CONTENT

Trying, crying, and boring *finger guns* YouTube, Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net NEW HOME OF Team SA37 Whumptober Masterlists: 2020, 2021, 2022

[hardygalwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

FanFiction.Net Link

(image source)

Game: Baldur’s Gate 3

Characters: Astarion and (Female) Tav

Synopsis: For a few moments she struggled to disentangle herself, to remember which traumas were her own and which belonged to the man to whom she had offered her heart, to recall where D’ahtlana stopped and Astarion began. Yet even as she gathered up the pieces of her scattered mind, the screams that had echoed through the now severed connection persisted...

A trap discovered too late results in the Reithwin Mason's Guild being razed to the ground, entombing a certain vampire spawn in the rubble.

WARNING for claustrophobia and canon typical Astarion trauma

—

Once, in some war she could not remember the cause of (neither what had started it nor for what reason it was being fought), back when she had simply been one young soldier among many, before she had sworn the Oath that had made her the Paladin she was today, D’ahtlana had fallen in battle. Not in the sense that she had died, but exhaustion from nearly two hours of carnage, combined with a blow to the head from some mounted foe, had her feeling the impact of her body hitting the ground before her mind succumbed to darkness.

When she awoke, the first thing D’ahtlana had been aware of was the stench - the rot of death, the sweat of battle, and the overwhelming tang of blood. Next was the weight of something pressing down on her, effectively leaving her pinned in an awkward position, her body twisted and her limbs barely able to move. Finally was the… lack of sight, or rather the incomprehensibleness of what she was seeing. At first D’ahtlana had thought that perhaps she had been captured by the enemy and blindfolded, or perhaps she was trapped in some Darkness cast by an enemy mage, as it seemed that her darkvision could not pierce through whatever darkness was surrounding her. A few shifts of her head, however, and she caught glimpses of limbs, of ragged clothing, of faces twisted and frozen in grotesque expression.

She was surrounded by bodies, she finally realised. A whole pile of them. And she was amongst those left at the bottom.

D’ahtlana could recall the growing panic in her chest as she began to thrash and struggle. The hoarse cries for help as she clawed and pushed at the bodies of those she would come to realise later had once been her comrades. The retching and coughing as the stench of those she had been mistaken to be counted amongst filled her throat and lungs. D’ahtlana could recall the sheer terror filling her very soul as her struggles seemed to get her nowhere, her cries begot no aid, and the bodies just seemed to weigh down even heavier, entombing her, as though determined that she be counted amongst them one way or another.

Even now, D’ahtlana could recall that terror, that hopelessness, in such vivid detail. Even now she could practically feel herself clawing and scratching, retching as sobs built up in her throat, her nails and fingertips being scraped away against the stone–

Wait, stone? No, it had been fetid flesh, yet to have been left cold by the departed souls, that she had dug her claws into, her fingertips stained with the blood of the fallen–

Yet it was stone she was recalling at this moment in such vivid detail, stone that met her frantic struggles on all sides, stone that left him entombed like the corpse he was.

“An empty tomb demands a corpse,” his master had crooned, as though he were merely giving a gentle lecture, as though his eyes were not filled with a fury that left his spawn cowering on his knees with no commandments necessary, as though his fingers were not nearly twisting his spawn’s curls right out of his scalp. “And a corpse that refuses to obey the one who so generously granted it life beyond death is no better than those corpses that lay dormant in such tombs.

“So this I ask you, boy: what reason have you not to grant this empty tomb its purpose, seeing as you have proven yourself worthy of nothing less?”

No amount of begging and pleading, no amount of desperate promises and wretched propositions, could save him from this. What little blood the master had granted to him was already streaked across the inside of the tomb in frantic lines of screaming despair. His stomach and veins were a void, aching with an emptiness that would have welcomed the most putrid rat corpse his master would grant. His fingernails were gone and his fingertips shorn away nearly to the bone. Yet still he screamed and clawed and thrashed.

He begged for forgiveness. He sobbed and wailed for someone, anyone - for his master, for the kennel keeper, for even his “sister” - to let him out. He promised to be good, to do everything right next time, to never disobey again, if only he could be let out.

Yet nothing met his cries. Only cold stone, darkness, and unrelenting, all-consuming hunger.

Please, please, please, he was sorry! Gods, Hells, he was so sorry! Let him out, please! Let him out! Let him out!

“Let me out!”

D’ahtlana gasped for air as the connection between the Illithid tadpole residing in her head and the one residing in the head of her lover finally ceased. For a few moments she struggled to disentangle herself, to remember which traumas were her own and which belonged to the man to whom she had offered her heart, to recall where D’ahtlana stopped and Astarion began. Yet even as she gathered up the pieces of her scattered mind, the screams that had echoed through the now severed connection persisted, albeit muffled.

“Help! D’ahtlana! Shadowheart! Someone, please! Let me out!”

“Astarion…” D’ahtlana staggered to her feet, steadying herself against the slabs of rubble she had been attempting to shift before the force of the sudden psionic connection had brought her to her knees.

A search for the inner sanctum of the old Reithwin Mason’s Guild had led to the discovery of a trapdoor that turned out to be more trap than door. By the time Astarion had picked open the lock, by the time D’ahtlana could practically see his hackles rise in time with her own when they both heard the subtle click upon him lifting open the hatch, by the time Astarion had hissed out a quiet but emphatic “shit,” it was too late.

D’ahtlana, along with Lae’zel and Shadowheart, had been blown back by the blast. It was by fortune’s grace that the latter two women had managed to maintain enough of their senses to drag the far more dazed D’ahtlana out of harm’s way before the rest of the Mason’s Guild, its centuries old stonework rattled by the force of the explosives, collapsed in on itself. By the time D’ahtlana had managed to regain her own senses, the building was reduced to little more than finely crafted stonework piled up in large slabs of rubble.

Astarion had been nowhere to be seen.

He was there, somewhere beneath all that stone. The three women had called out his name, and when they heard no response, D’ahtlana had called upon her Oath to grant her a minute of divine sense. To her immense relief, she immediately detected the presence of a single undead within the rubble - unless a Shadow or some Shadow-Cursed corpse had somehow found its way into the Mason’s Guild moments before its collapse, there was only one undead that could possibly be. He was alive - or, well, what counted as “alive” for Astarion - but more than likely unconscious.

D’ahtlana had sent Lae’zel and Shadowheart back to camp for help - as strong as all three of them were in either body or divine power, D’ahtlana had little hope that they would be able to dig through the rubble in a timely manner. She remained behind to do what she could on her own and to ensure that Astarion would not be alone should he regain consciousness.

“Let me out! Please! Please!”

Apparently he had regained consciousness.

Even though the connection between her tadpole and Astarion’s had ceased, D’ahtlana could still sense the frantic psionic energy radiating outward from within the rubble, as though the tadpole were sending out a distress signal, laden with the terrible, terrible distress of its host. With every wave of psionic energy that her own tadpole intercepted, D’ahtlana felt as though she were starving. She felt as though she wanted to cry. She felt as though she wanted to die.

“Astarion,” D’ahtlana rasped out again. She resumed the laborious process of attempting to shift aside at least some of the rubble, grimacing as a despair that was not her own made her entire body ache. “Astarion!”

“D’ahtlana?”

Her name came out sounding breathless and filled with a desperation that was palpable, even as the psionic distress signal finally abated. In its place, D’ahtlana could finally hear roughly from where in the rubble Astarion’s voice was coming from, as well as the faint and futile scratching of nails against stone.

“I’m here, Astarion…!’ D’ahtlana called out, as loud as she dared without adding to the man’s obvious panic.

The faint scratching sounds increased in both pace and franticness. “Get me out of here! Get me out! Get me out!”

“Astarion…!” D’ahtlana paused - she had been about to tell him to breathe, but Astarion did not need to breathe.

Yet she could hear the breathlessness in his words, the high pitched gasps in between the scratches and animal-like growls. Astarion may not have needed to breathe, but clearly two hundred years had not rid his body’s response to sheer, bloody panic.

“Astarion, my love.” She tried to keep her voice calm and gentle, yet still loud enough to pierce through the rubble and Astarion’s own voice. “I need you to calm down.”

“I’ll calm down as soon as you let me out!” Astarion snapped, though any venom he may have wanted to inject into his voice was almost entirely diluted by the fear in it.

“I’m doing my best,” D’ahtlana responded with a continued effort of calm and gentleness. “The others are coming to help soon, but until then, I need you to calm yourself.”

The response she received was some combination of a snarl and whimper, accompanied by more frenetic scratching. “Just let me out! Please…!”

D’ahtlana picked up the pace of her efforts to shift the rubble. She held no illusions that she would be able to dig out Astarion all on her own, but perhaps she could at least get some line of sight on him until the others arrived. After about a minute of heaving and pushing a few of the comparatively smaller pieces of rubble to the side, a minute of listening to Astarion’s gasping and scrabbling and occasional, barely audible pleas, D’ahtlana’s efforts paid off. She uncovered a small hole in the pile of rubble.

No sooner had she done so, a pale hand burst out from the opening. D’ahtlana immediately grasped onto it.

“D’ahtlana,” Astarion gasped out. His fingers dug into the leather of D’ahtlana’s gauntlet, staining it with old blood that seeped from torn fingertips. “My love, my sweet, my dearest, my goddess, one whose loveliness and radiance is second only to the sun…!”

“Astarion…” D’ahtlana tried to cut in. His words were fast and his voice high-pitched, but she recognised the tone he was at least attempting to go for - the over-the-top and flamboyantly flirtatious one, the one he had realised could make her smile and even occasionally laugh - though it was marred terribly by clear desperation.

“You must get me out of here, my sweet,” Astarion insisted before D’ahtlana could get another word in. “Please, you must!”

“Help is coming, my love,” D’ahtlana murmured, clasping his hand between both of her own. “If you would just wait awhile–”

“Why wait? Why wait? You have the power to free me, D’ahtlana, I know this. My dearest, my mighty Paladin–”

“Astarion.”

“Just let me out. Please.”

His words were slow, soft. Yet the descriptor of ‘calm’ was entirely belied by the tremor in the very back of his voice, by the creaking of leather beneath his fingers. The man knew how to put on a mask just as well as he knew how to embody it, but ever since that tender night in which he had bared his heart to her rather than his body, and she responded by assuring him of her care, D’ahtlana had gotten better at seeing through those masks. Either that or he was in far too much of a state to embody this particular mask properly.

“I will,” she assured him softly. “We just need to wait until the others come back to help.”

Pale fingers dug deeper into the leather of her gauntlet.

“You don’t need them, surely,” Astarion huffed. “A few hundred pounds of rubble. Tch, what is that to the fairest and most strapping Paladin in all of Faerûn? And imagine the rewards, my dear.”

With her left hand still being held tight by Astarion, D’ahtlana withdrew her right hand from the back of his and began unbuckling her gauntlet with her teeth.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to, well, know each other. You have been such a sweetheart, waiting so very patiently, but surely the frustration… Gods, I’ve been feeling it too.” Astarion’s voice strained just so, husky, beguiling, and practiced. “Your touch is like no other. Tender, yet vigorous. With every kiss we’ve shared this past tenday, I’ve found myself hungering for more.”

Once the straps were undone, D’ahtlana pulled her gauntlet off, leaving her hand bare.

“This barrier between us has only hastened my longing for you, my sweet,” Astarion groaned. “I realise that now. I’m ready, ready for our bodies to be joined once again.”

“You don’t mean that, Astarion,” D’ahtlana replied, not unkindly, but with a sorrow she was unable to hide as she placed her bare hand over the back of his own once again.

“I do…!” Astarion’s grip tightened as D’ahtlana pulled her right hand away, her strength easily overcoming even his panic. Pale fingers clawed and searched the air frantically until they clasped around D’ahtlana’s bare hand. D’ahtlana went to work on undoing the straps of her right gauntlet, trying to ignore the taste of old blood.

“I do, I do, I swear on all the gods from Lathander to Bhaal I do! I mean every word!” Astarion exclaimed, cracks breaking his silken words. “Come now, D’ahtlana, my love, my dearest light… Let me prove myself to you. Let me out of this tomb so that we might finally know each other again.

“It will be something out of a dream. A knight in shining armour, noble heart moved to rescue a beautiful thing from the darkest dungeons, for which the beautiful being, moved by thankfulness and devotion, will have no other recourse but to present a… token of its appreciation.”

D’ahtlana pulled off her right hand gauntlet.

“Is that not a fantasy you are willing to indulge, my fair knight? Gods, it is a fantasy I had thought lost a century ago. Yet here you can make it come true…!”

“Astarion...” D’ahtlana once again clasped her lover’s hand between both of her own, the warmth of her palms combating the chill inherent to his nature. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, my love.” The words somehow rang both true and false, wrapped in fear and disguised by charm.

D’ahtlana leant her head down, brushing her lips ever so gently over torn knuckles as her Oath poured a well of divine healing through her hands. Torn skin stitched back together, shorn fingertips reformed, mangled fingernails regrew. Underneath the rubble, D’ahtlana heard Astarion let out a sigh. For the very briefest of moments, his fingers, slender, perfect, and manicured once again, relaxed. D’ahtlana kept his hand clasped even as her well of divine healing was depleted and pressed another kiss against his knuckles.

“Then trust,” she murmured against cold skin, “that I will rescue you as soon as I am able. And trust that I will not ask anything of you in return. No rewards, no tokens, not your trinkets, nor your body. Nothing at all, nothing that you are not truly ready to give. I care about you, Astarion. Remember?”

Only the eerie wind and distant moans of the Shadow-Cursed Lands responded to D’ahtlana’s query, before she heard the familiar scratch of fingernails against stone from beneath the rubble and felt Astarion’s hand tighten around her own.

“Gods…” The sound of flesh against stone, as though Astarion had slammed his free hand against the underside of the rubble entombing him. “Damn!”

His fingers curled, fingernails digging into the back of D’ahtlana’s hand. She did not flinch.

“This is hell, D’ahtlana,” Astarion snarled, his voice breaking over her name. “I cannot stay in here!”

“I know, my love, I know.” D’ahtlana kept her lips pressed against his hand. “I understand–”

“No, you don’t! You cannot possibly understand!”

Astarion let out a guttural scream, accompanied by the sound of his boots scraping against stone and the sound of his palm slamming against the underside of the rubble again, and again, and again. His nails dug deeper into D’ahtlana’s skin as he let out another cry.

“What is a few hours to a year?” he rasped. “A decade to two centuries? Fear of death to craving it?”

Another cry, strangled and anguished. All of Astarion’s weight seemed to be behind the grip he had on D’ahtlana’s hand, and though he was not an especially heavy man, he felt somehow heavier, like the dead weight of a corpse. D’ahtlana took a deep breath.

“I understand you are afraid, Astarion,” she said. “And I am so sorry this happened to you… I would never wish this torment on you, my love, and that you are suffering it now pains me. If I did indeed have the strength to single-handedly pull you out of this hell, I would.

“The others are coming though, and they will help me. They will help you. You will be free again, Astarion, I promise you.”

D’ahtlana breathed in and out, slowly, audibly, allowing each breath to brushed over Astarion’s knuckles as she caressed the back of his hand with calloused thumbs.

“This is my touch you are feeling, Astarion. My voice you’re hearing. You are with me. And I will get you out of there as soon as I am able.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion’s fingers began to uncurl. His nails disembedded themselves from D’ahtlana’s skin. A slender thumb began to caress the back of her hand.

“You do have such a way with words, my dear,” Astarion crooned. “A surprising trait for one so stoic, but certainly not an unpleasant one. Quite the opposite, in fact. I do love hearing you speak so articulately.”

The flirtatious tone was followed quickly by a soft sigh and an equally soft utterance of, “...Stay with me, won’t you? I would… prefer not to be alone while we wait.”

“Of course, my love.”

With one eye on the surrounding shadows, D’ahtlana remained with Astarion. Her hands remained around his, and she occasionally hummed just to assure him she was indeed still there, trying to keep him grounded in the present hour. Unlike the nightmares of the past, here there was comfort and companionship and a true promise of something better.

It was barely five minutes of this before D’ahtlana heard the sound of many bodies approaching and many voices breaking up the eerie ambiance of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

“Do you hear that, Astarion? The others will be here any moment now.” D’ahtlana squeezed his hand gently. “Do you want me to stay with you, my love? Or do you want me to help the others pull you out?”

“Ah, best help the others,” Astarion replied airily. “Gods knows they are all helpless without you.”

“All right.” D’ahtlana pressed one last kiss against his knuckles. “I’m going to let go of your hand now. But I’m still here.”

“Of course you are.”

D’ahtlana slowly withdrew her hands and stood upright, picking her gauntlets up from the ground. She turned her gaze towards the direction of the voices and saw fast approaching silhouettes, some of whom were wielding torches.

“D’ahtlana!” one of the silhouettes called out.

“Karlach!” D’ahtlana called back. “We’re over here!”

[hardygalwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

FanFiction.Net Link

Game: Baldur's Gate 3

Characters: Astarion and (Female) Tav

Synopsis: The words themselves were easy enough to understand. He knew what sentiment was meant to be expressed in those simple words. But he didn’t know what secrets those words held, what bitter truths were meant to lay hidden behind such a lovely lie, what cruel reality disguised itself in this phrase that made something stir in his cold, unbeating heart.

Note: Finally started writing things again! That's mostly what this was, an effort to start writing things again, so obviously my go to was to delve a little into the mind of this traumatised bastard

WARNING for canon typical Astarion trauma

—

"I care about you," she said, her voice low and gentle and utterly sincere.

Astarion did not know D'ahtlana to be a liar.

Oh, she could tell a lie. She could decline to correct a falsehood. She could play along with assumptions that were tacitly untrue. But he had only ever seen her do so in the name of some "greater good" or prevention of "unnecessary bloodshed," and even then, that was only when all other avenues of sweet talk had failed or were deemed comparably undesirable. She could lie, but she wasn't a liar.

Astarion did not know D'ahtlana to be cruel either.

Oh, she could be utterly terrifying. Paladins often were, for a myriad of reasons, particularly to an undead like himself. She could be angry, tenacious, even grim. But cruel? For all her strength and power, the tiefling took little pleasure in causing or revelling in the misery of others.

(Unlike himself).

No, D'ahtlana was... good. "Naïve" he had called her just the night before.

But this naïve, this... good? What kind of a person looked at him - undead, wretched, simpering, impure him - and said something like that?

It would have been another thing entirely if she had said "I love you." Astarion at least knew what that meant. He had heard it often enough, spoken in between gasps and moans by many an unfortunate lover, and even by himself. To sweeten the pot, as it were.

("I love you," he told her, after all his other lines only made her scoff and smile in amusement.

This line decidedly did not seem to amuse her, though it didn't seem to have her swooning either. Instead, she merely crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and gave him a searching stare.

"Having fun, are you?"

He laughed - flighty, teasing, practiced - and it was with some amount of internal alarm that he realised he was somewhat disappointed. Disappointed that she hadn't reciprocated...?

"I am," he crooned. “It’s hard not to with you.”

No, he was merely disappointed that she wasn't yet falling head over heels for him, that he hadn't quite yet undeniably secured his place as something to be protected in her eyes. That was all.)

The naïve and gullible placed so much weight behind those simple words, but Astarion knew what "I love you" really meant. They were transactional words. From his marks, a confirmation of instincts dulled by lust, driven by a desire for more of him, and from Astarion, a honeyed opium meant to dull them all the more, driven by a clawing, mewling, frantic need to survive.

But she hadn't said “I love you.”

What she had said, Astarion had never heard such words before. Not spoken to him. The words themselves were easy enough to understand. He knew what sentiment was meant to be expressed in those simple words. But he didn’t know what secrets those words held, what bitter truths were meant to lay hidden behind such a lovely lie, what cruel reality disguised itself in this phrase that made something stir in his cold, unbeating heart.

“I care about you,” she said, her voice low and gentle and utterly sincere.

D’ahtlana was not a fool, no matter how much he might have told her otherwise. D’ahtlana was not a liar. D’ahtlana was not cruel.

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft and uncertain and painfully vulnerable.

‘Are you sure that's wise? Why would you say something like that? What does that even mean?’

D’ahtlana’s eyes softened, the fiery blue glow dimming from attentive torchlight to a cozy hearth fire. She approached, and oh Hells what the fuck was she doing–?

D’ahtlana wouldn’t hurt him, experience told him. Sure, she had slammed her forehead into his own when they had first met, but to be fair, he had held a blade to her throat first. Gods knows Astarion would have done far worse to anyone threatening his life (or, well, unlife). D’ahtlana had never once harmed him since then, though. Even when she caught him attempting to bite her in her sleep, forcing him to finally reveal his secret, to unveil himself as an undead to a fucking Paladin, there had been nary a wooden stake nor Divine Smite in sight. Only a wary glare, a few stern questions, and eventually a neck willingly bared in a stupid, stupid show of trust.

No matter how many times Astarion attempted to push the limits of her frankly stalwart moral boundaries, no matter how many times Astarion expressed the parts of himself that would have any self-respecting “hero” immediately expelling him from their party, no matter how annoyed or even angry she clearly was, D’ahtlana never once raised a hand or weapon against him.

All that being said, Astarion still had no idea what in the Hells D’ahtlana’s intent was as she stepped toward him. Her expression was soft, but her body language was unfamiliar, betraying no intent that Astarion could recognise. There was no violence, no lust. Clearly she meant to do something, but what?

She approached, and Astarion flinched back. Only the knowledge of who D’ahtlana was, of what he knew about her, of who he wanted so earnestly for her to be to him, and he to her, kept Astarion rooted where he was, neither fleeing nor lashing out as she wrapped both arms around him.

This was…

‘Oh.’

Astarion had been entwined in the arms of many, many, many people throughout the past two centuries. But that was not what this was. Her body did not… press against his own, at least not in the way he had come to expect. Her nails did not dig into his back, marking lines of poetry with lines of ecstasy. Her lips did not so much as caress his neck.

She simply… hugged him.

Astarion could not recall the last time someone had done such a thing.

It felt…

Slowly, hesitantly, Astarion lifted his own arms and wrapped them tentatively around her waist. She did not pull away. He rested his head against her shoulder and let himself lean into her embrace. She remained as stalwart and grounding as ever. Her palms were warm and gentle against his back, the contact bringing hardly any attention to the scars hidden beneath his shirt. Astarion closed his eyes.

Gods… Was this what “I care about you” meant? It felt wonderful. It felt safe.

D’ahtlana withdrew, her unexpectant touch retreating from his body, but that feeling remained. For the first time in centuries, Astarion found himself almost struck dumb by something other than his master’s commands.

“You…” He managed to find his voice again though, and smiled. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

D’ahtlana smiled in return. She did not smile often (unlike himself), but Astarion supposed that just made the moments she did smile all the more real (unlike himself). There was something sad in her gaze, in the way her eyes dimmed from a cozy hearth fire to a flickering candle, but that did not make her smile any less dear.

Astarion couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, slightly giddy and slightly nervous. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.”

What did come next? Relationships beyond the carnal and transactional, beyond the physical, beyond a single night of tainted pleasure were far outside Astarion’s understanding. But if there was one thing Astarion had learned about D’ahtlana, it was that she had a godly amount of patience and a willingness for second chances that Astarion would have scoffed at if she hadn’t given such chances to him.

So, Astarion extended a palm out to her. She looked down at it, surprise flickering across her features, but there was otherwise no hesitation as she accepted his hand with her own. Golden ochre contrasted starkly against snow pale. The calloused and hardened hands of a soldier juxtaposed the soft and slender hands of a charlatan. The warmth of life met the chill of undeath like a foil.

Astarion placed his other hand overtop D’ahtlana’s, holding her between his palms like nothing he had ever treasured or held dear before. Astarion did not know what was supposed to come next.

“But I know that this…” He smiled at her, a smile he hoped she knew was just as real as he knew every single one of her own smiles were, just as real as he so desperately wanted this to become. “This is nice.”

He gazed into her eyes, cold red meeting fiery blue. Gods, the contrasts just didn't end. Who was this woman, to accept this as it was…?

D’ahtlana was the first to break eye contact, looking down at where Astarion still had her hand clasped between his own two. She placed her other hand overtop his clasped ones, and he laughed.

“Are we playing a children’s hand game now, my sweet?”

D’ahtlana lifted her gaze back up to him and tilted her head. “What do you wish to do, Astarion?”

Oh, what a question.

This time, it was he who broke eye contact.

“I think,” he murmured, “for tonight… I should like for us to simply be together. Nothing else, if you don't mind.” Another laugh escaped him, but it did little to ease the sudden spike of anxiety in his gut. “Just… Just be with me. That's all.”

Astarion couldn't see D’ahtlana’s face, but he heard her hum softly. “As you wish.”

Anxiety left Astarion in a sigh. He brought her hand up to his lips, brushing them ever so softly over her knuckles, before stepping backwards towards his tent, still holding her hands. She followed without question.

There was something terribly ironic about him, the most prolific harlot in all of Baldur’s Gate (as his master and Petras, the most idiotic of Astarion’s brothers, oh so scornfully put it), requesting not to sleep with someone. Not just someone, but a person whom Astarion had already slept with just a few tendays prior, a person whom Astarion would gladly admit was the very vision of attractiveness. But gods damn him, this was the first time in so, so many years he could even think to make such a request. And apparently fate had seen fit to not only bless him with a taste of freedom, but a woman who would gladly heed such a request while still remaining by his side, despite this whole relationship having started as a farce.

What kind of a person would do such a thing?

The same kind of person who would look a conniving vampiric prostitute in the eye and say, without an ounce of derision, “I care about you,” apparently.

As they lay side by side in his tent, Astarion took a deep, unneeded breath, and closed his eyes, preparing to enter a trance. Perhaps tonight his dreams would not be encroached by Cazador’s all consuming presence…

Astarion wordlessly shifted closer to D’ahtlana. He felt her shift in turn, before a muscular arm slowly draped over his chest.

“Is this all right, love?” D’ahtlana asked, her low voice made lower by her gentle tone.

Oh, what a question.

“More than all right, dearest,” Astarion murmured. “Just… you know…”

“I know.”

He trusted her, Astarion realised as he let out another sigh. Not like how he had trusted her before, assured by the fact that so long as he carried his weight in this band of misfits, cajoled her into ensuring his survival, and made himself desirable to her, she would not betray him. No, he trusted her.

D’ahtlana could carry him as easily as she could carry a barrel of firewine, and Astarion knew that for a fact, but she would never harm him. Because she… she cared about him.

How novel. How intimidating. How wonderful.

Astarion slipped into his meditative trance far more easily than he had in decades. If Cazador and his commandments encroached at all into his dreamscapes, Astarion did not remember, because when he emerged from his trance the following morning, he knew immediately that he was safe.

[hardygalwrites]

“All right, then. My loyalties lie with my friends and those who need an act of selflessness, regardless of whether or not they have anything to give back in return. I'm soft like that." “Very altruistic. That’s a fine goal. My only concern is that it’s very very broad, do you plan on undoing all of the world’s woes yourself? And don’t get me wrong, giving without receiving is a great thing, but it may also exhaust you, we all have only so much to give. But I applaud you for wanting to crusade. So tell me why the mask of all things? Or is it more pragmatic than symbolic?” “Undoing all of the world's woes? No, my delusions of grandeur don't extend that far. But I'm hardly going to sit back and let the woes be. From the corporate world to the streets, this city dictates there is no place for simple decency. It sneers at even the smallest acts of kindness and locks onto them as weaknesses. I reject that. As for the mask... Pragmatic, yes. Symbolic... Hm, I'm not sure.”

Look who it is again! Glad to finally show off what Fiver looks like in full :D

A lot has happened with my very first Cyberpunk RED character since I first introduced him many months back. Mostly him trying his damndest to help out the other members of his crew who have been going through a lot of shit... Though to be fair a good 70% of that shit is just the consequences of our own actions.

Now that things have been mostly smoothed over though, Fiver's next order of business is to accrue enough money to build a traveling theatre and hopefully get some of his crew the hell out of the city, because those smoothed over things are only gonna stay smoothed over for so long.

What's that? Fiver's background and personal matters have yet to have bitten the entire crew in the ass? I'm sure he'll be fine :]

This is yet another wonderful art piece by @crystalnovaart. Words cannot express how much I love that all the little details I asked for are there - the three cyberfingers, the velveteen rabbit tattoo, the untied shoelaces. I received this art piece many months back, and it is still gorgeous <3

Check out her Instagram under crystalnova_art, her art work is still stunning, and don't forget to support her if you can!

[hardygalwrites]

Of these four favourite characters of mine, which would you say most suits my vibe?

Smokescreen (Transformers Prime)

Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil remakes)

Drizzt Do'Urden (Dark Elf Trilogy/Forgotten Realms)

Voting ended onJul 6, 2024

Saw @thatsgonnaleaveamark and thought, "yes, I'd like to do this."

Rules: pick four of your favorite characters from four pieces of media and let your tumblr people decide which one most suits your vibe

It was actually rather difficult for me to choose only four characters out of my admittedly small roster of "most favourite characters ever of all time," but I tried my best to at least keep it varied by only picking each one from a different form of media (western animation, web show, video game, and book series, respectively)

Tagging: @the-lupine-sojourner

And anyone else who may still be following me! I know it's been a hot minutes since I engaged with pretty much the only tumblr community I actively engaged with (the whump community), but I hope you're still around!

[hardygalwrites]

"Lost little boy, without a home, pretending to be a knight... What is your request?"

It's been a hot hot hot minute since I posted about my TTRPG characters (or posted anything at all really), but look who it is again!

For as long as he can remember, Nova was raised by the "Order of the Ever Watchful," or "The Everwatch," a knightly order focused on aiding others and preserving knowledge. Taught and nurtured by the men and women who made up the order, Nova longed for the day he would finally be old enough to be declared a knight of The Everwatch himself.

But that day never came. Instead, a year before Nova's eighteenth birthday, the order was wiped off the face of the continent. Nova ended up being captured by the mercenaries who did the deed, and was held captive for a whole year before he finally managed to escape. When he returned to the tower he called home, all he found was rubble and the rotting remains of those who had raised him.

Never having been one who could process grief, Nova simply shut down for a day, lying amidst the ruins of his home.

Credit for this incredible art piece goes to _simpera_ on Instagram! The line work is sublime, and the expression on Nova's face is especially perfect :']

[hardygalwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

FanFiction.Net Link

Anime/Manga: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Part 3: Stardust Crusaders)

Characters: Noriaki Kakyoin, Dio Brando, and an Original Character

Synopsis: “Shhh… Easy, Kakyoin. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Two clawed hands grasped Noriaki by the arms in a shockingly gentle hold, and Noriaki could feel a cold breath caress his ear as the man spoke into it, saying, “Let’s be friends, shall we?”

One cold night in Cairo, Noriaki Kakyoin walks into an ancient ruin and is met with one of the most terrifying men he will ever meet in his young life.

Note: A gift fic for my best friend @the-lupine-sojourner, as a tie in for her fic, "The Ace of Wands and Her User" ^-^

—

Noriaki Kakyoin was not a careless person. He was attentive in his studies, observed the world critically, and was aware of his own limits, making his decisions with care. Even though he was still in high school, both he and his parents considered him to be mature. Naoko would be teasingly quick to point out Noriaki’s more petty tendencies, but she was his twin sister, so that was kind of her job.

The point was, when Noriaki left the hotel to wander about the streets of Cairo at night, he, his parents, and even his sister considered him more than responsible enough to go out alone. He had offered Naoko a chance to come with him, but she declined, the day having left her exhausted.

“Maybe I would be willing to come with if you looked less like a tourist,” she said with a yawn and grin as flopped backwards onto her bed.

“I look good in this and you know it,” Noriaki retorted good naturedly, straightening the collar of his uniform. “And besides–”

“No, stop, don’t give me that student bullshit, especially since we aren’t even at school right now.” Naoko laughed and sat upright to give him a genuine smile. “Seriously though, just go have fun. Maybe we can do something together tomorrow night.”

Noriaki nodded, returning the smile. “All right then. See you tomorrow, sis.” He closed the door to her room behind him as he left.

...That seemed like an age ago.

Cairo was a beautiful place on its own, but tonight, with the full moon shedding its beams upon the ancient city, it was truly breathtaking. Noriaki went from place to place, landmark to landmark, sketching what he could. He made sure he knew where he was so he wouldn’t get lost, and kept an eye out for thieves or other people who might look to do him harm.

Yet all of that seemed to fade away when he found himself drawn to a particular ruin.

“Noriaki Kakyoin…”

The ruin was exposed and open. The moon shone down uninhibited from above. The walls had many open archways built into them. And yet in spite of that, it was as though his name echoed through the ruin, sending chills down Noriaki’s spine.

His spirit appeared at his side, and Noriaki turned sharply. “Who’s–?”

The challenge died in Noriaki’s throat, catching behind his hitched breaths.

Thorny vines sprawled across the ground and walls of the ruin, decorated with many dark red roses. There was a glowing aura to them that lit up the already moon bathed stones with a faint sickly pink, and they almost seemed alive , growing and crawling their way towards Noriaki bit by bit. Two bodies lay on the ground not far from where Noriaki stood now - a man and a woman it looked like, unmoving and already claimed by the thorny vines.

A tree of ice stood tall and gnarled at the end of the ruin. It was from this tree that all the vines and roses seemed to emit, and at the top of the tree, Noriaki swore he saw the shadow of some kind of bird of prey. A falcon maybe, with its wings spread wide as though in challenge.

It was like something out of a story book. A dark, twisted story book.

That was hardly the worst of it, though. Any of this might have given Noriaki a pause, made him stutter, but ultimately not lose his composure. No, it was not the scene before him that had Noriaki’s words and breaths catching in his throat.

It was the man standing at the center of it all.

If ‘man’ was the right word… There was something inherently inhuman about him. He stood shirtless, skin shining like marble beneath the moonlight. There was no wind, yet his hair flowed out in a captivating mane of pale gold. The vines and roses looked to be coming from his body . And what a body it was - bigger and taller than Noriaki could ever hope to be, every muscle from the waist upwards accentuated by the moon’s beams. Yet the way the man held himself, the very aura he gave off, spoke of a power deeper and so much more terrible than just physical.

Even through the shadows obscuring the man’s face, Noriaki could somehow still make out a pair of golden eyes, fixed solely on him .

Noriaki couldn't speak. He couldn’t even breathe . He realized, suddenly, what it must be like for a prey animal to be caught within the sights of a predator. Every part of him wanted to run, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t .

A low chuckle echoed through Noriaki’s very bones.

“What’s the matter?” the man crooned. “You look frightened enough to vomit.”

Noriaki’s guardian spirit disappeared into the depths of his soul. Noriaki took one step back. That was all he could manage.

Oh, god… Oh, god, he really was going to vomit.

Whoever, whatever this man was, whatever his intentions were with him, Noriaki knew that he himself was nowhere near powerful enough to fight back. Even his guardian spirit knew that. Noriaki could feel him in the depths of his soul, amidst the horror and terror, cowering , a reflection of Noriaki’s own desires.

He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t even run. He was completely at the mercy of this– this monster of a man.

The man approached. Noriaki fought for breath. Sharp and desperate gasps were all he could manage. They did nothing to ease his reeling mind.

Oh, god, he was getting closer.

His only other option would be to beg for his life. But Noriaki’s mouth refused to work. Even his knees refused to buckle. All he could do was watch as the man approached closer, and closer, and closer…

Was this it? Was this how it all ended? Noriaki Kakyoin, dead at seventeen. Some people flashed across his mind, three people specifically, but their images and his feelings towards them were marred and muddled by the fear that had taken hold of his very being.

“Shhh… Easy, Kakyoin.” That same baritone voice echoed through Noriaki’s body, speaking from just behind him. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Two clawed hands grasped Noriaki by the arms in a shockingly gentle hold, and Noriaki could feel a cold breath caress his ear as the man spoke into it, saying, “Let’s be friends, shall we?”

And just like that, Noriaki’s fear dissipated.

This wasn’t the end. The man was willing to show mercy. He still had a chance to live…!

Like a child being reassured by their parents that they weren’t in trouble, relief filled every fiber of his being that had been left vacant by the fear that had filled him mere moments before. Noriaki gasped, an audible sign of his relief, and collapsed.

The man caught him as he fell, easing him down to his knees, hands still grasping Noriaki’s arms gently. “There we are…”

One hand left his arm, and Noriaki felt an ice cold finger brush up his face. “Relaxed now?”

Noriaki sighed and nodded slightly.

“Good,” the man hummed.

Good, good, the man was pleased. He still had a chance to get out of this. It was all going to be all right.

“Now, Kakyoin…” The finger pulled and tucked a bit of hair behind Noriaki’s ear. “Why don’t you bring your lovely sister here to see me sometime? I’m certain we will all be good friends.”

His sister?

His sister…!

Naoko!

“No…!” Noriaki gasped before he could even think to stop himself.

That sick fear was back in full force, but this time it was split in two. Noriaki still feared the man holding him in this sickeningly comforting hold, god did he still fear him. But the thought of bringing his sister into this dizzying nightmare, the thought of his sister being held by this inhuman being like he himself was now–

“Oh?” the man said, and the soft monosyllable was enough to make Noriaki want to vomit again. “You won’t bring her to me? Even after we have become such good friends…”

The hand on his ear caressed downward until it was around Noriaki’s neck, a gesture that held no threat to it, and yet sent chills down Noriaki’s spine.

“No, please, no,” Noriaki whispered.

Whatever this man wanted with him, whatever this man meant to do with him…

“Please don’t involve her in this, please, I’m begging you.”

The man gave no response.

“I’m- I’m enough. Surely I’m enough...! Whatever you want, I’ll do it, I swear, I’m all that you need, just please don’t bring my sister into it, p-please, I beg you–”

He was rambling now, grasping at anything to satiate the man. Noriaki would have already been pressing his forehead against the ground, groveling, if it didn’t mean pulling himself from the man’s hold.

“You ask for your sister to be left uninvolved,” the man stated, the fingers around Noriaki’s neck idly tracing the contours of his throat.

“Yes, yes, please,” Noriaki gasped. “Please, I’ll do anything…”

“Hmmm.” He was smiling, the man was smiling, Noraki could tell. “Very well. For as much as I can, I will allow you to ensure that she remains uninvolved in our little schemes. Will that be all for you, Kakyoin?”

Those words, crooned into his ear, were enough to bring back that overwhelming sense of relief and reassurance.

Noriaki let out another breath and nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Anything for a friend. Now relax…”

He did. Even as the vines and roses that had been acting as the twisted backdrop to this twisted exchange disappeared in favour of unfamiliar tentacles, even as the tentacles descended on him, driving something wrong and sick and invasive into his skull, Noriaki relaxed.

[hardygalwrites]

"I know you guys aren't exactly thrilled to be having someone like me hanging around. And I get it. I understand, believe me, I do. But... I believe this city has way bigger problems than a group of edgerunners who stole an already stolen AV from one of the most violent gangs currently around." "We didn't steal anything." "Heh, right, of course, I forgot. Allegedly stole, then. ...Look, I just... All I really want is to keep the people of this city as safe as possible. Call me crazy, call me naive, I probably am. But I'm still gonna try, and that's my main goal. So as long as you guys don't go, like, carpet bombing random buildings, I think we'll work just fine."

Background time! The GM who runs the Cyberpunk RED game in which I play Fiver, my Fixer, also runs another Cyberpunk RED game that takes place at the same time in universe, and soooo seeing as it actually didn't affect my schedule at all, I joined that game as well!

Thus was born (Officer) Washington Winters, a rookie Lawman for the Night City Police. It could be argued that he's way too pretty to be a cop, and he would laugh and wink and agree that he has far more beauty than brains. But behind that pretty face and charming demeanour is a young man who does earnestly want to keep people safe.

Lord knows he never feels safe

Also, he has two kid sisters, and admittedly probably one of the darkest backstories I've ever conceputalised for a character ^-^'

The BIGGEST of thank yous goes to @andengeu for bringing my latest son to life! They seriously perfectly captured Wash's build, look, and gentle demeanour, I love it so much. Go and support the artist!

[hardygalwrites]

"I'm afraid I'm far less inclined towards violence than you seem to be expecting."

So! I started playing a Cyberpunk RED game! And you know what that means, that’s right, I have to show off my latest son character :]

Meet Roswell Wan Fiver! Don’t let that 5′4 frame fool you, he’s the son and heir to one of the more prominent corpo families in Night City one of the most promising up and coming fixers in Night City currently.

Sure, behind that mysterious mask and the monotonous manner of speech is more than likely a lonely little boy young man who is trying too hard, but he knows his stuff. He just wants to be Real to make his mark in the world, just like anyone else in this city.

Who is it behind that mask though...?

A MASSIVE thank you to the talented artist @jimmymmtz for this masterpiece! They really went above and beyond what I had in mind for these two sides of my character, and even when I received the initial line work I was FLOORED by how good it looked. If you can, and if you’re looking for some astounding artwork of your darlings, go support the artist :D

[hardygalwrites]

"You seem awfully interested in the deaths of those two people."

"I mean, yeah, aren't you? Someone killed 'em...!"

"People die everyday. In the cities. In the slums. No one is looking into their deaths."

"Well, we ain't in the city or the slums right now, are we? We're on this boat, and we're all stuck on this boat ‘til we find out who killed the lady and her bodyguard. Once that's done, yeah, we can leave! And then we can head to to the cities, and the slums, and the countryside, and wherever else, and we'll take care of the dead people there too. And the living people, obviously.”

Look who it is, I get to talk about Nova again!

Nova has long since disappeared from the campaign for which he was initially created, but on the flipside has since been reborn into a different campaign with a more focused backstory and an actual combat style/preferred method of combat. And so it only seemed appropriate that Nova’s overall character design be given a bit of a do-over as well lol

Credit for this sublime piece of art goes to @generalxiaolong! She perfectly captured Nova’s essence in this piece from his scrappiness to his bare bones attire to his overall physique, and words cannot express how happy I am with it :D You know the drill, go support the artist, guys, her work is so colourful and really p o p s (for want of a better articulated term)

[xenahikart]

Based on@hardygalwrites drabbles

Supposed to be set in TFP but I used my own design

[hardygalwrites]

Art based on my writing?! I’m so flattered, thank you! The art style is rather cute :D

‘Small Bug’ (the drabble this is based on)

[hardygalwrites]

“Doctor… Are you certain this is what you want? I can’t deny there is a childish amount of excitement - which I believe I am still entitled to for one more segment - to be felt at the prospect of becoming a starship captain. But… Well, to be frank, I’m far younger than most would expect a captain to be. And I can’t promise I will make nearly as many profitable judgements as our dearly departed Captain Oshali. Not to mention… are you sure you want a Zenithian noble brat in any sort of position of power? I am deeply, deeply flattered of course, Doctor. I just… I want to be certain that you are offering this to me because you do believe this to be best, and not because, well, we are currently a crew of two with no other options.”

“I would much rather have someone who acknowledges his shortcomings to be in charge, rather than someone who’s sure they’re always smarter than everybody else. You’re also consistent, like Oshali, just consistent in different ways. I could count on her to put profits first, and I can count on you to put people’s lives first. I don’t have to guess with you as captain. You might be a Zenithian noble brat… but, you’re my friend. I haven’t had a real friend in a long time. Yeah, I’m sure. Even if there’s a dozen of us on a ship, I want you as my captain.”

My son is growing up. Not only is his birthday coming up in game - he’s finally gonna actually be eighteen years old, as he’s been claiming for the past couple years of his life - but he has gone from vent goblin for hire and person with barely enough technical expertise to be of any sort of practical use on a ship, to the bloody captain of a ship. So, to commemorate that, I decided to update his look a bit.

Meet Captain Tomorrow von Tahsin. He doesn’t cover his eyes nearly as much as he used to (though there is a lore reason for why he does that at all), and he’s tied the top of his jumpsuit around his waist now, Portal 2 style, showing off them noodle ass arms more clearly.

Also, he’s now wearing a leather bangle around his wrist and, more importantly, a bullet around his neck. That last little accessory is in memory of a former crew member who outright declared that Tomorrow might as well be his little brother. For many, many backstory reasons, that meant and means the absolute universe to Tomorrow. Said crew member ended up leaving for a better paying career, but Tomorrow kept one of the guy’s bullets to remember him by.

Turning eighteen years old is actually going to come with a world of problems for Tomorrow, but hopefully he can survive them. He’s survived the almost utter annihilation of the House Tahsin, he’s survived traipsing about the Third Horizon as a child parading as an adult, and he’s survived all the havoc that his latest crew has been getting into. Surely he can survive adulthood and the responsibilities of being a captain as well :3

This incredibly handsome piece of art was commissioned from @crystalnovaart! She delivered exactly what I was looking for in terms of Tomorrow’s new look, as well the posing and the ✨ v i b e s ✨ Check her out on Instagram under crystalnova_art - she posts a lot of her absolutely stunning artwork there (and look you can see my son there as well) - and absolutely support her if you can, you will not be disappointed :D

[hardygalwrites]

If You Give a Fish a Family

A children’s book by Gillion Tidestrider, as read in Just Roll With It: Riptide, Episode 94: Back to Zero

(thumbnail source)

There once was a fish born on a very special day.

The day was so special, his family gave him away.

He was taken to a palace, but it didn’t feel like home.

Though everyone there said they loved him, he still felt alone.

The big fish of the palace said, “You must become strong.

“We fish don’t like people, because they are always wrong.”

The big fish brought a target and said, “You’ll be family if you hit this.”

So the fish tried every day, but he always seemed to miss.

Then one day, the little fish made a big mistake,

And the big fish of the palace kicked him out of the lake.

The fish was alone on the shore, sad and beached,

When suddenly out of the sky, a fleshie hand reached!

The fish saw two people with no fins or tails

On a big brown floating thing, hollow and with sails.

The fish was wary. “Is this hell? Did I do a big sin?”

The two laughed. “No, we’re pirates! This our crew, and you’re in!”

They saved a lot of people and committed violent crime,

But because they were together, they had a real good time.

They met a dude: Duke D. Dukem of Dooke,

And a plant with kind eyes that gave them a spook.

They made a new friend, a horse from a Puddle.

The little boy rode and then they became “buddles.”

They also met a Goobleck, who mostly said, “Hee hoo!”

He absorbed one hundred people, but then pressed “undo.”

But one day the man said, “I have a confession, fish. I lied.”

The fish felt so betrayed and decided the man would die.

The next day, the woman’s father came and had a really big frown.

He said, “You are a dumb baby loser, and you’ve let this family down.”

The woman said, “You’re right, papa.” And so she shot the fish,

But before the fish died, he said, “Is that really your wish?”

The woman said, “Wait, no! I wanna be friends with you!”

The man chimed in, “I’m sorry for lying. Me too.”

Their crew is back together and finally free.

Then the fish saw another target. If he hit it, he’d be family.

The fish thought of his family, god, and his friends.

He took one big swing, and the fish missed again.

The fish looked sad, packed his things and said, “Well, I guess this is it.”

But the two stopped him and said, “But you’re already family. And family fucks up shit.”

[hardygalwrites]

“While they may put forward the appearance of an honest crew of explorers, the truth is that the crew of the Al Musafir has no business interacting with civilized society.”

Oh. My. Word. I get to talk more about that Coriolis campaign I mentioned months ago! More specifically, I get to talk about the absolutely amazing player characters that make up the crew with whom I am playing with :’D

The crew of the Al Musafir, listed from left to right -

Dessi (former crew member) - A Data Spider -> Analyst who used to be the crew’s data djinn expert. The man definitely had a real wild card streak to him, and strong convictions to match, taking wild risks and somehow always making some kind of bank off of it most of the time. The man also had a past to run from, and unfortunately, could not remain with the crew (and the player had to leave for IRL stuff).

“Doctor” Caspara Aphra - A Scientist -> Archaeologist who ended up being a real jack of all trades. She’s the crew’s medic, pilot, scientist, and current data djinn expert. Considering the real shit hand that life has dealt her since birth, it is little wonder she tends to be on the harder, crueler side. But there are flashes of something softer in there, someone who is maybe, possibly willing to believe that there is some good to be found in the Third Horizon. Just... don’t expect that part to override her scientific curiosity, nor her need for birr.

Captain Oshali (deceased) - The crew’s former captain and an Artist -> Courtesan who had a real sharp eye for both business and pleasure. Incomparably beautiful, artfully seductive, and pragmatic to an almost ruthless degree, one could almost always depend on Captain Oshali to put birr and profits above most else. Morality? Not worth much in the Third Horizon, though it can secure you a better reputation or the occasional ally, which can sometimes be worth the few thousand lost birr. Oshali held on to the teachings of The Merchant to the very end, when she chose to go down with a doomed ship. She died playing the lute, keeping the ship’s AI company, before the ship’s reactor core finally exploded (and the player decided it was a good time to retire the character).

Tomorrow von Tahsin - My character! A young Fugitive -> Mystic, born to high nobility and now a vent crawler for hire. Seventeen years old and disinclined towards violence, it is a true wonder the Third Horizon hasn’t yet chewed this boy up and spat him out. Perhaps his mystic powers have assisted him in steering clear of those who would look to exploit him, or perhaps fate is simply holding his life hostage, waiting until he comes of age before snuffing him out, just like the rest of the noble House Tahsin. Tomorrow personally leans towards the latter - there is recompense to be paid for the sins of his family, and once he becomes an adult, he is no exception to that. Unfortunately for those waiting for Tomorrow’s eighteenth birthday, however, he has recently made a promise to Faridah, his big brother figure on the crew, and Sarai, his little sister and the one other remaining member of the House Tahsin, that he won’t simply roll over and die quietly when the time comes.

Faridah (former crew member) - A Soldier -> Legionnaire whose propensity for violence was matched only by his protectiveness of Tomorrow. Being on the young side, he is perhaps not what some would expect from a Legionnaire at a glance. But make no mistake, with a veteran’s experience under his belt, and with parents and a few older siblings to support and protect from loan sharks, Faridah is an absolute force to be reckoned with. If not for his big brother, little brother relationship with the pacifistic Tomorrow, Faridah probably would have pursued violence indefinitely. As it is, after one last job, Faridah eventually got an extremely lucrative, stable, and relatively safe career as a bodyguard to a noble, leading him amicably to part ways with the crew (and the player had to leave due to school and other IRL stuff).

Credit for this absolutely gorgeous art piece goes to @zhellers, who managed to capture exactly what I wanted with just a handful of visual references and descriptions! I don’t believe they are currently taking any commissions, but you should still go support them by checking out their work!

[howlonghaveyoubeenseventeen]

this quiz sorts through characters from like dozens of fandoms and finds the one you’re most like. I’m not even a little bit surprised by my result

[redwingedwhump]

I'VE BEEN READ

RUDE

[beechovenwhump]

Assigned old man at this quiz

[hardygalwrites]

I actually do not recognise this character 😅

So here is the list of characters I did actually recognise/know, picked out of the top 20

Pam Beesley (The Office): 88% - Character 6 out of 2000

Jane Bennet (Pride and Prejudice): 88% - Character 7 out of 2000

Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games): 88% - Character 11 out of 2000

Meg March (Little Women): 88% - Character 12 out of 2000 i sure hope this gif is of meg look i only ever watched the winona ryder movie

Eliza Hamilton (Hamilton): 88% - Character 13 out of 2000

Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings): 87% - Character 15 out of 2000

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender): 86% - Character 20 out of 2000

According to my sister, these all track, so there’s my personal confirmation lol Anyway, @the-lupine-sojourner, I think you would like this!

[hardygalwrites]

delightfully useless

Inspired by playing around with this picrew and originally posted under the URL @shsl-whump on October 23rd, 2019

WARNING: implied captivity, emotional bullying, manipulation, gaslighting, lots of tactile contact

—

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Do you want me to answer correctly or honestly?”

She laughed, turning away from the monitors and towards the person whose hair she had been stroking for the past ten minutes. “Oh, you think you’re so clever...!”

He didn’t budge from his kneeling position beside her chair, but she did note a crease in his brow as she traced the back of her hand from his hair, down his cheek.

“Poor, hapless little pet...”

She continued down his jawline, feeling the skin prickle beneath her touch, until she reached his chin. Gently, she grasped his chin in one hand and tilted his face upward.

“Look at you,” she cooed.

The monitors cast a blue and white glow on his face. The hair pins ensuring his features remain unobscured by those unruly bangs, though bright and colourful, stood out only slightly in the lackluster brown locks. The shadows under his eyes, though noticeable, did nothing to remove from the otherwise undistinguished features. Those eyes, though still barely holding that glint she really should be making more of an effort to remove, still bore the same dull brown hue as his hair. Truly he was...

“So plain, so unremarkable in every conceivable way.” She smiled, giving his cheeks a squeeze. “It’s actually adorable.”

He let her (of course he did), muted eyes focused in her general direction, but not actually looking at her. Another one of those things he thought was so very clever.

“You have no power, you have no talent, you would almost be nothing if that wouldn’t actually make you more interesting.” She turned her chair so as to be facing him more directly, and tilted his back just a little bit more. “Why would they have kept you around at all?”

His lips twitched, and the black collar encircling his throat shifted, betraying his insubstantial impassivity. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

There he went again. Smile widening, she reached out with her free hand.

He flinched. But she only rested her hand on the side of his head and began to pet, slowly, calmly, careful not to disturb the clips in his hair.

“You’re so effectively useless,” she said fondly. “Just an unremarkable little lapdog. And yet I can’t bring myself to get rid of you.”

His hair was so soft. It was a joy to brush her fingers through, to play with, to enjoy the hard work that came from fighting him into submission so she could wash it to perfection. He really was like a puppy.

“That must be why they kept you around…!” Her voice came out high and animated. “They all probably just wanted a pet, same as me…! A delightful, useless little thing they could use to amuse themselves.”

“That’s not–“

She drew back her hand from his hair and looked down at him with a raised brow. He looked away, eyes drifting in some aimless direction as the collar bobbed against his throat.

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, voice a pathetic reflection of the impassivity he had been speaking with before.

“Oh?” She reached out again, this time to trace down from his temple. “Do you mean to tell me you were actually someone of worth to these people? That all you did for them was vital to their function as a group? That if you disappeared, it would be a chore for them to find someone to replace you?”

Her finger stopped at where her hand still cupped his face. His eyes met hers, and he opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened his mouth again, something cracked and desperate emerging as a half-formed word before she placed her finger over his lips.

“See?” she said with a smile.

“You don’t have to be important to be useful,” he whispered, eyes wide, words coming out slightly distorted by the finger pressed over his mouth.

“Maybe, but what could you have possibly been doing that couldn’t have been done by any other person there?” She tilted her head to the side. “Even the other humans among them had something to set them apart, as much as it annoys me to admit it. What did you have?”

Slowly, realization began to devour the denial in his eyes. She dropped her finger away from his lips, leaving them parted as though on a corpse that had just given its last breath.

“Even then you were just a plaything,” she said. “A puppy dog trained to think its tricks were worth anything more than just a moment of amusement for its masters.”

That ever present glint in his eyes flickered, and he dropped his gaze.

“Ohh, don’t look so down.” Crooning comfortingly, she resumed her gentle pets. “Vice versa to what you said before, you don’t have to be useful to be important. You do make a most excellent pet. I couldn’t let anything happen to you, not when you’re such a delight to play with.”

She felt his jaw tighten beneath her hand. His brow furrowed, and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Maybe I am useless...” The words came out low and dull, not impassive, but resigned. Then, he turned his gaze back upward. “But I was still their friend.”

The declaration had her smiling. “Friend, hm?”

She brushed her hand down through his hair to his cheek. She moved her hand from his chin to his other cheek. She clasped his face in both hands and leaned forward.

“Then why are you here?”

His eyes widened a fraction, a choked sound escaping through clenched teeth.

She laughed, nuzzling her nose against his, rubbing and smushing his cheeks happily. “Aww, you poor, hapless little thing…! Who’s the most adorable pathetic pet in the world? Is it you? Yes it is, yes it is…!”

Actually giggling, she drew her head back to beam down at the face she had smushed between her hands. Lackluster brown eyes, framed by expressionless features, looked back up in her direction without actually looking at her.

Her beaming grin softened into an understanding smile. “You’ve been so snippy lately,” she cooed, rubbing a gentle thumb over one of his cheeks. “Do you need to destress, my pet? I’m more than happy to let you stay outside for a few hours.”

His skin prickled beneath her fingertips as his eyes suddenly focused on her. “No, no, I’m good,” he said.

His collar bobbed against his throat.

“You sure?” she pressed. “You’ve been so stand-offish. Maybe I’ll let you outside anyway, just to be–”

“No…!” He grabbed her wrists, instantly halting her as she began to pull away. “I– You don’t have to do that…!” he gasped. “I’m all right, really!”

She looked down at him impassively, regarding his wide eyes, his quick breaths, his desperate demeanor.

“Well, if you’re sure.” She pressed her hands back against his cheeks, and he relaxed, dropping the pathetic grip on her wrists.

“You know,” she murmured, moving one hand up to smooth the hair on the top of his head, “you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What?”

She turned her gaze towards the wall of monitors displaying the fruits and efforts of her labour. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Her gaze fell back on the small, inconsequential boy kneeling in front of her.

Realization had his lips parting slightly, and he turned his eyes away. “Yes… Ma’am… It is.”

Quiet, obedient, defeated. Perfect.

Could be better, certainly - that annoying glint was still present, if a little subdued, and he hadn’t properly devolved to using the proper title yet, but she still smiled and squeezed his cheeks fondly.

“Ohh, my sweet little pet…!” She pressed a kiss against his forehead. “You always know what to say.”

[hardygalwrites]

"Now that... That was epic."

Originally posted to FFN on the 8th of August, 2017

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 52 (Misc.) – END

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

Note: This drabble was partially inspired by the video Transformers Prime AMV: On Top of the World by RintinDestiny. The AMV is over eight years old, and if you are a Transformers Prime fan, it is very likely you have already seen it. But on the off chance you haven’t, you should totally check it out - even after all these years, it never fails to make me giddy and encapsulate a lot about what I love about this show and even this franchise.

—

On Top of the World

"We made it." Bumblebee laughed - a short but genuine laugh. "Primus. How 'bout that?"

Smokescreen also laughed as he slowly sat himself down. "Now that... That was epic."

Knock Out joined Smokescreen with a small scoff. "I admit... I do feel a bond of trust has been built following this adventure. And slaggit if I hope to never re-live it."

"I'm kinda with you on that one," Bumblebee chuckled, sitting down alongside him.

"Yeah, I think we all could do with some rest," Smokescreen agreed.

The three bots hummed in agreement and watched as the sun set on their reborn planet.

[hardygalwrites]

"Y'know, I think we did good."

Originally posted to FFN on the 7th of August, 2017

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 51 (Misc.) – Drabble 365 →

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

—

It's a Start

When Bluestreak and Smokescreen met up with him, Prowl was visibly surprised. Nonetheless, he stood as straight as ever and addressed his former charge formally. "Smokescreen."

"Prowl," Smokescreen responded in kind, while also extending his servo.

Prowl accepted it, and the two shook servos. "Hi."

"Hey."

An uncomfortable length of silence followed, before Prowl suddenly spoke. "You've changed."

"You haven't," Smokescreen said, allowing himself a chuckle (mostly out of relief).

Bluestreak stood between the two and clapped both of them on the shoulder. "Okay, good start! Cold and unbelievably awkward, but still! Seriously though, you guys can stop shaking servos."

We're Gettin' There

Ratchet may have been a medic, but he wasn't a psychologist. Unfortunate, since Bumblebee needed a psychologist more than a medic at this point, but Ratchet did what he could with what little he knew.

Predictably, it wasn't easy. Bumblebee had adopted a largely sullen, isolated personality, prone to anger and mood swings. But he was getting better, slowly but surely. Anytime Bumblebee interacted socially with the other Autobots, admitted the source of his anger and frustration, or talked even a little about the events at Tyger Pax, Ratchet counted that as a step forward.

Slow, to be sure, but every step counted.

We Have Very Different Definitions of 'Autobot'

No response. Again. Primus, Smokescreen may have hated his 'team', but he could usually count on them to answer a slagging comm.!

"Aren't you the one who made up that 'alternate reality' theory?" his prisoner spoke up. Again. "I don't think your bizzaro team is gonna hear your comm. across realities, pal."

Smokescreen turned and punched the cuffed bot. "Primus, don't you ever stop talking?"

His copy recovered from the punch and actually laughed a little. "Well, until my team shows up, I don't have anything else t' do."

Smokescreen held back his own laugh. "Why the slag would they come for you?"

It's Not Dauntless, it's Just Stupid

"Impressive shot."

Breakdown chuckled, shouldering the plasma rifle he'd just fired. "Well, if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't've been able to make that shot. Hey, d'you mind goin' and gettin' a closer look at my target?"

Knock Out stared at him. "Now?"

"What, y' scared?" the larger bot teased.

"It doesn't matter if I'm scared, what matters is that it's pointless and stupid to walk across a live firing range just to look at your target," Knock Out retorted sharply. "If this is what you warrior types count as fearlessness, it's no wonder you end up in medbays so often!"

Look at Yourself Lately?

Managing to control his berserker instincts enough to not tear apart the bot beneath his knee, Bumblebee snarled, *Who the slag are you?*

The bot, who looked almost exactly like him, let out a series of beeps and whirrs in response. *Who the slag are you?*

Bumblebee grabbed the bot's throat. *Answer me before I crush your obnoxious excuse for a voicebox. I bet you don't want that, cause by the sound of it, it wouldn't be the first time.*

The bot's optics narrowed sharply, and he threw a sloppy punch. When it was deflected, he glared at Bumblebee. *Look who's not talking.*

We Were Brilliant

Smokescreen allowed himself a relieved laugh as he sat up. "Hey, we made it."

"We made it," Prowl agreed, pushing himself up. He laughed.

Smokescreen's brow furrowed. "Huh. I just realized I've never heard you laugh before."

"I'm not a laugher."

"That's for sure." Smokescreen turned towards the place they'd just left. "Y'know, I think we did good."

Prowl nodded. "Given the situation we were in and the resources that were at our disposal... I think I'd agree."

Prowl's words effectively surprised Smokescreen, but Prowl was already on his pedes before the younger bot could respond. Nonetheless, Smokescreen smiled widely, and followed suit.