud, followed by the sound of frustrated cries, all suspiciously coming from the ambulance bay.

Marjan moves quickly, maneuvering deftly around workbenches and supplies in the bay, biting on the inside of her cheek when she sees the source of the noise: Nancy, hunched over in front of Tim’s locker, staring down at the box of his belongings that’s tipped over onto its side.

no pressure tagging @paperstorm @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @rosedavid @heartstringsduet @beautifulhigh @marjansmarwani @terramous @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and anybody else who’d like to try this out! <3

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 6]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: death, mention of dead body, anxiety, doubt, discussion of funerals, mentions of sexism, angst, tension, FLUFF, lovebites, steve is cocky, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: heres a short n sweet one for ya <3 the funeral is coming up next chapter, are you ready??? i think if i start writing smaller chapters i might be able to get them out more frequently instead of the 10k+ monster this chapter was supposed to be. also i've put this fic onto ao3 (same name and username - pls leave some kudos to help boost) please enjoy and let me know what you think, reblogs and likes appreciated! as always, not proof read - sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

Before the Stormfall Mountain’s Pass had been created, Faliene had been impenetrable. The city was only accessible by the frigid Northern Ocean, and few dared to challenge her depths. All those years ago, men feared the gods and what may have lurked under the surface. The children of Neume harnessed the wind and waves, so her inky depths spared them. The same could not be said for the others. The pass had been a success, but it was also the beginning of the end. Her secrets and spirit were lost to the passage of time, devoured by Haiford the moment her underbelly was revealed. The fall was inevitable.

The pass had fallen into disrepair since you last traveled it, with entire sections of the path swallowed by snow and ice. You had been a child back then, ushered from inn to carriage day after day as you and your mother had escaped the plague-ridden city. You wondered if the mountains remembered you as you remembered them. Did your footprints remain buried deep under layers of snow? Or had they been washed away in the thaw as quickly as a wave over sand? 

You had never thought you would see those thick blankets of snow again, your breath was constant and loud as the thin air burned your lungs. How many years have you dreamed of this pass? Your fingers and toes numb as you barreled through the blizzard, reaching and screaming for that distant city. How many years has it been since you last saw Faliene in all her glory? As excited as you were to be reunited with your home, apprehension clawed at your gut. 

Would your people remember you? Would they accept you – their lady, who had spent half her childhood coddled away in Haiford Capital while they starved? Would they hate you or forgive you? You had spent so long fighting and trying to return; would you even recognize Faliene anymore? You had been stripped of so many things – a mother, a home, a culture – did you even know how to be a part of your own heritage, your legacy? So many questions clawed at your mind that your stomach would ache at night as you lay awake contemplating the vastness of it all. 

With stiff hands, you wrapped your fur cloak closer around your body, your eyes straining against the bitter wind that blew polar air straight to your core. Around you, thick flakes of snow floated, a layer of ice clinging to your eyelashes and exposed hair. In the distance, you could make out the warm orange candlelight of the inn; in the time you had been gone, the sky had darkened dramatically. You were not afraid of the cold or the dark, and you relished the opportunity to breathe in the frosty night sky. 

So many years you had spent cooped up. What would be a nightmare for most would be freedom for you. 

Due to King Harrison not having the foresight to hire a Falienean guide, it fell to you to scout the barely-used path. Although inexperienced, you had not failed so far. Following your intuition and fuzzy memories, you were able to locate the paths long buried under months of snow. In the evenings, while the others sheltered in the inns and boardhouses throughout the pass, you would scout ahead to ensure the path was safe to follow.

Thankfully, due to the many families that still braved living in the mountains, most of the main path remained relatively intact. The families were mainly farmers raising mountain goats and sheep, offering board for travelers and traders for extra income. And much to your rising concern, many of the families didn’t recognize you as their lady until you introduced yourself. 

Once dismounted, you quickly settled your horse in the small stable attached to the inn. Due to navigational convenience and your growing resentment of being cooped up in a carriage, you had mostly traveled on horseback. The first days between Haiford Capital and the mountains, you would have nightmares of being trapped inside a coffin – like your mothers – clawing your nails bloody on the wood. When you would finally rip off the lid of the coffin, you would find yourself in a carriage, the horses charging at a neck-breaking speed. 

As you passed the carriages tucked away beside the stables, you frowned. One for King Harrison, Peggy, and Michael. The other for your mother in her coffin. Although you were nearly two weeks into your journey, her body would show no signs of decomposition. The mountains would have frozen her solid, her body like a porcelain doll. 

Once inside the inn, you quickly ascended the stairs to the upper level. Although you were freezing and craving a warm drink, the idea of fighting past the Haifordian guard that crowded the kitchen stove sounded exhausting. Shrugging off your cloak, jacket, and hat, you reached the room you shared with Peggy. With such a small inn and a large traveling party, it was easier for certain groups to sleep in the same room. Both you and Peggy being unmarried women meant you were paired together, while some of the Haifordian guards were cramming more than six men into a room. 

Your hand paused over the doorknob, a sound from the other side catching you off guard. You were so busy contemplating how best to dry your damp clothing that you nearly missed it. Leaning your ear closer to the door, you roll your eyes in irritation. The sound of Peggy giggling carried through the wood, a familiar male voice spoke low words you couldn’t quite make out. 

Steve. With a huff, you step away from the door. Both of them had been playing a risky game the entire trip, regularly visiting each other's rooms. The wrong person would eventually learn about them, it was only a matter of time. 

You hesitate in the hallway. They had never visited so late into the evening before; normally Peggy was preparing for or already in bed by the time you came back from your scouting missions. Traveling through thick snow was as hard as expected, exhausting even for those tucked into the carriages. It wasn’t unusual for the party to be in bed straight after an early supper. 

You were half tempted to barge in and interrupt them; you were tired from a long day on horseback. You still didn’t feel like braving the kitchen and sitting outside and waiting would be highly suspicious. Lingering in the hallway for a few more minutes, you grumble a few unsavory words under your breath before trying to find your next best options. James. 

To the surprise of everyone but you, James had canceled the season. He had also insisted on traveling with the first party – your party – to Faliene. Another party was a few days behind yours, made up of Galantian and Asgardian guards, a group of the Galantian court, and Asgardian royalty. You had a sneaking suspicion that while half of them were there to show their respect, the others were there to see a Falienean funeral firsthand. Due to the rituals and traditions involved, Falienean funerals were frequently regarded as barbaric spectacles. 

You waver outside James’ room. Despite him traveling with your party, the two of you had barely spoken since the library. You suspected he was trying to draw attention away from the both of you, but his presence mustered up enough rumors with the Haifordian guard. Most of your conversations were spent with Steve. When he wasn’t bluntly flirting with Peggy, he would be complaining about the growing cold, much to your mockery and amusement. You were unsure of how he would cope with the chill of Faliene; the Stormfall Mountains were cold, but nothing in comparison to the chill that blew in off the northern sea. 

Chewing your lip, you finally gave in and rapped your knuckles lightly against the door. With your breath held, you wait, wondering if he even heard the knock at all. You might have missed him downstairs, or maybe he had already fallen asleep–

The door suddenly swung open, startling you as you took a step back. James stood in the doorway, an equally surprised expression flashing across his features momentarily. It wasn’t just the expression that hinted at his shock at your presence, but also the fact that he was shirtless. You hug your discarded clothing closer to your chest. You tried to keep your eyes anywhere but his bare skin, your mouth growing dry as you struggled to find words to explain your sudden presence at his door. 

Now no longer covered, you could get a better look at his tattooed arm, with swirling blue ink patterning his entire left arm and shoulder. A large, raised scar ran across his shoulder joint, nearly entirely encircling the flesh. The scar was ghostly white and gnarled like the roots of a tree. It looked impossible – the type of scar someone shouldn’t have survived. But the ink decorating his skin told a story you already knew. Magic. Magic had saved his arm and, most likely, his life. So many denied its existence when it stood so blatantly in front of them. 

Swallowing hard, you glance upward to meet his gaze. You couldn’t ignore the smirk that tugged at his lips, his right side now leaning against the doorframe as he eyed you with a silent satisfaction. 

“Can I come in?” You abruptly say, suddenly remembering how to speak. James’ chuckles lowly at you before motioning you inside. 

Still flustered, you quickly duck past his muscled form, peeling off your gloves as you stand in the center of the room with a quiet huff. James’ still snickers at you as he closes the door. 

“You knocked so quietly, I thought I was hearing things.” He says this while you continue to refuse to look at him. Instead, your gaze falls on the room around you; it is nearly identical to yours. Two beds are layered with furs and blankets, one for him and one for Steve. A sheepskin rug thrown over the wooden floors. On the other side of the room is a roaring fireplace, with two seats positioned in front of it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” You mutter, squeezing your hand into a fist as you try to regain feeling in your numb fingers. 

“Peggy and Steve?” He asks, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight as he inches closer to where you stand. 

“They’re going to get caught–” You begin to grumble but cut yourself off as you realize how close James has grown. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches out, a single tattooed finger twirling around a damp strand of your hair. 

“You’re soaking.” His voice cuts into the abrupt silence, but your focus is on the closeness of his body rather than the state of your clothes and hair. “Come, sit by the fire.”

You wordlessly oblige, allowing him to lead you to one of the seats. In the low light, James’ muscles and veins are illuminated by the orange glow of the fire. Peeling off another damp layer, James takes your previously discarded clothing and lines it in front of the fireplace to dry. 

“The snow must have melted.” You mutter, remembering the snowflakes and ice that had clung to your clothes and hair before you came inside. James hums in reply, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at you, ensuring you are settled before finally pulling on a shirt. You sigh through your nose, half in relief and half in disappointment. 

A comfortable silence falls as he takes a seat across from you. You could feel his gaze watching as you quietly unlaced your seal-leather snow boots. The leather was more successful at keeping out the creeping wetness and dampness of the snow. Without the blubber to insulate the cold, your toes felt frozen beneath your thick, woolen socks.

During the weeks of travel, you had found yourself hoping for a moment alone like this to talk after so much silence had passed between the both of you. Nearly daily, when you weren’t consumed by anxieties for the quickly approaching future, you would think back to that moment in the library and what you would say once you were alone. 

Now that you were here, you were near speechless. 

As you twisted the rings on your fingers, you recounted all of the questions and thoughts that had lingered in your mind for so long – so many conversations you wished to have with the King in front of you. You were unsure where to start. 

“Why does Steve call you Bucky?” You ask, breaking the stillness. You mentally curse yourself at the bluntness of the question. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask the heavy questions: ‘Why did you come?’ or ‘What will become of us once this funeral is over?’. To your surprise, a gentle look crosses his face, and you lean back into your seat. 

“It’s just a nickname I had as a child, I suppose there's some familiarity to it.” He replies with a light chuckle, running his hand up through his hair again as if in thought. You keep an intense gaze on him, distracted by the movement.

“I thought there was going to be a dramatic story.” You admit lightheartedly, finally breaking your stare. Maybe something soft and lighthearted was the way to start, to ease yourself back into the familiarity of conversation. You had spent so long silent; your jaw clenched as you rode through the snow each day. It was a wonder you even remembered how to form words and that your mouth hadn’t become frozen shut. 

“No. I was always Bucky or Buck, and Steve was Stevie sometimes.” 

“Stevie? That’s too cute for that brute.” You mutter, and James’ gives you a lopsided grin.

“I think it was because of Becca. She would call me Jamie sometimes, so naturally Steve was Stevie.” He explains, though there is a twinge of sadness in his tone. Your gut squeezes, an anxious reminder of the past and the grief attached to it.

“I wish I had been able to meet her.” Your words are gentle and slow, almost hesitant. 

James stared long and hard into the fire for a time. “Becca? Well…she could be a mean, spoiled brat sometimes.” 

You could sense the deflection in his words and tone. You had noticed that he rarely spoke of Rebecca, and when he did, it pained him. He rarely went beyond the surface, never talking of their relationship beyond the fact that they were siblings. You could understand not wanting to revisit such memories. You often treated the memories of your father in similar ways, holding them close to your chest as secrets only you could know. 

“I think that is just the way with siblings. At least, that is what Peggy has told me.” You offer, lightheartedly. 

“I think she’s right. As much of a brat as Becca could be, I still loved her.” A dark look comes over his face, and you watch as he clenches and unclenches his fist before speaking once more. “What were your nicknames?”

You don’t push the subject of Rebecca further, instead latching onto his latter question. “I never had any.”

“None? Really?” He asked in surprise. 

You take a moment to think back and remember the warm, fuzzy memories of your childhood. You could remember running rampant through the halls of Fort Faliene, peeling off your stockings to wade in the waters near the dock. You could remember sitting on your father's desk, legs swinging through the air as you watched him organize his bookshelf, a half-played chess game abandoned nearby. 

“My father used to call me a wild cat, or his little wild cat, like the snow leopards that live deeper in the mountains. It’s ironic to think back on now, considering the leopards are called Ghosts of the Mountain.” You hum in thought, that warm, fuzzy feeling replaced with something bitter in your chest as your mind moves closer to recent history. Your nails tap against the wooden arm of the chair. 

“And then the endearing names turned to cruel ones, words to belittle me because of my gender and my culture. They called my mother the Lady of the Ghosts before me. She always shouldered it so easily, she would call me her Little Ghost.”

“Little Ghost?” James questioned you, his voice low as if he did not wish to interrupt your sudden openness. 

“It was because the Haifordian’s said I was like a little ghost when we first left Faliene.” A sad smile plays across your lips as you recount the memory. “I was barely fourteen, my father was dead, and my home was ripped from me. When I couldn’t sleep in that terrible castle, I would wander the halls and gardens. The maids would go to my mother in the morning and say, ‘Your little ghost was wandering the halls again’, expecting her to reprimand me. My mother would just laugh at them and say, ‘She is a ghost, what do you expect?’–

“Sometimes she would join me at night. We would look at the moon and the stars in the garden. When the moon was visible, she would say, ‘Tonight is a high tide, the men will be bringing in the hauls’, as if we were still there, walking along the docks. That was before she got sick, of course… By the time I was sixteen, she was bedridden and had entirely forgotten who I was. That’s when I became the Lady of the Ghosts, not just the little ghost that haunted the halls of the Haifordian court.” 

The silence that follows your words is deafening, with James watching you with a soft expression as you sigh sharply and lean back further into your seat. 

“You carry a piece of her with you everywhere, then.” James speaks, his voice gentle. Your eyes flutter upward, surprised. “Every time your enemies mock you with those names, they are breathing life into her legacy. Your legacy.” 

The wave of emotion that rolled over your body at his words was indescribable. You had felt fondness toward others before, but never to this degree. Your heart thumped in your chest as you swallowed hard, leaning forward in your seat. How could he take such a melancholic, painful memory and turn it into something of beauty? How could he take the anxiety clawing at your chest and simply replace it with calm?

Your hand reached out to grasp his, causing a fuzzy feeling in your gut and skull as you tried to figure out the words to say. Nothing came, nothing you could quite describe or express. Desire tingled across your skin as you contemplated clambering into his lap, allowing him to embrace you like he had in the library. Just you and him, his arms sheltering you from reality. 

“James I–” You start, and his gaze is intense as he watches you creep closer. But as quickly as the moment began, it abruptly stopped. Your body jolted back involuntarily in fright as the door to the room slammed open. 

You gaped as Steve walked in with a shit-eating grin, the exposed skin of his neck and collarbones dotted with quickly bruising love bites. James visibly deflates beside you, a tense breath leaving his nose sharply as he avoids eye contact with you. You try to ignore the hurt that squeezes your chest at that sight, instead turning your attention to a smug Steve.

“Steve!” You scold, clambering to your feet. “You are so lucky we have to dress heavy with the snow! If King Harrison caught you, he would have you head–” 

“Y/N, relax. It’s fine, no one saw us.” Steve reassures you, almost immediately stealing your seat in front of the fire. You roll your eyes, slapping him on the shoulder as you shimmy past to pick up your clothing from in front of the fire. 

James remains silent, locked in an intense stare with Steve as you hand your still damp clothing over your arm. Steve glances between the two of you with a quizzical yet knowing stare. You watch on in confusion as the two men seem to have a silent conversation with their eyes, James shaking his head at the blond. You reach down and collect your boots with a huff, deciding to exit the room before the sting of James’ sudden snub sets in. 

“I am going to bed.” You say, noting James’ reluctance to catch your eye.

“Sweet dreams.” Steve hums, an even wider smile spreading across his face, watching as if he knew something you didn’t. All you can muster is a scoff, closing the door behind you without looking back. 

taglist| @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @roryhaarts @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

[foxytoxx]

Caught between the Devil and the hag's lair (Astarion x Fem!Durge fanfic)

Words: 4k

Read on AO3

Summary: During a rescue mission, Morella is caught off guard by her vow to Haarleep.

TW: Canon-typical violence, ACT 3 HAG QUEST SPOILERS!!!, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Someone's about to have a really bad day...

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kudos, loves and reblogs both here and on AO3! Hope you enjoy this story!

❤️❤️❤️

It was early morning, and the Lower City was slowly waking. There was a faint buzz in the air. Vendors were opening shops and the smell of freshly baked goods was mixing in with the salty sea mist. Morella stifled a yawn not wanting to give away any sign of perceived regret. She had been the one alongside Karlach who had demanded they start the day’s search at the break of dawn. Shadowheart and Astarion had not been as enthusiastic about it, but quickly came to terms with their leader’s steadfast attitude. 

As the sun fully rose from water the group could see the forepeak of The Blushing Mermaid. They had been following a trail from the previous day looking for a missing girl, Vanra. Her mother, Lora, had made quite the scene at the Flaming Fist barracks. It was enough to attract the attention of their merry band of misfits during one of Astarion’s many successful prison breaks.

Morella had picked up a habit of helping strays along the way since the Nautiloid crash. At first it had annoyed Astarion to no end. But after the revelation of her heritage he had realised it might be her way of compensating for the bloody carnage she no doubt caused in her father’s name while she was still under his spell. He couldn't help but secretly admire her for it.

Karlach was the first to break the group’s silence.

 “You can’t help but question Lora’s parental wisdom for bringing the girl to this tavern of all places.”

“You never know what wretched creatures skulk around these parts…” Astarion’s answer sounded acrid. Almost as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Morella glanced over at him. He had a sadness in his eyes, but was quick to bring his usual mask into place. After his unexpected reunion with Sebastian he had seemed off whenever the group entered old hunting grounds. She recognized it for what it was, guilt. They had all come to realise how little say he had in it all, but it stung nonetheless.

“Come on, we’ve got a job to do.” Morella walked towards the establishment with the others following closely after. As they were about to enter the building Morella was stopped dead in her tracks. 

“You alright, soldier?” Karlach rested a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“Huh? Oh yes, yes. I’m fine. How about you and Shadowheart go on in and we’ll be right with you.” Morella was fighting with every fibre of her body to keep her voice straight. Shadowheart threw a quick glance between her and Astarion, who looked just as confused as the two others. 

“Don’t you two love birds make a scene, please.” Shadowheart groaned, as she hooked her arm with Karlach and pulled her into the tavern. 

Morella could practically feel Astarion’s inquisitive crimson eyes scan her for answers. But it was not the only thing she could feel trailing over her body. Hands, fingers and claws danced over her being. Yet no one was touching her. A warm breath caressed her neck and ears. She couldn’t help but shudder. A growing blush flushed her face and ears. Morella set her jaw and quickly sat down on the closest bench. She tried to bite back a sigh of pleasure as invisible hands cupped her breasts under her armour. Haarlep’s words sang through her head with no remorse.

Everytime I make love in your shape, you will know. You will know…

She opened her eyes only to be met by Astarion kneeling in front of her with a concerned look on his face. “I heard that moan. It’s the incubus isn’t it? Enjoying your body. Just as I get free from bondage, you fall into it.” He let out a deep sigh. “It’d be funny if it was anyone but you, my love. I know what it’s like to lose control over your own body. It’s a… wretched thing.” He hovered a reassuring hand over her thigh and she lifted slightly to meet it.

“It’s not so bad. I can put up with it.” She whispered as she collected herself. 

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.” he spat out the last words like acid before taking a deep breath. The ghost touches seemed to subside and she let out a relieved sigh, which seemed to put him at ease as well.

“I know what’s done is done, you made your vow, but I’m sorry all the same.” His hand moved from her thigh and up to cup her cheek. She used his cold touch to completely ground herself back in the now.

“You ready? Or would you sit this one out, my sweet?” Morella shot up in shock. She had probably knocked him over had it not been for his uncanny dodge. 

“I’m sure Karlach has enough fire in her for the four of us, and Shadowheart-”

“No.” Morella cut him off sharply. “I’m coming with, and there is nothing you can say or do to stop me.” Her golden, blue eyes seemed to spark with an unlit fire he loved so much.

He let out a sigh before rising to his feet.

“I realised there is no stopping you long ago, my dear. Let’s just hope this stubbornness of yours won’t get you killed…” A sly smirk danced on his lips, and she couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him briefly. With a mirth she turned on her heels entering the tavern.

“If I get close to death, I know I’ll always have you and your daggers close by my back.”

A low growl of indignation rose from his throat. All he could do was puff up his chest under the spidersilk armour.

“Honestly, the youth these days…”

-------

Initially there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary inside the dimly lit establishment. The local grumpy drunks had already gathered at their self proclaimed seats of ownership. Whether they had just arrived or never left was a question Morella figured best unanswered directly. However their smell stated the obvious. 

Astarion was leaned over a middle aged man who had planted his face on the floor by the staircase in a drunken stupor. Morella stood by eyeing the other patrons while his nimble hands searched the sleeping man for valuables.

“Oh, my…” Astarion pulled a sickle out from under the man’s tethered jacket. Their eyes locked for a quick moment before she stooped down to his level, eyes locked on the weapon in his hand. It was an old blade, chipped in some places, and the handle was of simple wood. 

“Is it just me, or is there something familiar about this?” She looked over to him again as his eyes scanned the blade. Astarion quickly stowed the weapon with another glance at the drunken crowd. 

“It’s not just you my dear. We’ve run into this crowd before. Or parts of it at least.”. He rose to his feet and stretched out a hand to her. She took it, and rose with grace.

“The swamps.” The word was no more than whisper when it escaped her lips.

“I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t a mere coincidence we ran into a group of hag-survivors… We should have a word with the captain of this forsaken ship.” His eyes trailed over her shoulder into the room behind her where Karlach and Shadowheart were already questioning the hungover owner of the establishment, Captain Grisly. 

“Ugh, enough with these questions already. I’ve got enough of a bleedn’ headache as it is. I’ve already told you the truth.” The woman swayed where she stood as she took a generous swig at a bottle in her hand.

“A child can’t just up and dissipate into thin air. Someone must have seen something.” Shadowheart was getting frustrated with the lack of answers from everyone in the building and it was starting to become obvious.

Morella and Astarion took their places by their companions’ side. Karlach had folded her hands tightly, and Morella could see the building frustration in her too.

Captain Grisly eyed the quad of ragtag characters, before letting out a deep sigh.

“Look, I didn’t want to have to say this. But Lora is a liar, sort of. You see the child she is missing, never existed. It was something she had dreamed up in her usual drunken state. Poor woman really…” Grisly hung her head for a quick moment.

Astarion pulled the sickle out and held it up to Captain Grisly. And it was as if the air itself became putrid and even electrified in a split second. 

“Game’s up, hag.” The words were nothing but a snare from his lips.

“Oh, bullocks.” The bottle she had held in her hand clattered to the floor. The sound was almost deafening in the sudden pressing silence. The captain’s body contorted into a dark, green, rotten cloud.

Morella turned to notice the unsuspecting patrons had gotten up and were contorting into smoke themselves. 

“Boys! Deal with these sacks of shite!” A chilling, blood curdling laugh erupted out of the smoke that had been Grisly. The air was quickly cut by Karlach’s greataxe as she tried to cleave at the hag to no avail. The hag-smoke shot down a flight of stairs into the basement, leaving the group at the mercy of the redcaps stepping out of the skin of the patrons.

The group drew their weapons and readied themselves for the stalking, grunting fey.

“Hells! The hag! How did you figure that out!?” Shadowheart blurted out in a surprised breath.

“Really, now!? You want to discuss this now!” The words came out of Astarion as a growl as he seemed to vaporise into the dark shadows in the back of the room. 

Morella, ever the tactician, assessed the situation and came up with a quick plan of action.

“Shadowheart pull back with me! Karlach, I need you up by the archway, but not too close!” She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to where Astarion had been, but she was unable to locate him. He knew her game plan after countless battles and didn’t need orders to find his place in the shadows.

With a crack of magic Morella conjured a cloud of daggers swirling in the archway into their room. Though the redcaps were small, they were stubborn in their resolve to cut the group down. They trickled in through the daggers, only to be met by damning strikes of Karlach’s greataxe, shadow veiled arrows from Astarion and spells from Shadowheart and Morella. 

Slowly the bodies would pile up by their feet. But in the chaos of combat a redcap broke through their defences and kicked Morella into the wall behind her. The force knocked the air right out of her and she lost her concentration of her cloud of daggers. Shadowheart made quick work of the little bugger with her mace. The distraction was enough for the last redcap to sneak up behind Karlach without the spellcasters noticing. She screamed out in pain as the little monster buried its sickle in the tiefling’s leg. She lost balance and was about to crash to the floor. The redcap was about to lift its leg to give Karlack a juicy kick, but was abruptly interrupted by a sussur dagger making itself at home in its skull. The fey froze up, shuddered and collapsed to the ground. And with that they had conquered yet another battleground. 

Shadowheart and Morella rushed over to help Karlach. 

“I’m sorry, Karlach. This isn’t going to be comfortable…” Shadowheart gripped the sickle and quickly pulled it out. The tiefling woman let out a pained grunt, followed by a sigh of relief when the half-elf called upon her healing magic. Astarion pulled his dagger out of the dead redcap’s skull and wiped it clean. 

It didn’t take long for Karlach to shade the blow off and get back on her feet, carefully testing her weight on the freshly healed leg. 

“Right, Astarion, is now a good time?” Shadowheart locked her eyes on him as she rose. 

He scuffed under her gaze.

“I believe our dear, old Auntie is back again. We need to move quickly.” 

-------

The basement was as they had expected. Dark and damp. Shadowheart had pointed out a wall that had almost a weird shimmer about it. Stepping through the hidden pathway brought them into a large room that could not have been anything but the hag’s lair. It looked like someone had built the basement on top of a swampland. Their senses were very soon assaulted by the stench of rot and decay, causing the elves and half-elf all to take a step back. Karlach couldn’t help but snicker at their visceral reaction. 

Morella felt a barely noticeable tingle trailing down her spine, but pushed it out of her mind.

Astarion suddenly threw himself into a crouch, signalling the others to follow his example. That’s when they heard what he had picked up on. Voices. The vampire walked up ahead of the others to scout out the situation. Carefully Morella led the two others up close to him. There were four masked figures in the room with them, but they seemed oblivious to their company.

“Blasted, hag…” Morella spat out from gritted teeth.

Astarion assessed the room, noticing a closed door behind them. “We might not have to worry about these poor wretches. They are probably under the hag’s spell like the people we found under Ethel’s house.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. They quietly turned to the door, where Astarion would make quick work of the lock and they pushed through. 

“There you are, petal.” The vile, hunched figure of the hag was enough to make their skin crawl. Her putrid green skin was stretched thin over a big bulge in her stomach, which seemed to move every now and then.

“Let the child go, Ethel! What is it you even want with her?” Morella’s voice was steady, yet dripping with unspoken threats. 

“Careful petal, you don’t want to be acting the maggot with me now. But I think I will keep ‘er right where she is.” The hag snickered, and bore her icy cold eyes into Morella. 

“Soon enough I will have a little young hag to bring up.” Her snicker grew to a hair-raising laugh. “But, breaking you will be great craic.”

Morella stepped forward, but was swiftly stopped in her tracks by a warm, strong tug at her shoulder.

“Careful, Soldier. You kill the hag, you kill the kid.” Morella glanced over her shoulder to Karlach, and gritted her teeth. She turned back to the revolting fey they were faced with yet again.

The room didn’t allow for the group to reuse the same battle plan that had slaughtered the redcaps. They needed something else entirely. “Karlach and Shadowheart, I need you two up with her. Astarion, you will stay back with me.” They confirmed her orders with subtle nods. Karlach jumped up next to the hag and delivered a bone breaking punch to the fey. Shadowheart was swiftly moving up to the two of them, radiating spirit guardians already swirling around her. 

Astarion and Morella placed themselves close to the centre of the room, up a small flight of stairs. His longbow was drawn taut at the ready for what to come, while she called upon the weave in her blood.

As they expected the had seemed to multiply shooting off into four new copies of herself. Astarion had suspected this would happen, and pinched an arrow of many targets on his bowstring. He elegantly spun around and shot the arrow into one of the hags that had appeared behind them. The arrow bounced between the hag and shot into another hag before repeating the motion onto a third. The two first hags dissipated into thin air.

After shaking off the blow the hag cackled and lashed her clawed hand at Shadowheart. The silver haired half-elf barely had time to react. She fell to her knees with a gasp. Morella tried to rush to her, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Another chilling tingle travelled down her spine and she was completely frozen in place. Then it started again. The hands, ghosting over her flesh, caressing, stroking, grabbing, pulling… Morella closed her eyes and tried to violently shake off the feeling.

No, not now!

She looked up, Shadowheart had gotten up again. She seemed fairly unscathed other than a gushing gash in her left forearm. She roared as she lifted the brightly lit Blood of Lathandriel over her head to give the hag a taste of her own medicine.

The hands traced along her abdomen, moving slowly down to between her legs. Morella bit down into her lip, hard. Small pearls of blood started to roll over her full lips. 

No. No! NO!

This was the very moment the last hag clone chose to pounce onto her, driving her long claws into Morella’s back. A sharp burning pain in her chest caused her to topple over. Morella tried to force a deep breath, but was unable to. The pain only grew stronger. 

“IGNIS!” 

The clone dissipated in a heatwave, leaving Morella flopping onto the floor in a slowly growing puddle of blood. Strong, physical hands were on her in mere seconds. Astarion tried to lock away the fury and anxiety in a deep dark corner of his mind while he assessed her situation. She tried to say something to him, but it was drowned out by a bloody cough. 

The ghost hand had at this point found her clit and was rubbing it rhythmically. This threw her back into an involuntary arch, which was met with another bout of bloody coughs. Her pale complexion was turning even paler. Her organic eye was getting draped in a distant stare. 

“No, you are not dying on me! Not today, and not like this!” Astarion growled. The deep rooted panic was reaching a boiling point, but he kept calm. A quick glance at Shadowheart made it clear her hands were too full to help. He quickly rummaged through Morella’s pack to fish out a healing potion. Then he saw it. The Hag’s Bane.

He grabbed both vials with haste. 

Morella was shaking in his arms, caught in deep between the bloodloss and the devil's burning clutches. He removed the stopper from the potion and carefully poured the red herbal concoction down her throat. Tossing the empty vial aside, he carefully rubbed her throat to guide the potion down. Then he looked back up to the raging tiefling and the resilient half-elf. They had the hag panting for breath as they beat her down.

“Shadowheart!” She looked over to them in shock. She had been too busy to even notice Morella going down. But she was quickly snapped out of her shock when Astarion tossed her the Hag's Bane. She grabbed the vial and lobbed it at the hag. The glass shattered, shards burrowing deep into the hag's skin. The alchemical blend sizzled like acid, vaporising at the contact with the fey.

“NO! You owe me a young hag you-” Ethel clutched her hand to her stomach, fighting back a gag. “No, Vanra! Stay down… Gugh!” The hag fell to her knees and started retching. Her jaws unhinged as a child around the age of six was forced past her foul lips. The child dropped to the stone floor in a pool of slime and bile, but she seemed to be otherwise fine. 

Shadowheart swooped up the child as Karlach brought her greataxe down to the hag’s writhing body with merciless force. The foe had been slayed, yet again. And hopefully for the last time.

Morella was no longer bleeding out, her wounds closed up for the most part, but her breath was still shallow. Her body was still trembling and her cheeks were flushed deeper than previous. Astarion wiped sweat off her brow, trailing his hand down her neck to try calm her. 

“I've got you, my sweet. You'll get through this.”

He felt a warmth tingle his right side. 

“Is she ok?” Karlach's voice was drenched with concerned. Shadowheart, still holding Vanra, joined them. She hovered her hand over Morella, blue sparkes of healing magic enveloped her body.

“Her lung has been punctured, but other than that she should be fine… I'm all out of magic I'm afraid…”

His lips curled into a snare. He turned to the other women, eyes burning with fury.

“This is the work of the incubus, Haarlep…” He spat out the devil's name as if it was bile. Both Karlach and Shadowheart had been there when Morella had struck the deal with him.

“You tell any of the others-”

“Easy there, mate. That wouldn't be ours to tell.” Karlach rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

A soft whimper of a moan escaped Morella’s lips.

“Has she still got that potion of angelic sleep, Astarion?” He rummaged through the chaos that was Morella’s pack again before pulling out the elegant, golden bottle.

------

Morella came to in her bed at the Elfsong. Her body ached. She tried to get up, but cold, firm hands were quick to take a hold of her shoulders. 

“Easy there, darling. Don't strain yourself.” Her vision slowly dehazed and she was met with a pair of concerned, crimson eyes.

“How did I get here…” 

“I had our dear druid friend help carry you. For all Halsin is worth, he makes an excellent extra set of arms in moments of need.” Astarion gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He smirked as her cheeks flushed. The three of them had had an eventful night a few weeks back, which had left them all hungry for more.

“How are you feeling?” He handed her a cup of water.

“Like I've been the entertainment at an ogre child's birthday party.” He couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image. She took a sip, but nearly choked on the water as her memory caught up with her. 

“The kid! Vanra, is she-” 

“She is fine. Physically at least.” He smiled at her as he leaned her back against the headboard. 

“I can't imagine being swallowed and reached up by a hag isn't going to be something she'll forget sometime soon. But Shadowheart and Karlach got her safely home to her mother.” He leaned back and brought a stunning rapier which had been leaned up against the wall. 

“Even got this beauty as a little reward from Lora.”

Morella’s eyes teared up. She aimlessly rubbed her hands as guilt was eating away at her.

“I'm sorry, Astarion… I thought I could handle…”

Her words died away to a sob as her hands flew up to her face. 

A weight shifted onto the mattress. The smell of bergamot and rosemary embraced her nose with a promise of love and comfort. Astarion wrapped his arms around her hunched frame. Resting his head on hers, he started rocking her slowly. His right hand started to play softly with her long, silver braid.

“It’s alright, dear.”

He let go of her braid and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his.

“You said you could ‘put up with it’, maybe you can. And maybe you can't. It doesn't matter. I'll take care of you if you'll let me. But you will not be out there with us if this happens out there again… I can't risk…losing you.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but she heard the little break near the end. She had no power over her own voice and could do nothing more than simply nod, burying her face into his chest.

“Who knows, maybe the devil will get bored soon, they can be such fickle creatures. Not that I would of course,  you are simply too divine.” He kissed her head, and they stayed that way the rest of the night.

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #28

Batgirl (2000) #12 writer: Chuck Dixon pencils: Dale Eaglesham

Batgirl (2000) takes a break from the usual creative team for a tie in to the Batman Crossover of the month, Officer Down. We've seen Eaglesham draw Cass a few times now & he's always solid. Dixon wrote for Cass back in Robin 73, which wasn't the best showing for her. Better this time, if more reliant on narration blocks than I'd like. Kind of odd that this is a 'tie in' rather than part of the story proper. Like they didn't want people to feel they had to buy this issue? I'd say it was a slight against Cass, except it's not like she was kept out of the rest of the crossover, she's in like half the issues.

But the fact that this issue is partially segregated from the rest of the crossover is convenient for me anyway, as it gives me an excuse to just look at this issue on its own this week, while next week we can bundle together the rest of Cass's appearances in the cross over.

Off the top, I have to say I really like the art in this issue. Eaglesham's fast cementing his place as my second favorite Cass artist. And not just because I like the way he draws Cass as Batgirl, but just, I mean, look at this page here, with all the details and personality packed into the scene. Kudos also to Jason Wright, the colorist for this issue, for really capturing this warm cozy homely interior, almost nostalgia-sepia-toned, while everything outside is cold and wet and blue. A single page that really captures Cassandra's isolation. At this point in her story she's basically living as Batgirl 24/7. No alter ego, no normal life, no friends. Not even really any connections apart from her somewhat fraught relationship with Barbara and her extra fraught relationship with Bruce. To see Cass on the outside looking in at the sort of connections that seem so impossibly distant, especially after the run in with her father last issue, it really works.

I also love these panels of Cass navigating Gotham, moving around like a shadow, often in the background or in silhouette. Bits like that convey the spookiness of this Batgirl a lot more than other artists who give her an angry face or emphasize the stitching on her mask or the like.

Love that panel of her rubbing her chin, thinky face clearly visible through the mask. Batman's out, so Cass decides to start investigating on her own. It's nice to see her doing the detective part of the bat-person vigilante job, rather than just leaving that part to Barbara, and Dixon does a good job of walking the reader through her thought process.

He is relying on narration blocks a bit more than I'd like, but he keeps them short and terse. Cass can talk now, but English is still a second language, and that comes across pretty well, imo. I was very critical of Dixons last showing with Cass, but he's honestly doing a solid job with her here, and as much as I don't care for them in general, I think the thought bubbles are helping. Some writers just have a hard time wrapping their heads around a non-verbal character. I'd imagine even just a little bit of language makes thing a world easier.

That said, not to beat a dead horse here, but with Cass speaking a few words here and there like this, they could have believably gotten her to this point through her own effort by studying with Barbara, no psychics required. Just saying.

I guess it hadn't really been decided how much Cass's new speaking ability had translated to reading yet? It seems from these panels that she can read at least a little, at least enough to recognize names and dates as such, which is more than she can do later on. But clearly she's not comfortable or adept enough at reading to get much out of the police files beyond Catwoman maybe being involved, and you can feel her frustration here when she abandons the papers to finally just go ask Babs for help.

Good stuff.

Of course, Babs isn't home either.

Again, I really like the way Eaglesham draws Cass. I like it more each time he shows up in this retrospective. Love little head tilt in the first panel, love the cape in the second panel there, very dracula-esque. Love that we can kind of see her face through the mask, makes her feel like a person.

Oh, you poor random doofus goons.

There's an ok fight scene at one of Selina's safehouse, albeit against no-name mooks. The panels are well drawn, the fight's perfectly readable, but it still feels pretty arbitrary, like hitting a minimum action quota for the issue.

Regardless, Selina isn't there, and the issue ends with Cass abandoning her solo efforts to go find the others.

As an event tie in the overall issue feels... pretty unnecessary. Nothing is really discovered, the story isn't advanced at all, nothing much happens. Makes sense that it wasn't an official part of the crossover, though you're left kind of wondering what the point was at all.

Even so, I kind of like the issue regardless. Eaglesham does a spectacular job with the art all the way through, and Dixon seems to have a much firmer handle on the character this time around. We get some solid panels of Cass trying to do some detective work on her own, something we rarely see, and the excellent bit early on of her flittering around through the city like a shadow. That sense of isolation from the first page really permeates the entire issue even if if the plot never touches on it, with Cass seeking out the only two people she really knows only for both of them to be out.

So yeah, even if nothing that happens in the issue really matters much, even if it doesn't really tell a stand alone story per se, I still like this one a lot.

[gerec]

Hi! Do you have recommendations for fics in which Charles is older than Erik？Extra kudos for Bottom!Charles

Thank you in advance, and thank you for all the amazing cherik fics esp the hooot porns :-))

Hi Anon! Sorry for the delay it's been a little crazy this week :D

I think the combination of older/bottom!Charles might be this fandom's unicorn lol. BUT these are all amazing fics with older Charles that I hope you enjoy!

Give me your stars to hold by pearl_o

Charles returns home from college and figures out why Erik has been so distant since he’s been away.

Counting Bodies like Sheep (To the Rhythm of War Drums) by cm (mumblemutter)

Erik was born broken, their father always told Charles.

Wind and Words by velvetcadence

Lord Charles of House Xavier has been out-manipulated by Queen Emma into a marriage with her cousin. Still, there are worse fates than having to wed a handsome child.

Casual Encounters by SharpestScalpel

Charles is a busy professor in his 30s - busy enough that a craigslist casual encounter is really the only way he's going to get laid any time soon.

Erik is a 19-year-old virgin with an internet connection and no social skills.

Letters for His Majesty by motleystitches (furius)

When Charles the Gentle, King of Westchester, was nineteen years old, he killed a man named Shaw and rescued a boy he gave to the MacTaggerts’ to raise. Twenty years later, he has almost forgotten the incident. With a wife he loves as a sister, no heir, and a war going badly, Charles falls quickly and inappropriately in love with the knight Erik Lehnsherr.

wait (they don’t love you like I love you)

Charles is a bad guy (head of some shady criminal organization) and Erik is the kid that grew up in his household (his mother is the help? so they maybe live in the servant’s quarters). Anyway Charles likes Erik a lot and assumes that when Erik grows up he will end up working for Charles (maybe he recognizes some violent streak of potential in Erik). Only then Erik decides, while Charles is away on some sort of shady business deal overseas, to go away to college. So obviously Charles has to go and drag Erik back because Erik is his and his alone.

David's Dad (Has Got it Going On) by afrocurl

Charles doesn't know what to do with the crush his son's best friend, Erik, has on him. At least not until Erik all but forces himself into Charles' lap one night.

An Arrangement of Soulmates by Fullmetalcarer

King Charles III of House Xavier gazed at the painting of his betrothed. Strong jaw, wide, thin lipped yet sensual mouth, straight nose, high cheekbones, intense grey-green eyes, short auburn hair.

tonight is all we need by Oxsa05

Erik has just come of age and soon will be trapped in an arranged marriage against his will. Before losing some of his freedom, he wants one night for himself so he can fulfill his true desires. Charles, an expert and famous prostitute, will make sure Erik has a lovely evening and forget about his troubles for a while, giving him everything he asks for.

Machine of a Heart by traumschwinge

Thirteen years ago, when he was just recovering from an incident during one of his deployments, Logan met Dr Charles Xavier. Dr Xavier, who'd just decided that Logan, while still unconscious, was perfect to try some physical improvements as a proof of concept for the large military project he was, back then, co-heading. Now, Logan's mostly a spy, tangled up in whatever mess Charles and his superiors think necessary to involve him with. It doesn't matter that Logan has feelings, about Charles' project, about Charles himself, about just altering other people's bodies without their consent. What'll matter soon, however, is stopping some harebrained weapons manufacturer from causing the consumption of the entire biomass on planet Earth.

twenty four hours from tulsa by intentation

After having self-emancipated (aka run away), Erik's been holing up in a shitty motel while he figures out his next step. When Charles Xavier moves into the room just down the hall, Erik discovers his new favorite pastime: sex.

Drunk Night, Sobering Days by issabella

Erik is drunk, naked - and standing in the kitchen of Charles Xavier.

Yet what comes easy to do and say while drunk to the gorgeous man with the blue eyes, seems suddenly filled with awkwardness the next morning. Erik feels like a fool though the proverbial silence is golden is not always the best advice, especially if one is quickly developing a crush.

How Prof. Shaw’s Grammar Nazi Ways Got Me Laid and Helped Me Find True Love by jasminetea

Charles is a professor. Erik is a student. They meet through Craigslist.

[finitefall]

“Rhaenyra passing off her bastards as legitimate is wrong.” Okay should she abandon her own children to be openly dehumanised and mistreated to the extreme then ? “But she shouldn't have had them in the first place.” Why is Rhaenyra supposed to accept having her body and life policed ? “She is breaking the law.” Laws that treat women like chattel and natural children like subhumans are meant to be broken.

Funny thing about those saying Rhaenyra broke the law: there's no actual law about adultery in Westeros, even though it's considered a sin, especially by the Faith of the Seven of course. So those people are saying religion is the same thing as law. This doesn't mean it's not dangerous for a woman, that she can't be punished: we have examples in ASOIAF History. But there's no actual specific law about adultery. I checked once, it was about Cersei if I remember well. Even though the religion in King's Landing is the Faith of the Seven, Rhaenyra never followed it. So religion is definitely playing a role in the argument that Rhaenyra broke the law, shaming her and giving kudos to Alicent at the same time because she was a follower of the Faith.

They do blame Rhaenyra for having children with another man than her husband. They're even saying it's her fault if Jace, Luke and Joff could have been in danger instead of being the fault of the people saying they were bastards, that she's the one who put their lives in danger by having them in the first place. So, either they wanted her to force Laenor to keep having sex with her until they had children (because the rape of a gay man would have been less problematic... I'm gonna vomit), either they wanted her to not have sex at all. You know what? I think deep down, even if they blame her for having sex with Harwin, they also wish she didn't have the opportunity to have children if she didn't have sex with anyone, in the hope that Viserys would change his mind about Rhaenyra being his Heir. If she couldn't have children, everyone would have had another reason to tell the King to name another Heir, a reason he couldn't have ignored like the rumors of the legitimacy of her children.

They're still hell bent on the fact that Jace, Luke and Joff were bastards. She had to lie about their father to protect them and herself (they obviously don't realize or care about the danger they would have faced if Viserys, as King, had decided to give credit to what Alicent and others were saying), but she didn't lie when she said they weren't bastards. Their last name was Velaryon. King's Landing being the capital of the Crownlands, bastards from there have the last name Waters (like Gendry). It's really as simple as that: since Laenor recognized the three boys as his sons, they're not bastards.