#post battle make out

[pursuitseternal]

“Relenting:” a romantic💞 update to ETL Astarion x Tav (OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x F! (OC) | E | 4.7K of angst and kisses

Summary: At the end of another long day, Cordehlia seeks a moment of isolation, only to have the source of her agony ask her for a bite. Same old pains resurface, same old ambition for power in his crimson eyes. Only trouble is, after a falling out, he hasn’t returned…. And there are more monsters in this forest than a charming Vampire Spawn…

CW: angst, self-loathing, fight, flashbacks, anxiety, some mildly graphic violence against werewolves, “first” kiss, post battle make out, cockblocking companions…

Previous Chapter | AO3 link | AstarionMasterlist

Chapter 4: “Relenting”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Hag destroyed. Tiefling allies made. A few goblins killed… more supplies for the camp, more loot for everyone’s pockets. Cordehlia turned the day over in her mind as they threw together a ragtag place to rest. Most of her companions were too tired to pitch a tent, settling for a bedroll under the stars of the Grove.

But not him. Oh no, he took every tedious care to set his abode just as he liked it. Just as he saw fit. Cordehlia shook her head, amused and irritated in equal measure. Her companions consulted one another around the fire, their plans for infiltrating the Goblin camp tomorrow… finding the Archdruid that was demanded. It would be another grueling day tomorrow.

Her elven sensibilities grated on her with how dirty she was, silently she grabbed a carafe of water and a rag, fishing out a bar of soap she had found among the Tieflings today. At last. Supplies and clean linens, a change of clothes in hand, she left without a word.

Night crept in as she did the same, stalking to the edge of camp so as not to draw attention. Eager to wash the grime and blood from her skin.

She hurried, not wanting to get caught again by prying eyes. She laughed at the memory.

If only he knew… if only he remembered the eery and striking resemblance to what set them on their path to engagement. Being caught lusting after her… all those years of fondness and flirtation as youth suddenly solidified as the truth of his feelings came forward. Prominently. No denying it after being caught with his hand down his pants, that veil of dramatic pretense finally slipping away.

Sighing, she scrubbed her skin, letting the light clean scent of the soap reground her. It was enough for now. She smiled just a bit, assured and proud of herself that he still wanted her. For all the centuries of torment they both endured, she still made him… long. Long for her.

And long and hard.

She giggled to herself. But the sight of her dirty, rust-colored skin, stained with the results of her violence sobered her.

She was not that innocent She-elf. Nor was he that confident, devious, charming Elf lordling that set his sights on her.

He couldn’t even remember her.

She could barely remember herself anymore.

Washing in silence, the weight of her suffering grew with every swipe of the clean cloth over her skin. It should be making her feel free. Cleansed. But instead, she only watched as the once pure water ran stained as it touched her.

Corrupted.

Ruined.

Vicious.

She hastily threw on the clean tunic and breeches, and even with all the torment she struggled to fight back down inside her, it did feel good to be clean.

In her body if not her soul.

Footsteps approached. And she hurriedly grabbed her soiled clothes, dumping out the basin and wringing out the wash cloth.

“There you are…” that silken voice purred from the edge of camp. Astarion ran his eyes over her, the scent of soap and cleanliness hitting him strong. “Feeling better are we?” His smirk turned the corner of his mouth, that ravenous glint in his eyes as he pulled out another little bottle of ruby potion for her. “I thought you might give me a hand…” he drew near, “or a wrist, or a neck…” then he whispered right into the curves of her pointed ear. “Or a thigh, if your blood is running hot like mine.”

“Is this your ask every fucking night?” she snapped.

His eyes went wide. Mouth tweaking just a hint in surprise at her instant rage.

Good.

“Your blood might be hot, but not as I was hoping,” he couldn’t help the tease. But as he watched her face only growing redder, he softened. “Sorry, I… you’re not feeling better. Ahem…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I can just…”

She gave a feral growl, tugging up the sleeve of her shirt, balling her hand into a fist and shoving it in his face. “Here, be quick. Tomorrow will be grueling. Bloody. Another list of victims to add to my count, I would imagine.”

“Victims?” he queried, his voice gentle, almost as gentle as the way he caught her rigid arm in his hands and set it back down at her side. “What is going on, Cordehlia?”

She said nothing, only hissing breath from her mouth as she looked at her feet.

“You were glorious today you know, righteous…” he purred at her, his hand slowly stroking the bared skin of her arm. “No one looks so delicious covered in blood. Well,” he taunted with a dark little laugh, “maybe except for me.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I wasn’t meant to be this…” swallowing, she tried to pull from his touch. But he held firm. “I wasn’t meant to be blood-spattered and reckless. Violent and sadder and wiser. You were. You always were impetuous and rash and devious.”

Her body went numb. Chilled except for the feeling of his hand on her skin and the raging heartache that tore through her chest. He just let her stay beside him, his hand around her arm a steady tether keeping her present.

“Well,” he cleared his voice, all that honey in his tones gone, nothing but softness and the gentle rasp of his low tones in his throat, “you’re not alone you know, that feeling of being made into something against your will.”

The devastation in his voice drew her attention, meeting those dark red eyes, usually so exacting and seductive now wide and worried.

“We can even compare notes if you like, which would be easier if I could remember more…”

She swallowed that burning lump in her throat.

“But, for what it’s worth, as another being thrown into the darkness and made to do horrid, unspeakable things against my will… I am glad I’m not alone.” Those full lips of his tweaked slightly into a smile. “Not anymore.”

Gods, her face was soft in the moonlight. Bathed and glowing, and strangely familiar. Was she looking at him with longing on purpose? Were her lips trembling to catch his attention, bidding him to stay them with his own?

Her eyes began to flutter, and every muscle in her arm in his grasp clenched in expectation.

Until she took a deep breath, shaking her long red hair. “I…” she withdrew. “I am not myself right now,” she mumbled. “I need food, rest… all this business with the tadpoles, finding the Goblins, rescuing the Druid… it’s a bit much.”

“It is,” Astarion smiled. Holding his place. Letting her sway on her toes, undecided if she should stay or leave. Undecided if she should kiss him, by the way those lips twitched and puckered.

She looked down where his hand hung, the one that had just held her gently, that cool chill of his touch… He had given her something so small, so insignificant. Swallowing, she realized it was only fair she returned the favor.

So, she held up her wrist. “I need you strong, so feed, my vampire,” she whispered. “And be quick.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled, caressing his fingers along the pinpricked skin of her arm to press her to his mouth. He looked into her face, expecting her to shut her eyes tight, bracing for the piercing pain of his bite.

But those silver eyes just stared back. Her breath was quick, her eyes dark as they dilated to watch his mouth on her flesh. That ivory of her complexion grew flush, just a kiss of blush on the crest of her cheeks.

His hunger took hold, that scent of her skin so close, the pull of her blood so strong. He bit, sharply and quickly, letting his lips and tongue do the rest. Drinking her down, as all the while, she watched. Licking her own lips as her blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Forcing shaky breath after shaky breath from her lungs, hiding it from him with her silence.

She looked so… radiant, it made something inside his undead heart shift. And what was more, she had called him hers, her vampire…

He lifted his mouth, pressing the potion of healing into her palm. “Here, a little something for the effort from your grateful vampire,” he teased.

A weak smile twitched on her lips as she downed the bottle. “Little something for a massive effort. Each day seems to just be more. More cures that don’t work, more puzzles and people who need help… more mysteries and unanswered questions. These tadpoles aren’t going to remove themselves…”

“Well,” he stepped into her path. That wry look on his face. Calculating and cunning. It made her stomach sink, for she had seen it so often before. “I know you’re working hard to fix these little tadpoles of ours, but you have to admit… there is potential here.”

“Potential for what, exactly?” she cocked her chin. “Power? Influence? Control?”

“Well, yes, naturally.” He raised that brow, a flick of his wrist.

Cordehlia just shook her head. Some raging disbelief darkening her face and she hung her head low.

“Look, all I am saying is that we know there are many others under this influence, instead of removing them… what if… we found a way of controlling them… and those who possess them?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Her voice fell soft. Sharp and cold. “You would like it so much, you would choose it above everything.”

“Above you,” he snapped, “you mean?”

Oh that little spitfire, she squared her shoulders and parted her legs. Her eyes narrowed with all the resolve she mustered. “Forgive me if my memory is intact, that I remember the consequences of your obsession with making a name for yourself… or to find a way to influence others to your benefit…”

“That was it, wasn’t it? The thing you accuse me of for leaving you… not that I can remember,” he snapped, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “So eager to keep me with you always isn’t that right, darling?” he gave that low, rumbling chuckle. “What if controlling these tadpoles was the way for us to be together for eternity? We know so very little, perhaps they grant us powers beyond even our ability to rip into the minds of others…. Long life? Power? Wealth? A way for me to kill my old master?”

“What if it causes loss and despair and heartache and death?” She hissed in reply. “What if it hurts others more than you could ever fathom, even if you finally got your head out of your…”

“Tch,” he interrupted, his own temper beginning to flame. “I have the feeling we aren’t discussing the same thing….”

Cordehlia scoffed, trying to push past him, but he slid effortlessly into her path again. “Let me pass,” she hissed.

“Not until you admit it. You’re angry with me, and I have a feeling we aren’t discussing anything related to these tadpoles at all…”

“You want to know? You want to know?” she panted. Her face now red with rage.

She closed her eyes, drawing upon the tadpole’s power inside them both as their minds smashed together.

“It won’t take me long,” Astarion grinned from atop his horse. “First, a few months study, then a career in the Magistrate’s office. I’ll have a name, influence, wealth, I’ll have it all…” He grinned wider, reaching a hand down to the She-elf beneath him. Her red hair dancing in the breeze, her silver eyes brimming with love, and desire, and longing. It made his heart full and his groin ache. “We’ll have it all, my love.”

“You know, I would wed you if you had nothing more than your charming good looks and the clothes on your back,” she smirked, grabbing his hand. “Of course those would most likely quickly end in a pile on the ground…”

“Vixen,” he purred, leaning over to place his lips on her fingers. So soft and warm and familiar. “Only a little time until that may happen… a few months perhaps. A blink of the eye for our kind. And then, we will wed. And you,” he gave her that same rakish leer that made her stomach flutter and her thighs hot, “you, Cordehlia Ancunín will be the toast of Baldur’s Gate, my bride.”

“It does sound rather nice,” she gripped his hand, running her thumb across the back of his hands, knowing the way every muscle, every vein raised in his pale skin. “The name… and the fame.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

The scene grew hazy… blurred as if she kept him from seeing, from hearing every detail. Just the galloping of hooves and the sight of him riding into the woods.

Then it was only her… standing in the road. A different day, a different dress. Her body was wrapped tight in white furs. The snow crunched under her feet, shaded by the barren trees.

She looked up the road. Shivering as she clutched her fur cloak tighter. Her hands trembled, but she held tight to something… letters, a thick stack in her palm. She was waiting. Again. For anything. For him.

Until the wind tore down the path, ripping every paper from her frozen fingers faster than she could scream and cry and chase after them.

Gone.

She had nothing now. Only a cleft of loneliness in her heart. The chill of winter, the death of her hope. The shiver of her body, the warmth of her love dispersing forever.

He was gone.

She released him. Her eyes filled with hot tears, but she wouldn’t blink. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying over him again. Not again.

Not to his face.

Before he could even open his eyes, she ran up the path and into the camp.

He was gone. Again. Or still. It was time for the night watch, and still he was away. Cordehlia’s heart raced, but from worry or just raw hurt, she wasn’t certain.

The only thing that made her feel slightly less worried was that Karlach had watched him take his daggers into the forest… grumbling about going hunting. It wasn’t much, but it was at least a direction he was spotted and a purpose.

But even as the company sat around the fire, her stomach turned blackly sour. It felt familiar. Him leaving. Her waiting. The old thrum of anxiety and not knowing….

She shook it off for now. He was no Magistrate, no elfling, he wasn’t even young anymore. He was a Vampire. More deadly than the vast majority of things in the woods.

It made her mind wander, her mouth waiting to speak until there was a break in the conversation amongst them. She turned to look at the human, the newest member of their band. “You were raised in Baldur’s Gate, were you not, Wyll?”

“Indeed,” he flashed that gentlemanly grin at her. “Son of the Duke, no less, though I obviously was promised for a different path…” He meant all that he had become too, Blade of Frontiers, warlock bound in service. Monster hunter.

“Do you know of Cazador Szarr?”

The question hung in the air, and by the weight in her voice, everyone grew silent. Heavy. Each surmising at least the source of such a wondering.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Can’t say that I have. But I haven’t been in the city since I was a youth. Is he new?”

Her eyes grew sad as she turned back to look into the fire. “I doubt it,” she murmured.

“I have heard,” Gale’s gentle voice slid right in to fill the quiet. “Patriarch of the Szarr family, centuries old and steeped in nasty business, if the rumors are true…”

“They probably are, if I knew of them.” She breathed. Unable to look into those kind eyes.

“I’m not surprised, Wyll Ravenguard, that you have no notion of them in your own city. They lurk in the shadows, nefarious as they come. Why, it’s rumored that he’s centuries old, some gift of immortality…”

Silence from the She-elf made him continue, even as she gave no reaction.

“…they also suspect he’s at the center of abductions, murders, missing persons…”

Still silence.

“… the boldest call him Vampire, his victims, those missing…”

“There is a wisdom in being bold,” she finally breathed.

Wyll’s eyes went wide. For someone new, he was clearly observant. “Your vampire rogue… you don’t mean…”

“It would be easier to confirm if he were here,” she snapped, raising her head to gaze into the shadows beyond their camp.

Gale scooted through the grass, closer to speak just to Cordehlia. “You know, if Astarion is Cazador’s spawn, there is danger. A master that powerful won’t stop looking for something that is his… And from what I’ve read, true vampires have such powers… turning to mist, flying, calling legions of were…”

A sharp howl pierced the quiet of the woods.

“…wolves…” Gale finished his thought as he leapt to his feet.

Cordehlia jumped, racing in the direction of the sound, managing to grab her blade and dagger as she sprinted.

Her heart pounded, every instinct in her elven body hummed to life, her quick feet and perfect balance launching her through the dark woods. Her battle intuition was on fire, following the scent of blood in the air, hoping it was from Astairon’s kill and not the Pale Elf himself.

Whatever it is, it was just ahead now. The ringing of a blade against… something denser than metal. The growling of many voices. And the grunt of one rogue, fighting for his life by the sound of it. Cordehlia drew her weapons, breaking into the clearing. No thoughts, just pure bloodlust and rage clouding her vision in crimson. Her blade tasted flesh, burying into matted grey fur. The beast howled, a death rattle as it fell to the forest floor.

All eyes turned on the now bloodied warrior, three more werewolves salivating with their glowing yellow eyes. But it was the look of pure, sheer relief on Astarion’s face that made her whole body spark and thrill.

He was alive.

And he was smiling. Feral, wild, relieved.

Cordehlia leapt over the carcass, facing the beasts, her vampire rogue at the ready at her side.

They moved as one, fluid and smooth and elegant, even as the creatures fell and spurted their streams of blood with each slice and stab the elves made. They were slow, lumbering and snapping, slashing their claws to try to block their shining blades.

But even three wolves were no match for their speed and stealth and deadly aim. With one last stab, Astarion buried his blade into the last werewolf’s neck, pulling it out to wipe it clean on the dark fur of its body.

Crodehlia stood, breath heaving, wiping her blade clean too on the nearest fallen monster.

She could feel the intensity of his stare on her back, but she wasn’t ready to face him. The question on her tongue burned too much. “Did Cazador send them for you?” she whispered, the silence of the woods falling back around them.

“Yes,” he gave that single reply. His throat bobbed up and down as he looked at her. His breath still ragged. Rough. Loud. “I thought that was it… I thought I would be taken… and then you…”

Silence. Just his breath whistling.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name with her own trembling voice.

He broke, descending on her, hands clutching around her head, pulling her lips against his. So rigid, as he kissed her, the moment their lips met, every part of her body softened. Melted. Molding into his. Relenting. Astarion couldn’t pull her close enough, and the way she tugged at him, hands pressed into his lower back, something just felt… right.

Familiar.

She was so tender… the taste of her kiss covering his tongue. And he ate it up, like one starved. Maybe he was. Maybe there was more he hungered for than blood. Than living blood.

Than her blood.

And she… that… vixen… met his hunger in equal measure. Stroke for stroke. Lick for lick. Her tongue dove between his lips. And those lips, he couldn’t get enough of their supple pucker between his own.

Gods, they had done this before. For all his mind had forgotten, his body remembered.

Remembered it well.

Her hands pressed him harder into her belly, and even without her blood in his veins, he could feel it. That fullness, that drive igniting in his goin at the way she drew herself along every inch of him.

Wanting him.

Her hands gripped into his shirt, brushing against his ass.

It was pure instinct; the override of his body, so natural and feral of a drive as his hands swept to her shirt. The collar was so flimsy, just a thin piece of fabric over her lithe, little body. It was so easy to grip and rip, the fabric giving way almost as willingly as she did. For the fearsome warrior she was, she put up no fight. Leaning in as his cold touch traced over her shoulder, caressing and adoring the swell of her breast in his palm. So easy, pressing her to retreat, her kiss keeping him bound to her, leading him until her back slammed again at a tree.

And then, she moaned. Nothing hidden or held at bay. The sound of her pure, wanton desire.

All her ferocity, her ice, her anger… gone. Relenting at last to reveal the fire inside her for him. Bright as her hair, brilliant as the lights in her eyes. Her own hands explored his body, more hesitantly.

Making him chuckle into her ravenous mouth. “Courage, my darling, you won’t hurt me. I won’t bite…” he laughed again, “unless you want…”

“Yes, Gods, yes,” she panted. The same intensity in battle now trained on him, fingers flying through the claps of his doublet, pushing it open from the curve of his shoulder.

Which he was more than willing to give her aid doing to let it tumble behind them. She breathed his name again, her voice shaking as her fingers finally explored beneath his shirt. The warm caress of her touch melting even the undead chill of his skin.

She clung to him with all the strength of her soul, desperate, fearful, relieved. The centuries of her waiting and longing finally giving way to him. Relenting to him, and the love she no longer could deny.

Somehow, he knew everything about her, with no memory to guide him. His fingers traced her cheek, that subtle rise hot to the touch as he stroked into her hair. A slight grip into the back of her head to angle her higher, making her mouth open all the more for him to plunder, a gasp that stole his breath as she moved so willingly at his command.

“You… remember…” she mouthed the words, her lips too busy to speak properly, not with the way his tongue tangled with hers.

But it was rent apart.

The crack of a branch, the crunch of leaves underfoot. It caught both their sensitive ears, making them freeze.

Hearts racing now for different reasons.

Cordehila tried to catch her breath, eyeing the pure carnage they had wreaked. “Foolish,” she chided herself, pushing him off her, finding her blades in the bloodied dirt. “That was foolish,” she hissed with wide eyes.

Astarion followed suit to find his own daggers, fighting hard to ignore the way her slightly torn blouse revealed the gapped swell of her breasts.

Gods, they looked divine. Milkwhite and full. He could still feel them in his hand.

It took all his effort to shake the lust from his head, tossing his silver curls as he tried to scan the distance for more danger.

They stood, ready, waiting, primed to kill again.

Until Gale burst into the clearing, Karlach right on his tail. “You’re alive!” she bellowed, pure joy in her breathless voice. “When you didn’t come back we thought you…” Her brows furrowed as she took into the sight of the fight. At the four dead and hairy bodies strewn about in the night. Silent as she turned her flaming head.

“Tried to come for you, he did?” Gale stating the obvious as the magical glow from his hands faded at the lack of a threat.

“I’m afraid there will be more where they came from,” Astarion sneered, that sarcastic humor lilting in his voice. “Cazador never kept pets before… other than us poor slaves, his spawn. These mindless servants are new… conjured to find me, to bring me back to…”

He shook and sputtered.

Cordehlia placed a hand on his arm. Even with them watching, in the sight of her band of fighters. Instantly, his body calmed. “We dispatched them before anyone could lay a claw on our Rogue.”

“So you can see, your little rescue was very… poorly timed…” Astarion grinned, sour and taunting as he resheathed his weapons.

He could feel the little shakes of Cordehlia’s silent laughter beside him. Gods, was that how close she was standing?

“Must have been a true battle, soldier,” Karlach's eyes went wide. “Your shirt is torn…” Then those glowing eyes rested on Astarion, equally disrobed and disarrayed. “Oh…”

She let the suspicion glance right off her, unshakable vixen she was. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle, but I am grateful for the reinforcements all the same,” she smiled back.

They all began walking back in haste to camp, Gale muttering about putting up protective wards tonight in case there were more in the woods. Hiding Astarion’s scent.

But it was that vampire rogue who insisted on following so closely on Cordehlia’s heels, she was the one who could smell him. “Grateful, are you? For the untimely help of that limp Wizard and the fire girl?”

“Grateful they care enough about us to come and help,” she replied, that same steady coldness in her voice. “You should be grateful too.”

“I’m sure you understand my reasons if I haven’t relented from irritation to find such gratitude yet…” he hissed, voice dripping with that seeping seduction. His hand catching hers where it swung freely at her side.

And she let him. Fingers interlocking for that moment. The warmth of her touch sending that now-familiar ache for more coursing through his body.

They walked that way to the edge of camp, their fingers lightly connected, their little secret behind their companions back, out of sight.

She only shook off his touch when they could finally spy the circle of light. Their campfire.

He glanced towards his tent, raising his brow at that humble little pallet in the cold. “You sure you want to sleep in the cold, darling?”

“What?” she taunted, folding her arms. “Would you rather I sleep with something cold?”

“Well,” he purred. His brows wriggled, raising and twisting in that voracious leer. “I do still get so chilled in the dark. Might be nice to cuddle up with something warm…”

“Goodnight,” she grinned, slyly and unrelentingly. “With Gale’s wards, you really should rest after that experience.”

“I’d rather… relive that experience…”

Her eyes flickered nervously, scanning around the camp. Her throat bobbed. Her face tweaking, as if her lips wanted his on them again.

Then she just gave him a warm smile, subtle. Inviting. “Goodnight, darling…” she purred back at him before crossing to her little bedroll.

“You know,” he called after her, keeping his distance as hard as it was. “After today, after how you leapt into the dark to … to help me, to find me, I hope you can see it is a strength for you to be so vicious, ruthless, and blood spattered. It’s what saved me…”

Her smile widened, her lips tweaking, definitely fighting the urge to kiss him now. Again. But she turned and departed for her bed. Alone.

Astarion could only shake his head and groan, a sigh of discontentment. But at least he knew he would maybe dream about the softness of her body than the glare of the wolves sent to hunt him down.

And for that, he was grateful.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dungeon Meshi: Delicious in RPG!

(Sprites + bonus art here!)

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Danny is just a kid ya know? Like he is just a little guy. A baby really. 14? Tiny child! Look at him, he needs to be protected. Someone has to help this poor little dude. I mean he forgets to use his own powers to avoid attacks all the time.

Anyway cut to Batfam not knowing all of Dannys power set cause the lil dingus keeps forgetting he can do that stuff in the heat of battle.

Danny uses his invisibility all the time… to avoid being followed. But in a fight? Oopsies hes too busy thinking of funny one liners to realise he could do that.

Intangibility? Give the guy a break. I mean who calls themselves condiment king. Even he was stunned.

He so rarely actually uses his biggest advantage powers that the League doubt he actually has them. He, like any naive child, trusts them and reported fully on his power set. Instead of just asking him to demonstrate his powers they instead start watching him and try to find evidence of his powers.

At least they know duplication was true since they watched him make a copy of himself to go to the bathroom and not miss any of his fav tv show.

[deoidesign]

Idk who needs to hear this but time and time again isn't over!!!

Webtoon removed the "time and time again will return!!!" Banner and I don't know why, but it's not over!!! There's still another 1/3 of the comic to go! There's a lot more stuff that I'm working on and it'll be coming back soon!

Please be patient with me, I know it's been a long time... But the stuff I'm making is really good and there's a lot of reasons it's taken this long. I promise I want it back more than anyone.

I'm trying to come back around the end of October. I'm doing my best to get everything ready in time, so no promises, but I'm on track to do so! I'm just one person writing and drawing everything, and my editor was fired so I'm not even getting any notes anymore. It's literally just me. I'm doing my best I promise!

[violent138]

HC that Crime Lord Red Hood routinely donates medical equipment, money, and well-trained black market medics (formerly employed by gang leaders he took down) to Leslie's clinic. He's also obsessive about updating or improving the generators at the clinic and wears her down in a way that Batman couldn't.

[deserthusbands]

obi-wan, approaching cody who sat, propped against what he thinks is part of the at-te's leg, battered and bloody, placing a gentle hand on his arm: you did well out there, cody.

cody, grimacing but chuckling: ‘e couldn't have done it without you, general.

obi-wan: oh, i did the easy part.. the difference in appearance really proves that, hm?

cody: mmf.

obi-wan: we need to get you to the medic, my dear.. helix won't be pleased to see either of us again, but you won't be getting away with walking this one off.

cody, managing a small pained smile: yes, general.. permission to rest?

obi-wan, fondly, and ever so gently pressing a kiss to the clones forehead: permission granted.. you deserve it.

[turtleblogatlast]

I like to think that Leo one day decides to really play around with his portaling and teleportation abilities and see the full extent of them.

Like - continuously throwing one sword and teleporting to it while throwing the next one immediately and repeating this as long as he can to see how far he can keep it up without stopping.

Making little portals in the air that lead right up against the ground so he could potentially just stand on the portal in the middle of the sky.

Ultimate storage system - anything anywhere at any time is available if he knows where to get it (personally my headcanon for why he goes from two satchels to one in the movie.)

Phasing to avoid attacks - like, he could lightly toss a sword a single centimeter and teleport to it, and in that short amount of time he can completely avoid hits.

If they ever do go to space and end up on different planets, with enough training he can just…go there, whenever. Not only would this be great for being well traveled and having more places to go in general, but this also opens up more room for connections and allies that could assist them the next time they need help against a grand foe.

Leo can easily remove injured team members from a fight and get them help without having to account for transportation times.

On that note - Leo’s teleportation in particular acts on a particle level. It’s quite literally breaking him down into particles and remaking him every time he uses it. Both for him and for anyone he uses it on. Who’s to say it can’t be used for healing? At least for basic wounds.

None of this even touches upon the offensive potential of both portals and teleportation. Leo’s abilities flourish more as a support main, but that doesn’t mean those abilities can’t easily be used as weapons - and I don’t think I need to get into how exactly they can be. Portal chopping alone can take on a very different meaning…

Furthermore, I gotta wonder if he’ll always need the swords for this, or if he could one day be able to achieve the same results without them.

My point being - teleportation and portals are super OP. Even with the abilities Leo has in present they are so unbelievably adaptable and so fun to think about in terms of basic mechanics.

[brethilach]

I'm kinda scared to post this but it feels really bad being an actual schizophrenic person and looking at how people treat Thorin and talk about his "goldsickness" as if it's a moral failing. It hurts especially when people say or imply that his (psychosis-induced) actions wouldn't or shouldn't be forgiven by any of his family, friends, or his people and he wouldn't be accepted as King even if/when they discovered he only acted the way he did because he was just... y'know. mentally ill. Temporarily, at that! Because it was caused by a factor that can be permanently removed (the Arkenstone, I mean. It's painfully clear that the Arkenstone was the cause of it in the movies' canon)

"Oh, maybe his SICKNESS was caused by a magic jewel that is clearly cursed somehow, but it was still HIS fault that he was INSANE (never mind that he was actively delusional and hallucinating). He still loved and trusted Bilbo in the throes of his MADNESS, so it MUST have been a true reflection of his SELFISH DESIRE and GREED." This is how some of you sound.

It's even worse when people do the same thing to Frodo (even though both the book and movies depict him having delusions and hallucinations/visions akin to hallucinations, on top of all the other horrific things happening to him). "haha Frodo almost dies a dozen times and everyone else does all the heavy lifting just for him to STILL fail at the end. Sam was the TRUE hero of the story because Frodo was a useless whiny sad-sack and would have accomplished NOTHING without him" fuck you fuck you fuck you

I don't know where else to go with this. It just makes me question how some of you would treat me if you met me or knew what I experience on a day to day basis. It feels bad

[slavonicrhapsody]

the idea that radahn made a plan with miquella that malenia would kill him so miquella could resurrect his soul or whatever straight up does not make sense to me because if your entire plan hinges on radahn dying then why would you have him and malenia fight a battle where there is in fact a chance where radahn could win and/or not die. and guess what happens

[omaano]

Big Blue joins The Mandalorian Meets Hades Project!

[skitskatdacat63]

I think a lot about this painting that was, presumably, given to Fernando at the 2012 Japanese Grand Prix, which there is just zero explanation for it, other than these pics:

Where is it now????? It better be hanging up in a place of honor in one of his houses istg!

But what makes this better is that after he crashed out from that race, he tweeted a samurai quote 😭 I like to imagine him just nonsensically mumbling samurai quotes while staring at this painting in despair

[akemi-snow]

KakaIru + Those Four Guys From Naruto

I'll assume you've seen the original versions with the canon couples. (I'd link it but have no idea what the OG really is). Now it's the gae version.

[oneshotgremlin]

Up and Down

Thoughts on how beings generally perceive their world one spatial dimension lower than the dimensionality of the space they inhabit:

In the flatlands, the way people perceive the world around them is through lines, and so visual receptors HAVE to be on the edges of their shapes

Otherwise by all accounts the person would be effectively blind

So Mrs.Red and Mr.Blue have this strange yellow boy

Who appears to be born with no eyes

(It’s directly in his center, but without tests and doctors nobody can see it)

And for all intents and purposes, the boy is blind

He has to feel his way around buildings and people (in his hand a black cane that his parents bought to aid him)

And he doesn’t know what his parents look like, and only knows them by their voice as they guide him

They love him all the same, regardless

(Meanwhile, he stares up at the infinite expanse of the night sky. But the thing about infinity is that it makes where you stand so infinitesimally tiny in comparison, and no matter how far you run side to side the stars do not move an inch for you. And if they’re all someone sees, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn is that where they are is unspeakably, claustrophobically small)

(It doesn’t matter if the kids at school bully him and the adults look at him with pity and disdain that he can’t even see, because don’t they know how SMALL they are? Don’t they know how small EVERYTHING is?)

And so, with years and years and nowhere else to go, Bill reaches UP

(And no-one else has tried before, because why would they? There is no up or down to conceive, only forwards and backwards and left and right.)

It takes unimaginable amounts of energy to punch a rift into a dimension. In a time and space unmeasurably far away, a six fingered man and his five fingered twin would learn that lesson well

In the flatlands, it’s less of an interdimensional portal looming ominously in a metal room and more of a calculation

l is for length. w is for width. h is for height

And like a computer told to divide by zero, everything falls apart

Did you know that when energetic particles that erupt from the stars collide with a sufficiently nitrogen rich atmosphere, it produces the color blue?

Did you know the only reason the flatlanders didn’t drift off into the freezing cold yet boiling hot void of space, despite not having a planet with the volume and mass needed to produce a gravitational field, is their dimension’s lack of third dimensionality?

Like insects pinned underneath glass, yet the glass protected their corpses from falling apart?

They scream. He cries. He laughs. They die.

It’s an old saying: “When gravity falls and earth becomes sky beware the beast with just one eye”

And when little Billy looks away from the stars, looks down to finally see his tiny, minuscule home

For the first and last time, he sees a blue triangle with a hat, and a red triangle with a bow.

[sesamenom]

maglor's first time getting to go to a concert / his favorite singer attending maglor's first big concert

[genericpuff]

when were y'all gonna tell me about persephone, the poodle webkinz who runs a shop that's pretty much exclusively for rich people-

i need to make it clear that the irony here is not lost on me LOL

what's even better is the comment section which is a mixed bag of praise and "fuck you persephone for hating poor people" criticisms and again, thE IRONY SHOULD NOT BE LOST ON US HERE-

this has literally nothing to do with LO and yet it makes me laugh so fucking hard to see a whole ass other niche and specific fandom embroiled in criticism regarding a pink depiction of persephone who they deem to be a snobby diva

d-

do you think-

do you think this is what rachel's been referencing the whole time when she keeps having the male characters in LO brag about persephone's pedigree-

[rolandkaros]

forever hilarious to me that tennis is promoted as this prestigious highbrow big-brain sport when most tennis fans these days are like. yeah this is my favorite player. yeah i don't know why they're like that. yes they are stupid. no i will not choose somebody else.