#and it's in a heal ball like a bless from me to him that he will surely get well

[hellomelody312]

Which mon I should chose, the apple for an acceptance to be happy together ever after, or the fish symboling my love and endearment to my precious boy.

#pokemon #pokemon kieran #kieran #pokemon scarlet and violet #the indigo disk #meme #it took me a lot of time to think about it #i actually traded him with luvdisc in the end #i want him to experience something new and fresh after whole drama #and it's in a heal ball like a bless from me to him that he will surely get well #i also want to trade him a rowlet tbh since it's one of my faves and it's damn cute which perfectly fits him

[radiance1]

Inspired by the idea of that one post I did where Tucker downloaded DDLC, fell in love with Monika and then gave her a body. Which is set in the DC universe because why naught lmao.

"I'll bring you back to me..." Monika whispered to the figure on the other side of the glass her hand was pressed against. A soft smile on her face as she looked upon the peacefully 'sleeping' figure that floated inside of the tank.

Tucker, 'asleep' in a tank flowing with ectoplasm that kept his body perfectly preserved and even helped it 'heal' somewhat when Monika wasn't taking him out to run a proper check on his injuries. Eyes softly closed and curled into a ball.

He looked at peace.

Recent magical examinations showed that due to his... circumstances, he was much more akin to something like Danny or Vlad's existence than he was human. Yet, unfortunately, he wasn't quite what they were either.

Maybe if he was, she wouldn't need to do what she has.

Monika sighed and took her hand back, swiftly turning around and walking away. She flicked her hand as she did so, summoning various screens that held various reports over select strands of both magical and scientific experiments.

'Tucker would have loved to see this.' The thought brought a small smile to her lips that swiftly turned to a frown when she remembered the reason behind these experiments. 'No matter,' She thought. 'I'll show him when I bring him back.'

She sought out a specific screen, narrowing her eyes when she realized there was a complication one of her more hopeful tests.

She would have to go resolve it personally, it seemed.

The thought of leaving her beloved alone for even a moment stifling but! If all went well then, he would reawaken! Any amount of discomfort on her end was nothing in the face of a such a joyous occasion.

If all went well, everything would be back to how they should be!

===

She should have known better than to think things were going to go well for her.

The complication that required her personal attention was solved, though it took some time, and bore fruit that, while not able to help tremendously, was enough to speed up her progress by a moderate amount.

One good thing made way for another bad thing.

Perhaps being around the Fenton family caused their luck to rub off on her.

When she returned her beloved's body was no longer where it was. Which should have been impossible, no one should have been able to get in or out without her explicate permission. And indeed, whatever happened didn't have her permission.

They forced their way inside.

Her systems were a mess. Some shut down, some dealing with viruses and some even fading from her rights completely. Which were then promptly disposed of.

Her beloved was stolen, right beneath her nose. Plucked out of the safety she surrounded him with when it came time for him to reawaken.

Monika was not angry.

No. No.

What was flowing throughout her artificial body was something much, much more potent than rage. Fueled by despair and hope that crashed down around her.

Monika was not angry.

What she was feeling, if she were to put it more accurately, would be the sin that humans had come to known as Wrath.

War bless her.

Fear aid her.

Time preserve her.

She had a thief to catch.

===

In a city blessed with endless sun and protection of a god amongst men. A body opened its eyes.

'Monika.' Was its first thought.

'It stinks.' Was its second.

It stood up on awkward legs, bringing its hands to its head and turning the proper way with a loud and cringeworthy crack. It placed a hand to its chest next, feeling the slow beating of a heart that was easily viewable from the patch of see-through muscle that wasn't covered by any skin.

It looked at itself. It's very naked self and narrowed its eyes when it finally found a memory.

'Clothes.' Was its-no, his third thought.

And so, it started moving.

===

Lex Luthor was having a hard time not throwing something at one of the dolts who had lost a precious specimen he spent countless amounts of resources in order to get.

To curb his anger and not face a potential lawsuit, that was a headache he didn't care for.

He settled for firing all of them instead.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #ddlc monika #doki doki monika

[lazyneonrabbitt]

King and his Queen

Daryl Dixon x Reader | [Pt.1]

After Daryl's match he gets treated like royalty by his loving partner.

Italics are flashbacks. Mild smut-ish at the end

Like clockwork you were down the stairs of your platform and down in the hallway that led to the cage where Daryl slumped against the wall. Out of view from the crowd he didn't have to pretend to be okay after taking a bad hit to the leg. Now he could be hurt and tired, and have you help him across the hall into your livin quarters where you would care for him with the most delicate touches that were like day and night compared to the harsh beatings he got in front of the crowd.

He needed your support to make it all the way into the bathroom where you helped him sit at the edge of the tub where he shifted back into his human form while you reached behind him to run the water and turning back to the sink. You heard the loud clanking of his metal claw tips and fang caps hit the floor as his shape no longer held the form they were made to hold onto.

"Here you go." Your hands held a cup of saltwater solution to rinse his mouth with, the other a container with metal caps to cover his broken teeth.

You watched as he rinsed his mouth and spat the solution back into the cup, handing it back to you to dispose of as he went to click the dentures into place and ran his tongue over the stubby fangs they replicated.

Daryl had never been as hungry as he was now, with the woods rigged in traps that were constantly under surveillance. There was no game left.

A scream caught his attention and he rushed out to the sound, he was in no way or shape against eating humans to survive right now, especially if they're already trapped.

Except the woman wasn't, instead she was cornered by the undead. He couldn't eat infected flesh, he had to go grab her before they did.

Tearing through the small group was a simple task, and the woman was happily thanking him over and over again, nit realising his true intentions until he had her cornered as well. He snarled at her, baring his teeth but was met with a curious stare. "I like your stubby little fangs, they're cute."

He could only grunt in confusion and snap at her, his eyes and fangs now changed and showing he did mean harm. But the loud grumble of his stomach seemed to ruin his scary vibes, and your offer of sharing food had him easily convinced not to eat you just yet.

WIth the tub filling up and your fist aid kid splayed open on the side Daryl felt content. You fed him when he was starving then, and now still tend to his wounds after each match. "M'lucky ta have ya, love."

His eyes were on you where you sat jn front of him, disinfecting the deep cuts on his leg before they fully healed and trapped an infection.

"Still happy you didn't eat me back then?"

With his hand hanging in the soapy water behind him he rolled his eyes at you. "Can still do tha', ya live with a monster, remember?"

You only laughed at him and pat his leg, telling him to go lay in the tub.

The hot water was a blessing for his sore muscles, laying down and letting his skin soak up the warmth.

"Daryl, if you decided to eat me it'd be in bed, with my thighs around your head." An excited hum left the fighter, his brows raised in interest but you quickly shot him down. "Wash up first, then we can get dirty again later."

“Hmhmm, fine.” He slid down further into the tub, only being above the water from the nose up. You took the opportunity to soak his hair and give it a wash, making him sit back up to scrub at his healed over skin. The way he knew your routine by heart made his after match cleaning so much easier, and of course the fact that he trusted you enough to see him fully nude in the tub.

He felt like royalty with how you treated him, holding his ankle in your hand as you took a sturdy brush to his toe claws. The darkened skin of his toe pads and the ball of his foot were always so rough, a lingering wolf feature that became permanent over time.

“Hey, Dee.” Your voice pulled him from his work, skinning a rabbit in your shared tent. “Don’t hate me for suggesting it, but I think I know how we can get a chance at a better life..”

Your current lifestyle wasn’t it. While Daryl didn’t mind the woodsy life, you weren’t adapting well to it and it slowly took a toll on your mental health. But you were living with a werewolf, which brought a lot of good things like having a skilled hunter who brought meat home, and never being cold at night while you cuddled close to him.

“Wha’s the plan, bun? Ya gotta talk ‘fore I can judge.” He had stopped working to listen to your probably insane plan.

“So, I overheard some guys talking about monster fighting—“

“No.” The plan was shot down immediately, without even hearing more of it. “Ain’t gon’ let ya use me as a pet.”

That was, of course, until he was out on a full moon and almost got captured by the men you had mentioned before. He overheard them talking about sedating and selling him as he hid long enough for them to believe he ran off.

It was how he ended up in his shifted form for much longer than he preferred, having to pretend to be a feral beast instead of an intelligent creature.

Even being toweled dry was done gently, careful of any skin that was still red and irritated where healing wounds had just been. Especially his leg still looked angry, the previously bleeding tears now only tinted red streaks of skin, waiting to settle overnight.

You brushed Daryl’s hair after towel drying it, making sure it was detangled entirely before letting him leave the bathroom.

He could feel your lingering stares as he made his way to his stash for some underwear and a robe. Never really wearing many of his old clothes anymore and even having you make adjustments to his current ones.

He knew your eyes were on his lower back, at the end of his spine where his tailbone protruded and shaped an immobile stub that made each and every pair of trousers a hell to wear.

"Quit starin'." The remnants of his beast form barely bothered him anymore. He knew to watch out and not snag his pointed ears when he brushed his hair in the morning, and had given up on shoes and socks a long while ago, going everywhere barefoot now. He didn’t mind the extra fuzz that remained on his legs either. But this one was different. He found it gross and ugly, always hiding it away in loose boxer shorts or underneath a robe.

You on the other hand found it cute how he sported the little tail stub nowadays, always trying to lighten the mood around it by mentioning it could stay a full tail by the end of his next transformation.

Daryl threw on the soft robe and hid himself in it, sitting down on the edge of your shared bed and watched you go get the new supply delivery and put it away before disappearing into the kitchen.

The smell of fresh fruits being cut up filled his nose and had him up to find you in seconds.

His arms wrapped around your waist in a loving embrace as he stuck himself against your back. The scruff on his chin scratched your cheek as he nuzzled you and purred. “Yer bein’ eager with those.”

“Well, I was gonna share with you, but if you’re being a jackass about it I’ll keep it all for myself.” You stuck out your tongue at him and fed him a small piece of apple, which he accepted with a careful bite.

“Would my king like to be fed in bed?” You turned around in his grasp and kissed his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck to get better access. While one hand snaked around your waist once more, the other one went behind your back and grabbed another piece of fruit. “King, huh.” He spoke around the food and moved to squeeze your behind. “Come a long way from bein’ yer guard dog.”

“Name and species.” The grump at the building’s entrance spoke. You had gone through the same process to get into the surrounding part of town already where you were checked bag after bag, every single pocket on your outfit included.

“Dixon. Werewolf.” Your tone was clearly one of boredom, albeit fake, you had to get in there to fight in order to get some food and a sucky roof over your head. Pretending you weren’t desperate was the best plan for now. Daryl listened intently to the conversation being held between you and the man, taking in all the important info without reacting to any of it, having to pretend to have lost most of his human skills in order to be allowed to fight.

After a while of back and forth you were allowed in, on the condition of being escorted to a waiting room, and keeping ‘Dixon’ chained. It was clear from his angry look you were going to get scolded for letting random strangers put chains on him, but for now it all seemed to work.

"This is your temporary room. If you survive today and decide to stay and fight you'll get something permanent." The man who escorted you turned on his heels to move on with his day, but not before muttering some last words. "For as long as your beast lives of course."

Later that day Daryl was thrown into the fighting cage and you were escorted to your spot up high. "Command him from here. You're allowed to head down after the last bell rings."

Down on the floor you saw Daryl, now Dixon, look around at the crowd in confusion and being caugh off guard by the loud voice announcing his fighter name, "and another newcomer" as well. His head snapped back down at the sound of the second door unlocking and revealing his first oponent..

"Yeah, well." You took his hands off you and started towards the bed, taking the bowl of fruits with you. "You're still my guard dog. I can't defend myself for shit." With a wink back to where he stood you turned the corner and disappeared from his view. While your words didn't sound like a compliment, he took them like one and stood there a moment taking it in.

The scene when he rounded the corner was one he'd never get enough of. You had ditched your jeans and top and were now on the bed in sweats and a shirt that hung off one shoulder. The bowl of fruit sat betwden your legs and your back rested against the stupid amount of pillows you kept on the bed. You were on one half of the bed, always making sure there was enough space for Daryl to join you, and he did. He sat down and stretched out beside you, not wasting a second to nudge you and gesture he wanted some fruit.

"Oh, of course your majesty." With a soft giggle you fed him bit after bit, putting pieces between your teeth and feeding him some like that too. You just relaxed and snacked until the bowl was emptied.

The groan that came from beside you reminded gou of the fact you skipped on tending to your precious fighter's aching muscles after the fight.

Putting the bowl aside on the floor you sat up and pat Daryl on the hip. "Roll over, baby. Lemme give you a massage."

With a low rumble deep in his chest he rolled over onto his stomach, his face towards where you still sat beside him with your upper body hanging off the bed to find the bottle of lotion you kept around. He was having a hard time resisting the urge to slap your ass, but he knee better than to risk having you topple off the bed and have him sleep on the couch you barely ever used.

Daryl shivered as the cold ointment touched his skin but quickly relaxed into the matres when your ministrations began. Within the first minute you had him purring beneath you, letting out soft moans and grunts when you worked out tough knots.

"Yer too good fer me, princess." His words came out almost in a moan. You knew exactly how and where to touch him go get all the pretty noises out of him. His back was something you always loved. Before all of this when you could stare for hours as he gutted a deer, watching his muscles ripple under his skin. But nowadays even more with the large wings carved into them.

The words of Dixon claiming the title of King spread fast, and all of a sudden people were challenging him with their own werewolves, believing it was an easy way to win with one in your corner. But obviously it wasn't seeing he still took out each and every one of them.

More and more wolves came in, and with those a whole bunch that sported fur patterns similar to Daryl's, making it difficult to keep them apart as they were at each others' throats.

"We really need to find something to make you easy to identify with all those wolves coming in lately. I swear I almost screamed at the wrong dog earlier.." You huffed and fell on your bed, shooting up only a second later. "Oh! I got something." And then you slumped back down again. "But you'll probably hate it again.."

"Can ya please start tellin' me yer plans 'fore decidin' I'll hate 'em?" Daryl came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "Remind ya how great this one turned out. Almost livin' the new world dream 'ere."

You had to agree with him. If you ignored the fights to the death every couple of days it was one hell of an upgrade. "Alright, so your wings that you always wore before. What if we get them on you?"

"On me how, exactly?" He turned to look at you, still hunched over the basket of clean clothes to find his comfortable pants.

"There's this guy in town. He does tattoos and scar stuff. I'm sure if we give him a silver tool he can put those wings on you. With sikver they'll scar for sure and you'll always be recognisable."

The huff as Daryl pulled up his pants was almost enough of an answer for you, already admitting defeat when he spoke up.

"Got no fights fer the next two days. We'll go see'em t'morrow. Ain't changin' back now, just took a damn shower."

With each rough shove of your knuckles over groups of sore muscles you got a groan in return. "Yeah, my King loved getting his back rubs."

The satisfied humm that left his lips was enough motivation to keep going, rubbing right above his hips and working at the sore spots. You took some extra ointment and slowly worked your hands over his spine, circling downward ever so carefully, reaching the base of his tail and continued on.

The first reaction you got was a growl, telling you to back off but seeing how he was clawing at the sheets told you a whole different story.

You decided to push your luck and continue down, pressing right where his tail started and earning a pillow muffled moan. You watched him with his face stuffed into a pillow, one claw tearing into it as well. "Fuck girl, why ya gotta do tha'?" He tried so hard to sound annoyed, but in reality he was barely hiding the need for more.

"But my King deserves only the best treatment. And it sounded almost like you were enjoying that." You had leaned down to softly whisper that last bit and give his ear a soft bite and a kiss before moving back up and continuing to rub at his tail. Each pass over his spine earned you a a moan, whine or humm until you found the perfect spot that had him rut into the matres.

The second Daryl noticed his involuntary response he mentally cursed himself. And of course you noticed, giving that one spot extra attention and massaging it exclusively.

"Hhah, stop pleease.." He was a writhing mess beneath you, knuckes white from the death grip he had on the bed and biting down on the pillow to muffle his pleasured sounds. His face colored the same shade of red as the freshly rubbed skin of his back. He could have easily snapped at you, grabbed you by the wrists and thrown you off him but none of that crossed his mind. He was so hard he was ready to cum within a couple more rubs.

His noises got louder and more intense with each movement of your skilled fingers, even if it got more difficult to be precise with the constant thrust of his hips.

"God I love your sweet sounds, so delicious.." It was so good to see another side of him, allowing himself to not be the strong beast for once.

"Shit, bun. M'gonna.." your fingers rubbed his spine just right and his coil snapped. With a long winded moan he finished in his pants, needing a minute to catch his breath before throwing you off him with a grunt. "Ya gon' clean tha' mess ya made now?"

With a soft laugh you agreed to do exactly that. "Anything for my King."

A/N: Man, this took me so long! Apologies for the wait~

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd au #werewolves #werewolf

[lumienyx]

Could you write something about astarion getting to eat a dish with garlic in it for the first time since he became a vampire?

I assume that the tadpole would let him do that and think getting to experience food youre basically allergic to again is an experience.

Maybe it doesnt taste the way he remembers and doesnt compare to memory (based on my experience with milk based products)

Delectable Treats

A/N: honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me XD not quite into crack territory (hopefully) but definitely there with a hefty dose of humor and fluff🥺 hope you enjoy✨

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav | Words: 2,362

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Astarion Being Astarion, Astarion POV, Appropriate Use of Illithid Parasite Powers

Summary:

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic; he has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says, “Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all?"

Or, after a violent altercation that leaves most of the crew dead or incapacitated, Astarion ends up cooking dinner for the newly healed and revivified. It goes as well as you… wouldn't expect, really.

Read on AO3 or under the cut ↓

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic. He has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says,

“Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all? And this is after all the treats I’ve given you! Scratch? Tara?”

Scratch barks at him, circling around himself a few times as he wags his tail. Tara keeps staring at him with a calm, collected expression which Astarion can swear is almost sympathetic. She then allows a gentle, drawn-out meow.

“I mean, it’s like we’re just tools for them, aren’t we?” Astarion goes on, lifting the lid to check on his… experiment. Seems fine, for now at least. “You, Scratch, ever bound to chase that muddied pathetic excuse for a ball—remind me to buy a new one next time we’re out, by the way.”

He focuses once more on the spell he has active, heating the metal contraption further as the time is just about up.

“And you, Tara—are you forever fated to hunt down rare scrolls for Gale and be his comfort object?” Astarion goes on. “Well, I mean, that is what cats are—”

Tara cuts him off with a hiss.

“—I mean, tressyms are for, of course.” Tara’s hiss melds into a threatening growl, which Astarion completely ignores. “But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating."

Scratch barks his agreement. Tara flaps her wings in another half-hearted threat, before sliding closer to Astarion, no doubt asking for apologetic pets.

With another painstaking sigh, Astarion relents, running his hands through her soft fur. Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself. 

Astarion supposes it's kind of his own fault for not keeping his mouth shut but he prefers to blame everyone else anyway. Shadowheart for casting her new 'blessing' of a protection spell on them before their party left. Clueless herself that the spell would deal damage to her for every wound the targets suffer, and so she just up and died spontaneously while staying back at camp. Lae’zel up next, killed by a far-too-lucky blast to the head. Gale drained dry of almost all life within him with a necrotic energy so strong that Tav's Counterspell did nothing against it. Karlach and Wyll both trapped by Hold Person and hit by a rock—luckily not quite killed, but very much incapacitated.

The Underdark truly was a place too dark and full to the brim with terrors.

Astarion and Tav managed to avoid most of the damage; Astarion by hiding and Tav with a Globe of Invulnerability that came into effect far too late to protect the others. And so, the both of them ended up dragging dead and disfigured bodies of their friends back to camp, where Halsin, a newly resurrected Shadowheart, and Tav tended to the wounded—and Withers to the dead. The quite gory sight made even Astarion uncomfortable, the spilled blood not inducing any hunger, just crippling anxiety for those he has come to call friends.

“I suppose dinner will have to wait,” Halsin says somewhat grimly, somewhat as a joke as he takes in the gravity of the situation.

“If it’s not anything difficult,” some doubtless evil force prompted Astarion to say, “I can take care of that.”

“Can you?” 

“Really?”

And suddenly, Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose. It’s how he finds himself here, now, opening the metal contraption serving as a poor substitute for an oven, kept hot continuously by a Heat Metal spell Tav modified to run past its one-minute time limit. Lying there on the makeshift cooking trays is perfectly cooked, aromatic garlic bread along with a few hefty pieces of beef lathered with the variety of vegetables Astarion had found in the stash. He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those.

This is absolute insanity, Astarion decides. Though he can’t help but feel strangely satisfied with his efforts. He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

It all starts to seem even more like a fever dream as Astarion returns to the campfire to find all of his companions in an adequate state of healed or revivified. Some drinking water, some leaning hard on the booze. 

“My painkiller,” Wyll insists, holding tight to his wine bottle. 

“Give it back and eat first,” Shadowheart reprimands him, herself still looking more like a walking corpse than a living being. 

It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready.

There’s skepticism, at first. Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. Tav smiles as he cuts himself his share, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the look in them a bit apprehensive. Karlach says, well, they’ve gotten through the sheer hell sprung up on them in the Underdark, they can survive food poisoning, right?

Astarion simply lounges with his head on Tav’s lap in their childish-looking circle around the fire, wishing he could drop dead a second time in his increasingly agonizing existence. Preferably right there on the spot.

Though when Tav runs his hands through Astarion’s hair, the touch soft, and warm, and perfect—Astarion thinks that maybe that’s payment enough for enduring all this slander.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, waving in Tav and Halsin’s direction, “that you explicitly asked for this.”

“Wait, listen!” Karlach’s eyes grow wide. “Holy hells, this is actually good!”

“What?” and that’s Gale, “I don’t believe it.”

“Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

“Palatable? The bread is fucking delicious! Astarion, how did you manage it?”

“Is it a flavor illusion?”

“Did you steal it?”

“Did you hire one of your ghouls to do it?”

“No, ghouls wouldn’t know how to cook, Tav, stop acting the idiot. But maybe he has some imprisoned, tortured chef we’re unaware of?”

“Honestly, sweet Shadowheart.” Astarion lifts his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it.

Astarion only grins. “Trade secret.” Mentioning nothing of how he was himself quite concerned about the end result. He hasn’t cooked anything in hundreds of years—what felt like eternity, really. 

But there was a time—and the memory of that time is too precious and painful to be lost even to Cazador’s hold. A time when his mother fell ill of a magical ailment that required a most complex and lengthy treatment. When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. And so, Astarion had to learn to cook from scratch, opting for baking and boiling with just the right concoction of spices to make even laughably simple meals tasty nonetheless. Something his mother could stomach even during the most severe fevers and his father would eat cold as he returned from late nights at the office. Astarion barely remembers either of their faces, barely allows himself to utter their names in his mind, but these flashes of memory stay etched too deep into his brain to be forgotten.

“Well, I admit it,” Wyll says then, returning Astarion’s attention to the present. “I owe you an apology for the mistrust, Astarion. But I honestly thought this would taste like ashes in my mouth.”

“It would only taste like that to me,” Astarion says, “don’t you worry.”

“Oh!” Tav throws him a strange look. Astarion still can’t quite get used to the beauty of those eyes, especially as they reflect the firelight, blue and green reflecting the flame’s auburn hue. “I just wanted to offer you to try. I—I forgot, sorry.”

Astarion shrugs. “No need to apologize, darling,” he mutters, “it's my burden to bear.”

“But it’s literally melting in my mouth, it’s that good!” Karlach persists, quite loudly.

“I’d say it might just be because of the…” Shadowheart motions at the entirety of Karlach. “The heat, but I agree.”

And so commences another round of compliments Astarion can’t quite deny are lifting his mood.

Well. Seems like he’s valued after all. He sees Scratch and Tara watching him through half-lidded eyes as they doze by the fire. Envious, no doubt.

“Listen,” Tav says suddenly, putting away his plate, the food just half-finished.

Astarion asks, “Something wrong?” from where he’s still resting on Tav’s lap.

“Not at all.” Tav has that dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he’s describing a new terrifying way he’s bent metamagic to do his (sometimes downright insane) bidding. “I was just thinking.”

“Quite dangerous for us all,” Astarion remarks, lifting himself up to sit facing his lover, “if you’re thinking of doing something… questionable again.”

“When have I ever made a so-called ‘questionable’ choice, love?”

“Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

“Anyway.” Tav averts his eyes. Astarion is glad to see he’s still embarrassed about that particular debacle. “What I was thinking is that… the tadpoles allow us to read each other's thoughts, yes? And use the other’s senses—I mean it worked when I showed you your face, right?”

Astarion’s already slow enough heart skips a drawn-out beat as he remembers. Connected to Tav’s mind, resonant with his soul, seeing through his eyes: a reflection Astarion has all but forgotten. Silver curls framing a face that seemed so new yet painfully familiar. Red eyes staring back at him—a prettier shade than the gory blood-red he’s always imagined.

“I remember,” he says, “how could I forget? You insist on showing it to me every day.”

Tav smiles. “Because it makes you happy.” And Astarion can’t help but smile in turn. It does.

Tav opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it. Chews on his lip, considering. Then finally asks, “Let me in?”

Astarion frowns at the proposition, still unsure of what Tav has on his mind. But he’s long gotten over the initial distrust he harbored. There really is no going back, Astarion supposes, now that he’s shown his cards and revealed just how much he cherishes Tav, relishes his closeness. How thankful he is for Tav's painfully earnest sympathy regarding Astarion’s past interfering with the present. His patience is another precious gift, as Astarion grows used to the simplest touches once more, just now comfortable with all kinds of intimacy that don’t quite lead further, thoroughly enjoying the chastest of kisses.

And so, “All right,” Astarion says. Closes his eyes and opens his mind to Tav’s.

It feels familiar, a rush of warmth that makes him shudder. A foreign presence in his thoughts that’s welcomed, because it comes with peace and no hint of deception.

“Open your eyes,” Tav prompts, then. Astarion does—only to see Tav offering him a piece of the garlic bread from his plate.

“I can’t—”

“Just try it.”

Frowning, quite confused, Astarion still accepts the piece. Takes a tiny bite and—

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “Hells. What the?..”

“It worked?” And Tav is smiling at him, that childlike joy illuminating his face as it so often does. “I supposed that the senses we share through the connection aren't just limited to sight. It could be taste as well. How is it?”

“Erm,” Astarion himself is quite speechless, too focused on the taste buds that are finally working the way they’re supposed to. The bread is sweet-tinged with a slightly salty base, so soft it melts on his tongue, buttery but not overly so. “It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it. ”

“You can.”

“It’s… strange. Such a… unique flavor. I don’t even have a memory to compare it to,” Astarion muses, treating himself to another bite. "It's quite like I'm trying it for the first time." He mirrors Tav’s smile unconsciously, feeling a giddy kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. He can’t quite tell whose it is. Maybe it stems from them both. “But actually—it’s delectable, if I say so myself.”

“See what I mean?” Gale grumbles from someplace too far off to bother Astarion’s reverie. “Thrives on self-glorification.”

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion leans in for a gentle kiss. Draws it out, moving his lips softly against Tav’s, melding their thoughts so that what forms is one unified feeling of contentment. Happiness. Love—the most delightful gift Astarion’s been given. “Still, you make my life all the better,” Astarion whispers as he draws away. “You treat me so kindly and yet ask for no favors in return. I’m feeling increasingly guilty about it, truth be told.”

“Don’t.” Tav shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your happiness is a reward precious enough.”

“And how do I make you happy?” Astarion demands. “Right now, this very moment?”

Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness.

“Let’s get away,” Tav suggests, voice barely above a whisper. “Enjoy dinner in private. If I get a few more of those kisses out of you—I might just be the luckiest person alive.”

“Darling.” Astarion grins at the idea, though Tav must already feel his excitement through their connection. “Nothing would please me more.”

~~~

thank you for the read💙 I'd love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it!🥺

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@spacebarbarianweird, @satanicspinosaurus, @tallymonster, @tragedybunny

#prompt fill #astarion x tav #astarion x male tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #lumi writes #astarion fanfic #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3

[stomach-bugg09]

missing fali hours fr 😔😔

an: then this is your lucky day... ANYWAY i cannot believe i just wrote this. like what? got a random flicker of inspo and HERE WE ARE anyway i hope you guys can still enjoy after like a hundred years of me not existing. love you all!!

summary: [y/n] gets hurt, and fali has never been so anxious in his life.

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @fleurbeass @23victoria @nyotamalfoy @gcldtom @calypixi

for him

the sullies were more than accustomed to the idea of sacrifices. from repeatedly risking their lives on the battlefield to leaving the only home they ever knew, the sullies had gotten quite familiar with giving things up.

but, nothing would ever prepare them to lose a member of their tight knit family. especially not the eldest daughter.

ronal promised them, just before disappearing behind the curtains of her healers marui, that [y/n] was in safe hands, and thanks to their quick delivery of the girl from where she’d originally been stranded and injured, there was a very big chance that she would not only survive, but be okay.

but, there was also a chance — small, but a chance nonetheless — that she wouldn't be okay. that she wouldn't survive, or even worse, that she would survive and have to live a life burdened.

the image of their dying sister continued to flash through the sully siblings’ minds. her bloodied body flushed up against the wet sand, a low tide barely brushing over her toes every now and again. what made matters worse was the human made knife sticking from her gut.

when would this war end?

neteyam stared at his shaking hands, still covered in [y/n]’s blood. he tried to scrub it off, but the sticky liquid seemed to have flooded into every crevice imaginable. he’d been the one to take charge, the one to immediately apply pressure to the wound while ordering lo’ak to get their parents. kiri was quick to join him, on her knees and making sure that there weren’t any other hidden wounds.

these children — her baby brothers and sister — were brave enough to immediately act, and yet fali couldn’t move. as soon as he saw the sully girl with blood soaked into the sand below, it felt as if his feet were sunken and stuck.

the only thing to bring him back to light was the small hand of tuk.

now, the siblings plus fali stood outside, anxiously awaiting any sign of news. fali was pale, hovering in the back as thoughts of the absolute utter worst circled throughout his brain.

neteyam, kiri, and lo’ak had their own worries, their own anxieties. that was their big sis. if anything happened to her, the sully family was a mess. they would do anything to keep her alive, just as she would do the same for them.

but tuk, oh little tuk, was focused on bigger things. brighter things! somehow, the little ball of energy just knew her sister would be okay. tuk had never met someone stronger than [y/n] ( besides her mother, perhaps, but [y/n] had to learn it from somewhere ), so she had no doubt that her big sister would pull through better than before.

so, she decided the best thing she could do was work her own magic. it's what her sister would want, after all.

once again, fali found himself pulled out of his anxious thoughts by a small hand in his, and then… and then a tear dropped. it was small, practically nonexistent, but he knew. and tuk knew.

but she would never tell.

and then, as if eywa herself had come down with a blessing of her own, jake and neytiri walked out of the marui. they were the only ones originally allowed in after ronal declared her healing finished.

the tension rose at the sight of the adults, fali barely even noticing as his grip tightened around the youngest sully’s hand. tuk fought back a smile at the feeling.

wide eyes stared desperately at the adults, the silence consuming them as they all silently wondered the same thing. is [y/n] going to be okay?

as soon as a smile softly brushed onto the faces of both parents, a relieved breath left each other their mouths, tears threatening to spill as they realized just exactly how terrified they were.

“she is okay,” jake confirmed with a nod, his own eyes growing teary. his baby girl was strong, he knew that, but even seeing her in the slightest bit of pain felt like failure. failure as a parent, as a former olo’eyktan, as a protector. but, she was okay, and she would continue to be okay.

at the words, the siblings didn’t even wait to burst through the marui. even tuk found herself running alongside kiri, letting go of fali’s hand. sure, she loved fali, but nothing would beat the love she had for her big sister.

and so, even though fali found himself alone once again, fali didn't mind walking behind the four of them. he didn’t mind having to wait his turn, having to stand alone in the back as he laughed at each of their reunions and interactions. he didn't mind waiting, because he knew she was waiting for him too.

and eventually, after what felt like a thousand years, he approached the bedside. “[y/n],” he teased with a smile.

“fali,” she replied, energy matching him almost exactly if it weren't for her pure exhaustion.

and then, without another word, fali leaned down and kissed her. she was real, she was okay, and she would always be okay. if not for herself, then for him.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #sully family #kiri sully #sully!reader #sully siblings x reader #sully siblings #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #loak x sister!reader #fali x reader #lo’ak sully #neteyam #lo'ak #loak

[mirkwoodmunson]

eat your lunch

eddie munson x f!y/n

815 words

eddie has a hard time calming down when he’s in one of his loud-mouthed moods, until you cram some food in his mouth for some peace and quiet.

contains: fluff, goofs, hellfire club, established relationship, jason carver, chrissy cunningham, pre-s4 tw: cursing, food mention/eating/forced eating but in a lighthearted way, playful hitting a/n: very short lil thang completely inspired by this post that i love and have been thinking about all day i love it so much i love goofy eddie. nate is just a random name for the one hellfire member they decided not to name for whatever reason :/ disc: i do not give permission to share my content outside of tumblr; please reblog and do not repost; my content (even sfw) is not meant for minors; i am not responsible for the media you consume online

Jesus fucking Christ he was really on one today.

Lucky for you all you were desensitized to it, half the school’s eyes drawn to the Hellfire club, drawn to the nerdy metalhead strutting proudly along the tabletop, giving his performance of the day. One of many, actually. Earlier in the hallway with you he had raised his arms to the ceiling, tipped his head back, and bellowed,

“FELLOWS OF THE HALLWAY!! PLEASE PART YOURSELVES — AS THE RED SEA PARTED BEFORE MOSES — FOR THIS GORGEOUS CREATURE IS ABOUT TO GRACE YOUR PRESENCE AND MUST PASS!! DO NOT LOOK UPON HER!! THOSE UNWORTHY SHALL BURST INTO FLAAAAME~!!”

Again, you were used to it. Before, when you were very first subjected to this type of torment, you would’ve been beating his arm and hiding your face, hissing at him to knock it off.

Now you just, roll your eyes. The crowd does part — mainly due to the weirdo screeching at them — but you reach up and grab one of Ed’s hands and drag him along behind you while his free arm still praises the heavens.

“SHE BLESSES ME WITH HER HEALING TOUCH!! I AM CLEANSED, I TELL YOU, CLEANSED!!”

Now, at lunch, you all munched and engaged in idle chatter amongst yourselves, having to raise your voices every now and then when Eddie got particularly loud. Dustin slides you half of a Cosmic Brownie, and you slide him back a single Twinkie like it’s a high-stakes deal going down — Lucas nudging his arm for half of that. Mike scribbles out a letter to Eleven. Gareth drums pencils on the edge of the table while Jeff and Nate grunt, engaged in an arm wrestling competition — which Eddie steps over every time he makes a lap.

“Dusty, honey, chew your food,” you comment softly as Eddie breezes between the two of you, brow puckered, as the boy practically swallows the Twinkie whole, Lucas groaning in defeat as he misses out on a taste of the golden treat.

“—buncha ball-bouncing pretty boys with sticks up your butts!!” Eddie exclaims as he addresses the table of jocks. That’s where you groan, eyes sliding shut as a chip drops from between your fingers. The others have tight lips, now shifting their eyes down, as Jason Carver meets Eddie’s challenge.

“Don’t think I asked, freak!” The blonde boy spits, standing from his table where Chrissy Cunningham attempts to pull him back down.

“Oh jeeeeeze,” Dustin groans, sinking down in his seat.

Sure, it was all fun and games and business as usual when Eddie was just, talking. Just loudly speaking his mind about whatever was bothering him about society that day. But when he got Jason riled up too, the fun quickly got sucked out of it, and things would get heated rather quickly. You notice Lucas giving you a look that says ‘please make him stop’ but you hold up your hands, snorting.

“Hey, that’s like waking someone up from sleepwalking. He might go feral.”

“He is feral!” Mike drops his pencil, unable to even try to continue concentrating as Eddie’s and Jason’s voices get louder and louder.

You all look over at the sound of impact, Eddie hopping down heavily from the table and immediately he and Jason getting into each other’s faces, Chrissy still trying to tug Jason’s arm. You make eye contact with her, and she rolls her head in exasperation, her look deeply apologetic. You nod at her and then stand up, grabbing Eddie by the scruff of his t-shirt.

He doesn’t protest, or pull or turn away, instead following your tugging with backwards steps as he jabs a finger in Jason’s direction, their words still heated but it seemed like they were starting to run out of fuel.

“Pansy-ass ball-jockey!!” Eddie throws a final insult as you toss him into his chair, slapping down his pointing hand as you drop back into your own. Chrissy settles her partner as well, keeping him turned away and getting him calmed down.

“Oookay okay okay,” you coo, picking up a handful of pretzel bits and stuffing them into Eddie’s mouth, holding the back of his head. He grumbles as he chews them, grumpy and agitated but starting to calm down as you practically mother him into returning to a docile state.

“Theeere ya go,” you coo again, more mockingly as you grin, satisfied with his silence. You pick up half your sandwich, gesturing to Eddie,

“Now shut up n’ eat your lunch, Munson. Wind-down time.”

The others at the table give you approving nods, grinning over the antics between their friends.

He sighs heavily and crosses his arms, chewing and grumbling still, but much calmer now. Whenever he throws a dirty glance at the jocks you simply hold up more food to him, smiling when he visibly softens every time and lets you feed him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #hellfire club #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson drabble #drabble #short fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #mine

[jo-harrington]

Are you still taking requests for creatures? I love Greek mythology. Oneiroi?

Oh hey anon; sorry it's taken a little while for me to get to your request. This sounded familiar to me and I couldn't place it. Obviously I looked it up, and it was incredibly interesting...but then I realized! (Sorry I'm gonna go off on a tangent for a second.) Persephone calls Hades "Oneiroi" when he appears in her dream in Rachel Alexander's Receiver of Many. Which is a fantastic series and 10/10 recommend.

So I'm gonna take a little inspiration from that book, as well as one of my favorite little animated shorts Somewhere in Dreamland. Hope you enjoy.

Themes/TW: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort

Find other Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

September 1984

Eddie was sick.

He didn't get sick often and it was a fact that he often touted about when his friends came down with a cold or the flu.

One time in the third or fourth grade, there was a horrible outbreak of the chicken pox and Eddie had been the only kid in class that didn't succumb to the terrible itching and endure countless oatmeal baths.

It was a bit of a blessing; his mom couldn't have afforded a day off work to take care of him or the penicillin shot at Doc Thomas' office. And once she was gone...well...Wayne and Rick did their best to take care of a healthy Eddie...who knows how much of a burden they would have faced with a phlegmy, puking one.

Now though, it hit him hard. Like 20 years of mediocre luck had run out.

It started with a dry and sore throat; he just wrote it off as having pushed his voice little too hard at the Hideout the night prior. A new setlist, a new song...pretty much an entirely new band. He had been excited.

Then his eyes started to feel dry and crusty; his vision just on the annoying side of strained and blurry. For the first time in his public school education, he wasn't lying when a teacher called on him and he said he was having trouble seeing the board.

By the time he got home, his head was pounding, and he used the last of his willpower to throw a can of chicken noodle soup in the microwave and call you to cancel your date for that night.

He curled himself into a ball on the couch and promptly passed out--didn't even touch his soup--only to wake up to yours and Wayne's voices in his ear and a hand on his forehead.

"...doesn't feel warm but he never gets sick. Maybe I ought to stay?"

Well...he assumed it was Wayne. It didn't really sound like Wayne. Maybe he was sick too.

"As much as he would enjoy the attention, he doesn't need both of us to stay with him. I've got something that'll fix him right up; you go."

"If you're sure?"

Next thing he knew, the front door slammed shut and his eyes cracked open to see a steaming bowl of something in his face.

"Alright you plague-ridden fiend," you teased. "Sit up, I'm not gonna spoon feed you."

"But what if I asked real nice," he groaned and hoisted himself upright.

He took the bowl and inhaled the warm steam coming from within. He'd had this recipe before; something your grandma made you if you were sick or just feeling down as a kid. You made it for him the day after Mickey left for college.

It had been like a healing light shined directly onto his soul.

Craving that feeling again, he practically shoveled the food into his mouth as you moved around the trailer to grab pillows and blankets and other supplies.

"Obviously I was worried when you cancelled," you explained as you roamed about. "I stopped at Bradleys so I could make dinner--there's ice cream too if you're feeling up to it--oh and Family Video...I figured some horror movies but then they had Casper and Friends and I couldn't say no to that. So I got a ton of cartoons. Popeye, Underdog...No Rocky and Bullwinkle. I promise."

"Fuck that squirrel," Eddie groused with his mouth full.

Before long, dinner and dessert had been consumed--the mix of warm and cold did wonders for his sore throat--and he was cradled in your arms on the couch as the otherwise-dark living room glowed from the old Technicolor cartoons on the tv. His arms were around your midsection as he rested his cheek right over your heart; the steady beat of it soothed him.

It was nice. You had your dates, your days out, your time with the guys...but this was different. It was almost as healing as dinner had been.

Comments were shared periodically between the two of you, and when there was a short that didn't particularly interest him, he would close his eyes to rest them.

He enjoyed the feeling of your hand carding through his hair.

Sure enough his headache started to fade.

Before long, a soft little lullaby started playing on screen and you hummed along to it. You were no singer--he teased you about it often; you couldn't carry a tune if your life depended on it--but you must have been familiar with this one if you could match every note instinctually.

Eddie opened his eyes and watched the two cartoon children on screen sing each other to sleep.

"I'll see you somewhere in dreamland," the little boy on screen crooned. "Somewhere in dreamland tonight."

"Do you think you meet the people you've lost...in your dreams?" Eddie asked suddenly. He didn't know where the question came from...or really why he asked it. It just bubbled out of him instinctually and...he felt like sobbing.

"I think so," you answered softly. "How else could they find you? But in your dreams?"

"Over a bridge made of moonbeams. We'll find the clouds are silver lined." The boy's sweet face turned serene.

"Did you know..." you pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That in greek mythology...the oneiroi...they control dreams and they live beyond an ivory and silver bridge on Olympus."

"Yeah?"

"Each little star is a castle," the little girl sang. "Shining a welcome so bright."

"Yeah. So I imagine that...that if you lose someone...a bridge like that would be easier for them to find...than the door to your house. Or they would just have to ask the oneiroi would help them."

Tears started leaking from his eyes and he turned his face into the softness of your chest to hide it. You felt him anyway.

"Hey what's this?"

"Sorry my eyes just hurt," he muttered.

You pulled him close to you and muttered sweet, reassuring words.

"Hey! It'll be ok," you whispered into the crown of his head. "It's ok, I'm here. I'm here so you've gotta feel better ok?"

"Don't go."

"I won't. I'm still here; don't cry anymore. Please."

"Please don't go."

The children still sang on the television.

"Dreams will come true for me and you. Somewhere in dreamland tonight."

April 1985

Eddie opened his bleary, leaking eyes.

His vision was blurred but he still could tell he was alone on the couch. The tv was off. A now-cold can of chicken noodle soup left half-eaten on the coffee table.

He was tired, he was angry, he was broken.

"I'm here Eddie, I'm here."

Your voice echoed in his head.

He was alone.

#aasb #hymns of heaven #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson x reader

[myers-meadow]

I headcanon that Astarion (at least spawn Astarion) really likes dogs but that he maybe didn't really have much of an opinion about them before he was made a vampire, so he is actually somewhat surprised by things like his own attachment to Scratch (especially since most animals are/were nothing more than just a food source to him, so getting attached would have done him no favors); the reason for this shift in his attitude towards dogs is because dogs can love and care about you in such a pure and unconditional way. They don't care about what you are. They don't care about what you've done. To a dog, if you show them care, you are one of, if not the greatest thing in the world and they will make no secret about it. After 200 years of pretense, degradation, self-loathing, and being forced to do horrible things to survive... I don't think you could put a price on that kind of pure, unconditional, and unapologetic love. 🐾

thats such a wholesome HC!

Going from seeing animals as a (less than ideal) snack to his best friend and companion🥺. That's lovely character growth. I agree that this would do Astarion a world of good, to have someone (even if it's an animal) he can trust and depend on wholly - very healing. He himself is like a cat in behaviour (everything only on his terms), but the black cat x golden retriever pair is a classic for a reason ^^.

Even if Scratch didn't have a tadpole of his own (and thankfully he didn't!) he still experienced the whole journey, from goblin camp to githyanki creche to the shadow cursed lands to the city at last... Even he had a cruel master in the city, just like Astarion. These shared experiences do bond, even if dogs are inclined to bond, it would def help Astarions side of it as well.

If Astarion has ascended (bear with me), he can maybe extend his blessings of eternal life onto Scratch. That way he can be his best dog buddy forever 🥺.

Did you ever hear the voice lines for Astarion throwing Scratch's ball? they're very interesting and def show him having a lot of emotions abt the dog, very telling in comparison to the other companions too. Video link under the cut.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZmN6kCS444

#ask #anon #stray cat anon #I MESSED UP #THIS WAS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS #FINISHED #JUST SITTING THERE #so thank u for the reminder ! here it is at last ✨ #astarion headcanons #bg3 headcanons

[iravaid]

Oh man, now after reading your reply all i can think about is tommy in his twenties, having reached a place where he’s been through rehab and a whole bunch of therapy and has more knowledge of autism/aspergers and a greater understanding of mental illnesses and disabilities in general after having been forced to confront his own trauma and his struggles with addiction and whatnot, etc, reflecting on his relationship with simon and their childhood and all the mistakes and baggage those memories carry, and trying to reach out and talk with simon about it all, except of course simon doesn’t want to hear it at all, because the past should remain in the past, why would you go digging up things that best remain buried and forgotten?? And if that weren’t enough to send him running for the hills, tommy’s subtle comments about the autism thing would definitely get his fight or flight instincts kicking into high gear, because, sure, he might be awkward and blunt and not great in social situations, but that’s fine, that shit doesn’t matter in the military, not when he’s this damn good at his job, and it’s not like he gives a shit about playing the politics game and climbing up the ladder until he can laze about in some cushy office chair rubbing elbows with the brass or whatever, so it’s fine, he might be fucked in the head but he’s not sick or anything, he’s not some sort of nutcase, he’s not

Augh, absolutely, there's something very interesting in the concept of Tommy ultimately ending up better adjusted (relatively) than Simon by the time both of them are adults. Especially regarding self acceptance and unpacking the ableism they were raised with. I'm going to enter headcanon delusion land because we know next to nothing about Tommy so a quick warning on that lmao, but, we ball.

Although Tommy has had this immensely rough start, struggling with addiction and the feelings on inadequacy that might arise from living in his brother's shadow all his life, he's also been given the space and counselling that equipped him with better coping skills and vocabulary to both verbalise and recognise what happened to him and Simon as kids. I like to also think that, for a myriad of reasons and a myriad of people, Tommy has made that conscious effort to heal as well, to improve and try his damndest to break the cycle of abuse (even if that effort was ultimately cut short by forces far outside his own control.).

I'm not trying to say that Simon himself is actively perpatuating it, but he's had next to no guidance regarding the navigation of his own trauma, nor mightn't he fully recognise how deeply a 'bad childhood' might have effected him. I also see Simon's joining the army as both a blessing and a curse for him, because it probably did save his life: he got away from his dad, got strong enough to cast his father out of his home and life, got enough money to support the family that mattered to him and step up to be the 'man of the house', in his eyes. But it also, predictably, created a kind of situation where Simon got caught up in this machismo echo chamber/mob mentality reinforcing the more aggressive/violent aspects of himself in this wild cycle of adrenaline and dopamine and psoitive reinforcement for a mission well done. Rinse and repeat for two decades, and there's a guy with a lot of his self worth tied up in conventional but ultimately detrimental masculine qualities; where he's possibly too proud to recognise he's actively hurting from the things that happened to him as a child, let alone reach out to anyone in order to begin processing it in a constructive way. Why should he? He's Lieutenant fucking Riley.

It's a very interesting contrast, to me, that while Simon is the one who started out the more stable of the two brothers, the script is flipped between them when Simon returns from Roba's captivity. I wonder if Tommy feels a sense of eagerness to repay the debt he feels he owes Simon, for the former taking care of him during his recovery as a teen. I wonder if Simon feels resentful for 'losing' his place as the Riley patriarch/protector/provider to his younger brother, who got married and had a son and carved a place in the community for himself, all while Simon was running from his issues on some battlefield, in turn being greviously harmed by it and now has to battle with his own recovery.

They have such capacity for very deep love, they're connected both by their brotherhood and by the immense hurt their father caused. They also hold as deep a capability for harm and anger against the other, "This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him." kind of deal. Idk, ghost of their father still lingers where the skin is thin, and their shared proximity makes it seep. lol, lmao even

Augh, but I'm rambling, the thought of Tommy trying to gently broach the subject of autism/being autistic, and Simon having that kneejerk reaction of hypervigilance, aggression, anger at being 'accused' of such a thing, man. A constant cycle of trying to reach out and rejecting and reaching out and rejecting!! If only they had more time, maybe something kinder could have happened

#codposting #tommy riley #simon riley #also ty for the ask! #ask

[cafecourage]

Pinky Isn't Suffering

Chapter 6

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

Reminder these chapters happen between Enno cant get their crap together on @luimagines

                Finally, the group was blessed with a few days of peace after one fight after another. They were in Warrior’s Era and near the kingdom's capital. It still wasn’t enough to bring up the moral. Everyone was tired. Plan and simple.

Well... Some people seemed to be emotionally tired. Between the changes in realities, the story of the Fierce Deity, and for Twilight, finally realizing how he was acting towards Pinky while with Greyson, it was a lot for everyone involved. The two of them couldn’t really find time to sit down and talk. There was just never a time to get her alone.

He still felt the stinging sensation in his right forearm.

The mark…

There was no doubt in Twilight’s mind that he did the right thing, if only because he knows everyone is safe. He’d rather be the one marked than anyone else.

Yet.

  Twilight’s mind wanders to the Skyloftian. Does he have a mark? Why did Enno ask about the voice? If Time heard the voice, wasn’t it a common thing then? Twilight should ask. He really should. But in side-eyeing the knight of Skyloft during these few days of chaos, he noticed Sky looked like he could go into hibernation.

Except he was sleeping this whole time. Ennohasn’t been sleeping at all either. He knows this for a fact. Despite Wind’s and Hyrule’s efforts during their cuddling sessions, they were always up, taking the night shifts letting everyone else sleep. Of course it didn’t take long for everyone else to figure that out. From what he saw, the Veteran had sat with them at the fire, the mask still at their side. 

Time was still suffering from the blow to the head. He had been getting better but there were days where the head pain got too much for him.

  Twilight hated this.

He hated that his family was so tired. In so much pain. And that there isn’t much for him to do to fix it.

  Twilight’s spiral was cut off by the Captain, who took charge in Time’s stead. “I think this actually might be closer to Castle Town I thought.” His eyes scanned the field they’ve been walking through.

“Good.” There was a checklist of who was hurt, what needed to be purchased, and how many rooms they may need. “Our main concern should be getting whoever is wounded to an inn or something. We are lucky Hyrule could heal anything major.”

“The Queen can help us there.” Warriors never really talked about his Era, other than that it had a pretty chaotic war. “Let’s just hope that there aren't any events.”

“Events?”

  “He means that the nobles would want an excuse to party.” Legend popped up on his other side.

“How’s everyone holding up, Vet?” Warriors asked, seemingly planning out their best strategy for any answer given.

  “We’re ok for now, but it’s your hyrule. So it’s your call what to do.”

That seemed to not be what Warriors wanted to hear. He sighed. “Ok.” He covered his face, rubbing his temples. “We’ll go to the castle. Just- expect the nobility to throw a ball as soon as we step foot in castle town. No one other than me I’d required to join.”

Legend scoffs. “While I would love to do that, I know from experience how nosy nobles can be. They won’t leave us alone if we didn’t go.”

Twilight didn’t know much about high society. His Zelda purposely left him out of a lot of the politics and appearances because of his background. The amount of balls, galas and masquerades he has been to can be counted on one hand.

Twi knew that he was there to support Warriors, but it ended up being the fact that more than half of the group was still healing or resting that made Twilight considerably anxious.

Why must nobles be so nosy and picky about who the Hero of Courage hangs around? They don’t have any say with what happens in this adventure despite what they think.

Yet here he was, making an attempt to touch shoulders and socialize. He is happy to have a break. Twilight wondered if he could just leave, thinking back to Zelda and her crash course on high class customs. Honestly the only reason he was still there was to see the darling girl he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

 And… and maybe a dance… or two…

“Who’s got you looking like a love struck puppy?” Enno joined him in the corner looking just as tired as he was with socialization.

 “Wouldn’t you know by this point?” Twilight had given up keeping this crush a secret at this point. It seems like the whole world knew about his crush even before he did. “There’s a lot about her that is making me go love sick.” 

“Go off, I guess,” Enno leaned next to him on the wall. “Please tell me all about it.”

“You're just using me to ignore your own relationship issues.” Twilight wasn’t about to be teased when someone was just as bad as he was. He figured he was better off pointing out what he sees. Enno just rolled their eyes and stuck out their tongue. Twilight ignored their childish behavior and looked back out to the crowd. 

“Where is the mask?” He whispered, crossing his arms. 

Enno paused, almost like their brain was trying to process the info. “It’s…safe. Why?”

“I don’t trust it.” It was as plain and simple as that and honestly- “Frankly, we should get rid of it.”

“It’s just a trapped God.” They yawned out. “He can’t be that powerful.”

“You never wore the mask.” He tsk’ed at the audacity. “He is a lot more powerful than you think. He knows about all of us.” 

Did Twilight have proof of that?

No.

No, he didn’t. But that's besides the point. Twilight didn’t want Pinky anywhere near it.

Enno sighs. “You worry too much Twi.”

“Who else is going to worry if I don’t?” He shot back sarcastically.

“Cap was getting annoying ‘bout it.” They physically began to nod off.

“Hey.” Twilight gave them a small shake. “Don’t fall asleep on us.” 

Enno slapped his hand away but he didn’t stop holding them up. “You should take care of yourself.” 

“Don’t point a finger at a mirror now.” Enno focused their attention back in the crowd. “Instead, maybe you should play hero and save a princess or something.”

Twilight was confused at their words. Not understanding the reference, he looked out into the crowd.

And goddess above, his breath hitched at the sight.

There she stood, looking straight from one of the fairytale books he would read for the kids. Twilight's jaw goes slack and he didn’t realize he was staring until Pinky was right in front of him. He even didn’t register she was walking because the dress she was wearing made it seem like she glided across the ballroom. 

“You look…” His brain wasn’t working at this point. He tried to scramble to find the right words. “Wow…”

She blushed and bashfully began twirling a piece of her hair. “Thank you…”

A cough breaks the bubble as Enno starts to inch away. “I’m gonna dip.” 

Twilight was completely far gone. Enough so that he almost didn’t register Enno had spoken at all. “Don’t die.”

Pinky rolled her eyes but wasn't able to quip back. Twilight gently took her hand, bent down and kissed the top of it. “May I have this dance?”

“I…” She glanced down at her feet then to the dance floor, not knowing what to say. “I… don't know how.”

“Trust me.” Twilight gave her the softest smile. “I won't let you be embarrassed in front of everyone.”

That seemed to melt her as she finally relaxed and nodded. Twilight had a plot in his mind and slightly in his head. Slowly, he guided her away, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

Twilight felt lucky that the gardens were open. Through twists and turns, Twilight saw that when they got there that evening in the basking of the setting sun, there was a fountain in the middle, surrounded by bundles and bundles of rose bushes. Under the starry night, when he turned back to Pinky, the moon hit her in a way that made her look like she was glowing. For the second time that night, Twilight’s breath was stolen away. Twilight pulled her closer, placing one hand on the small of her back and the other taking her hand. The orchestra was far enough away that they could still hear it.

Twilight took the lead, letting the music guide him. The fountain’s water and muffled music were the only sounds that filled the area.

It was only the two of them that existed at that moment.

…The world.

…The adventure.

Nothing mattered at that moment.

“You look absolutely gorgeous in that dress.” Twilight slipped out a small growl. “Ravishing even.”

Red dusted her cheeks. “Well, aren't you just laying it on thick?” She lightly teased back.

It was his turn to turn red. “It’s the truth though. I’m just saying it how I see it.”

“Oh…” Pinky looked away shyly, before glancing up at Twilight again.She brushed off some of the dust on his shoulder. “You also clean up quite nicely. You're very handsome in that suit.”

“Warriors did it.” Twilight sighed, twirling her before bringing her back in.

“Well then… I’ll be sure to thank him later.” She was getting more confident with teasing him, but her face fell. “But… Twi?” Pinky looked down as if to find the right words. “Can I ask about what happened a few weeks ago?”

Twilight tilted his head as he pulled her into a slow spin. What exactly was a few…

 Oh…

“You mean with Greyson? Or the mask?”

“Both if I’m being honest.” Pinky’s blush only grew. “You called me your mate.”

Those few words made Twilight pause. It felt like ice water was dumped on him. “I- uh… Look, if your uncomfortable with that-“

“No!” Both of them were shocked at her outburst. “I mean… I don’t- I don’t mind…”

Hope quickly bubbled up and brought back warmth in him. He leaned in. “You don’t?”

She nodded and relief just flooded back into him. “Thank you” Twilight dragged Pinky into a hug. “I swear I’ll do things right.”

“You don’t need to do things right.” She whispers. “Just hold me.”

 Twilight could do that…

 He could do that with no problem.

#twilight (not lu) speaks #linked universe x reader #luxreader #linkeduniverse x reader #strawberry milk

[thisisnotthenerd]

So after that lore heavy episode I have some thoughts (spoilers ahead):

Starting from the beginning—the dichotomy between what the players want Travis to do with Graz’tchar and what the characters want is hilarious. It does serve as a major power source for the wielder, and it sets a standard for the kinds of things that Bell’s Hells will encounter. The differences in interactions with the blade really brought Chetney, FCG, and Ashton into sharp relief.

Imogen’s in her helping the gods era now: I think Liliana could be convinced away from Ludinus in an opportunistic moment like Astrid and Eadwulf at the end of Campaign 2, but right now she’s solidly in enemy category.

The hole idea is just like the happy fun ball from C2–a way to really get around teleportation limits. Although Chetney had the bag of holding with him, so I’m not sure that it should have worked. I don’t think Matt is looking for another nuclear explosion at this point in the game, so let’s just say he hands it off to Ashton or Orym since Imogen was casting.

Next up: Keyleth is healed and in recovery! I hope BH thinks to take some blue perennum paste with them in case they run into the Vanguard and Otohan again—she’s been conspicuously missing, and I don’t like it. I know Imogen is consciously reaching for her mom and being contacted in turn, but it seems odd to not at least try to find out what Otohan’s doing. They don’t even know if the scry ball is still working.

Bell’s Hells in Zephrah has been lovely—I’m glad to see Orym recognized for his heroics. I hope this encourages more thought of himself outside of serving Keyleth and Zephrah. Savior Blade of the Tempest indeed.

The Reilora being more defined now can’t be a good thing. I low key want Imogen to try summoning until she gets one with information, but that might be a later conversation.

Ashton has Titan’s blood in them! Along with something Keyleth doesn’t know about (hint hint). This is actually cool as hell and I love it. Maybe the Hishari we’re trying to use the knowledge of Evontra’vir to resurrect a primordial with the aid of a beacon that ended up resulting in Ashton. The potion of possibility being added to his brain might have jumpstarted whatever Luxon fragments he still has floating around in there. Also Ashton bonding with Keyleth as an authority figure/mentor is so fun. I love that for them.

The whole interaction with the Changebringer had me breaking down much like the table did. Bless Sam for learning from the Jester Lavorre School of Aggressive Deity Contact.

Now onto the theories: much like VM had to gain vestiges in order to fight the conclave, I think BH is going to be doing some teleporting from place to place to gain power and fight Ludinus. They’re going to see D to get the harness fixed and after are headed to the Shattered Teeth to look at the aftermath of the sundering of the Tree of Names. Watching top table’s reaction to the Shattered Teeth was *chef’s kiss*. Maybe when they get there I’ll go for a Calamity rewatch to see what I can find.

As for what they’ll find there: obviously crazy elemental magic that links into Ashton’s origins. Maybe a link to Asmodeus from what’s left of the sundering that Fearne can look at. A therapist to talk with FCG but also all of BH. A cool map for Travis.

My hope is that they start dimension hopping and becoming champions of some of the outer planes. Like the elemental plane of earth for Ashton, plane of fire for Fearne if she’s not Asmodeus’ champion at that point, wait she’s already a fey druid that could probably commune with nature and wildfire of her own power. Maybe the Shadowfell for Laudna’s sorcerous origin? Anyway this falls, I’m excited to see how it goes, as the true start of a new arc for Bell’s Hells.

#critical role #cr spoilers #bell's hells #cr chetney #cr fcg #cr ashton #cr orym #cr imogen #cr laudna #cr fearne #chetney pock o'pea #fresh cut grass #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #Orym savior blade of the tempest #imogen temult #laudna #fearne calloway #cr speculation #critical role spoilers #critical role speculation #critical role meta #c3e68 spoilers #cr3

[27-royal-teas]

look i keep seeing posts along these lines and going batshit insane so im making my own. what the fuck. this truly is the fuck it we ball tour. its therapy. it’s healing. the band is stepping up to expose themselves, to do things they never would have thought to do before, to enthusiastic reception. 

pete bares his heart on a stick in baby annihilation, to which patrick- bless his heart- does the cover up, fixes up his guts, the guts that pete is spilling over the stage. he gathers them up and holds it together, this part of himself that pete is exposing. pete, who told the others to leave when he recorded get busy living, is roaring out his words on this stage, where not only do people not run away, they surge forward. I see these photos of him in the crowd, and he’s got confetti in his hair and a smile on his face and he is so full of this spilling joy and the audience is reaching up to touch him, like he’s this god who can imprint his glory if they try hard enough. I see this photo of him walking into a spotlight and there’s this look of absolute awe on his face, tremendous wondering, like he’s mesmerized by how far he’s come. 

and patrick- patrick! he’s come so, SO fucking far from that man who wrote confessions of a pariah - now he’s playing these songs that people hated, that have grown on us, that now we love and BEG him to play, and he is BEAMING with pride. he is being his best, most truest self, and he is so happy, and it truly shows. and of COURSE he chooses Spotlight, this song that is so reflective of him himself, he has overcome, he has grown and he has changed, he is this new era of his own shine, and oh nostalgia, i dont need you anymore, look, he DOESNT!! the past is left in the past, and he’s so confident about who he is now, it just makes me so emotional.

that’s not even it! joe, who prioritized his mental health- he’s also being brave! he’s being so brave to go up there, to this well reception with these people he loves and this audience that loves him, and you see his grin, and you see the way he looks at his friends, and you see his happiness, and it fucking radiates. he’s always hated how people see him as less, how he’s always second thought-of, and now he can see signs in the pit reading things like we missed you joe, and we love you, and we’re so glad you’re back. he finally, finally knows how much we appreciate him. he was in this dark, dark place, but he’s found this light, and it’s so fucking bright. 

and andy, the one who sat back and watched it all; it’s not easy to watch your friends struggle, it’s not easy to not be able to help, to watch as their worlds crumble around you and you’re the last one left standing, but he is fall out boy’s backbone, their steady hand, and he guides them into this pounding, perfect rhythm. he watches from the back as his best friends rise up from the ashes like a remix, like a phoenix, and he rises up with them. 

this tour, i think, has been healing for all of them. fall out boy really has, more than anything, put their heart on their sleeve and said, hey, look what’s on the table. they’re playing songs they haven’t played since 2007. they’re fooling around with the dog puppet and playing around with pyro and having fun. They’re changing things up. They’re not kids playing pretend in their father’s suits, they’ve grown into them. theyve taken a tour and turned it into a playground, a dancing floor, and we’re all doing the cupid shuffle, having fun, being loud, and growing into the best versions of ourselves, just as they are.

#christ this got long but i dont regret a thing #tourdust #fall out boy #fob #pete wentz #patrick stump #joe trohman #andy hurley #so much for tour dust #toby speaks #toby's meta

[leonisdumbasallhell]

🔪 <- curse of cut up OC be upon ye

0w0

Ok, this might get long and involves extensive world building and lore that has absolutely nothing to do with resident evil. Anyway enjoy.

Awake Surgery - Red & Alexi

CW: Impromptu surgery, slightly unhealthy relationship dynamic, fantasy bullshit.

------------------------------------------

If she didn't find them to be so annoying, Red would have to admit, her mother's disciples were at the very least entertaining.

The inquisitor before her trembled, wide eyed behind his helmet, as he stared into the face of his own death and muttered a prayer in Eden.

"Our mother, the divine eye, blessed be thy watchful gaze,"

Red would have rolled her eyes if she'd had any. Instead, she flipped her knife once in her hand before rushing forward and shoving it deep into the inquisitors throat, cutting off his prayer with a gurgle.

His fear as he died was palpable, but not nearly enough to appease her. In a guttural whisper, she said, simply, "She can't hear you." before ripping the knife from his throat, the blood spraying over the porcelain of her hands. Vaguely, she could feel the warmth of it seeping into the ball joints of her fingers, gumming up the mechanisms. That would be a bother to clean later, but it always was and still always worth it. She shook them out as the body crumpled wetly, joining the rest of the crusade party on the now blood soaked floor of the research center.

Blood lust abating, Red turned, trying to remember why she'd come here. This was the lab of that scientist she'd... Hired seemed to strong a word for their arrangement, but blackmailed seemed too honest. Regardless, as the haze of death lifted, she pulled the pieces back together. He'd called for her, as she'd said he could do when needed. This was the first time he'd done so, though, given his apparent disdain for her. If he'd been desperate enough to have called her, he must have been well and truly fucked. Red looked around the lab, trying to find him. Or his body. Though, she was fairly certain she hadn't accidentally killed him in the frenzy. She probably would have remembered that.

"Are they dead?" Alexi's voice was small and shaken, and sounded entirely wrong, even besides his clumsy pronunciation of Pidgeon.

Red whipped around in the direction of the voice, seeing Alexi's face pear at her from behind an overturned desk. His eyes were wide and hollow, face pale and with a sheen of sweat, as though simply looking at her required more effort than he had to give.

Red rarely paid attention to mortals, but given her particular divinity, she was acutely aware of what a mortal looked like when it was dying.

Red did not hide the urgency of her movements. He started in his shaking as she appeared next to him, gasping like a broken hose, then stifling a scream as she shoved her hands into his wound.

"What--"

"Shut up. You're dying."

"Oh."

Red heard him swallow, but ignored it, instead focusing on the wound. It was small, and not terribly deep on the right side of his abdomen. It looked more like a nick than an actual cut, but was obviously causing extensive damage. Visually, Red couldn't tell what was causing him to die so quickly. It couldn't be infected, it was a fresh wound, but still. Something was wrong. Red pressed her essence into it, trying to find the source of the damage, probably some poison, or curse, or-- Red's magic did not return to her. Instead, the wound and surrounding area registered as a dead limb, pins and needles numb, a black hole of arcane energy.

Alexi swallowed again, some sort of nervous habit. "You can save me though, can't you?"

She couldn't, actually. It was Boneyard magic, something stronger than her, stronger than even her mother. She could pour all the magic she wanted into the wound, it would never heal. The Boneyard would simply swallow it all up and still be hungry for more. And even then, as much as she poured into it, it would still swallow up his soul eventually. He was as good as dead. She should just leave him to die. Or put him out of his misery. Her hand twitched at her knife, though the thought of his death at her hands was not a pleasant one. That surprised her.

"Can't you?" He sounded somehow more pitiful, more desperate the second time asking, like he knew she couldn't and was begging her to lie. So she did.

"Yes." This wasn't the first time she had lied to someone dying of The Boneyard's poison, though she did hope it would be the last. Though, the last time she had lied, she'd actually had an idea to at the least slow the progression of it. Not that she had gotten the chance to try it before they'd succumbed. And that had been a diluted form of the poison. This was the real deal. It probably wouldn't work in this case. She should just kill him so he didn't suffer. And yet, Red found she deeply did not want to see him die.

Without further comment, Red pulled her knife and plunged it into Alexi's abdomen.

Alexi arched his back and screamed, eyes wide as Red began to pull the knife through his abdomen, cutting away the already dead skin, clearing away as much as she could. Alexi shouted something desperately in Eden, something about "How could you?" and "You said you would help." Red supposed this could be seen as a betrayal of sorts, though she hardly had time to explain the proccess. She could explain once he wasn't actively dying. Any second she wasted gave more of his flesh to The Boneyard. And she figured he would prefer to be alive in the end.

Alexi tried to shove her hands away from the knife, tried to pull it out of himself when she didn't respond to his pleas. He hardly had any strength to stop her, the attempts more pitiful than anything. Red grunted in annoyance, shifting to use her feet to keep his arms still as she kept cutting.

Where she cut revealed the true damage hiding, and the extent it had spread. The flesh looked bloated, the color slightly off the more she looked at it, like skin left too long in mud. Instead of blood or bodily fluids, the places she cut through leaked swamp brine and silt, The Boneyard starting the proccess of drowning him from the inside.

Red didn't know if Alexi saw the wound or had simply given up trying to stop her, but he was no longer wiggling underneath her as she continued clearing the wound out. She was not a surgeon, she was a murderer, and her cuts were not clean or exact, but they were the best she could do, cutting away the bloated skin, then clearing out the mud and water that filled the abscess, until what was left was a strange hollow in his flesh much larger than what she had started with.

With that part done, Red glanced to Alexi. He had gone limp, eyes closed, but still breathing shallowly. He probably wasn't fine, but breathing meant alive, as far as she was concerned. And once she gave The Boneyard something else to chew on, she could use her own magic to heal whatever damage she'd done. She just had to get through the next part.

Red hesitated, pulling her knife away from Alexi's skin, running her ceramic fingers along it's edge. She wasn't going to like this next part. She hadn't done this in a very long time.

Red forced the ceramic of her body to soften out, to become malleable and warm. She could feel as the ball joints became bone, the elastic became ligaments, feel the blood thrum under the skin. The knife's edge, which moments ago had been comforting against her fingers, now bit them, sharp and tangy, with the slight sent of cooper in the air. She could smell it.

She took a breath, a real one, and not her normal mimicry, before she placed the edge of the blade against her palm and drew it across. It stung, blood beginning to well almost immediately, and she hurriedly shoved it over the hollow of Alexi's wound. She squeezed her hand, willing more of it to pour out and into his body.

Where her blood hit his wound it darkened, solidifying into a void the same tone of her hair, a reflection of the night sky complete with a spattering of stars. It was her divine essence, a piece of her that would continue to output her magic for as long as it existed. It also tied him to her from now until it was removed, in which case he would begin to die, just as quickly as he had been before.

Once the wound was filled, she pulled her hand back, willing the wound to knit itself closed, then wiped the remaining blood on her shorts. She almost changed back, longing for the comfort of her cold porcelain over the vulnerability of flesh, but looking at Alexi's face stopped her. His eyes were closed, and she didn't think he was entirely aware, but his face was tight, twitching from pain.

With fingers that were still warm and soft for once, she took his hand, which was always warm. With porcelain fingers, Red could only ever feel pressure and the idea of a temperature, like touching a sun warmed window. But she could not feel the texture of things. Now, the ridges of human fingers found the ridges of his, catching on them in a way she might once have found grating, but now found... Interesting. His skin was slightly damp, and almost sticky. She interlocked their fingers, feeling the pressure of his fingers against hers, felt the way it changed the blood pressure of her hand.

With lips she had not used in centuries, and a tongue just as old and clumsy, Red whispered in Eden, "You'll be okay," as she gently fed her magic through their interlocked fingers, easing his pain and starting to heal the damage that had been done. He would be okay. And to Red's surprise, she was glad for it.

------------------------------------------

If you read all the way through this and are like. "Wow, this seems so cool and interesting and I'd love to know more about this world building!" You are in luck because I have. A Whole Ass Comic. Alexi isn't in it (Well technically he'll make a very brief cameo in later chapters, where he's a grad student and gets trauma about it <3) but Red is, and I'm going to be making some follow ups that Alexi will appear in lmao. anyway, shameless self promo over, back to Resident Evil.

#these two get married eventually #will anyone read this #probably not #but it's like 1.7k words and it's my babies #i love them so so so much #Red sucks she's my best friend #and Alexi's just some guy <3 #Some slight context #Pidgeon is the common language of where they currently are #Eden is the common language of where Alexi and the inquisitor are from and also their native language #Red's native language is actually Siweowin but that doesn't matter here #I just like my world building #This is the first time I've written them out like thiiiiis #I love them so much #this scene will actually be in my comic about them when I get to it :3 #🔪 ocs #🔪 fics #🔪 lore #ask #ask game

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

What pre-reconciliation Tugger and Munk’s dynamic like?

how do their run - ins with eachother go?

is old Deuteronomy aware?

What cat is the most desperate for them to makeup?

and anything else u wanna add on:0

BLESS LET’S TALK ABOUT THE ANGST

Before i get into it, Tugger and Munkustrap’s relationship pre-reconciliation, and how they reconcile is based around my own personal experiences with one of my siblings. While not as extreme, the emotions, the refusal to speak to each other, the struggle with opening up and recognizing that they’re both in the wrong is something i 100% experienced with my sibling. So this whole storyline within my cats canon is really emotional for me, so i have a lot of thoughts about it.

SO

Pre-reconciliation, it’s mainly just tension. They both feel responsible for what happened with Macavity, and Munkustrap wants to reach out to his brother, but Tugger is very closed off and defensive.

Macavity said a lot of things that weren’t true in order to sway Tugger into preferring him as an older brother, mainly about how Munkustrap really only put up with him to make their father happy, and how Tugger just annoyed him, and how Tugger was the reason Grizabella left. During this period, Tugger’s still struggling to figure out what was true and what wasn’t, so he just pulled away. There’s also the additional aspect of Tugger resembling Macavity more than he does Munkustrap, and I’ve mentioned before that in the weeks following Macavity’s departure, there were whispers in the Junkyard about the possibility of Tugger following, because of how close they were. So Tugger just shut himself off from the rest of the Jellicles, really only ever speaking to Old Deuteronomy and spending time with his dad, and to Plato, who comes along soon after everything, but bonds closely with Tugger, and they become inseparable. Their pair grows into a quartet when Mistoffelees and Victoria arrive, and Tugger finds himself opening up more to them than anyone else, which in turn makes Munkustrap feel more than a little jealous that his brother feels safer around them.

The run-ins that they do have are just silent. Munkustrap tries to reach out to Tugger, but Tugger just sort of hunches in on himself and turns away. During that time, they’re both very much still trying to heal and fight against the things Macavity said and did, and they both definitely recognize that it’s affected their relationship as siblings, but they also realize that they can’t go back to the way things were. Their relationship is more of an acquaintance during that time, with Tugger only speaking to Munkustrap when they’re planning patrol schedules and the ball.

Old Deuteronomy is 100% aware, and it breaks his heart. Both of his sons go to him to talk, and he’s really the only cat that Tugger trusts. As much as they talk to him, and as much as he urges them to speak to each other, there’s only so much he can do. The last time he tried to have them both in his den at the same time, Tugger didn’t talk to him for a week, and Munkustrap didn’t come see him during that time. Old Deuteronomy recognized that he can talk to his sons all he wants, and tell them to talk to each other, but the decision is ultimately up to them. But he asks the Everlasting Cat every night to help his sons reconcile.

Besides Old Deuteronomy, Mistoffelees is one of the main cats who wants Tugger and Munkustrap to reconcile. He arrived in the Junkyard after everything happened, but he’s heard the stories, and seeing as he’s one of the only cats Tugger feels 100% comfortable around, he’s seen the pain Tugger’s in. He’s the one whose encouragement finally pushes Tugger to talk to Munkustrap.

Another pair of cats who are adamant about Tugger and Munkustrap reconciling are, of course, Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks. They never in a million years blamed either brother for what happened with Macavity, so they’re two other adults who try to talk the brothers into reconciling. Jenny and Skimble are like another set of parents to the Deuteronomy brothers, seeing as Jenny stepped in as a maternal figure after Grizabella left, so they’re the ones who Munkustrap goes to before he and Tugger actually reconcile.

When they do finally sit down and talk, it’s probably a few months to a year before Demeter and Bombalurina come back. Tugger goes into Munkustrap’s den, and they sit together, and they talk for an entire day. There’s shouting, there’s a LOT of tears, and the conversation ends with both of them crying as they hug each other. They both go into Old Deuteronomy’s den at the end of the night, when the other Jellicles have gone to bed, and Old Deuteronomy is waiting for them, having heard the shouting, and he’s sitting there with tears on his face as his sons walk into his den together for the first time in years, and the boys just collapse into their dad’s arms, clinging to him like kittens.

They stay in Old Deuteronomy’s den the entirety of the following day as well, and they just talk. Old Deuteronomy explains how he’s still recovering from Grizabella and Macavity leaving, Tugger opens up more about what Macavity said, and Munkustrap whispers how he still thinks it’s his fault. There’s more tears, more hugs, and, near the end of the night, there’s laughter.

The next day, when Old Deuteronomy leaves his den smiling, his two sons following behind him, Tugger and Munkustrap teasing each other with easy-going grins and brotherly affection, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, the entire tribe can’t help but feel the joy radiating off of the trio. Jenny and Skimble definitely shed a few happy tears, and Tugger and Munkustrap’s reconciliation also happens to be the catalyst for Tugger and Mistoffelees’ relationship going from balancing on the edge between platonic and romantic into specifically romantic territory. (Munkustrap is absolutely the #1 supporter of their relationship, and he has a private conversation with Mistoffelees, expressing his gratitude for the help the magician gave Tugger when he wasn’t around. Much like Tugger and Victoria become incredibly close due to their relationships with Mistoffelees, Munkustrap and Mistoffelees become close friends as well!)

Tugger and Munkustrap definitely make up for as much lost time as possible, which leads into my reasoning for Tugger bursting into the Ball that we see in the show. He’s making up for all the missed moments of being an annoying younger brother, and as much as Munkustrap sighs and rolls his eyes, secretly he’s overjoyed that his brother feels comfortable enough with him to let down his walls.

When Demeter and Bombalurina return, there’s another massive shift in the tribe, and many of them are worried that Tugger and Munkustrap’s progress will disappear. However, if anything, they become even more clingy with each other, because Tugger is furiously defensive of his older brother, and Munkustrap’s the same, and Munkustrap absolutely refuses to let the old feelings for Demeter, no matter how important they are, impact the relationship he’s rebuilt with his brother.

But yeah, I just think they’d be so so inseparable and protective over each other after reconciling, and they’re trying so hard to make up for the time they lost together.

#cats the musical #rum tum tugger #munkustrap #old deuteronomy #mr mistoffelees #jennyanydots #skimbleshanks #demeter #bombalurina #macavity #deuteronomy brothers #DO NOT TAG AS TUGGER/STRAP

[sansxfuckyou]

A poet without his words

(@sobredunia, your fanart spurred me on to actually put this idea onto paper, so know that you're responsible for this depiction of cruel gods, homosexual websites and a little bit of gore, and I have put world building into this fucker, I'm begging you to ask me about the worldbuilding please. Also, @godmodebeginswithlesbians and @max-the-hecker, it wouldn't feel right if I didn't subject you two to my insanity as well, and choosing Tumblrs sibling was way harder than it should've been, I have never stuffed so many shisty references into one fic)

"Twitter, don't go," Tumblr pleaded to his love as he tried to stand, only making eye contact with now cold eyes, once warm, those beautiful wings resting at the hip and ears closed up.

"Tumblr, what good will a poet be without any words," Twitter ushered softly as he turned from his partner, shoes clicking gently on marbled floor, his phrase sounded like a question, but Tumblr couldn't answer.

Yahooo stood tall above Tumblr, a blade in her hand, Tumblr knew exactly what was coming as he lay on the ground. His throat was raw, his vocal chords were torn, his tongue, the last thing he used to tell his tales was still perfect. And his mother had heard enough of it, his poems, beautiful with a darker lining upon first glance always rang true as cruel in her ears.

A hand gripped the back of Tumblrs neck, satin gloves soft despite the tight grip as he lifted to be at the height of the godess who took him in and taught him how to weaponize words. He never knew it would be his downfall until he started to cry for mercy, begging his mother to release him, saying he'll change his words, change his ways. Yahoo didn't care, didn't hear any of it as she plunged the holy blade under his tongue, severing veins as she cut it out into naught but a nub.

With a thud Tumblr hit the ground and he spat, a deep purple blood spilling from his lips as his tongue hit the floor in a puddle of violet that turned navy after exposure. He could only stare up at Yahoo who dismissed her holy blade and crouched down beside him as he cried silent tears, they slid down his face. She held his chin in her hands as she brought him to make eye contact, a soft smile graced her expression as that same purple blood continue to drip past Tumblrs lips, slowed now as his tongue healed over.

"Don't worry, it'll regrow, and next time, you won't make the same mistake twice," Yahoo said gently as she looked at her son, helping him up, as navy blood hit his purest of white dress shirts, it stained as red and never since washed out, "you are the closest I'll have to an heir, a useless one at that."

Tumblr only nodded in response, wiping tears from his face as he held his mothers hand, she led him away from the stained marble, away from the feathers Twitter left. He washed himself after his mother handed him a deep navy suit that matched his eyes, the water he bathed in smelt deeply of lavender with hints of ginger. A combination of smells that has soothed his frayed nerves since he was child, since he first found Twitter in a lavender patch and had a meal rich in ginger and onions with the demigods father Chrome.

Years passed as they stayed friends, turning to lovers even as Tumblrs twin 4chan said not trust him. When Tumblrs soon to be born demigod sister, MySpace, ended up naught but a loss and Yahoos mortal stood at her side while mourning the death of an unborn child, Twitter stood by Tumblr. For weeks as Tumblr mourned without 4chan, Twitter stood by his side and they kept each other uplifted through the pain of it all.

Happy memories couldn't last forever though, and that Tumblr was made aware of during a simple game of dodge ball with the rest of the demigods. He wasn't a demigod himself, but Yahoo gave him her blessing and took him from his deceased mortal parents to give him a better life, a poet to tell tales, but he played games instead. He played all sorts of game with his demigod twin 4chan, but he loved dodge ball the most of them all, he never stopped dodging and he was always the last one standing.

He caught the red orb flying at his face, and a vision washed over him like his mothers friend, Apollo said it might when he touched the forbidden object. Who in the fuck makes a dodge ball the forbidden object? He dropped it and made haste off the playing field into the forests he knew better than anyone else, and Twitter followed him, struck by worry. Questions were asked when he found Tumblr, crying, the t shaped pin in his hair coming loose a bit as he let out shaky sobs for answers, refusing to tell Twitter what he saw no matter how often he asked until now.

Until the prophecy came true.

Tumblr slowly pulled on his suit, fabric soft against skin and tie tight around his neck as he made his way back out to the dining hall where Yahoo, her mortal and her blinded son 4chan ate. Tumblr sat beside 4chan and started to eat, everything he ate was fire against the torn and ruined flesh of his tongue, but he still ate. After dinner, full of near silent whimpers of pain from Tumblr as Yahoo and the mortal conversed, 4chan confronted Tumblr, his blind state doing little to prevent seeing the pain.

But Tumblr couldn't answer in anyway that 4chan could respond to without his voice or his eyes. So Tumblr whined, guttural noises escaped his torn vocal chords and 4chan shushed him as Tumblr shook with agony.

In a years time Tumblr could speak again, he didn't like to speak though, as his tales came out worse then before. He opened his mouth to speak and all that came out was weaponizing stunned wasps and Papyrus haiku, nobody liked him anymore. He didn't play games with the demigods, he only sat in silent torture with 4chan, his only friend and sibling. They watched the news together, well, 4chan listened, and when they saw in their pondering orb that it was almost time for Twitter to ascend under the assistance of a rich immortal they flipped. Tumblr did actually, 4chan was unfazed, heavily aware of the fact that Twitter would ascend, given how powerful Twitters father was.

"That traitorous asshole! I'll strangle him to death with scrolls chronicling destiels journey! I'll drown him in a gallon of sweet tea and start world war tea!" Tumblr shouted jumping up from the beanbag the two sat on, his suit nearly tore at the seams due to being worn brittle through anger management sparring, because of said sparring he had to get a manscaped prosthetic, his forked tongue slid between his cuspids.

When he realized his outburst he rapidly brought hands up to cover his mouth, maybe that was what Yahoo meant, about not making the same mistake. He only ever had vulgar things to say, which was what ruined her reputation, so why would she want him to be able to speak at all anymore? He sunk back down to the beanbag, pushing against 4chan, who was a lot taller than him due to godly genetics running through his body, he patted down Tumblrs long hair that was held in a bun at the moment. The t shaped clip hadn't come out of his hair in years, it was stained and had a dint, but it was his trademark, his calling card if you will.

Then Yahoo came downstairs, Tumblr lived in the basement with 4chan, they had separate rooms, barely, their mother was overjoyed, she looked full of energy for the first time in forever. Her dress, as always, a deep purple, silk and full of folds, it trailed behind her giantess form, even fully grown Tumblr barely stood at her waist, although he was only five foot five. Her smile looked almost drunk as her hair, tied in a long braid, was flung over her shoulder.

"Tumblr! 4chan! Did you hear the good news?" Yahoo asked as she tried to regain her composure, Tumblr and 4chan both stood, 4chan an entire one and half feet taller than Tumblr, who often wore boots with thick soles to make up for lack of height.

"Depends on the good news, mother dearest," 4chan said, reaching up to scratch at where his bloodied gauze was, his eyes never stopped bleeding that purple to green to red after Yahoo gouged them out to make sure he would never see horrible things again.

"Twitter is going to ascend with a rich immortal to guide him," Yahoo said, Tumblrs entire body tensed and he gritted his teeth, Yahoo noticed and picked him up by the scruff of his suit and he hissed at her, "you need to let it go."

"Make me," Tumblr spat before Yahoo dropped him, 4chan breaking his fall before they both hit the ground.

"You two really need to get dressed for the occasion, you look like rats, not the cute ones Tumblr got for his fortieth birthday, he's lucky he has my blessing," Yahoo said as she turned to leave, her blessing being eternal youth, and with that, his mentality hasn't since aged a day past sixteen, when the blessing was put on him, Yahoo leaned back to glare at Tumblr, "and you both have to come."

"Well shit," was what Tumblr said, mind blank, 4chan was already on the move searching for his best scuzzy little fuck varsity jacket full of tears and covered in patches, he only wore it with sweatpants or ripped jeans, tonight was a ripped jeans night, "any outfit ideas."

"Remember your first poem, about the man of greed who wore all green?" 4chan asked, Tumblrs eyes widened, oh, oh that poem, he laughs in embarrassment whenever he reads it, he even made an outfit for it.

"Of course I remember the first and most twinkalicious twink of them all," Tumblr said, he wished he could mince words the way he once could, 4chan grinned at the phrasing.

"Wear that outfit or the skeleton of many names," 4chan suggested, and Tumblrs shudder was audible, "I'm yanking ya, just wear the green jacket for it, the one with tails, and some skanky dress underneath."

"4chan, I may be a whore sometimes, but like hell I'll get that dressed up for Twitters ascension," Tumblr said, gesturing vaguely with his arms as he unbuttoned his suits jacket and started looking for his relatively less skanky dress, "but it has been a while since I busted out old faithful."

"Exactly, now get to it bro, we'll wow them with our impossibly shitty fashion sense," 4chan said as he slid his varsity jacket over top his pepe the frog shirt, he was already wearing jeans, he threw Tumblr what he assumed was the right dress.

And it was, Tumblrs face heated up as he left to put it on, rushing to slide out of once luxurious cotton that now chafed. Sliding on the dress itself was easy, he made it himself after all, and he knew how to get around awkward stitches and cuts. A slit on the left rode up his thigh, stopping mere inches from the braided belt around his waist, the fabric on his chest loose, one layer underneath, he assumed it was based off of a binders basic idea. The layer underneath was white and could be seen through the somewhat thin silk of the dress, the skirt part was opaque but faded out from a navy blue, to a purplish orange tone and finally into a deep black with sparkles of effervescent stars.

He groaned as he looked at himself in the mirror before taking his hair out of its bun, a deep navy tone with a few darker strips that teased to be sky black. Then he started grip bobby pins, stylizing and clipping back bits until he looked a lot more like an actual demigod than a mortal with a blessing. The t shaped clip stayed as he added the faintest amount of that deep navy to his eyes, they matched his pupils beautifully. When he returned he found 4chan holding up that old Onceler coat, the Truffula tree pin still in place, and the wet beast fur cleaned off by 4chan who was smirking.

"Asshat, hand it over, I'm ready to twink it up," Tumblr said as he gripped his jacket, pulling it over bare arms, quarter length sleeves felt awkward, leaving him no choice but to reach for the gloves, the feeling made him shudder but seen enough he was good to go, decked out just fine, with his scuzzy older sibling, whose shrimp pin is falling off, Tumblr readjusted it.

And then they waited.

And Yahoo called for them, and they rushed upstairs, their mother giving wary glances at their shitty fashion choices. She gave little more than a shrug of her shoulders before leading them out to the metaphorical chariot. The ride to where Twitter was to ascend was full of silence, 4chan awkwardly scratching at his gauze and Tumblr awkwardly fiddling with the Truffula pin on his suit. When they arrived, Tumblr was already a little bit pissed off and he hadn't even seen Twitter in his modest demigod outfit, looking like a mortal.

Chatting and conversing was held, reunions were had, and at some point 4chan ended up diverging away from Tumblr to make small talk with Reddit. When that happened, Tumblr headed straight for the drink table, he got compliments on his outfit, and one insult on his prosthetic to which he replied with a sharp 'Best shave your balls before I fucking make you'. It ended up directed towards Pinterest who appeared shocked at Tumblrs choice of words even as that forked tongue ran across incisors and lay limp between cuspids.

Tumblr stood idly at the drink table, sipping thoughtfully at a cup of punch until Newgrounds decided to get up in his business. Trying to talk and chat cause they used to be amazing friends before Yahoo cursed Tumblr, they're still friends though. And Tumblr can't help but quirk a brow at almost scenemo getup Newgrounds is rocking, the excessive gold tones make it less than scene or emo though.

"Hey! Great to see ya here man, it's been forever," Newgrounds said, grinning as he reached for a cup to pour himself a cup of punch, ladling the liquid into the cup with ease.

"Yeah," Tumblr said, hoping that if he used little words he wouldn't snap at Newgrounds.

"Sooo, I heard that 4chan got his eyes kinda, popped right on out, is it true?" Newgrounds asked, and Tumblr felt sick, 4chans eyes weren't popped out, he wasn't there to see it happen in real time, instead he found 4chan sobbing purple blood that stained green, but after training under Apollo, the past was his to see, and 4chans eyes were for a fact gouged out brutally, maybe if they were popped out, then 4chan wouldn't always wear gauze and would stop bleeding as well.

"They got gouged out, brutally, with a cork opener that has remnants of the ocular nerve still attached, the flavor on a fine red wine is, to put in simple terms, quite fucking nice," Tumblr snapped, a hiss to his tone and he slapped his hands over his mouth, he wondered why people even put up with him when he was like this, he wondered what Twitter would've done if he was around to see Tumblr like this.

The expression on Newgrounds face was almost shocked at the tone and choice of words, but he knew that Tumblr had gotten fucked up and couldn't control it. So instead of freaking out and scoffing and leaving Tumblr alone, he just took a little bit longer to respond than he used to.

"Oh, right, damn, it's just been a while since I last saw him, that's all, sorry man," Newgrounds said, placing a gloved hand on Tumblrs shoulder, the latter of the two easing completely.

"Naw, its cool, 4chan is still sensitive on the topic though," Tumblr said, leaning against the table slowly, brushing down the front of his jacket, his dress was chafing at his waist due to the jacket over top of it, but he ignored that.

The murmurs of the crowds silenced and the lights above dimmed, drawing everyones attention to where Twitter stood on a small elevated piece of ground. Gods he looked just as beautiful as the day Tumblr met him, freckles, brown hair, those pairs of wings just as well kept as the day he left. Tumblrs chest constricted, but he ignored as he watched the rich immortal walked up to Twitter alongside Chrome, the proud father of the demigod who was grinning.

"Today, we welcome Twitter into godhood," Chrome said as the immortal held up a necklace, a pendant on it that seemed to writhe, but Tumblr wasn't sure as he hadn't gotten his eyes checked to see if his eyesight was fine, he was human after all, "Musk, the necklace."

"Gladly," the immortal spoke before Twitter leaned down, the necklace resting over his perfect collarbones and chains glistening.

And then, the pendant started to dig itself into Twitters skin, nobody was shocked at this turn, except for Tumblr. Tumblr had never seen an ascension, 4chan had, he saw Youtubes ascension, and Newgrounds saw Facebooks ascension. Although Facebook got booted from godhood recently for reasons she didn't understand, she still showed up though.

As Tumblr watched in horror as Twitter started to shake, collapsing to the ground, poison running through his veins, all of the gods and demigods unfazed. As he cried out, he realized that he wasn't cut out for this, and because of that, he would have to undergo a much worse method of ascension. The immortal got a nod from Chrome before placing the cuffs on Twitters wrists, and Tumblr was bolting, but he slowed when gazes came to him.

And then Twitter spoke, pleaded.

"Help me Tumblr, please," Twitter begged, his ears full of tears and no other god could turn him down when he had that look, except for Internet Explorer and occasionally Safari.

"Tell me this Twitter, when I was on the ground, begging for you to help me, did you save me from losing my tongue?" Tumblr asked, purposefully letting his fork tongue stay lilting from between his lips, a deep navy tone on them due to the lipstick he always wore.

He only got a shaking sob from Twitter as pain wracked his body and a vigorous pain laden shake of his head. He tried to stand, to meet Tumblrs eyes, but he couldn't manage anything more than forearm support.

"Please, I'll gift you a thousand realms, I'll bring you to godhood with me, I'll give you anything," Twitter begged, he was leaning closer and closer to passing out as the poison pulsed faster and faster.

"That depends if you can answer my question," Tumblr said, grinning as he did so, leaning in such a fashion the glint of his prosthetic was caught in the light, a hand gloved in thneed perched at his waist, "do you like the color of the sky?"

Twitter could only give a drunken grin, the first thing Tumblr ever asked him. A hundred years ago it felt when they first met, and Twitter, Twitter still remember the answer.

"Which one?"

A thud and Twitter was done, merely unconscious, but he looked dead despite the unsteady rise of his chest. Chrome lifted his son before handing him to the immortal, for training to become a god and the immortal took him away. The crowd of the party dispersed, leaving Tumblr and 4chan as the last people, Reddit lingered alongside Newgrounds at the drink table, why waste a good drink?

"4chan," Tumblr began as he turned away from the elevated ground where Twitters ascension took place, he got a nod from 4chan as a sign that he heard, "are all ascensions like that?"

"Ask Reddit, he was around for Youtubes ascension," 4chan replied with as they headed to the metaphorical chariot where Yahoo was awaiting them.

Then Tumblr asked a question 4chan didn't expect.

"Do you think Twitter will be okay?"

#twitblr #twitter x tumblr #tumblr x twitter #tumblr #twitter #myspace #4chan #yahoo #google chrome #reddit #newgrounds #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #oneshot #one shot #greek mythology #tw blood #tw betrayal #tw cruelty #tw swearing #tw eye horror #tw wounds #tw miscarriage #Tumblr cosplays the onceler #Reddit and 4chan start dating after these events #Newgrounds transfeminizes later on #Firefox doesn't attend ascensions because they find it wrong for demigods to learn cruelty of gods

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Here, have another half-baked idea my brain refuses to give further context of but won’t leave

Sky gasped awake while the memory of the lashing replayed with crystal clarity. Unlike the memory though, he could move. He used his freedom to curl into a ball…or at least tried to. There was nearly 200 lbs of wolf sprawled in front of him and he curled into the soft fur instead. It also made the arms around him vanish and cold air rush into the space behind him. No… no more cold. No more isolation…

“It’s all right, Link…” and now there was a warm hand in the space between his shoulder blades. “It’s over, you’re safe. Breathe with me…” and the soft rumbling voice counted out breaths for him to follow. When he had his breaths under control, the voice spoke again. “I’m going to help you sit up, Link. Ok?” He nodded, and he was scooped up into someone’s arms, then shifted until he was in a sitting position propped up against them. The body behind him hummed a melody that, while unfamiliar, was soothing and he found himself held with a wolf sprawled across his lap. He started to recognize things around him as memory was replaced by present and the cold with blessed Hylian warmth at his back and wrapped around him. With coming back to the present, however, he became aware that his formerly shattered knee, the healing whip marks across his back, the bruises, broken bones, and everything else were starting to ache.

“Wars, he’s in pain…” the melody at his back was interrupted as Time spoke. There was a brief conference, something in the range of hours was spoken of passing and Wars’ tenor voice drifted closer.

“Hey, Sky, you need to drink this, ok? It’ll taste like a moblin’s backside but it’ll help with the pain…” Cool glass was pressed to his lips and he choked down some vile-tasting liquid, but the growing ache from his injuries started to fade. He finally pried his eyes open. Warriors was crouched beside him, watching him with concern.

“Heya, Birdbrain.” Warriors reached out and ran a hand through Sky’s hair. “Are you getting warmed up?” Sky suddenly became aware of the blankets (the patterns said they were from several of the others’ beds) around him and… and that Time was the heat source behind him. Twilight was the heater across his lap… and looking beyond Wars to see the others.

“How did you find me?” He’d been alone since that portal had separated them, and had been moved several times.

“We coordinated efforts with the locals… that and the Vet’s dreams helped us narrow the area down…”

“Did you really believe we wouldn’t come for you?” The pain in Time’s voice as he asked made Sky pause.

“No one ever has before…” he admitted. The arms around him tightened.

“We’re not going anywhere without you, Sky. You’re still shivering. Rest.”

ALAKSHDDH AJ. AJ!!!

AHHH I was just grumbling and not expecting anything but you delivered just—

You’re the best ❤️❤️❤️

#you ask skye answers #lovely ajscico #sky comfort #aahhhh poor Sky he got tortured?? Oh nooo #but everybody’s here for him now yayyyy #this is so wonderful #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu sky