#thank you naomi!!

[sistertonin]

Deadly Glow? Glowing Deadly? Pretty Glowy?

[brotherconstant]

THE EXPANSE ➤ Timestamp Roulette 2x01 Safe 🧡 @diasdelfuego 🧡

[bardic-inspo]

NSFW Alphabet: Naomi & Astarion Edition

Incredible art above by the amazing @arcandoria!

Thank you so much for the tags @pinkberrytea and @nyx-knox!! 💜

NSFW Alphabet

Tagging in turn: @blackjackkent, @pursuitseternal, @brain-rot-central, @bananasfosterparent, @zekeen,

@snowfolly , @kaeoticneutral , @shinyredgloss , @starryjuicebox , @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate and whoever else sees this and would like to do it!

Completing for my dearest Naomi and Astarion, mostly for her ending with spawn Astarion, with some sprinkling of her ending with ascended Astarion, too, if it's markedly different than the other answers.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Initially, it's nonexistent, but once their relationship becomes something real, Astarion puts a large effort into aftercare and really relishes in it. It's not something he has much experience in, but knows about in theory, and is eager to explore that with a partner he truly cares for. Naomi follows his lead on this. Often, they're simply quiet and holding each other, stroking the other's hair or back. Soft forehead kisses. They're very tender about it. The rest of the world might as well not exist (and Astarion will get very crabby if he feels cuddle time has been interrupted/cut short).

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Both are somewhat similar about the other: hands/wrists, or throat/lips.

Astarion became enamored with Naomi's hands watching her play the fiddle, and seeing how expertly her wrist flexes when playing, or wielding a rapier. He adores having her hands in his hair, gently scraping his scalp. And loves sucking soft smooches to her inner wrist, or gently cradling it in his own hands while he has a quick snack.

Similarly, Naomi's gotten caught staring a few dozen times at his hands as he works a lock open. She goes instantly weak if he puts his hand on her cheek.

They're both obsessed with each other's little groans and noises during sex, and feeling the rumble in the other's throat/on the other's lips while they're pleasuring their partner is a massive turn on to them both.

C = Cum (Where does your muse prefer to cum/have someone cum?)

Inside for both. I think for Astarion, besides just feeling too good to want to pull away when he's on the edge, it feels satisfying in a primal sense. He enjoys marking his partner, he enjoys knowing Naomi smells like him after (to the point where others like Halsin will comment on it). For Naomi, she enjoys the sort of inverse of that; after their noncommittal start, it feels good to her to know that he's not pulling away anymore, including in their most intimate moments.

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory: a dirty secret of theirs)

Neither of these are well-kept secrets. Naomi often sassed Astarion in the beginning, and thought to herself/gave of the impression that she saw right through his seduction routine. She did see through it, but even so, she was gone for him basically at start. Even later in their relationship, even though Astarion caught on to that almost immediately, Naomi has a hard time admitting how much he hooked her in off the bat (in large part because she felt/feels she knew better than to fall for him so easily).

Naomi comments on the boner he pops immediately after feeding from her for the first time. Astarion gets much better at concealing it, but this happen essentially every time he feeds from her and often just when he's anticipating feeding from her. Naomi doesn't know/realize how often of an occurrence it is and later in their relationship, assumes it's because he's more comfortable. He's thankful it doesn't seem to happen when he feeds from others.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Of course, we know Astarion is very experienced, and the reason why :( Naomi had a few hook-ups/casual sex relationships, but only one 'serious' relationship prior to him that ended badly and hit her pretty hard. She's bi and had previously had sex with both women and men, but mostly women. Prior to Astarion, she knew she was bi, but assumed she had a preference for women. Like Astarion, though to a much less severe degree, she feels less sure about how to be in a more committed relationship than a purely sexual one.

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

I'm a part of the 'Astarion loves missionary' mindset. I see him as having a preference for being on top, having his partner perfectly pinned beneath him, so he can soak in every bit of their blissed out expression, and also feel in control of the moment. Conveniently, Naomi loves any position that has her pinned by him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Banter/goofiness comes into play the longer they're together. I see it as something somewhat foreign to Astarion who performed so much intimacy, but he comes to enjoy making Naomi giggle and then stealing her breath away by nibbling her ear in playful reproach. And Naomi likes to see if she can can likewise get him to break even when he's in the mood for a passionate evening. As a way to reinforce they're having fun, first and foremost.

When Astarion has her green light and he's in the moment, though, he doesn't want to be pulled out of it, and the silliness is usually reserved more for foreplay/before things are too heavy and heated.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Little to no body hair for either of them, both being elven. Astarion is very particular about his hair. Naomi prefers to keep hers up in a bun or braided away most of the time, but he loves pulling it free when they're intimate, and she lets him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Absolutely in their own little happy universe. Passionate and lost in each other.

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

As many tend to headcanon, Astarion gets a massive boner every time he feeds from Naomi and masturbates almost every time he does. Part of why he's careful not to wake her when he feeds is because he doesn't want her to know this happens literally every time. He sneaks away after he's fed to take care of himself, but he's a bit embarrassed by how easily and predictably it happens. But, it's also step one to his reclaiming his own sexuality. I don't see him as one who masturbated much prior to this, and that he actually wants to/it feels good is a huge change for him.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Astarion likes playing the role of a service dom, and though it's more his kink than hers, Naomi enjoys playing her part and letting him pamper her, too. Astarion is also partial to tying her up, which she's down for. On Naomi's end, she loves praise and has it bad for Astarion's voice. He's more than happy to take full advantage of that.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

I imagine spawn Astarion as anywhere and everywhere. Ascended is a little more picky, and likes to be especially over the top (like, uh, on top of a grand piano). Naomi is pretty much down for the ride (heh) in either case.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

It honestly doesn't take much at all. They're down bad for each other and sometimes it's just one steamy look that gets them revved. Both love seeing the others' skills in action and tend to get very turned on after fights or other moments that show off their abilities (like talking an enemy into offing themselves, picking an especially hard lock, Naomi playing the fiddle, etc.)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Astarion won't do collars/leashes/degradation, and is generally not inclined to be very subby (maybe once every few years or so). He doesn't mind being spanked, or being nibbled back, but generally doesn't care for a lot of pain with his pleasure. Neither are keen on involving other partners in their intimacy. Ascended Astarion and consort Naomi do occasionally invite others to their bed, but it's rare, and none live tell of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Naomi loves receiving. Astarion loves giving. He's a little less comfortable receiving, but does enjoy it occasionally. Naomi's prior sexual experiences were mostly with women, but Astarion is very turned on by the the idea of teaching her how he likes to be pleasured (as he's discovering that for himself, too). She's a fast learner.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It's a mix that usually starts slow and sensual and builds into fast and rough.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

I don't see either of them as big fans of quickies. Astarion will rile her up relentlessly, but would rather wait to actually act on his intentions for the opportune moment where they can sneak away and get lost in each other properly. He likes to build anticipation. Even hot and bothered, Naomi wants the romance and the extended foreplay of being made to wait sometimes.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Both are very much down to experiment. I see every iteration of them as gothic freaks doing things like banging in cemeteries or on the ceiling after spawn Astarion figures out that yes, he can actually spider climb. Ascended Astarion and Naomi are similar, but far more lavish about it. Every iteration of them also enjoys the riskiness of semi-public sex, and dabbling in a little hunter/prey type CNC scenes.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

They can and do go on for quite a while. Astarion often intentionally shortens his refractory period by having a quick little blood snack that goes straight where he needs it to 🤭Once he's comfortable with sex again, he savors every bit of his lover, and wants to stay stuck in those feelings for as long as he can.

Naomi is down, but often tires before him, and playfully insists he must carry her if he's going to insist on making her legs limp 😆 Occasionally he obliges (bridal style when he's feeling sweet, or over the shoulder if he's feeling a little sassy/playful).

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Some! Astarion occasionally likes to be pegged (as a power bottom), so they have a strap. Naomi enjoys some sensation play, which leads to use of some mundane items in the bedroom (example - a hairbrush that feels nice and tingly when he lightly drags it down her back, or that he uses for light spanking).

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Astarion is on another level with this hehe. He's adores openly teasing. Naomi is more the quiet and subtle type. Think: Oops, did my shirt just happen to hang over my shoulder and expose my neck while I stretch?? She'll slightly gaslight him and pretend she's doing nothing of the sort (it's part of their games and he loves it).

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Naomi is the type to make a lot of pleased or pleading whimpers/softer moans, but tends to pitch louder when she comes. Astarion makes a lot of low grunts and guttural rumbles, or flat out growls. He loves whispering all sorts of filthy and sweet nothings into her ear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

With ascended Astarion, Naomi is his vampire bride and not just his spawn. They use their telepathic/mental link constantly for all sorts of sexy shenanigans, but particularly to enhance sensation during the act itself. Sex is good and all, but it's even better if you're feeling your own feelings and your partner's sensations all at once 👀

Spawn Astarion is a bit of a horny teenager who can't stop won't stop leaving hickeys all over his lover. Naomi relishes in it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Naomi is absolutely peppered in powdery freckles pretty much everywhere except where her bra and underwear would cover. And she's got blue tiddies! Astarion, of course, is perfection.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Although I think he waxes and wanes a bit, I see Astarion as having a very high sex drive on average. Naomi's was slightly lower before him, but she sort of sponges up his eager energy and mirrors it back.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Naomi finds Astarion's lack of heartbeat incredibly soothing, and often falls asleep before him with her head on his chest. Conversely, Astarion will typically drift off after her, listening to her rest and her pretty little heartbeat he comes to cherish so much.

In their ascended/consort ending, the roles flip a bit. Naomi finds his new heartbeat suddenly comforting, and Astarion likes falling into rest with her scent surrounding him, knowing he's influenced it by giving her his ascended blood. In either case, Astarion goes into trance after her and wakes before her. He likes watching over his partner while they rest.

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

the transzaki siblings

[toastray]

🫗 ᪤ STAMPS ! # 9 🫘 ᯤ :

²¹/⁸/²⁰²⁴

᪤ BLACK OUTLINE VERSION STAMPS ! ᯤ :

2024 © 𝘁𝗼𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆 :: all designs made are original, i do not own BSD, they can only be used under rightful credits given to owner. for both light and dark mode use, preferable view on the tumblr app, characters in order (top left corner) mentioned in tags, h.g. wells’s art and sasaki nobuko’s art are manga-fied by me, since there were not any available, they can used in anything as long as it’s on tumblr

[gingerjolover]

You're Losing Me - Part 2

Read the preface and part 1 here!

Warnings: RPF, angsty + sad, mean!naomi, neglectful!naomi?, issues in relationship, fighting?

g's notes: welp....here you go

Naomi heard the door slam, wincing softly as they dropped their tense shoulders, sighing. The guilt runs down their spine like an uncomfortable shiver, turning their head to see your animals peering through the french doors.

"What am I doing?" Noami mumbles to themself, pushing away from the desk, abandoning the open work on the screen, throwing the french doors open and jogging to the front door, opening it like it owed them money.

"Hey, wait..." Noami says seeing you put your bag in the passenger seat, walking in front of the car to the driver's side.

"W-Where are you going?" they stutter, watching you adjust behind the steering wheel.

"I'm surprised you noticed I left," you mumble, voice full of venom, trying to hide the obvious wobbliness in your voice. "I'm going to Kelli and Jo's," you add on, turning the car on and grabbing the seatbelt.

"...Baby wait...come on," Naomi says moving back as you shut the door, looking at it with great offense as it shuts. You roll the window down with a huff, as Noami leans down arms crossed at the window.

"What happened to us talking about what happened? You're just gonna leave me and go stay somewhere tonight? You weren't even gonna tell me?" Naomi asks, the tone coming out annoyed as if the worry was buried deep down underneath the inconvenience of your big feelings.

"You went to your office," you say bitterly.

"Because you didn't want to talk!" Naomi exclaims back.

"I shouldn't have to tell you what's wrong, Naomi! When was the last time we talked? When was the last time you actually listened to what I was saying? What difference would it have made?" you exclaim, tone seeping in frustration.

Noami rolls their eyes lightly, standing up and rubbing their face. Hurt and betrayal rush through them, and they recognize what you're saying is true but cannot process it.

"Okay, I- I admit I've been distracted; I should be giving you more attention... you're right," Noami sighs, letting the pride iced inside of them melt away a little.

"But c'mon babe like, my god, do you have to be so dramatic about it? You don't have to just leave like that..." they ask, face scrunched in annoyance.

Your eyes soften in hurt, in absolute disbelief that Noami, your loving partner, the one who is usually obsessed with you and loves to spend time with you, the one who could listen to you talk for hours, is seemingly more annoyed that you're leaving to stay at Kelli and Jo's than by the conflict ravaging your relationship.

It's quick; the way your eyes show that what Naomi said was like a slap in the face.

Naomi's eyes widen, another twinge of guilt as they stand sheepishly in front of you. "That was- I didn't mean... I just think, we should, you know..." they start, stammering under the weight of your gaze.

"No..." Noami starts to say, shaking their head. "You know what? I do have the time to talk this out. I know I was wrong... I can pause what I am doing to prioritize you," they say, leaning back to the window, trying to see where your head is.

"You might as well finish what you're working on... you're almost done, and I already texted Kelli," you mumble softly, making no clear effort to leave the car, unbelieving of Naomi's willingness to actually talk this out.

Naomi audibly groans, "Can you please stop being so stubborn?" they mutter under their breath, hands running over their face again. Naomi looks into your eyes, softly pleading.

"I said I would pause what I'm doing, I'm serious," they continue, tone softening, "can we just...talk this out? please?"

"I'm being stubborn?" you ask incredulously.

Instantly Naomi knows they've fucked up. The way your eyes went from softened with hurt to a deep rage, Naomi's defenses are back up. Face going slightly red, the repeated words bring a new wave of frustration.

"Yes, you're being stubborn!" they say, softness gone from their voice entirely. The conversation gets completely out of hand again, Noami delivering blow after blow. "You're being ridiculous! Can't we just talk this out like adults? Instead, you're throwing a fit and leaving," Naomi half yells.

And it's devastating. The way Naomi raises their voice like second nature, that your response from weeks of tension in the house is considered "throwing a fit" to your normally communicative partner. There's a sense of dread, like the shoreline of an ocean right before a tsunami, withdrawing all the way inside. Is there really nothing left? Is what ever comes next bound to be a disaster? if this is what you're fighting over is it even worth fighting still?

"Go back inside Naomi," you say deadpan, exhaustion clinging to your bones, eyes feeling full of tears and screaming hurt. There's a level of tiredness in your voice that Naomi notices, but can't be bothered to acknowledge.

"Fine!" they say loudly, pushing away from the car. "Go stay with Josette and Kelli if you're gonna act like this; they can deal with you," Naomi huffs, walking with determination back to the house.

Naomi turns for a quick moment, any hopefulness the minute Naomi says, "Have a good night," sarcastically before heading inside with a nonchalant wave. The door slams, and even though it doesn't reverberate to your car, you can feel the quake, the finality of the slam sending shockwaves through your system.

You stare at the front door, reeling in how absolutely absurd and out of character Naomi is acting. The car is still in park, the engine rubbing beneath your seat, eyes staring blankly as you think about how you can move forward.

Naomi stomps back inside, ignoring the animals curled together on the couch, sitting at the desk in their office. They flick a stack of papers off the work surface, cursing to themselves as they spread out, head in their hands, elbows resting on their knees.

Pausing for a moment, Naomi knows that if anything were to happen to you, they couldn't live with themself. But the way you dismissed them upstairs? The way you packed a bag like it was nothing? escaping to your shared friends' house like it wasn't a big deal? It rocked Naomi to their core.

Like a toxic cycle, Naomi straightens up, quickly typing the passcode into their computer before starting to work again, telling themselves they'll call Jo in a little bit to see if you made it to the house.

You sit in the driveway for an hour. A whole hour waiting for Naomi to come back out. Waiting for an inclination that Naomi would change their attitude and be earnest. Waiting for Naomi to recognize why you are upset and apologize for it. Because surely, you mean something to Naomi, right?

The longer you stare at the house, the more you don't recognize the person within its walls. You know Naomi is stressing about the new record, the intense production, and the deadlines coming up soon. You've been as supportive as possible, always creating a space for Naomi to vent or talk, but Naomi has never acted like this.

You start to feel crazy, like a ghost trapped in your driveway. Your phone dings from a text, a "where are you?" from Kelli, that finally lets this sink in. Naomi isn't coming back outside. The tears start to fall before you can stop them, putting the car in reverse and heading towards a known comfort.

g's notes: sorry i HAD to split this part into two parts but that means part 3 is already written and then you'll be getting a happy ending in part 4! wee!

[naomiknight-17]

'Cat Dragon' for @akaluan ! Or is this more of a dragon cat? Hmmmm.

This drawing is part of my current Doodles for Donations Drive that I'm doing to raise money to cover unexpected repairs. Check it out :)

[kaurwreck]

Hi! I was reading your post about Kyouka and Lucy, and I would be really interested in just about any thoughts/takes you have on bsd women if you want to share them. I feel like fandom in general leaves so little space for women and it is very frustrating. Also if you did post exclusively Yosano&Naomi fics I’d read the heck out of that lol

I have lots of thoughts/takes on women in bsd, but I wouldn't know how to write anything on "bsd women." They're each individuals whose bsd characters, irl works and irl lives have depth, thematic relevance, and narrative-driving force in bsd. It would take me hours to write a post on my thoughts on each individually, all of them tossed in together would be a small academic text.

That said, I do have some existing posts on some of the women in bsd (in addition to other, just-for-fun posts, and where they come up in my other analyses):

Yosano, Dazai, and Mori

Yosano and Eroticism (based on the outsized scandalized reaction folks had while rewatching the bsd episode in which she heals tanizaki; with excellent commentary from @homoesia)

Kouyou's Role in the Port Mafia

On Louisa and Little Women (with excellent commentary from @sarahworm)

The Implications of Teruko's Backstory

I also very much recommend @ice-devourer's Yosano takes, which can be found here:

Yosano Analysis

Asks including information about irl Yosano's Early Life and irl Yosano's Childhood Grief

Also, @sarahworm is a scholar on women and Higuchi especially. Although I haven't convinced her to write a comprehensive analysis on irl!Higuchi and bsd!Higuchi, I did bait her into sharing some of her thoughts on my birthday post for Higuchi (which also contains a light smattering of my own thoughts about irl vs. bsd Higuchi).

[grimalkinmessor]

"Let's have some tea and chat!"

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

i just think his head on your chest and petting his hair or clinging onto his arm and leg like your legs around his or burying you head in his chest

oh this version of matty just makes my heart ACHE. so i’m thinking 2 things….

1) let’s say it’s been a longgg day in the studio for matty, not necessarily a bad day but things just aren’t going as he hoped with a certain song — he comes home later than usual, clearly exhausted. he walks into your shared bedroom to the sight of you laying in bed wearing one of his old shirts and some pj shorts, you’re just scrolling on your phone or maybe reading a book while you had been waiting for him to come home. and just the second you see him walk in and talk off his jacket you just know he’s needing some extra love tonight. all you have to do is put your phone or book down and open up your arms, and instantly matty’s flopping down into bed with you, letting you wrap your arms around him while he buries his head in the crook of your neck. you hear a small, muffled “thank you, darlin’” from him as your fingers travel up his neck and into his unruly curls (which are a bit more disheveled than usual since he’s been frustratedly running his hands through them all day). and the rest of the night is spent just like that: playing with his hair, gently massaging his shoulders, kissing anywhere on him that you can reach. even once you hear his soft breathing that lets you know he’s asleep, you keep him in his arms

or conversely…….

2) something’s keeping you up at night— maybe it’s work, or you’re overthinking something you did earlier, or it’s just some general anxiety (been there too many times). either way, matty is very much so aware of you tossing and turning in bed and the way you keep anxiously checking your phone, dreading each moment that’s bringing you closer to when your alarm is supposed to go off. it’s hell. and then, finally, matty flicks on the lights. your face is illuminated with the warm light and his heart just breaks at the distressed expression you have. no explanation needed, he’s scooping you close to his chest, his chin resting on top of your head and his hand slips beneath your shirt to rub up and down your back. when a few moments pass and he asks what’s wrong, you feel as though you can’t offer up a real answer; all you can say is “i don’t know. i just need you.” of course, that’s more than enough for matty and he responds with “well i’m here, my love.” youre fully engulfed by his scent, his warmth, his heartbeat, the sound of him softly humming a familiar tune. and suddenly you’re asleep and god it feels almost magical. when you wake in the morning you nearly can’t even move because you’re still wrapped in matty’s arms. his lips are parted ever so slightly, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, legs intertwined with yours.

[kyouka-supremacy]

hii again!! thank you for answering my asks hehe 😊🤭

Going off from your response (about the bsd ladies ✨), I have some random questions for you 💗

Who is your favourite bsd *female* character?

Who is one female character you'd want to rewrite?

And who is the female character you see the most wasted potential in?

No pressure btw!

Omg hi thank you so much for this ask I love sharing opinions almost as much as I love talking about women 💞💞💞

Favourite bsd *female* character?

All of them LMAO. But Kyouka holds a special place in my heart <3 I mean, I think she's quite objectively the best written female character in this series, if anything because she gets an actual character arc beyond the two occasional chapters of spotlight. I really like the inherent duality of her character in being both a skilled assassin and a little girl (and how it can be both tragic and hilarious! The versatility). Her character arc is sincerely compelling, I'm a sucker for any character who's just doing their very best to be a good person even when it feels like going against their nature. Her backstory is so tragic! Her relationship with her ability is so interesting! But I just love how truly… Strong-willed she is, how determined and resolute she can be; she's truly inspiring. If you ask me, she's got that charm of magical girls anime: sometimes you really need to see little girls defeat unimaginable evils with the power of love to heal your heart. And the fact that she doesn't really fit the trope of happy-go-lucky girl is all the more capturing!! Again, I really love the interior conflict - or coexistence - between her dark, ruthless side, and the side that likes bunnies and crepes and girly things; it makes her so authentically and unmistakably Kyouka. I appreciate how she's the only character who can sort of keep up with the protagonist role to ss/kk and s/kk, and she's only 14 eheh. And I LOVE her interactions with the other characters, so much!!!! I adore her relationship with Atsushi (truly. Not even remotely close to how much I talk about them), and I feel like they truly deserve each other in a lot of ways. The way Kyouka's sharp attitude and blunt personality fit and mitigate Atsushi's eternal indecisiveness and insecurity and the way Atsushi reminds Kyouka every day that she can do good and that she is good. How they saved each other and how they keep saving each other every day. I've said it a lot of times that Atsushi is profoundly selfish and that all good actions he does are to be traced back to some twisted conception of self-survival, but if there's really anyone Atsushi loves selflessly and unconditionally, that has to be Kyouka. If there is such a thing as platonic soulmates, Kyouka and Atsushi definitely are for me; they're just so siblings in a way I can't even put in words. AND AND AND her relationship with Akutagawa I've talked about endlessly before!!! Her relationship with Dazai!!! KOUYOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Kyouka and Kouyou chapter my beloved aka the only bsd chapter to pass the Bechdel test). Omg potentially Yosano!!!!! Kenji Kenji Kenji!!!!!!!!! I just. Love Kyouka a lot okay she gets me emotional. Kyouka supremacy forever. (Also, she's dubbed by beloved tpn Emma va Sumire Morohoshi :') )

*Catches breath*

One female character you'd want to rewrite?

Ah, as of now, definitely Teruko. Here's the story I imagine her having: she fought the Great War by Fukuchi's side, as her second in command; despite what her appearance may have looked like back then, she's about the same age as him. She doesn't love or worship him, but she surely admires him a lot; they were comrades and she learnt from him a lot of her ideals on how soldierse have to stain their hands and do horrible, ruthless things in order for the majority of citizens to live safe and happy. She learnt to adore the cause because of him, and she's very loyal to her uniform. She started dressing as a young girl after the war ended, as a way to negate the cruel and traumatic experience of war in her mind and withdraw to the unknowing, happy times of childhood (while still staying her and self-aware; it's just an ephemeral relief). The rest of the story proceeds pretty much as it is in canon, but when Fukuchi reveals to her that he's actually a terrorist working with the doa, she doesn't side with him. She actually feels throughout betrayed, because he had been this pillar of justice and integrity for her, and knowing he was actually a terrorist left her shell-shocked. She DOES act like she's following him, because she is smart and experienced and she knows that she can't take him on her own (differently from Tachihara and Jouno who faced him alone with no backup. Lol. They're a little stupid.), and waits for the moment he lets his guard down to strike and impale him. AND NOT BECAUSE HE ASKED HER TO. WHICH IS HONESTLY TERRIBLE UNDER EVERY ASPECT. Insert here a flashback with her backstory and how Fukuchi himself taught her that justice comes before anything else, because it's the prime tool to serve citizens and pursue world peace. Interior turmoil and trauma for killing the person she respects the most ensues. Now that's how I would write Teruko, because I care about her.

Female character you see the most wasted potential in?

Probably Naomi!!! I love how sly and ingenious she is even in spite of not having an ability, I really hope we'll get to see more of her. I like the theory of her being a projection of Jun'ichirou's ability, although I acknowledge it's problematic in the way it takes away even more agency from her character; even then, it would be cool if she took the form of some kind of sentient ability like Gab in 55 Minutes, or if Jun'ichirou himself was a projection of Naomi (eh. a girl can dream). I really like @frankenjoly's headcanon that she and Mori would be besties, I think about it a lot ahah, I can really see it.

ALSO Higuchi and her ability C'MON I know it's there!!! It MUST be there because bsd so far has been following a very strict pattern where all characters named after writers have abilities, while non ability users are named after novels' characters or non-writers irl people (not to talk about Sakunosuke Oda's The Literature of Possibility passage that's mentioned at the start of the Dark Era novel, with the novel creating a DIRECT connection between writers irl and ability users in the bsd world). I really really hope after this arc is over we'll get an Higuchi arc!!!!

That said, pretty all characters I feel have wasted potential pffttt. Give Lucy and Yosano more screentime!! BRING KOUYOU BACK!!!!!! Finally elaborate on Agatha who's the only female organization leader!!!!! Gin!!!!!!! Wells!!!!!!!!!!

[sodacanbones]

Art request: Naomi. Please.

did you order a side (character)?

[brotherconstant]

THE EXPANSE ➤ Timestamp Roulette 5x04 Gaugamela 🧡 @mrsdulac 🧡

[moxie-girl]

some more wanted posters for the BSD x One Piece au...

now all that’s left are Kyouka, Haruka, Katai, and Mii-chan (who is definitely not former pirate king Natsume Soseki with the Neko-Neko fruit, no waaay…)

(more character info under cut)

The Detective Pirates

First Mate: “Matchless Poet” Kunikida Doppo

Haki: Skilled in observational and armament

Skills: Marksmanship using special bullets and equipment, martial arts

Fun Fact: He worked as a math tutor for noble children for several years before becoming a pirate.

Navigator: “Meitantei” Edogawa Ranpo

Haki: Mostly observational

Skills: Slingshot, genius-level intellect, detective skills

Fun Fact: He was the first official member of the Detective Pirates - after Fukuzawa - and the reason they are named that.

Cook: “Undefeated” Miyazawa D. Kenji

Haki: Expert in armament

Skills: Superstrength, hand-to-hand combat, improvised weapons

Fun Fact: His strength is entirely natural - as in, it is not the result of Haki, a Devil Fruit, or anything else supernatural. (Except perhaps the Will of D…)

Thief: “Phantom Thief” Tanizaki Jun’ichiro

Devil Fruit: Illu-Illu Fruit

Skills: Knives, lockpicking, infiltration, stealth and sleight of hand

Fun Fact: The number on his and Naomi’s shared bounty poster refers to each of their individual bounties; if one were to theoretically capture them both, they would get double the bounty.

Sniper: “Miss Makioka” Tanizaki Naomi

Haki: Observational, and armament specifically infused into bullets

Skills: Expert aim, skilled with all types of guns, stealth and sleight of hand

Fun Fact: She and Jun’ichiro were a small-time pirate crew of their own (known only as the Tanizaki Pirates) before joining the Detective Pirates.

[bardic-inspo]

Midnight Chimes

Chapter One: You Look Different in the Daylight

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Next Chapter ✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter CW: None

A/N: First couple chapters have some time jumps, and then the story falls into a linear progression. (This is a cross-post from my prior (now defunct) sideblog and AO3 account).

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“Don’t often see your sort on this side of the street.”

The innkeep’s talking about drow. Like the twins. The Flophouse’s most recent newcomer is Seldarine, just like them. Pretty as the pair of them, too. All twilight skin, some pale shade between blue and violet, and moonlight hair that would glow silver with it if he could get her back outside. Astarion could tell her that while he twirled one finger in the strands and wrapped her dwindling life around another.

Darling, you make the stars so pitifully dim. It’s futile, the way they’re shining now. Not like you.

But she’d have to shed some layers to fit in at Mamzell Amira’s establishment. The drow’s armor is light and leather. At least it’s fitted enough to get a figure for her figure.

Astarion catches the flinty edge of her glare as she turns her cheek, ever so slightly, his way. Sharp as a knife. His stage smile echoes back with an edge just as keen. She might be new in town, but she gets the innkeep’s meaning well enough not to like it.

Must’ve been the tip of a blade that cut that scar curling from her cheek across the bridge of her nose. It’s hairline thin, but it interrupts the freckles powdering her face. No one’s paying her to hang over them like drapery at Sharess’ Caress. Not with that trace imperfection.

Astarion could do it. Pay her enough attention to get her loose, dangling, vulnerable. Play the role of the valiant hero. Spring forth to defend her honor. Show her about town, like a gentleman should. It’s a gambit he’s run more times then he can count.

It would go something like this: sweet words about city secrets she hasn’t seen to lure her back into the starlit streets. A pretty view, perhaps of the Chionthar glimmering, to get her eyes wide. A promise of a better one, somewhere secluded. A heated whisper to get her blushing. His breath on her skin, to start a shiver. Promises, promises tumbling out of his pretty mouth. His name, falling out of hers.

And it would end in blood, like it always does. What a night she’d have. Her first in Baldur’s Gate. Her last alive.

Her life flashes before Astarion’s eyes in a glint of golden light. Sudden, vivid, then all at once gone. Someone else spots his prey and takes a swipe before he can.

The prey, it turns out, bites back.

“Argh -- get your hands off me!”

The garbled cry of indignation doesn’t come from the drow. Her grip latches to the arm of the would-be thief and wrenches it around, forcing his hand to open. Her coin falls back, neatly, into her own waiting palm.

She tosses away her hold on her assailant in the same manner as pitching trash. The thief -- a rather burly half-elf -- cowers, cradling his throbbing hand. A hiss leaks out of him, sending a shiver down Astarion’s spine. The noise is too familiar. Too much like vampiric skin simmering in sunlight.

Astarion grimaces, a twist of pity sinking in his gut. Not for the thief, and not for her, either. For their star-crossed evening, or the fleeting notion of it, stolen away by someone else’s sticky fingers fishing into her back pocket. For a measly pair of coins, she’d bought her own life back. With a twist of a wrist, she wrenched her fate from Astarion’s nimble hands.

It’s for the best, really. Thanks to the thief, Astarion knows better. She’s too clever. Too quick. Too cunning. Violet eyes cut across the room to his watchful ones. Maybe she’d have seen through his schemes, too, and made good on the promise in that look of hers. Like she could spear him straight to the paneling behind his head, same as the curled fliers nailed near the door.

But alas, now he has to do horrible things to someone else.

Astarion’s stomach turns as he sets his sights to the Flophouse door. Finding what he needs on the other side of the street, yet again, sounds like the opposite of fun. Someone drunk, naive, unsuspecting. He thought the drow checked those last two boxes. Astarion’s eyes drift to the thieving half-elf, now stooped and sulking in a seat as far from the drow as the room allows.

Someone has to pay. It won’t be Astarion, under Godey’s biting blades. Not again. Not tonight. He’ll take his chances with whatever happens while he’s under someone, anyone else.

Astarion’s fingernails drag into the woodgrain of the table before he shoves from his seat. He lets his chair scrape back loud enough to scrape the thief’s eyes off the floor. By the time Astarion’s sauntered over to the vacant chair at the half-elf’s table, the other man’s eyes have oozed, messy and lustful, all over Astarion’s best assets. Most of them, anyway.

With one click of his tongue, like the tug of a leash, the stranger’s wide, blue eyes snap to Astarion’s. Good boy.

“Tough break,” Astarion nearly purrs, letting the words roll slowly off his tongue, letting his hips drop slower into the seat. “Not as tough as you, I’d wager.”

The other man scoffs, as if without a care. But he wets his lips before speaking, like he needs to test them first. “Shouldn’t be,” he says gruffly. “Should be, if someone’s lived their whole life somewhere, they shouldn’t have to settle for scraps while all these foreigners come rolling in.”

“You’re so right,” Astarion croons, leaning in to prop his chin with his hand. “And you should say it.”

And he does. In excess. Punctuated with chest-puffing, peppered in curse words and vaguely political bleating. Almost like he’s practiced this little diatribe as much as Astarion’s recited his best hooks. His mark seems pent-up, at least, in one sense. Before Astarion can allude to another, his ear catches on the more civilized conversation happening over at the counter.

“I’ll need a name, then,” the innkeep -- a surly dwarf -- prompts.

The drow swallows. “Tav…riel.”

It’s nearly two words, with the amount of hesitation in between. The innkeep asks again.

“Tavriel?” He mutters. She nods. He eyes her warily, scribbling the name down into his book. “You some sort of bard or something?”

“Sure." If you want me to be, the careful lilt of her voice says.

“Never heard a flute I was fond of,” the innkeep prattles irritably. The offending instrument is strapped near the drow’s waist. “Too pitchy.”

“Sounds like you’ve never met someone who knew what to do with it.”

Astarion perks a brow. It’s near enough to one of his usual lines that he stores it away in the back of his brain for later. It needs refinement. Not his fav-

“It’s not my favorite, either, but it’s easier to travel with,” Tavriel says.

“You any good with it? Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”

“Mm, you probably wouldn’t have,” Tavriel says, unperturbed. A clever sort of smile creeps onto her lips. “I’m a killer with a fiddle. Not sure anyone’s lived to tell the tale.”

Well, what a tease. Astarion’s never heard of a bard that didn’t very desperately want to be heard of. What else would she be, could she be, if not a bard? Maybe a rake, if her claws weren’t so cutting. Teeth are far better for that sort of delicate work.

She swipes the brass key from the counter. Astarion watches until her boots disappear up the stairs and she’s gone. His mark never notices Astarion’s attention was anywhere else. Suppressing a tired sigh, Astarion slips back into his shtick like a sword in a sheath.

Time to get to it, before the darkness runs out.

“Oh, yes, darling. Fuck those foreigners. But…wouldn't you rather with a real Baldurian?”

Astarion’s stomach swoops, harder than it bucked on the fall from the nautiloid. It doesn’t matter how hard he runs for the trees, for the sparse and insufficient shade they might cast. Doesn’t matter that his legs pump as fast as his exquisite body allows. He should be burning by now. Should be dead, at least twice over.

If he had a heartbeat, it’d be hammering in his throat. He feels the pressure all the same. Every swallow comes as a choke, even as he staggers to a stop in the meager shadows.

Astarion’s eyes dart towards that scorching orb hanging, searing, and ominous overhead. The light glints back like a damn guillotine. Any moment now, the drop will come. This farce will end. This figment of freedom, the barest wisp of it, will evaporate. Ashes will be all that’s left in the wake of two centuries of pure, utter, shit.

Ashes do fall. They drift in fat flakes from the sky, coating the beach in soot. The acrid tang cloys with the spray of saltwater in the air. But his body’s still whole enough to tremble. Astarion turns his palms over in silent awe, watching his own skin alight. The flames don’t come. Only…

Warmth. Dainty as a first kiss. Across his throat, flooding his cheeks, his chest, his every inch. A smile as faint as a ghost dares to grace Astarion’s lips.

He hears his own shaky, unbidden laugh like it’s that of a stranger. It came from someone else’s body, surely. This is someone else’s body. His would’ve been in cinders, barring some very, very belated divine intervention.

Or, apparently, an illithid invasion. The up close and personal kind.

Astarion rips his gaze away as it begins to water. Scorch marks stain his sight for a full minute after. Inkblots of bright, burning color. It’s as he’s blinking rapidly that he sees her, picking her way up the slope, past the wreckage.

Astarion’s seen her before. He’s sure of it, now that she’s nearer. Now that he can see her in the full, unadulterated light of the sun. (The sun. The sun. The fucking sun!)

Outside of the nautiloid’s bloody glow, her hair’s white as frost. Her complexion’s less rosy, more violet. Out here, she could be a normal drow.

He tenses, picking up the faint prickling of voices in the distance. She’s not alone. Astarion doesn’t recognize the other woman, a half-elf with a black, chained braid dangling down her back like a whip.

But he remembers the drow. She was on board that blasted ship. She knows about the damn worm lodged behind his eye socket. Maybe they both do. His fist clenches on the hilt of his blade, still tucked in its sheath.

As Astarion watches from afar, magic wakes in half-elf’s palm, vivid and blinding. It sears into the bare cerebrum of some crawling creature snapping at the drow’s heels. The creature utters a shrill screech before it slumps over, steaming. His eyes narrow. Seems the pair of them are chummy, at very least, if not co-conspirators. He creeps back further into the brush.

Both of them will pay. They’ll have to. At least half as much as Cazador will make Astarion pay for this…this…impossible escapade.

It can’t last. Astarion’s brow knits in with the stiffness in his jaw. Certain doom surrounds him like the sheer sides of a cliff. One one hand lies the inevitable, excruciating plummet into ceremorphosis. Astarion’s skin crawls with the thought. The final destruction of his body. The devouring of his mind. Someone, something else, stealing his entire self and reshaping him into a tentacled puppet.

On the other hand, Cazador would never settle for being outdone by some squid-faced freak. He’ll get creative for this. More than he ever has before. Astarion’s teeth grate against each other.

This can’t last. Oh, but it has to.

Another glow of magic, dimmer this time, catches his eye. It blinks and fades from the drow’s gloved fingers like a firefly. But it has the same radiance as the earlier spell. The same radiance as the delightful glow seeping over his skin. Though, thankfully, the sunshine has proven far less lethal. A dead trail of intellect devourers lies in their wake.

They’re clerics, then, he thinks with a swell of distaste. Fools, but capable ones. Though, the drow is perhaps less of the latter. Still, she’s hardly a victim. The both of them could very well be villains, emerging from the smoking wreckage of their mothership. They’ve come close enough, he can hear the sand crunch beneath their footsteps. Hear their heartbeats, still quickened from their fight, pumping the blood of thinking creatures through their veins.

Astarion sucks in a steadying breath. Not because he needs it to live. Because he needs to perform.

“Help! Help, I need some help!” He bellows.

Their pace hastens to a jog up the hill. In a matter of moments, their wary eyes latch to his plaintive, pleading ones.

“Hurry!” He gasps, panting for good measure. “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered! There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

The stronger-looking one -- the half-elf -- hangs back. She might be the smarter one, too. The drow isn’t so bothered by brains or caution. She comes within an arm's length, eyes wide and doey. She scans the brush for danger like she isn’t the prey, one hand wrapping the hilt of her rapier.

“There,” he says, slipping into step behind the drow as her feet tamp down the brittle grass. “Can you see it?”

She doesn’t see the knife drawn in a flash. Not until her back hits the dirt, and the blade bites against the pretty flesh of her throat. Astarion tumbles down with her, keeping a vice-grip on the dagger. Her pulse practically leaps against the knife, smacking in a wet, sumptuous rhythm. The back of his throat burns, raw, ragged. Thirsty.

The urge rips through him, sudden and staggering. Astarion bites back a breath, just to bite something. The drow shifts beneath his blade, grunting in indignation.

“Shh, shh shh. Not a sound,” he hisses, soft as velvet. “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours. And you,” he growls, louder for their little audience. “Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.”

The half-elf isn’t half-convinced. “I need her alive,” she snaps, light flaring at her fingertips as she dares a step closer. “Stow that blade, or I’ll show you just how messy things can get.”

But one step is all she dares. Astarion’s eyes narrow wickedly. His captive has value. Good to know. “Promises, promises. But I have other business, I’m afraid.”

His gaze hardens on the drow, who’s gone so sweetly still for him. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

Wordlessly, she complies. Good girl.

“Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me!”

Her eyes flash, defiant. “We were prisoners, too!”

Astarion’s lips curl with a snarl. “Don’t lie to me -- AH!”

His own memories burst like blisters in his mind’s eye. Dark streets and darker alleys with darker endings. Unlucky souls, lured away, alone, to their fates. Except he isn’t alone. Astarion doesn’t know how, but he’s certain. She’s in his fucking head.

The connection snaps and shatters as sudden as it came. Astarion recoils, reeling as the remnants sting between his temples. “What was that? What’s going on?!”

“Stalker,” his captive spits scornfully.

“I--what?”

“You were in Baldur’s Gate,” the drow huffs. “Fraygo’s Flophouse.”

Gods, you’ll have to be more specific, he nearly sighs. But the slice of violet eyes cuts him short. Astarion’s brow pinches in thought.

“You sat there and stared at me while I was nearly robbed. Not so helpful then. Kind of acting like the opposite right about now.”

It’s ringing bells, but she doesn’t have her flute. She didn’t have that silver symbol, hanging around her neck, back in the Gate. She said she was a bard back then, and she looked like far less of a cleric when she said it.

And Astarion hadn’t noticed the tattoo curving with her left cheekbone. Little birds in flight. He wonders, fleetingly, what on earth could have possessed her to mark her own pretty little face with such a thing.

“AH-- urgh!”

Her hand grips his wrist and twists harsh enough for his vision to flood with white. His eyes burn. By the time he blinks to clear them, his own knife pokes the hollow of his throat.

Cute trick. The same fate her would-be thief suffered, he remembers ruefully. Before Astarion suffered the thief, and the thief suffered what Astarion baited him for.

She scrambles backwards, gaining as much distance as she grants him. They stagger to stand, dust caking his doublet, and dirt streaking her leathers.

“We’ve been wormed, too,” she says, stance softening. “The tadpoles can connect our thoughts. We’re trying to get rid of them. If you’re done trying to stab me, we might let you tag along for the ride.”

“We will?” Her companion mutters skeptically.

You will? Astarion wonders, equally mystified.

She turns his knife once, twice, thrice between her fingers, like she’s playing a parlor game. When the spinning stops, the blade end rests in her gloved palm.

“I’m Naomi,” she says, offering him the hilt of his own dagger like it’s a handshake. Tentatively, Astarion takes it.

“Tavriel,” he mutters faintly, the name swimming out of the depths of all the others to the forefront of his memory.

She shrugs. “If you’d prefer to stay on a surname basis. ‘Tav’ is fine, too.”

Impossible starlight seeps between the thinning veil of clouds above. Silvered blades of grass glint like so many knives under a shimmer centuries in the making.

Astarion lays beneath the clearing sky, his back cushioned by damp, flattened grass. Warmth radiates across his chest, where another impossibility rests her cheek. His free hand strokes idly, thoughtlessly, through her ivory hair. The motion comes easier than breathing ever could’ve.

This -- the two of them, tangled here -- is centuries in the making, too.

They lay fully clothed and content. His other hand wraps Naomi’s waist, tucking the heat of her against his skin like a blanket. Cuddling, of all things. Something in him still balks at the notion. Yet, here he is, yet again.

It’s something they get to do, now, when he wants to. There’s yet to be a night he hasn’t, in the weeks since he stammered out his confession and Naomi laid her hand in his.

He wanted something else to be real between them, too, tonight, when he discovered his favorite drow had wandered away from their merry band of misfits. He found her doused in the starlight she looks so good in, sat on some rock between the gnarled trees, ever oblivious to the small war she started between Astarion’s mind and body.

If there were more life in the trees, it might’ve been reminiscent of another night spent together, after the tieflings’ celebration simmered down into quiet, sleepy cinders. If it were a night like that, he’d have his hands on the small of her back, where she arched it in a stretch. He’d have the rest of her lilac skin soaking Selune’s evening shine, not just the lovely length of her neck above her collar, and that succulent slice peering from between her breasts. He’d have her pliant. He’d have her gasping.

And he’d be free. Of his trousers, at the very least. A flare of yearning ached so earnestly beneath his ribs. Memory and loathing speared it down, sharp, only moments later.

The sound of frantic scrubbing put that battle to bed, for now, and sparked a new one. She was at it again. After Shadowheart already tried to put an end to it in the camp. So that’s why she snuck away.

Astarion cleared his throat pointedly, eyes drifting to the black stains of spellwork scrawled over Naomi’s arms. The marks didn’t let up. Neither did she, until Astarion stayed her hand, and took it in his.

“Really, darling,” he chided. “At that rate, you’ll rub yourself bloody.”

He expected an eyeroll, at least, if not a snicker. But her throat merely bobbed. “They haven’t faded since our fight at the portal.”

“Oh, that was only, what? A few days ago?”

It’s normal, Gale told her. And Shadowheart, too. Well…some of it is. In a paraphrased sense.

“It’s never hung around this long before,” she said, frowning. “I’m not even sure what spell it’s from. There were so many of them, and they all rushed me at once--”

“They were trying to close the door on Halsin and Thaniel,” Astarion said, matter-of-factly. “And we stopped them like the good little heroes we are.”

Sure, their less-than-living foes seemed to aim in one particular direction, at one particular target, during the whole hold-the-gate ordeal. But they barely clipped her barely half the time. Naomi’s fleet-footed in a fight. And what she couldn’t dodge, she fluted away with that cute little ditty that steers their enemies’ arrows elsewhere. The purpling bruise at her shoulder is an exception. Her cutting words were keener than whatever wounded her.

Besides, none of them came away from the past few days without the marks to show it. But those who survived Ketheric Thorm’s final, bony bout are in far better shape than the general’s dusty remnants. Even after they had to jump down that gods-forsaken pit into rancid hell just to kill him for good. The thought alone stirs a shiver down Astarion’s spine, still.

“Now,” he said, steering her by the shoulder, “come keep your frigid lover warm and look at the good you’ve done.”

So, they set aside the notions either of them had in mind, and settled instead for…this. A piece of peace, resting among the patchy tufts of grass grown over a rooftop in what used to be Reithwin. Naomi stares up at their handiwork. The scatter of stars isn’t so different from the freckles dusted over her nose, nearly hiding the thin scar that angles over the bridge of it.

A muted glow leaks over the so-called shadow-cursed lands from the crescent cut of the moon hanging overhead. The first, hard-won taste of what this place could be now that it’s free from its curse. It’ll be different in the daylight, just like Astarion was when he stumbled into it after two hundred years apart. But they’ll be on the road again before they see it glaze over this place.

On the path, at last, to Baldur’s Gate. And to Cazador. To vengeance, absolution, ascension, and all sorts of fairytale words that were once greater than Astarion’s imagination. Now, they’re bloody nightmares in his own arsenal, two hundred years of them, on the cusp of release. Now, they’re promises. Dreams with teeth.

It brings to mind the first burst of blood on his tongue, from that soft neck that nuzzles so near him, now. With that first taste came color, life, and heat where there was only frailty and feebleness before. What fresh sweetness will Cazador’s blood bring, painting Astarion’s hands, pooling like a cloak at his feet?

A whole new world of it, he’s sure. One that’s his to claim. His to share and shape as he sees fit.

Astarion breathes in, not because he needs to, but because he wants the trace scent of lavender in his nose as Naomi’s hair tickles the tip of it. Her heartbeat flutters down from her earlier anxiousness, pattering into a steady rhythm. He feels its mark against his ribs and thinks, for the first time, he understands what might possess lunatics like her to get tattoos on purpose.

That little rhythm should settle there, at his side. Always. Like the little music boxes she’s so fond of. She didn’t take the one she found in Moonrise Towers, so Astarion did. It’s been by her bedside ever since. He sees the little glimmer of it, every night he slinks into her tent.

A gentle, but insistent tug pulls at the corner of his thoughts. He peers down at his present company with an arched brow. Her eyes are peacefully shut, but the mischievous smile gives her away.

Hesitantly, Astarion lets his head roll back to the earth, and his eyes slide shut, too. All right, love. What is it you want to show me?

The tadpole connection hums, all at once familiar and foreign. Listen, she says back, with the same smile in her thoughts as on her lips. He lets the connection pull him through and stifles a soft sound of awe in the back of his throat.

Quiet. Blessed, blissful quiet. Like none she’s ever known.

Naomi’s ear rests over his heart, but it doesn’t beat for her. Not literally, at least. He’d still heavily negotiate any figurative sense of the matter. But it doesn’t matter that it isn’t beating. It’s not what she wants. Not what she…needs.

He feels the ache of it, as she lifts her cheek, briefly, and music flits, frenetic, though her mind. Spells and stanzas and half-remembered rhymes in mangled cacophony. She lays her head back down, and lets out a long breath. Astarion echoes the sound, unbidden, as the connection withdraws, and he’s left with the pluck of her heartbeat in his head again.

It’s never quiet. Not in her head. But it can be. With him. If he hadn’t prayed so hard to them already, he’d swear the gods gifted him this woman. Astarion knows better. The illithids did.

She shifts with a sigh that echoes in his own ribs. He follows the motion and finds her staring at her palms again. Like she could will away the sooty stains. They might pass for evening gloves, if they didn’t look so veiny. But they don’t hurt. He’s asked her.

Precious thing, what on earth is wrong with you, to think there’s anything wrong with you?

“You--” Astarion stammers, brow furrowing as he begins again, incredulous. “What in all the heavens above and hells below could have ever possessed you of the notion that you’re cursed?”

The softness in his throat, his whispered words on fogged breath, curling quiet into the night air, that’s entirely her doing. Her undoing of so much of what Astarion thought was in his nature.

Naomi looks up at him, with an aged sort of sadness brimming beneath the quiet huff of her laugh. “It was all the dead people, dear.”

Astarion scoffs. “Darling, I’m hurt that you could think of my fine company as anything other than a blessing.”

“You are my silver lining,” she breathes back, as if her words themselves were fragile lace. Astarion feels the delicate brush of them over his neck. It grows suddenly taut, choking the notion of other words right out of him.

When his head rolls back to the ground again, something, perhaps that useless heart of his, is trying to punch its way straight through his chest. He feels winded, like he took a tumble without featherfall. Like she smacked him with a damn brick.

He is as much her unintended consequence as she is his. One that might’ve been impossible if fate was otherwise. Resplendent light, only made possible by ravenous shadows.

Silver linings.

And you are mine, he thinks, only to himself, as his hands find her hair again. Aren’t you?

A/N: Divider credit for before and immediately after story text to @firefly-graphics. Divider credit for scene breaks and banner below to @saradika-graphics.

[diagonal-queen]

can't believe none of you have mentioned that in kunikida's new years mayoi side story, he asks yosano for help cleaning ranpo's desk because he 'doesn't know what he's allowed to touch' help that's so precious to me. he respects his coworkers so much i can'tfucking handle it they are just a little family

AND THEN YOSANO IS LIKE 'oh tanizaki while you're out shopping can you buy some candy and ramune. ranpo's almost out we need to top him up' why is this 26 year old manchild receiving more love from his coworkers than i ever have from my parents